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THE 


MISER'S    SON: 


TALI, 


R;  BEDINGFIELD,  ESQ. 

AUTHOR  OF  <  CRIME;  '  THE  PEER  AND  THE  BLACKSMITH,' 

&c.  &c. 


WITH  ILLUSTRATIONS. 


LONDON : 

R.  THOMPSON,  JAMES  STREET,  GRAY'S  INN  LANE ; 
STRANUIi,  PATERNOSTER-ROW  ;  BERGER,  HOLYWELL-STRERT 

AND   ALL    BOOKSELLEKS. 


ENGRAVINGS. 

*  ^ .    ••*• 
Skeleton  of  the  Cave       ------    to  face  page  126 

William  Walsingham  and  the  Old  Angler       -  97 

Contest  between  the  Non-descript  and  Little  George       -        -  35 

Meeting-  of  the  Jacobites       -  241 


PR 


5/3 


LIBRARY 

747107 

UNIVERSITY  OF  TORONTO 


DEDICATION. 


TO  MRS.  THAYER. 


MY  DEAR  AUNT, 

That  I  cannot  inscribe  to  you  a  book  which  might 
go  down  to  posterity  with  a  brightness  commensurate  with 
your  merits,  is  a  mortification,  in  one  sense,  to  me ;  but  I 
know  that  the  tribute  of  esteem  and  admiration  I  offer  to  you, 
will  not  be  less  kindly  received  because  of  that  unworthiness  : 
for  nothing  prompted  by  sentiments  of  affection  is  insignificant 
to  those  who  accept  the  poor  offering  they  dictate;  since  those 
sentiments  are  of  the  heart  more  than  the  intellect. 

Whatever  the  faults  of  "  The  Miser's  Son,"  I  hope  and 
think  that  the  most  fastidious  will  not  conceive  they  are  im- 
bued with  anything  in  any  degree  hostile  to  the  cause  of  truth, 
or  inimical  to  that  ~of  virtue.  And  the  true  and  the  good,  I 
know,  are  loved  and  sought  by  yoo,  who  are  so  quick  to  per- 
ceive a  merit ;  because  it  is  with  intuitions  of  moral  beauiy,  as 
with  perceptions  of  external  form,  and  those  so  ready  to  notice 
the  one,  possess  a  clear  sense  from  within  of  the  other. 

Even  were  I  capable  of  writing  such  a  work  as  I  desire,  I 


iv  DEDICATION. 

could  add  nothing  to  your  excellence,  I  could  not  increase  by 
a  single  iota  the  estimation  you  are  held  in  by  the  world.  I 
acknowledge,  therefore,  a  selfish  motive  in  dedicating  "  The 
Miser's  Son"  to  one  so  far  removed  from  my  ability  to 
elevate  in  the  eyes  of  men,  and  whose  fine  and  cultivated  taste 
can  so  readily  detect  errors,  even  while  the  kind  and  liberal 
heart  is  so  free  to  encourage  the  dawn  of  Thought  and  Imagi- 
nation. 

That  you  may  long  continue  to  delight  with  the  charms  of 
conversation,  and  the  exercise  of  those  rare  acquirements  you 
possess,  is  the  fond  desire  of  your  affectionate  Nephew, 


RICHARD  BEDINGFIELD. 


Upper  Montagu  Street, 
September  1844. 


INTKODUCTION. 


I H  E  Fiction  now  ranks  but  little  below  J^he  Epic,  the  Drama,  or 
the  Essay ;  and  combines  the  essence  of  them  all.  The  names  of 
Cervantes,  Fielding,  and  Scott,  if  they  do  not  occupy  so  high  a 
place  as  those  of  Homer,  Virgil,  and  Milton,  are  bright  and  glorious 
exemplars  of  the  majesty  of  Romance.  They  stand  round  about  the  Sun 
of  the  eternal  poetry  of  Nature,  searching  into  the  dark  nooks  and  quiet 
spots  of  the  human  heart :  and  if  they  do  not  rise,  like  the  great  Drama- 
tists of  Greece  and  England,  to  the  vast  and  the  sublime ;  though  they 
excel  rather  in  the  natural  and  the  beautiful,  the  humorous  and  the 
satirical,  than  the  awful,  the  stupendous,  and  the  terrible — all  honour  be 
unto  them. 

Cervantes  was  the  first  Novelist  who  thought  below  the  surface ;  he 
had,  most  undoubtedly,  fine  intuitions  into  the  truthful  and  the  fine,  but 
he  did  not  attempt  to  unravel  the  intricacies  of  the  passions  in  their 
grander  aspects :  his  imagination  was  subtile,  rather  than  intense. 
Fielding  was  a  philosopher :  but  he  was  a  one-sided  thinker.  He  de- 
lighted to  view  humanity  physically,  to  search  deep  into  the  material 
and  sensual  portion  of  our  being,  but  not  to  soar  to  abstract  feeling  and 
sentiment.  He  had  no  idea  of  the  spiritual,  but  he  embraced  all  that  is 
real,  actual,  and  common-place.  And  did  Scott  take  a  higher  flight? 
Was  Truth  the  element  in  which  he  lived  ?  Yes  ;  he  was  true.  There 
never  was  a  more  perfect  master  of  what  lies  on  the  surface  of  humanity 
than  the  great  Magician  of  the  North : — the  august  of  passion,  the  ter- 
rible of  nature  he  was  not  able  to  embody :  yet  all  that  he  has  done,  who 
but  he  could  have  effected  ?  I  shall  go  into  this  subject  more  fully  pre- 
sently, in  order  to  give  a  cursory  view  of  the  history  of  Fiction— a  most 
important  portion  of  letters  in  modern  civilization. 

A  higher  order  of  writing  than  was  sought  for  a  century  ago,  is  now 
required  to  meet  the  intelligence  of  the  age.  De  Balzac  and  George 
Sand  in  France  have  attempted  the  philosophical  and  metaphysical  in 
Romance,  while  in  our  own  country  we  are  frequently  surprised  in 
perusing  a  Novel,  to  find  it  embody  principles  of  abstract  reasoning,  and 
to  advance  into  theology  for  the  development  of  a  peculiar  character. 
Comic  literature  is  now  the  most  successful  in  France  and  England — 
witness  the  writings  of  Dickens,  Lever,  and  Paul  de  Kock :  but  we 
know  not,  if  out  of  what  is  meant  solely  for  amusement,  a  great  moral 
power  may  not  come  forth.  There  is  no  reason,  it  is  indisputable,  why  the 
moral  should  be  conveyed  through  the  medium  of  Heraclitean  philoso- 


INTRODUCTION. 


phy  i  and  if  it  be  possible  to  amend  the  heart  and  to  amuse  the  fancy  at 
the  same  time,  so  much  the  better.  Sir  Walter  Scott  has  accomplished 
an  infinity  of  good  by  his  bright,  cheerful  humour,  as  well  as  his  exqui- 
site pathos:  there  is  a  human  kindness  in  him  truly  delightful;  but 
gcott,  in  some  respects,  was  rather  the  Novelist  of  the  Past  than  the 
Future.  His  pleasant,  mirth-moving  fancy,  his  quaint  originality,  his 
fine  insight  into  the  ridiculous,  remind  us  more  of  a  century  or  more 
age— indeed,  they  carry  us  back  even  as  far  as  Chaucer— than  our  own 
age.  Chivalry  he  admired  more  than  our  modern  Humanity,  and  his 
heroes  are  almost  all  physical  warriors,  like  those  of  Homer  and  the 
ancients.  There  is  no  reason  why  we  should  not  have  pictures  of  the 
chivalrous  ages  :  but  why  have  almost  all  our  Novelists  neglected  to  give 
us  the  philosophy  of  epochs  ;  why  have  we  not  the  characters  of  moral 
heroes  ?  When  we  admire  the  courage  and  gallantry  of  the  soldier, 
cannot  we  adore  the  constancy  and  faith  of  that  man  who  fights  against 
evil  passions  and  subdues  them  ?  A  dog  may  be  as  courageous  as  Wil- 
liam Wallace ;  but  he  cannot  love  his  country,  he  cannot  reason  against 
desire.  Surely,  such  divine  examples  of  patience/and  heroism  of  mind 
as  sages  and  philosophers  have  set,  might  be  productive  of  more  than 
Spartan  virtues. 

Few  of  our  Novelists  have  either  attempted  to  anatomize  the  secret 
mind  of  man,  or  penetrate  into  motives.  In  Hamlet  we  have  the  meta- 
physics, the  morals,  the  poetry  of  the  Prince  of  Denmark.  All  Shak- 
speare's  characters  develop  the  whole  individual ;  but  Scott's,  for  the 
most',  part,  are  but  flesh  and  blood,  bones  and  muscles,  without  the  vital 
principle  which  sets  them  in  action.  Yet,  I  repeat,  Scott  was  great  on 
his  own  ground.  He  is  the  undoubted  King  of  modern  Romance : — but 
there  is  no  reason,  I  think,  why  there  should  not  be  an  Emperor.  Marlowe 
preceded  the  dramatists  of  the  age  of  Elizabeth ;  and  may  not  Scott  be 
the  precursor  of  a  greater  than  himself?  We  want  some  pioneers  to  clear 
the  way,  to  prepare  the  public  mind,  which  will  not  receive  Genius  at 
once ;  among  these  pioneers  I  would,  with  humility,  advance. 
Talent  is  the  pioneer  of  Genius,  and  that  exists.  Great  is  the 
demand  for  fiction,  and  vast  the  supply  :  but  it  were  absurd  to  look  for 
more  than  one  master-spirit  in  a  century.  But  he  will  come  in  the 
course  of  years.  The  majority  of  our  Novelists  seldom  rise  far  above 
the  prettiness  or  imitation  that  we  skip  over,  and  think  no  more  of, 
though  there  may  be  half-a-dozen  endowed  with  subtle  and  poetical 
insight  into  the  human  heart,— who  can  delineate  the  progress  of  a 
mind,  and  write  dramatic  and  spirit-stirring  scenes,  and  lofty  senti- 
ments, such  as  would  not  have  disgraced  the  great  ones  of  the  Past. 

The  object  of  Romance,  however,  is  scarcely  ascertained,  and  so  vast 
are  the  varieties  of  opinions  upon  it,  that  it  would  be  difficult  to  fix  its 
legitimate  boundaries.  Poetry  and  Philosophy  are  indissolubly  connected, 


INTRODUCTION.  Vli 

for  Plato,  Kant,  and  Berkeley  are  all  sublime  poets,  and  Shakspeare, 
Milton,  and  Wordsworth  profound  philosophers  ; — while  Romance  is  so 
comprehensive,  and  its  space  so  large,  that  it  is  not  obliged  to  cast  away 
the  materials  which  the  Poet  must  reject,  and  connects  Thought  and 
Action,  combines  description  and  sentiment,  allows  the  Author  to  illus- 
trate his  own  creations,  and  obviates  the  difficulties  a  Dramatist  must 
necessarily  experience  ;  so  that  we  may  say  Fiction  is  subject  to  no  fixed 
rules,  but  is  free  as  the  air,  except  it  impose  laws  on  itself.  For  Poetry 
must  sacrifice  Philosophy;  and  Philosophy,  Poetry;  while  Romance 
can  do  as  it  will. 

We  are  surprised  that  antiquity  should  not  have  used  this  vehicle  for 
the  expression  of  ideas ;  but  in  a  state  of  simple  semi-civilization,  the 
complex  machinery  which  the  Novelist  now  commands  was  not  ,set  in 
motion.  The  world  was  then  divided  into  two  great  classes — tyrants 
and  slaves : — though  some  of  those  tyrants  were  more  slavish  than  their 
bondmen, — and  superstition  and  ignorance  prevailed  everywhere,  to  the 
prevention  of  science  being  diffused ;  so  that  readers  were  but  few,  and 
writers  of  rare  occurrence.  But  Printing  spread  abroad  the  means  of 
knowledge,  and  in  proportion  as  education  was  universalized,  men  of 
narrower  acquirements  than  great  Thinkers  and  Scholars  were  desirous 
of  being  entertained  as  well  as  enlightened ;  the  bondage  of  credulity 
was  modified,  but  the  love  of  the  marvellous  increased, — from  that  inhe- 
rent love  of  contemplating  the  distant  which  is  natural  to  all  who  have 
souls, — and  tales  of  wild  knight-errantry  were  eagerly  devoured  by  all 
classes,  until  the  genius  of  the  middle  ages  was  superseded  by  a  totally 
dissimilar  spirit — in  creating  which,  might  not  Cervantes  have  exercised 
an  influence  ? — The  cycle  of  Chivalry  having  run  its  course,  there  was  a 
violent  re-action,  and  instead  of  the  improbable  and  the  impossible,  the 
real  and  actual  existence  of  man  was  worshipped.  Instead  of  shadows 
— the  array  of  spectres  and  demons,  and  giants — all  was  earthly,  and 
the  philosophy  of  cold  Materialism  created  the  literature  of  heartlessness 
and  sensuality,  which  lasted,  with  little  intermission  in  England,  from 
the  reign  of  Charles  the  Second  down  to  that  of  George  the  Third. — 
And  now  shall  we  not  arrive  at  the  golden  mean  between  the  dreamy 
and  the  sensual — both  equally  false — shall  we  not  have  the  ideal,  the 
poetical,  the  true  ?  I  contend  we  are  yet  in  the  infancy  of  Fiction,  and 
it  is  not  ascertainable  how  great  an  influence  it  may  exercise  over  pos- 
terity. It  is  likely  to  be  more  general  than  any  poetry,  than  science, 
than  ethics,  in  its  application. 

The  few  read  works  of  abstruse  reflection,  the  many  devour  those  of 
imagination,  and  if,  through  the  instrumentality  of  Romance,  kindly, 
generous,  and  charitable  feelings  may  be  generated,  who  will  be  hardy 
enough  to  contend  that  it  is  not  an  engine  in  the  hands  of  Providence 
for  the  exaltation  of  man  ? 

But  are  weto  amuse,  as  well  as  to  instruct  ?    Why  not  ?    We  cannot 


VJiJ  INTRODUCTION. 

bo  always  thinking,  and  it  is  better  we  should  find  same  innocent  plea- 
sure, than  be  sad,  idle,  or  excited  by  dissipation.  It  is  prohable  that 
Romance  must  ever  in  some  degree  avail  itself  of  those  melo-dramatic 
materials  which  are  neither  calculated  to  awake  the  reasoning  faculties 
(in  those  that  are  not  reflective),  nor  to  evolve  the  moral  nature  ;  but  in 
the  scheme  of  Creation  we  perceive  how  minute  circumstances  act  upon 
the  mighty  system,  and  become  the  agents  of  Good  ;  and  it  may  be  that 
while  we  play  with  the  fancy,  we  excite  a  desire  of  something  higher 
than  the  fanciful,  we  rouse  the  soul  to  pant  after  what  is  beautiful  and 
great.  How  insensibly  the  child  sickens  of  his  fairy-tales,  and  gets  to 
like  Scott,  gets  to  like  Shakspeare,  and  enjoys  as  a  youth,  in  the  end, 
Locke  and  Bacon !  Where  there  is  a  mind  at  all,  the  love  of  reading 
engenders  the  love  of  study,  and  the  love  of  study,  that  of  Truth.  When 
this  is  accomplished,  we  have  a  man  to  deal  with — and  oh,  a  sincere 
man,  a  thinking,  rational,  intellectual  being,  is  a  noble  piece  of  work ! 
Almost  every  novel,  from { Tom  Jones'  down  to  <  Oliver  Twist/  is  in  some 
way  melo-dramatic ;  but  the  Illegitimate  enhances  the  enjoyment  of  the 
Legitimate ;  and  after  some  scene  of  wild  excitement  and  suspense,  how 
lovely  and  holy  appears  a  touch  of  Nature,  such  as  may  be  found  in  the 
last  work  referred  to,— simple,  pathetic,  purifying,  and  tender  !  Light 
and  Darkness,  Darkness  and  Light, — such  is  the  law  of  the  Universe. 

But  it  is  singular  that  those  men  of  antiquity,  with  their  "  great,  deep 
hearts,"  when  Nature  was  naked  before  them,  and  their  fierce  passions 
were  unrestrained  by  Christianity  and  knowledge,  should  have  thronged 
to  the  Theatre — with  them  a  national  want,  not  a  recreation — to  hear 
cold,  abstract  poetry  which  few  even  now  can  enjoy !  We  want  the 
contest  of  fierce  passions,  while  they  appeared  content  with  calm,  uni- 
form action : — for  the  shadow  of  the  coming  Fate  was  ever  before  their 
eyes.  The  inexorable  Destiny  allowed  no  scope  for  melo-dramatic  inte- 
rest ;  and  description  was  substituted  for  the  vitality  of  dramatic  situa- 
tion, to  the  destruction  of  all  that  is  stirring,  animating,  and  graphic. 
But  their  poetry  was  their  religion  :  it  was  invested  with  a  solemn  in- 
terest, and  there  was  an  awe  upon  their  hearts  when  they  listened  to  the 
stately  and  majestic  verses  of  their  ^Eschylus,  such  as  we  feel  when 
gazing  into  the  awful  mystery  of  the  heart  of  Things.  They  knew  that 
nothing  could  avert  the  course  of  Fate,  and  their  Gods  and  their  Demi- 
gods, their  Heroes  and  their  Prophets,  were  but  as  the  exponents  of  the 
grand  and  terrible  doctrine  of  Predestination.  We,  on  the  contrary, 
believe  in  no  such  stern  Necessity :  we  know  not  even  if  the  Will  of  the 
Eternal  with  regard  to  us  is  fixed  and  unalterable ;  the  Heaven  and  the 
Hell  are  above,  around,— the  Everlasting  Fiat  has  not  gone  forth,  and 
every  petty  and  trivial  accident  evolves  the  inexpressibly  important 
Drama  in  which  we  are  all  the  Actors.  The  philosophy  of  Necessity 
was  the  Genius  of  Ancient  Literature,  and  that  of  Free-will  the  per- 
meating principle,  the  gigantic  interest,  the  integral  action  of  our  own. 


OK    I. 


We  know  not  where  we  go,  or  what  sweet  dream 
May  pilot  us  through  caverns  strange  and  fair 

Of  far  and  pathless  passion,  while  the  stream 
Of  life  our  bark  doth  on  its  whirlpools  bear, 

Spreading  swift  wings  as  sails  to  the  dim  air. 

The  Revolt  of  Is/am, 

Winds  behind,  and  rocks  before. — WORDSWORTH. 


THE 


MISER'S    SON, 


CHAPTER  I. 

A  tall  and  proper  man,  well  skilled  iu  war, 
The  other,  deeper,  subtler. — Old  Play. 

THE    SOLDIER — THE    STRANGER —  AN    ADVENTURE  —  REFLEC- 
TIONS. 

HEN  the  last  fairrt  rays  of  a  glorious  summer  sun 
were  sinking  beneath  the  horizon,  and  the  fair 
pale  crescent  of  the  silver  moon  was  just  apparent 
in  the  soft  azure  of  the  cloudless  sky,  a  solitary 
horseman  pursued  his  way  over  one  of  those  fertile 
and  cultivated  tracts  of  land,  peculiarly  characteristic  of  our  Eng- 
land's inland  counties,  having  deserted  the  high  road  previously,  in 
order  to  save  a  circuit  which  it  made. 

His  was  one  of  those  powerful  and  majestic  forms  which  the  writer 
of  romance  is  wont  to  ascribe  to  some  of  the  mail-clad  heroes  of  dis- 
tant and  chivalrous  ages :  a  form  combining  strength  with  elasticity, 
height  with  the  most  symmetrical  proportions,  vigour,  agility,  and 
length  of  limb,  with  ease,  grace,  and  firmness  hardly  to  be  excelled. 

The  age,  too,  of  the  young  man  had  arrived  at  that  culminating 
point  of  perfection  when  the  high  and  buoyant  spirits  of  the  youth  are 
beginning  gradually  and  imperceptibly  to  blend  with  the  dignified 
composure,  the  thought,  and  reflection  of  the  energetic,  ardent,  and 
impassioned  man  ;  and  though  perhaps  the  lofty  and  ingenuous,  but 
yet  somewhat  narrow  forehead  of  our  traveller  did  not  exactly  indicate 
the  wild  enthusiasm,  the  unconquerable  daring,  the  ambition  and  rest- 


4  THE  MISER'S  SON. 

less  enterprise  of  a  singularly  powerful  or  peculiar  mental  composition, 
the  cool  courage  which  was  imprinted  on  each  line  of  his  remarkably 
handsome  and  intelligent  countenance— the  fire  of  his  large  and 
splendid  eye— the  kindliness,  mingled  with  firmness  and  sagacity, 
that  played  around  Ins  mouth,  and,  indeed,  infused  expression  and 
character  to  each  feature  of  his  face—denoted  a  being  decidedly  su- 
perior to  the  ordinary  run  of  common-place  and  worldly  mortals;  a 
being  probably  devoid  of  profound  and  philosophic  qualities  of  mind, 
but  quick,  stedfast,  ardent,  and  impenetrable  to  selfishness,  invulne- 
rable to  little  pride,  or  feelings  of  petty  enmity,  envy,  or  anger. 

Such  was  Captain  Charles  Walsingham,  as  brave  a  soldier  as 
ever  supported  the  honour  of  England  and  the  Hanoverian  line  of 
monarchs,  and  whose  erect  bearing,  soldier-like  apparel,  and 
general  deportment,  added  to  the  fine  and  fiery  steed  (whose 
lion-like  eye  and  haughty  neck  seemed  eloquent  of  battle)  which 
he  rode,  and  a  scar  upon  the  brow,  denoted  t6  every  eye  his  mili- 
tary profession. 

While  we  are  accompanying  the  gallant  warrior  on  his  lonely 
road,  it  may  be  as  well  briefly  to  state  that  he  had  been  ten  years 
in  the  service  of  his  country,  and  had  passed  the  greater  part  of 
that  period  in  an  eastern  clime  with  his  regiment,  with  which  he  had 
recently  returned,  and  was  now  hastening  to  visit  some  relations 
who  had  not  seen  him  since  he  was  a  stripling  of  sixteen,  when  he 
had  just  mounted  his  epaulettes,  and  attained  the  tall  stature  of  a 
man — a  stature  which  he  had  now  overgrown  two  inches. 

Those  who  had  not  beheld  Charles  Walsingham  since  his  colours 
were  first  presented  to  him,  would  scarcely  have  recognised  the  grace- 
ful, slight,  and  beardless  boy,  in  the  athletic,  powerful,  and  almost 
colossal  man,  while  the  bronzed  cheek,  the  bearded  mouth,  the  ori- 
ginally fair  hair  turned  to  a  dark  brown,  altered,  though  it  did  not 
entirely  metamorphose  the  expression  of  lineaments  such  as  Titian  or 
Michael  Angelo  would  have  been  delighted  to  have  been  able  to  im- 
part to  a  picture  or  statue  of  some  old  Roman  hero.  But  the  bright, 
sanguine,  noble,  and  generous  nature  remained  the  same,  while  the 
tincture  of  chivalry  and  romance,  which  he  had  imbibed  in  his  boy- 
hood, had  deepened  into  a  quiet  enthusiasm,  which  his  military  habits 
of  self-control  taught  him  to  disguise  on  ordinary  occasions;  and  it 
was  only  when  the  latent  poetry  of  his  character  was  elicited  by  some 
strong  appeal  to  his  warm  and  overflowing  heart,  that  any,  save  Un- 
close observer  of  mankind,  could  have  distinguished  in  him  the  fire 


THE  MISER'S  SON.  O 

and  the  glow  which  in  fact  constituted  his  very  inmost  idiosyncracy 
itself. 

But  the  reader  will  judge  of  the  gallant  captain  by  the  events  to  be 
detailed  hereafter,  and  so  it  will  be  better  to  eschew  unnecessary  illus- 
tration, and  hasten  to  narrate  I  he  adventure  (for  which,  doubtlessly, 
the  greater  portion  of  those  who  peruse  these  pages,  and  works  of 
fiction  in  general,  are  ever  most  anxious^which  has  been  promised 
in  the  heading  of  this  chapter. 

Well,  then,  the  young  soldier,  as  his  horse  turned  a  right  angle  of 
the  road  into  which  he  had  again  struck,  encountered  amounted  tra- 
veller, who  was  emerging  from  a  clump  of  tall  chesnut  trees,  from  a 
cross  path,  and  whose  father  progress  appeared  to  tend  in  the  same 
direction  as  that  of  Walsingham. 

There  was  something  so  remarkable  in  the  appearance  of  this 
stranger,  that  the  captain,  taught  by  custom  to  examine  the  outward 
man  of  those  he  met,  and  to  bestow  a  more  than  passing  attention  on 
forms  of  uncommon  strength  and  vigour,  could  not  help  taking  a 
rather  protracted  survey  of  the  person  of  the  horseman,  who  for  his 
part  was  equally  rude  in  the  surprised  regard  with  which  he  surveyed 
the  soldier  from  head  to  foot. 

The  stranger's  age  exceeded  that  of  the  soldier  by  about  a  dozen 
years  ;  his  height  was  less  by  nearly  a  whole  head,  and  his  body  con- 
siderably longer  in  proportion.  His  cheek,  too,  originally  fair,  had 
become  brown  from  long  and  continual  exposure  to  the  inclemency  of 
the  weather  and  the  heat  of  the  sun,  and,  singular  enough,  there 
was  a  large  scar  on  his  brow,  in  a  position  very  nearly  similar  to  that 
on  Walsingham's.  There  was  thought,  there  was  intellect,  sagacity, 
and  daring,  mingled  perhaps  with  a  dash  of  savage  hauteur,  in  a  far 
greater  degree  than  in  the  face  of  the  other,  while  the  irregular  fea- 
tures derived  a  grace  and  radiance  from  the  working  of  his  quick, 
active  mind,  such  as  it  is  almost  impossible  to  convey,  either  by  the 
pen  or  pencil. 

The  figure  was  built  rather  for  strength  than  elegance  ;  but,  never- 
theless, was  not  by  any  means  inclining  towards  the  unwieldy.  The 
chest  was  broad  and  deep,  the  head  finely  placed  on  the  magnificent 
shoulders,  and  the  arms  (perhaps  a  trifle  too  long  for  a  stature  of  five 
feet  seven  or  eight)  of  prodigious  bone  and  muscle.  He  was  mounted 
on  a  small  but  apparently  most  powerful  horse,  of  the  pony  formation, 
and  which  bore  the  same  physical  analogy  to  him  as  did  Walsing- 
hum's  charger  to  his  muster,  and  his  dress  was  plain  and  gentlemanly, 


6  THE  RISER'S  SON. 

consisting  of  a  sad-coloured  coat,  made  so  as  to  button  completely 
over  the  chest,  black  inexpressibles,  riding  boot,  and  bat  of  the 
Spanish  fashion,  slouching  over  his  face. 

The  two  horsemen,  then,  involuntarily  drew  up  their  reins,  rapidly 
reading  what  has  occupied  us  so  long  in  description,  probably  com- 
paring their  respective  strength  and  capabilities,  and  the  high  and 
fearless  daring  which  so  singularly  animated  their  countenances.  The 
stranger  had  first  completed  his  scrutiny,  and  with  a  smile,  cour- 
teously addressing  Walsingham,  in  a  deep  and  distinct  voice  said — 

"  Good  evening,  sir.     Are  you  proceeding  towards  Uskedale  ?" 

The  soldier  returned  this  salutation  with  frank  affability,  and 
answered  the  query  thus  conveyed  in  the  affirmative. 

"  1  think,  then,  that  a  portion  of  my  journey  may  be  in  your  com- 
pany, if  you  have  no  objection,"  said  the  stranger. 

"  I  shall  be  delighted  with  your  society." 

So  on  the  two  travellers  journeyed. 

"  I  believe,"  said  the  unknown,  "we  were  mutually  engaged  in 
determining  the  relative  powers  of  our  bodies,  just  now.  You  can 
endure  enormous  fatigue,  I  should  imagine  ?" 

"  My  horse  and  I  have  already  made  a  march  of  six-and-forty  miles 
to-day,  and  the  roads  over  which  we  have  travelled  are  hilly." 

"  Well,  you  will  hardly  believe,  perhaps,  seeing  the  freshness  of  my 
little  steed,  that  we  have  exceeded  the  distance'which  you  named  con- 
siderably since  morning  ;  but  he  is  a  paragon  of  a  beast,"  and  the 
si  ranger  patted  his  horse's  neck  affectionately,  while  the  animal  tossed 
up  his  pretty  head,  and  snorted  proudly  at  the  notice  taken  of  him. 

"  He  is  a  compact  little  fellow,"  observed  the  soldier,  carelessly 
surveying  the  beast  which  his  companion  appeared  to  hold  in  such 
high  estimation,  and  then  bestowing  a  stroke  on  the  glossy  skin  of 
his  own  charger. 

"  Ay,  and  the  finest  trotter  that  the  world  ever  witnessed,"  was  the 
rejoinder.  "  He  makes  no  difficulty  of  carrying  me  sixteen  miles  an 
hour,  and  can  maintain  that  pace  through  half  the  day.  Poor 
Dickon  !  Good  horse  !  For  leaping,  bearing  fatigue,  for  sense,  and 
for  strength,  I  will  back  him  against  the  world.  See,  there  is  a  broad 
ditch  before  us,  and  the  opposite  bank  is  high  and  steep.  Do  you 
think  that  your  steed  would  take  such  a  jump?" 

The  soldier  paused,  as  he  surveyed  the  awful  chasm  denominated 
"  a  ditch." 

"  You  do  not  surely  mean  to  sav  that  that  little " 


THE  MISER'S  SON.  7 

"  You  shall  see,"  interrupted  the  stranger.  "  Ho,  Dickon!"  and 
in  another  instant  he  had  cleared  the  space,  which  was,  in  fact,  an 
excavation  in  the  earth  of  such  depth  that  at  the  bottom  there  was  a 
large  quantity  of  water. 

Now  it  so  chanced  that  by  leaping  this  chasm,  a  feat  rarely  in- 
deed attempted  by  the  boldest  huntsman  in  the  county,  a  circuit  of 
nearly  a  mile  was  obviated  ;  and  the  young  soldier,  deeming  it  impos- 
sible but  that  his  noble  animal  could  achieve  what  had  been  performed 
with  such  apparent  ease  by  the  comparatively  diminutive  horse  of  the 
stranger,  put  spurs  to  his  steed,  who  willingly  took  the  leap,  but 
stumbled,  when  he  had  gained  the  opposite  side,  on  the  rocky  and 
precipitous  bank,  and  the  head  of  Walsingham  coming  in  contact 
with  a  gnarled  trunk,  he  was  stunned,  and  lost  his  seat. 

Beloved  Reader — How  often  do  we  behold  some  fine,  high-spirited 
fellow,  carried  away  from  reason's  high  road  by  the  force  of  emulation, 
galloping  furiously  onward  in  the  great  steeple  chace  of  ambition,  now 
stumbling,  now  fainting,  now  renovating — still  dashing  madly  over  hill 
and  dale,  and  hurdles — and  the  deuce  knows  what  all — straining 
every  nerve,  and  sustaining  his  soul  with  the  hope  of  winning  that 
breath,  that  bubble  Honour — at  length,  in  some  insanest  insanity, 
attempt  a  thing,  the  nature  of  which  he  is  ignorant  of,  and  break  his 
neck  down  a  precipice  at  last ! 


CHAPTER  II. 

Rons.  The  service  of  a  gentlewoman  consists  most  in  chamber  work,  and  sick  men 
are  fittest  for  the  chamber.     I  prythee,  give  me  a  favour. 
Casts.  Methinks  you  have  a  very  sweet  favour  of  your  own. 
Rons.  1  lack  but  your  black  eye.  Cyril  Tourneur. 

THE   LEGITIMATE  SCOPE  OF  FICTION  DISCUSSED — THE  AUTHOR'S 
AIM  IN  WRITING  THIS  WORK — WALSINGHAM  IN  SICKNESS. 

"  IT  may  possibly  be  all  very  sound  philosophy,  Mr.  Author,  that 
you  were  talking  at  the  tail  of  your  last  chapter,  but  what  the  d— 1  (sa- 
ving your  presence)  do  we  who  read  novels  care  how  a  parcel  of  fools 
knock  out  their  brains  in  the  manner  you  described  ?  I  tell  you,  Sir, 


8  THE  MISER'S  SON. 

that  the  way  for  a  Novelist  to  succeed  eminently  in  these  days  is  to 
rush  through  thick  and  thin,  haling  along  no-matter-\vhat  improba- 
bilities, or  impossibilities,  hair-breadth  escapes,  fearful  murders, 
daring  burglaries,  tremendous  passion,  awful  catastrophe,  &c.  &c. 
forming,  with  a  few  spectres,  the  entire  elements  of  that  universe — 
that  little,  pleasing,  moving,  bustling,  fictitious,  real,  foolish,  sensible, 
and  confoundedly  amusing  rubbish,  which  may  by  possibility  excite 
the  tears  of  bread-and-butter  young  ladies,  and  raise  the  hairs  on 
the  heads  of  susceptible  young  gentlemen  who  breakfast  on  bread 
and  milk,  through  the  space  of  ten  or  a  dozen  months,  and  then  is 
consigned  to  the  tomb  of  all  the  Capulets  (namely,  the  cheesemonger's 
shop),  to  make  room  for  more  nonsense,  and  more  outrageous  ano- 
malies !" 

"  But,  my  dear  sir,  recollect  that  an  author,  being  as  it  were  a  god 
in  his  own  peculiar  creation,  should  construct  those  spiritual  and  im- 
material beings  of  the  mind " 

"  Pshaw,  now  you  are  going  to  metaphysicize,  and  we  all  know 
what  metaphysics  mean.  Metaphysics  !  otherwise  a  parcel  of  d  — d 
incomprehensible  words,  tickling  the  ears  of  those  who  fancy  they  are 
philosophers,  but  who  no  more  deserve  the  name  than  any  of  the 
gentlemen  who  experience  the  Knowledge  of  evil  in  the  realms  of  Tar- 
tarean night !  I  tell  you  what  it  is,  Mr.  Author— philosophy  con- 
sists in  the  science  of  being  pleased,  and  1  will  write  a  treatise 
some  day  (only  I  fear  no  one  would  comprehend  it)  on  the  method 
of  employing  our  time  to  the  best  advantage,  making  money,  health, 
and  spirits  all  at  the  same  time.  I  will  bet  you  £100  (when  I  get 
them),  I  will  write  much  better  sense,  and  ergo,  infinitely  better  phi- 
losophy than ,  or ,  or ,  should  I  ever  be  induced 

to  become  a  scribbler." 

"  But  you  will  allow  me  to  say  a  few  words  ?" 
"  Oh,  talk— do!     I  know  all  that  you  will  utter." 
"  An  author,  then,  most   lively  and   loquacious  sir,  when  he  sits 
down  to  compose  a  work,  should  imagine  he  is  going  to  create  an 
intellectual  world,  and  people  it  with  thoughts  and  reflections,  as  well 

as  beings  and  incidents — " 

"  Stuff  and  nonsense— there  is  no  creation  in  creation.  There- 
fore a  book  being,  according  to  you,  a  creation,  if  it  be  a  novel,  the 
just  and  legitimate  scope  of  fiction  is  interest.  Now,  there  is  no  in- 
terest in  morality,  considered  in  the  abstract ;  for  what  are  all  morals 
but  sober  facts,  and  not  ideal  images  ?" 


THE  MISER'S  SON.  9 

•'  Talking  metaphysically  against  metaphysics,  for  they  integrate 
the  whole  system  of  ethics!  But  there  shall  be  no  speculations  in  this 
tale  of  mine,  but  such  as  necessarily  and  unavoidably  arise  from  cha- 
racter and  from  circumstance,  without  whom,  Fiction  were  not." 

"  Let  character  and  circumstance  speak  for  themselves,  and  you 
will  please  your  readers  better  than  if  you  introduce  your  own 
sentimentalities,  theories,  and  platitudes.  In  one  word,  dismiss  all  your 
imaginary  philosophy,  and  stick  to  imaginary  facts,  for  you  perceive 
that  on  facts  all  reasoning  must  be  built,  despite  the  ravings  of  your 
«  priori  gentlemen,  who  contend  that  solid  matter  is  mind,  and  gull 
the  foolish  with  their  laughable  mysticism.  Depend  upon  it,  Sir, 
that  action,  action,  and  nothing  else,  is  all  that  the  writer  of  romance 
should  aim  at." 

"  And  how  shall  he  *  point  the  moral'  of  his  tale?" 
"  Who  cares  about  the  moral  of  a  novel?  If  there  be  one,  aH 
wetland  good.  Those  who  are  eternally  prating  concerning  the  ex- 
pediency of  integrating  every  work  with  the  spirit  of  ethics  in  their 
practical  utility,  should  take  into  consideration,  that  when  a  person 
flies  to  romance  for  amusement  he  does  not  go  to  school  for  instruc- 
tion. Take  my  advice.  Look  at  Scott,  Ainsworth,  Dickens,  Paul  de 
Kock,  and  all  the  great  novelists  of  the  nineteenth  century,  who  have 
pocketed  from  £1500  to  £\ 5,000  per  annum.  Have  they  been  any 
of  your  Kantesians,  or  your  Cousin ites  ?  Deuce  a  bit  of  it !  Be  amu- 
sing, and  that's  enough.  You  will  make  your  fortune  if  you  can  cram 
this  tale  with  exciting  incident,  never  permitting  the  interest  of  it  to 
flag  for  a  single  instant,  even  for  the  finest  moral  precept  that  ever 
fell  from  the  lips  of  a  Seneca.  Never  philosophize — always  talk 
good  common  sense — people  fancy  it  a  tacit  compliment  to  them- 
selves now-a-days,  and  strive  not  to  amend  the  morals  you  never 
made." 

Such  is  your  clever  man  of  the  world.  With  an  immensity  of  that 
faculty  of  observation  on  the  surface  which  he  deifies  under  the  deno- 
mination of  common  sense,  with  an  inexhaustibility  of  animal  spirits, 
with  a  little  wit,  a  great  deal  of  good  humour,  and  some  sarcastic 
shrewdness.  Perhaps  a  few  of  my  readers  may  resemble  him,  many 
intitate,  and  one  or  two  despise.  I  speak  plainly  out.  Ulter  worldli- 
nessin  every  modification  is  altogether  despicable — though  a  spice  of 
it  may  be  necessary  to  enable  a  man  to  bustle  through  the  business 
of  life — and  can  never  lead  to  true  wisdom,  or  real  and  substantial 

c 


10  THE  MISER'S  S0N. 

happiness.     The  enduring  beauty  of  Love  and  Faith  constitutes  the 
bright  poetry  which  lends  existence  heaven. 

The  tale  before  you  is  neither  a  psychological  system,  a  wild  and 
thrilling  romance,  a  heartless  sneer  at  mankind,  such  as  might  ema- 
nate from  a  disciple  of  Voltaire,  or  of  that  crazy  but  extraordinary 
man,  Byron  ;  but  if  there  be  adventures  to  entrance  the  spirits  of  the 
ardent  and  the  dreaming;  if  there  be  sentiments  to  move  the  enthu- 
siasm of  the  pure  and  tender;  if  the  cheek  of  beauty,  like  the  rose, 
should  be  moistened  and  beautified  with  the  pearly  dew  from  the  un- 
polluted springs  of  an  innocent  and  sympathizing  heart — more  will 
have  been  achieved  than  the  aspirations  of  the  solitary  individual 
who  in  silence  and  meditation  has  composed  a  work  which  he  ear- 
nestly hopes  "  the  world  will  not  willingly  let  die,"  haveeverdared  to 
picture  to  his  soul :  while  if  the  sorrowful  should  receive  some  drops 
of  consolation,  if  the  sad  should  derive  entertainment,  and  the 
wretched  should  be  led  for  a  season  to  forget  their  troubles,  the  El 
Dorado  of  the  author's  visions,  the  Ultima  Thule  of  his  desires,  will 
be  in  every  respect  fully  accomplished. 

When  Walsingham  recovered  from  the  stunning  effects  of  the  blow 
which  he  had  received,  be  found  himself  in  a  small,  darkened  apart- 
ment, and  stretched  on  a  bed,  while  the  figures  of  two  females  were 
dimly  visible  as  they  sat  behind  the  curtains,  engaged  in  conversation 
carried  on  in  whispers  so  low  that  the  mere  murmur  of  it  was  the 
uttermost  that  his  ear  could  catch. 

Does  it  not  seem  a  strange  thing  that  the  iron  muscles,  and  the 
proud  strength,  and  the  buoyant  spirits,  which  a  few  brief  moments 
previously  appeared  fresh  from  the  joyous  springs  of  immortal  life 
and  vigour,  should  by  one  little  accident — one  trivial  circumstance, 
which  the  mind  had  not  regarded  for  an  instant — be  reduced  to  less 
than  baby  helplessness?  The  man  of  gigantic  energy  enfeebled  to  so 
great  an  extent  as  to  be  incapable  of  giving  utterance  to  his  wants 
and  wishes — in  fact  red  need  to  a  condition,  no  atom  more  powerful 
than  when  he  first  issued  from  the  womb  into  consciousness? 

The  soldier  in  vain  attempted  to  rise  from  his  recumbent  position, 
or  to  articulate  inquiries  concerning  his  whereabouts,  but  a  faint  groan 
escaping  from  his  lips,  as  the  motion  he  made  in  his  fruitless  exertion 
caused  the  blood  to  flow  upwards  to  his  head— the  only  part  that 
had  been  severely  injured— one  of  his  nurses,  a  woman  whose  age 
appeared  to  be  verging  towards  senectude,  by  the  streaks  of  grey 


THE  MISER'S  SON.  11 

and  white  which  mingled  with  her  dark  hair  and  the  many  wrinkles 
that  were  implanted  in  her  forehead  and  face,  advanced  to  the  assist- 
ance of  the  patient. 

Descriptions  are  almost  invariably  tedious,  or  it  would  be  worth 
while  to  dilate  upon  the  countenance  and  figure  of  that  woman,  as 
it  arose  in  a  sort  of  weird-like  grandeur  to  the  faint  eyes  of  the  suf- 
fering soldier.  JN 

She  was  (all,  thin,  pale,  and  sallow;  her  eyes  of  the  deepest  grey, 
her  nose  somewhat  beyond  the  aquiline,  her  lips  promising  firmness 
and  resolution  of  character,  and  her  brow,  high  and  commanding, 
with  something  of  that  wild  ami  enthusiastic  energy  which  occasion- 
ally may  be  remarked  in  that  feature. 

She  must  once  have  been  strikingly  beautiful,  but  lime  and  sorrow 
had  Jeft  their  dark  and  indelible  lines  of  ravage  upon  her  haughty  and 
majestic  form,  and  dimmed  the  fire  of  her  eyes,  so  piercing  and  so 
splendid  still,  but  not  with  the  radiance  of  hope  and  life ;  yet,  perhaps, 
like  the  ruin  which  the  tempest  and  the  lightning  have  scathed  and 
desolated,  decay,  in  destroying  the  grace  of  beauty,  had  added  to  the 
picturesqueness  of  its  effect.  She  was  dressed  plainly,  not  to  add 
coarsely  ;  but  as  has  been  said,  there  was  a  grandeur  and  rugged 
dignity  in  her  deportment  which  evinced,  at  all  events,  her  mind  was 
of  no  vulgar  cast. 

"  You  must  be  quiet,  or  the  pain  you  endure  will  be  greatly  ag- 
gravated," she  said  to  Walsingham,  in  a  voice  wherein  pity  appeared 
to  struggle  with  habitual  command.  "  You  are  in  the  hands  of  those 
who  will  take  the  greatest  care  of  you,  and  your  friends  shall  be  made 
acquainted  with  the  accident  which  prevents  your  joining  them  at 
present.  Now  try  and  take  this  draught." 

Feebly  and  with  difficulty  the  poor  soldier,  who  perceived  the  ne- 
cessity of  rendering  implicit  obedience  to  the  injunctions  of  his  im- 
perious nurse,  swallowed  the  nauseous  contents  of  the  phial  she  held 
to  his  mouth,  and  sinking  again  on  his  pillow,  was  speedily  buried 
in  profound  sleep.  How  long  he  thus  remained  happily  insensible  to 
pain,  he  knew  not,  of  course,  but  on  awakening  found  the  mellow 
and  the  softened  light  of  the  noon-day  sun  streaming  through  the 
partially-closed  shutters  of  the  apartment. 

But  what  was  his  astonish  men  t,  as  he  opened  his  eyes,  to  per- 
ceive one  of  the  loveliest  visions  of  female  beauty  that  had  ever 
presented  itself  to  his  ardent  imagination,  tenderly  bending  over  him, 
and  appearing  to  have  watched  with  the  greatest  solicitude  his  Iran- 


|2  THE  MISER'S  SON. 

quil  and  unbroken  rest,  one  of  her  sunny  ringlets  which  had  escaped 
from  her  head  gear,  almost  touching  his  cheek.  He  could  half  have 
fancied  that  he  was  still  locked  in  the  embrace  of  Morpheus,  but  when, 
on  perceiving  that  Wabinghaw  was  awake,  a  carnation  blush  over- 
spread the  modest  cheek  of  the  young  girl,  and  she  retired  a  pace 
from  the  bed,  he  could  not  mistake  the  evidence  of  his  senses. 

She  could  scarcely  have  numbered  more  than  sixteen  summers, 
though  her  form  was  rounding  into  the  mature  grace  of  consummate 
womanhood,  and  there  was  a  refinement  and  a  delicacy  in  the  ex- 
pression of  her  sweet  face  which  clearly  demonstrated  that  the  cul- 
tivation of  her  mind  had  not  been  neglected. 

"  1  hope  that  you  feel  better  now,"  were  the  first  accents  which  the 
lovely  stranger  addressed  to  Walsingham,  as  IM?  contemplated  with 
bewildered  amazement  the  charms  presented  so  unexpectedly  to  his 
notice. 

"  Thank  you,  I  believe  I  have  not  a  great  deal  th«  matter  with  me," 
replied  the  soldier,  gradually  recovering  a  perfect  recollection  of  all 
that  had  occurred  ;  "  but  where  am  I  now,  and  to  whom  am  I  in — " 

"  You  had  better  not  speak  any  more  at  present,"  interrupted  the 
young  girl  ;  "  at  all  events,  until  you  have  taken  this  broth,  for  you 
must  be  exhausted  with  all  you  have  lately  undergone." 

"My  sleep  has  greatly  invigorated  me,  yet  I  do,  certainly,  stitt 
feel  rather  weak,"  returned  Walsingham.  •«  I  have  been  bled  pro- 
fusely, have  I  not  ?" 

"  Yes,  yes ;  but  pray  take  this  broth,  and  then  I  will  go  and 
fetch  your  real  nurse  and  physician,  who  has  been  sitting  up  with 
you  all  night,  and  as  soon  as  it  was  morning  went  to  bed,  and  I 
took  her  place.  Oh,  here  she  is  !  Elizabeth,  your  patient  feels 
greatly  better  now  !"  and  with  these  words,  much  to  the  chagrin  of 
the  soldier,  the  lovely  girl  glided  out  of  the  chamber. 

"  Pray,  who  is  that  young  lady  "?"  inquired  Walsingham,  of  the 
same  stern  and  stately  woman  who  had  administered  to  him  the 
draught,  the  results  of  which  appeared  to  have  been  so  happy. 

"  I  cannot  allow  you  to  speak,  or  to  be  disturbed,"  was  the  re- 
joinder. "  Your  recovery  entirely  depends  on  perfect  quiet." 

Walsingham  could  almost  have  laughed,  notwithstanding  his  pain 
and  vexation,  that  he,  who  from  his  boyhood  had  been  accustomed 
to  exert  undisputed  authority  over  veteran  warriors,  should  thus  be 
schooled  and  commanded  by  a  woman,  but  deemed  it  best  to  sub- 
mit without  expostulation. 


THE  MISER'S  SON.  13 


CHAPTER  lit. 


We  rest — a  dream  has  power  to  poison  sleep  ; 
We  rise — oue  wandering  thought  pollutes  the  day  ; 
We  feel,  conceive,  or  reason,  laugh,  or  weep, 
Embrace  fond  woe,  or  cast  our  cares  away. — SHELLEY, 

A  shape  like  to  the  angel's,    , 

Yet  of  a  sterner  and  a  sadder  aspect. — BYRON'S  Cain. 


DANVERS — ELIZABETH — AND    A    NEW   CHARACTER. 
.$ji'  Vv'jw*'' £'* '•* " 

IT  is  now  indispensable  to  the  current  of  our  narrative  (the  Hiber- 
nicisiu  about  to  follow  must  be  forgiven)  that  we  retrograde  a  few 
hours,  in  order  to  follow  the  movements  of  the  individual,  to  whose 
boasting  admiration  of  the  qualities  of  his  horse,  the  accident  of 
Walsingham  might  be  prima  facie  attributable. 

What  a  blessed  thing  it  would  be,  if  the  wretched  mortal  who  has 
involved  himself  in  a  labyrinth  of  inextricable  difficulties,  who  has 
plunged  in  a  moment  of  ebriety  and  folly  into  irremediable  guilt  and 
misery,  could,  like  the  Novelist,  hold  the  tangled  skein  of  destiny  in 
his  hands,  and,  when  he  has  made  a  faux  pas,  by  a  little  care  and 
attention  apply  an  efficient  remedy  to  the  mischief  he  has  entailed 
on  himself  and  others.  But  the  annihilation  of  one  single  little  act 
by  an  insignificant  worm,  the  merest  atom  in  the  infinite  universe — 
whose  vast  and  incomprehensible  involutions' of  cause  and  effect 
should  demonstrate  to  the  philosophic  inquirer  into  nature  and 
mind  that  there  must  be  some  pivot  upon  which  the  great  whole 
revolves  and  moves,  inscrutable  to  the  keenest  and  most  penetrating 
intellectual  eye,  whose  range  is  liiiiited  by  time  and  space — the 
blotting  out  and  erasing  of  a  single  manifestation  of  being,  is 
beyond  the  power  of  the  Arch-Cause  of  All,  without  the  destruction 
of  its  work.  A  thought  becomes  an  act — an  act,  an  eternity  ! 


14  THE  MISER'S  SON. 

The  stranger,  then,  whose  jumping  Bucephalus  had  just  performed 
so  prodigious  a  feat,  beheld  the  impetuous  leap  to  which  the  soldier 
urged  his  splendid  charger,  and  on  perceiving  the  manner  in  which 
it  was  manifest  he  intended  to  clear  the  wide  space  intervening  be- 
tween them,  called  out  to  warn  him.  of  his  danger,  but  his  shout 
was  too  late  :  for  the  head  of  Walsingham  came  in  contact  with  the 
trunk  of  the  stunted  tree,  almost  simultaneously  with  the  echo  of  the 
unknown's  voice,  as  its  deep  intonation  rang  in  his  ear  ;  and  imme- 
diately hastening  to  the  assistance  of  one  in  whom  he  had  taken  a 
singular  degree  of  interest,  even  on  first  beholding  him,  discovered 
that  he  had  sustained  a  severe  injury,  though  happily  on  that  part  of 
the  head  where  the  structure  is  most  condensed. 

"Fool  that  I  was,  to  tempt  the  rash  boy  to  this  venture,"  mut- 
tered the  stranger,  as  his  hawk-eye  seemed  to  gather  at  a  glance  the 
amount  of  damage  which  the  cranium  of  the  luckless  Walsingham 
had  received,  "  but  he  should  not  have  expressed  rfucli  a  supercilious 
contempt  for  Dickon." 

Raising  the  soldier  in  his  athletic  arms,  as  if  a  weight  of  at  least 
thirteen  stone  was  that  of  the  merest  stripling,  Danvers  (as  we  shall, 
for  the  sake  of  perspicuity,  henceforth  term  him)  cast  his  eye  around 
in  the  hope  of  finding  assistance. 

"  He  ought  to  be  bled  immediately,"  he  said  ;  "  but  hang  me  if  I 
like  to  turn  apothecary  on  him.  That  lip,  that  face — so  like — " 

It  was  at  this  juncture  that  a  well-known  voice,  from  behind  an 
enormous  oak  that  grew  in  the  centre  of  a  narrow  cross-road,  accosted 
him  with, 

"  What  have  you  here,  Walter?  Surely,  you  have  not  wounded 
this  young  man  ?"  • 

"  God  forbid,  my  dear  mother,"  exclaimed  Danvers,  with  emotion, 
as  the  erect  and  haughty  form  of  the  woman  whom  the  reader  knows 
by  the  name  of  Elizabeth  stood  before  him,  "  it  is  fortunate  that  you 
are  on  the  spot ;  for  I  arn  grown  a  child  while  looking  on  him." 

"  Ha,"  ejaculated -Elizabeth,  as  she  stooped  to  examine  the  inju- 
ries of  Walsingham,  while  Danvers  still  sustained  him  in  his  arms, 
"  you  are  right,  it  can  be  no  other  than  the  young  Charles.  But 
how  did  this  unlucky  accident  occur?" 

Danvers  briefly  narrated  the  incidents  of  the  adventurous  leap,  as 
the  female  produced  a  lancet,  and  at  once  proceeded  to  perform  the 
act  of  phlebotomy  on  the  muscular  but  motionless  arm  of  the  soldier. 

"  Do  you  not  think  he  is  like  her,  mother?"  inquired  Danvers,  as 


THE  MISER'S  SON.  15 

soon  as  the  incision  which  Elizabeth  had  made  was  haudaged.up  ; 
"  ami  yet,"  he  added,  "the  relationship  between  them  is  not  very 
intimate/' 

"Ay,  ay,  he  has  proud  blood  in  his  veins,"  returned  the  woman, 
seeming  little  to  heed  the  question  put  to  her,  "  pity  that  it  should 
have  been  shed  in  the  cause  of  the  tyrant  and  the  usurper." 

"  What  shall  we  do  with  him  now  ?"  inquired  Danvers,  doubtfully, 
*'  he  is  severely  hurt,  and  it  is  more  than  two  miles  to  the  village." 

"  Poor  bov,  poor  boy,"  said  the  woman  tenderly,  her  stern  and 
masculine  nature  apparently  mollified  by  the  helpless  condition  of  the 
soldier ;  "  it  would  be  dangerous  to  take  him  so  far,  and  he  need 
never  know — " 

"Say  no  more,"  interrupted  Danvers,  eagerly,  "lead  the  horses 
and  I  will  carry  him,  and  as  the  motion  will  be  easier  up  this  irre- 
gular ascent  than  if  he  were  carried  by  Dickon  or  his  own  beast,  [ 
can  easily  manage  to  bear  him  so  short  a  way." 

With  these  words  the  powerful  fellow  bore  the  insensible  Walsing- 
ham  with  much  gentleness  along,  and  having  reached  the  top  of  a 
steep  acclivity,  proceeded  down  a  somewhat  precipitous  path,  which 
terminated  in  a  pleasant  valley,  where,  embosomed*  among  tall  and 
ancient  sycamores,  stood  a  pretty  little  cottage,  and  into  which  he 
conveyed  his  burden,  and  deposited  it  on  the  identical  bed  where 
Walsingham  found  himself  on  recovering  from  his  stupor. 

Having  performed  this  prodigious  feat  of  strength  with  much 
ostensible  ease,  though  it  might  well  have  tried  the  thews  and  sinews 
of  the  most  redoubtable  hero  that  ever  figured  in  history  or  romance, 
Danvers  addressed  Elizabeth,  who  had  closely  followed  him, and  said, 

"  I  cannot  stay,  but  I  know  that  he  will  do  well  in  your  hands. 
Dispatch  some  person  you  can  trust  to  Walsingham  Hall,  to  prevent 
uneasiness  on  his  account,  of  course  disguising  the  place  of  his  pre- 
sent abode,  and  so  good  bye,  dear  mother,  till  to-morrow." 

Thus  having  spoken,  Danvers  kissed  the  forehead  of  Elizabeth 
affectionately,  quitted  the  cottage,  and  mounting  his  good  horse 
Dickon  quitted  the  valley  at  a  canter. 

The  country  through  which  he  now  proceeded  was  of  a  hilly  and 
not  very  cultivated  character,  but  the  picturesque  and  frequently 
majestic  beauty  of  the  bold  and  variable  scenery  amply  compensated 
the  want  of  those  verdant  thick-set  hedges,  green  pasture  lands,  and 
golden  corn-fields,  which  so  peculiarly  distinguish  the  prominent 
features  of  truly  English  landscape.  Here  a  broad  and  impetuous 


IQ  THE  MISER'S  SON. 

river,  with  noise  and  foam  poured  along  its  clear  and  sparkling  tide, 
and  when  it  was  obstructed  by  the  vast  fragments  of  rock  which 
arose  from  the  water,  and  frequently  assumed  fantastic,  grotesque, 
or  beautiful  shapes,  a  column  of  the  glittering  lymph  shot  upwards 
to  the  sky,  and  was  painted  by  the  declining  sun  with  all  the  colours 
of  the  rainbow.  Sometimes  thickets  of  grand  and  towering  trees, 
the  growth  of  centuries,  impeded  the  view  of  the  cheerful  river  ;  and 
glimpses  of  the  blue  hills,  forming  an  amphitheatre  in  that  direction, 
were  dimly  visible  in  the  quiet  distance,  like  those  fairy  castles  which 
the  eager  fancy  of  visionary  youth  builds  for  itself  to  luxuriate  upon, 
seen  through  the  vista  of  happy  years,  which,  alas,  the  silence  of  the 
tomb  may  alone  fill  up !  Bright  and  delusive  phantoms  of  the  buoy- 
ant imagination !  Though,  as  we  advance  in  knowledge,  we  perceive 
and  smile  at  the  dreamy  enthusiasm  of  the  boy,  yet  the  cheat  has 
been  productive  of  many  pleasant  hours  which  might  otherwise  have 
been  spent  in  dejection  and  despondency,  or  worse,  in  those  vicious 
pastimes  which  heedless  youth  seeks,  to  beguile  time  of  its  aweari- 
someness,  and  too  frequently,  we  find,  instead  of  the  roses  of  pleasure, 
discovers  the  briars  and  thorns  where  pain  and  perdition  lurk. 

Blessed  be  the  imagination  !  without  which,  indeed,  our  common 
life  were  a  burthen  almost  intolerable :  and  evil  be  to  those — and 
they  create  their  own  misery — who  would  exclude  that  best  and 
brightest  gift  of  heaven  from  the  sad  philosophy  of  life. 

"  Happy  is  he  who  imagines  himself  so,"  thought  Danvers,  a  train 
of  reflections  not  very  dissimilar  from  those  into  which  we  have  in- 
advertently been  betrayed,  having  passed  through  his  mind  ;  for 
though  by  no  means  of  a  moralizing  or  meditative  temperament,  still 
the  most  thoughtless  have  their  periods  of  grave  and  melancholy 
retrospection,  and  our  traveller  was  of  by  no  means  contemptible 
understanding,  with  respect  to  that  comprehension  which  our  German 
neighbours  have  categorized  ander  the  head  of  subjective,  although 
his  element  was  action — wild,  adventurous,  and  romantic  action, 
such  as  distinguished  the  career  of  a  Moritrose  and  a  Claverhouse, 
in  common  with  whom  he  shared  many  remarkable  qualities  of  mind 
and  nature. 

"  Yes,  1  was  once  happy,"  he  continued,  slackening  his  pace,  and 
resigning  himself  to  the  thickly-thronged  visions  of  the  gone,  "  at 
least  I  appeared  to  live  in  a  sweet  and  dreamy  Paradise,  and  thought 
not  of  the  future  or  the  past,  but  as  things  peopled  with  beings  and 
things  of  brightness  and  of  joy.  Surely  all  pleasure  consists  in  the 


THE  MISER'S  SON.  17 

pursuit  and  anticipation  of  it ;  for  when  we  clutch  the  shadow  that 
appeared  so  divinely  radiant  in  our  eyes,  like  the  golden  fruit  which 
appears  so  lovely  and  delicious  before  we  touch  it,  the  dream,  the 
passion,  and  the  glory  crumble  to  dust,  the  odour  and  the  sweetness 
disappear,  and  what — oh,  what  remains  to  us  ?  Corruption,  cor- 
ruption, corruption!  Behold  the  history  of  man  !" 

The  moralist  paused.  In  the  intensity  of  his  abstraction  he  had 
given  vent  to  his  surcharged  feelings  in  words,  and  suffering  his  horse 
to  crop  the  short  grass  which  grew  beneath  his  feet,  he  appeared 
lost  in  bitter  regret. 

"  What  might  I  have  not  been,"  he  continued,  as  he  wandered  in 
fancy  over  the  actions  of  his  past  life,  "  but  for  the  influence  of  those 
dark  omnipotencies  which  men  call  chance  and  circumstances?  With 
a  mind  whose  inexhaustible  energies  have  never  failed  me,  with  a 
body  whose  iron  vigour  defies  fatigue  and  hunger,  and  loss  of  sleep, 
might  I  not,  under  a  happier  fate,  have  been  the  leader  of  victorious 
armies,  and  spread  the  glory  of  my  achievements  over  the  whole 
earth." 

He  was  startled  and  interrupted  here  in  his  soliloquy  by  a  taunting 
and  scornful  laugh,  which,  on  lifting  up  his  eyes  from  the  ground, 
on  which  he  had  unconsciously  fixed  them,  as  he  remained  in  motion- 
less inactivity,  he  found  must  have  proceeded  from  a  youth  of 
apparently  about  eighteen  years  of  age,  though  the  depth  of  his  voice, 
as  it  rang  in  the  ears  of  Danvers  like  one  from  the  tomb,  with  its 
mocking  and  ironical  tones,  and  the  thoughtful  pallor  of  his  sallow 
cheek  and  ample  forehead,  appeared  appertaining  to  a  person  more 
advanced  in  life.  But  such  a  singular  personage  should  not  be  in- 
troduced at  the  end  of  a  chapter. 


D 


THE  MISER'S  SON. 


CHAPTER  IV. 


We  wither  from  our  youth,  we  gasp  away, 
Sick,  sick, — unfound  the  boon,  unslaked  the  thirst, 

Though  to  the  last,  in  verge  of  our  decay, 

Some  phantom  lures,  such  as  we  sought  at  first, 

But  all  too  late— so  we  are  doubly  cursed, — 
Love,  Fame,  Ambition,  Avarice  :— 'tis  the  same, 

Each  idle,  and  all  ill,  and  none  the  worst ; 
For  all  are  meteors  with  a  different  name, 
And  Death  the  sable  smoke  where  vanisheth  the  flame. 

Childe  Harold. 

THE   EPICUREAN. 

IT  was  a  form  which,  once  having  been  beheld,  no  length  of  time 
could  possibly  obliterate  from  the  recollection.  There  was  nothing 
very  remarkable  perhaps  in  the  features  or  the  figure  themselves, 
except  that  they  were  handsome  and  well  proportioned  ;  but  the 
power,  the  passion,  and  the  splendour  of  that  dark  and  piercing  eye, 
the  mind  which  was  stamped  upon  that  haughty  and  scornful  brow, 
the  strength  and  sensuality  which  a  physiognomist  would  have 
instantly  detected  in  the  powerful  jaw,  and  the  large  though  well 
formed  mouth,  and  the  deep  lines  of  reflection  already  discernible  in 
the  colourless  cheek,  plainly  and  unmistakably  marked  a  character 
for  the  study  of  the  philosopher,  as  also  physically  and  metaphysi- 
cally for  the  sculptor,  the  painter,  the  poet,  and  the  man  of  genius 
in  general,  irrespectively  of  those  adventitious  circumstances  from 
whence  the  peculiar  range  of  his  observation  arises. 

And  there  they  stood — the  being  of  stern,  of  fierce,  and  bloody 
action — the  being  of  enterprise,  of  daring,  and  indomitable  resolu- 
tion, and  the  boy  of  premature  and  lofty  manhood,  of  aspiring  intel- 
lect, and  of  dreamy,  meditative,  slothful,  and  uncertain  habits,  with 
powers  of  body,  though  undeveloped,  little  inferior  to  those  of 
Danvers,  and  with  abilities  of  a  rarer  and  a  far  profounder  quality. 

"  I  think  you  spoke  to  me,"  observed  Danvers,  after  a  pause  of 
some  duration,  and  still  continuing  his  survey  of  the  singular  indi- 


THE  MISER'S  SON.  19 

vidual  before  him — a  survey  borne  with  unquailing  disdain,  such  as 
few  indeed  ever  long  maintained  beneath  the  scrutiny  of  his  penetra- 
ting glance — but  the  master-spirit  of  the  eagle,  even  when  youngest 
and  weakest,  will  not  cower  beneath  the  soaring  ambition  of  the 
falcon. 

Danvers  had  broken  the  deep  silence  of  the  sequestered  nook 
where  this  strange  encounter  of  two  such  shigular  and  opposite  na- 
tures was  held  beneath  the  canopy  of  the  unclouded  heaven. 

It  was  an  epoch  in  the  sublime  history  of  that  psychology  which 
the  bright  spirits  of  the  beatified  may  love  to  contemplate — a  psy- 
chology teeming  with  high  and  mighty  interest — the  active  influences 
of  mind  in  its  wonderful  development,  when  Hell  looks  on  with 
anxiety,  and  all  but  One  are  uncertain  of  the  result ;  when  the  spirit 
of  the  individual,  aroused  from  its  passive  condition,  exerted  itself  to 
the  uttermost  in  the  trial  of  strength — when  the  resources  of  learning, 
of  intellect,  of  memory  and  experience  were  all  vivified  and  awakened 
— the  trembling  scale,  perhaps,  about  to  be  decided — the  Angel  or 
the  Demon  Fate  becoming  the  eternal  ascendancy,  and  inexorable 
misery  or  happiness,  undeterminable  by  all  the  philosophy,  the 
genius,  and  the  patient  investigation  of  science,  to  be  fixed,  unalte- 
rably fixed,  perhaps,  in  the  annals  of  the  Book. 

Such  are  the  inevitable  results  of  contact  with  high  and  original 
Mind,  when  the  wavering  opinion  becomes  formed  and  rooted  ;  but 
who  ever  gives  a  single  thought  to  the  great  Epic  of  the  Soul,  that 
is  everlastingly  in  the  vast  interest  of  action  ? 

"  You  were  saying,"  replied  the  youth,  a  slight  and  almost  im- 
perceptible sneer  communicating  itself  to  his  voice  and  face  as  he 
answered  Danvers,  "  that  you  might  have  l>een  the  leader  of  victo- 
rious armies,  and  *  spread  the  glory  of  your  achievements  over  the 
earth/  I  had  been  reading,  under  this  tree  ;  reading  Plato,  and 
was  musing  on  the  mysteries  of  life,  when  I  heard  the  words, 
'  Corruption,  corruption,  corruption  !  Behold  the  history  of  man  /' 
1  lifted  up  my  eyes  and  perceived  you.  I  saw  the  workings  of  your 
mind  as  plainly  as  if  they  had  been  spread  out  in  a  book  before  me 
— the  progress  from  the  deadened  worm  of  the  heart,  which  we  call 
Retrospection,  to  the  ardent  hope,  the  advance  of  the  torpid  blood, 
as  the  enthusiastic  aspiration  entered  your  heart — I  saw  it  all ;  and 
as  I  traced  •  corruption,  corruption,'  I  could  not  choose  but 
laugh." 


20  THE  MISER'S  SON. 

The  lad  (if  so  he  could  be  called  who  was  evidently  no  despicable 
philosopher)  finished,  and  Danvers,  after  a  brief  silence,  replied, 

"  The  glory  which  the  great  spirit  of  man  may  accomplish,  is 
worthy  of  the  toil  and  labour  which  are  necessary  for  its  achieve- 
ment ;  and  though  I  acknowledge  that  fame  is  not  alone  enough  for 
happiness  or  even  content—  since  the  more  we  possess  the  more  we 
desire — yet  I  am  unacquainted  with  any  worldly  good  which  the 
greatest  and  wisest  of  mankind  have  more  earnestly  wished  for.  In 
fact,  it  is  the  object  of  each  person  in  the  aggregate  of  active 
existence,  and  without  its  stimulus  to  exertion  the  mind  would  sink 
into  lethargy,  and  our  entire  moral  world  become  a  chaos,  a  void,  a 
dream !" 

"  And  what  other  is  it  than  nothingness  ?  Whence  did  it  arise  ? 
You  cannot  answer  me.  So,"  continued  the  boy  sarcastically,  "  having 
determined  the  value  of  the  world  within,  may  1  ask  you  how  much 
has  ever  been  gained  by  this  idol — this  god — this  master  passion, 
consuming  and  overpowering  every  other.  Is  the  dead  man  happier 
for  its  miserable  and  uncertain  tenure  '(  Is  its  possession  a  means 
of  adding  to  the  pleasures,  real  and  substantial,  of  the  living?  Its 
POSSESSION  !  Pshaw  !  you  cannot,  nor  I  cannot,  nor  the  wisest  sage 
of  sages  (letting  the  old  Greek  metaphysician  drop  to  the  earth)  could 
not  command  it  for  a  single  instant  beyond  the  decree  of  fate.  I 
had  almost  fancied  you  a  philosopher,  when  I  heard  you  speak  of 
the  omnipotencies  of  chance  and  circumstance.  1  find  you  but  a  very 
sorry never  mind  what !  Good  morning  to  you  !" 

"  Stay,"  said  Danvers,  surprised  and  fascinated  by  the  extraor- 
dinary discourse  of  the  boy  moralist,  "  I  should  like  to  hear  the  object 
in  your  belief  most  proper  and  desirable  to  attain.  Pleasure  of 
body  cannot  long  endure  ;  indeed,  if  we  seek  it,  we  lose  the  power 
of  its  attainment  in  the  search.  Pleasure  of  mind,  or  happiness, 
is  a  thing  descanted  on  very  gravely  by  our  great  ethical  writers,  as 
an  absolute  entity  attainable  by  every  individual ;  but  can  this  be 
the  case  ?" 

"  Certainly  not,"  replied  the  youth  "  for  the  mind  being  constituted 
in  a  determinate  manner,  and  acting,  and  being  reacted  on  by  external 
objects,  according  to  the  laws  of  that  organization,  we  must  still 
depend  on  external  circumstances  for  that  happiness." 

"  But  is  any  kind  of  happiness  attainable  ?" 

"  You  are  anxious  for  it,  'twould  seem,"  returned  the  lad,  with 
his  strange  smile,  in  which  there  was  a  mixture  of  profound  sarcasm, 


THE  MISER'S  SON.  21 

sadness,  scorn,  and  desolation.    "  You,  who  are  double  my  age,  ask 
my  advice  ?     What  thing  in  existence  is  most  pleasant  to  you  ?" 

"  I  can  hardly  answer  that  question  ;  and,  if  I  am  not  mistaken, 
although  I  am  no  logician,  it  is  an  incongruous  sort  of  proposition, 
if  you  intend  to  apply  it  as  a,  rule  of  action.  What,  to-day,  I  wish  to 
possess,  I  would  not  give  the  value  of  a  farthing  for,  to-morrow,  and 
vice  versa ;  so  that  when  you  ask  me  whrft  I  consider  most  pleasant, 
you  merely  inquire  a  state  of  mind/' 

"  Even  so,  my  friend  ;  the  weed  grows  beside  the  flower,  and  the 
flower  withers  ;  the  flower  blooms,  and  the  weed  is  scattered  to  the 
winds  !  Behold  an  emblem  of  the  mind  and  its  pursuits.  In  the 
freshness  of  infancy  it  is  a  thing  wherein  a  canker  lurks;  weeds 
grow  up  around  it,  and  it  fain  would  lift  itself  from  out  the  rank 
atmosphere  they  generate.  In  maturity  it  aspires  to  gain  the  pos- 
session of  its  childhood's  dreams  ;  but  then  those  very  objects  it 
disdained  are  those  which  it  would  acquire,  from  the  innate  ten- 
dency of  our  incomprehensible  nature  to  acquire  what  it  is  unable  to 
reach.  All  things  pass  away  into  the  nothing  from  whence  they 
arc.  The  bright,  the  beautiful,  the  loathsome,  the  sweet,  tiie  dis- 
gusting, become  commingled,  and  finally  reproduce  new  forms  of 
being.  Eternal  change  marks  the  current  of  our  feelings,  and  we 
know  not  how  chance  or  necessity  may  modify  the  emotions  which 
constitute  the  existence  of  our  sensations.  How,  then,  should  we 
act,  in  order  to  obtain  happiness  ?  Catch  the  present  moment  of 
enjoyment — eat,  drink,  sleep,  love,  hate  (they  are  all  means  of 
pleasure  in  their  turn),  and  finally  descend  into  the  charnel  !  So, 
farewell,"  and  the  boy  of  deep,  dark,  morbid  reflection,  disap- 
peared. 

There  is  a  melancholy  of  the  gloomiest  hue  inseparably  attendant 
on  every  profound  poetic  or  philosophic  discourse,  except  where  a 
glimpse  of  some  more  bright  and  enduring  state  of  existence  is 
pointed  out  as  the  goal  where  the  immortal  spirit  within  us  may 
rest  and  weep  no  more.  For  the  inevitable  result  of  all  experience  in 
the  pleasures  and  gratifications  of  earthly  being — pleasures  and 
gratifications  unavoidably  counteracted  and  destroyed  by  the  reple- 
tion and  the  satiety  superinduced  by  frequent  practice,  or  leading  to 
schemes  of  unwise  ambition,  vice,  and  selfishness — is  the  conviction 
of  the  utter  hollowness  of  all  human  power,  pride,  wealth,  honour, 
and  glory.  We  imagine,  perhaps,  that  we  have  discovered  some 
divine  El  Dorado  for  ourselves ;  we  picture  scenes  of  smiling  love, 


22  THE  MISER'S  SON. 

of  peace,  fame,  applause  ;  we  fancy  ourselves  beloved  and  respected, 
our  wishes  strenuously  supported  by  hosts  of  friends,  of  faithful  ad- 
herents, and  enthusiastic  admirers,  and  perhaps,  after  having  ex- 
hausted a  youth  of  intellect,  power  and  vigour,  and  a  glorious  man- 
hood of  strength,  health  and  consummate  knowledge,  we  gain  that 
point  to  which  all  our  fondest  anticipations  once  tended  ;  and, 
behold,  the  bubble  bursts  !  Envy,  hatred,  artifice,  machinations, 
disappointment,  environ  the  fortunate  fool,  who  has  wasted 
thought,  who  has  squandered  the  heart's  best  wealth — affection, 
love,  peace,  hope — and  for  what  ?  A  GRAVE. 


CHAPTEK  V. 

O  happiness  !  our  being's  end  and  aim  ! 

Good,  pleasure,  ease,  content !  whate'er  thy  name  ; 

That  something  which  still  prompts  th'  eternal  sigh, 

For  which  we  bear  to  live,  or  dare  to  die, 

Which,  still  so  near  us,  yet  beyond  us  lies, 

O'erlooked,  seen  double  by  the  fool  and  wise. — PorE. 

THE   MISER. 

"AND  is  it  even  so?"  muttered  Danvers,  as  he  pursued  his 
lonely  way  ;  "  and  is  it  even  so  ?"  His  ambition  had  been  awa- 
kened a  few  moments  before  his  rencontre  with  the  boy  philosopher, 
and  the  latent  springs  of  action,  which  can  never  remain  long  dor- 
mant in  such  a  nature,  aroused  by  the  conviction  that  he  possessed 
within  himself  powers  capable  of  carrying  him  on  in  the  race  of  life 
to  the  station  that  appears  so  enviable  to  those  who  have  not  expe- 
rienced its  cares,  its  anxieties,  and  defeated  projects,  had  communi- 
cated an  elasticity  to  his  frame  such  as  is  not  ordinarily  felt,  except 
in  sanguine  jouth  ;  but  the  evident  belief  of  the  singular  being  from 
whom  he  had  just  separated,  of  the  folly  and  the  vanity  of  all  ambi- 
tious struggles,  had  imparted  a  portion  of  sadness  to  his  own  more 
buoyant  spirits,  and  recalled  the  painful  associations  which  he  had 
been  on  the  point  of  banishing  from  his  recollection. 

So  the  traveller  increased  his  speed,  and  was  borne  rapidly  along 


THE  MISER'S  SON,  23 

through  a  less  sterile  part  of  the  country  than  that  he  had  left  be- 
hind him,  abounding  in  rich  pastures,  in  orchards,  woods,  and  corn- 
fields, while  farm-houses  and  cottages,  all  neat  and  clean  and  com- 
fortable, plainly  evinced  the  flourishing  condition  of  the  inhabitants 
of  the  neighbourhood. 

It  has  often  been  observed  that  there-exists  a  nameless  something, 
endeared  and  rendered  delightful  to  the  feelings  of  an  English  heart, 
in  the  cheerful  aspect  of  the  scenery  in  which  our  noble  little  island 
so  extensively  abounds,  that  may  in  vain  be  sought  throughout  the 
sunnier  and  more  splendid  climates  scattered  through  the  European 
division  of  the  globe ;  and  probably  that  charm,  though  not  merely 
one  arising  from  pride  of  country  (since  it  is  noticed  by  our  conti- 
nental and  other  visitors),  derives  its  principal  and  most  enduring 
interest  from  the  evidences  which  it  affords  of  our  agricultural  pre- 
eminence, and  the  advantages  arising  from  the  natural  productiveness 
of  the  soil,  superadded  to  the  idea  of  comfort  and  happiness  con- 
veyed by  the  order,  neatness,  and  regularity  of  the  humble  homes  of 
our  peasantry.  Here  there  are  no  prodigious  mountains  which 
impress  the  intellect  with  the  sentiment  of  the  insignificance  of  the 
individual  in  the  mighty  infinity  of  creation,  no  stupendous  chasms 
or  caverns,  for  the  possession  of  which  a  land  scape  almost  invariably 
sacrifices  whatever  of  quiet,  gentleness  and  smiling  beauty  it  might 
otherwise  present  to  the  senses  and  subdue  the  heart  with — by  that 
inconceivable  influence  the  external  exercises  over  the  mind  within — 
but  a  succession  of  objects,  well  calculated  to  please,  if  not  to 
astonish,  to  awe  or  to  appal. 

Danvers,  though  he  could  not  be  said  to  be  an  enthusiast  in  his 
admiration  of  the  works  of  nature,  which  he  surveyed  not  with  the 
eye  of  the  painter  or  the  poet,  was  never  callous  or  insensible  to  any- 
thing that  was  able  to  amuse  the  fancy,  to  awake  the  imagination, 
or  to  satisfy  the  judgment ;  and  the  soothing  and  balmy  tenderness 
of  the  lovely  evening,  with  its  twilight  and  its  silence,  the  distant 
and  scarcely  audible  song  of  the  husbandman  borne  on  the  soft  and 
languid  gale  of  summer,  as  after  the  toils  of  the  day  he  returned  with 
a  jocund  heart  to  his  peaceful  happy  home — the  solemn  grandeur  of 
the  heavens  above,  the  low  rustling  of  the  boughs  as  the  birds,  before 
closing  their  eyes  in  sleep,  hopped  from  branch  to  branch — and  the 
sweet  breeze  made  music  among  the  luxuriant  foliage — all  tended  to 
sadden  and  subdue,  yet  not  to  excite  a  dark  degree  of  melancholy 


24  THE  MISER'S  SON. 

in  his  bosom,  for  as  fine  old  Wordsworth  observes  in  his  beautiful 

'•'  Excursion" — 

"  We  live  by  admiration,  hope,  and  love, 
And  even  as  these  are  well  and  wisely  fixed 
In  dignity  of  being  we  ascend. 

If  the  heart  refuse  to  cherish  each  impulse  which  directs  its  dormant 
energies  to  something  good,  and  pure,  and  noble,  then  indeed  nothing 
in  the  fabric  of  this  goodly  world  can  excite  more  than  a  transient, 
fleeting,  pleasurable  sensation ;  but  images  of  beauty  carefully  gar- 
nered up  and  stored  within  the  soul,  mingle  with  our  aspirations, 
blend  with  our  associations,  and  spiritualise  and  exalt  our  being  by 
their  everlasting  holiness. 

The  evening  was  now  fast  declining  into  night,  and  the  pale  and 
radiant  Hesper  which,  from  the  beginning  of  time,  (since  with  time 
poetry  began  and  has  been  idealised)  came  trembling,  like  the  tear 
on  the  cheek  of  beauty,  into  life,  and  love,  and  radiance. 

Sweet  star!  the  emblem  of  a  divine  spirit,  watching  over  and 
brooding  on  some  glorious  world  of  fancy — then  retiring  into  the 
depths  of  its  own  being,  and  feeding  on  the  light  of  its  own  substance  ! 
But  the  lofty  soul  which  creates  and  verifies  an  universe  of  ideal 
splendour,  unlike  that  mild,  bright  orb,  fades — fades  away  from  the 
earth  which  it  illuminated,  for  ever,  and  perhaps  ascends  into  some 
distant  world  to  subsist  upon  truth,  knowledge,  and  virtue,  those 
heavenly  visitants  of  mortality,  "  few  and  far  between"  indeed,  but 
yet  of  occurrence  sufficiently  frequent  to  convince  the  sceptical  of  the 
existence  of  a  principle  that  could  not  have  sprung  from  dust. 

Descending  into  an  abrupt  semicircle,  the  declivity  by  which  Dan- 
vers  was  now  wending  his  way  became  extremely  rough  and  precipi- 
tous ;  but  before  he  had  gained  the  bottom  of  the  hill,  an  opening  in  it 
discovered  a  gothic  cottage  in  somewhat  ruinous  condition,  and  im- 
mediately dismounting  he  knocked  at  the  door,  which  was  opened 
presently  to  him  ;  and  unceremoniously  entering,  he  found  himself 
in  a  square  apartment — the  flooring  of  which  was  in  a  dilapidated 
condition,  and  the  walls  and  ceiling  in  by  no  means  perfect  repair — 
in  company  with  a  tall,  emaciated  man,  whose  dress  was  threadbare, 
but  in  whose  countenance  there  were  decided  indications  of  a  noble 
and  ancient  lineage.  But,  nevertheless,  there  was  in  the  restless 
grey  eye,  in  the  contracted,  though  lofty  forehead,  in  the  thin  lip, 
and  the  hollow  cheek,  so  strong  and  indelible  an  impression  of  mean- 


THE  MISER'S  SON.  25 

ness,  of  avarice,  and  of  narrow,  selfish,  grasping  littleness  of  mind, 
that  the  eye  turned  away  displeased  from  a  countenance  which  must 
once  have  been  moulded  in  the  greatest  regularity  of  outline,  and 
still  retained  some  portion  of  former  beauty,  though  the  glorious 
spirit,  the  aspiring  intellect,  the  feeling,  the  passion,  and  the  be- 
coming pride,  were  not  to  be  discerned,  for  the  component  parts  of 
his  nature  were  all  absorbed  in  the  ruling  vice  of  his  soul. 

It  was  a  Miser  who  confronted  the  liberal,  free-hearted,  but  san- 
guinary Danvers. 

Of  all  the  dark,  the  grovelling  passions  which  transform  the  sublime 
image  of  the  Divine  Sculptor's  hand  into  clay  and  rottenness,  and 
pestilence — of  all  the  wretched  frenzies  that  ever  possessed  the  brain 
of  fallen,  poor,  and  pitiable  mortality,  that  of  avarice  is  probably  the 
most  despicable,  the  most  to  be  commiserated  and  wondered  at  in 
the  category  of  inexplicable  paradoxes  which  baffle  the  acuteness  of 
the  philosopher,  as  he  endeavours  to  assign  adequate  and  probable 
causes  for  the  effects  he  witnessess  in  the  world  of  morals.  In  itself 
an  anomaly — its  essential  elements  it  is,  of  course,  in  vain  to  at- 
tempt any  analysation  of;  but  in  following  out  the  strange  and 
intricate  paths,  in  which  the  human  heart  appears  to  take  a  wayward 
delight  to  wander,  we  are  frequently  surprised  at  witnessing  things, 
the  sources  and  the  springs  of  which  are  perfectly  inscrutable,  if 
they  exist  at  all ;  and  as  we  speculate  upon  the  gigantic  mysteries  of 
being  in  the  abstract,  we  are  lost  in  astonishment  at  the  frequent 
manifestations  of  recondite  philosophy  implicated  in  the  very  simplest 
effects  it  is  possible  to  imagine.  Whence  is  all  this  complicated 
machinery  ?  Whence  is  all  this  wonderful  organization,  this  universal 
involution  of  the  materials  of  intellect  and  circumstance,  yet  so  evi- 
dently the  result  of  design,  of  thought  and  preconception  ?  How  can 
man  have  become  what  he  is,  when  he  might  be  (if  we  are  to  draw 
any  inference  from  that  standard  of  illimitable  perfection  which  cer- 
tainly subsists  in  idea)  almost  a  god  in  his  strength,  his  majesty, 
his  capabilities  ?  The  metaphysician  will  go  to  the  origin  of  evil ; 
but  with  all  his  vast  ingenuity,  his  sagacious  research,  his  infinite 
patience,  labor,  and  investigation  ten-fold  investigated,  the  more  he 
thinks,  the  more  he  is  convinced  that  his  soul  is  the  repository  of 
that  cryptic  secret  which  is  beyond  the  capacities  of  sense,  though 
present  to  that  principle  which  acts  upon  it,  and  clearly  and  most 
unequivocally  attesting  and  developing  to  the  inferior  understanding 
that  it  is  merely  a  small  segment  of  that  colossal  universe  with  which 

£ 


26  THE  MISER'S  SON. 

it  is  indivisibly  connected  here.  We  breathe,  as  it  were,  our  own 
divine  eternity  in  time.  But  digressions,  although  sometimes  nearly 
unavoidable,  are  never  wise  or  pleasant  in  any  species  of  composition  ; 
and  it  may  often,  perhaps,  excite  a  smile  on  the  lip  of  the  philosopher, 
when  be  finds  the  individual  who  has  been  endeavouring  to  elucidate 
a  dark  enigma,  himself  involved  in  difficulty — amystagogue,  incapa- 
ble, like  Protagoras,  of  teaching  to  his  own  mind  the  subtle,  baf- 
fling, and  eluding  ideas  which  he  fancied,  because  he  experienced, 
might  therefore  be  explained. 

To  return,  then,  from  the  discussion  of  motives  to  the  illustration 
and  unravelling  of  character  and  events,  let  us  proceed  to  recount 
the  interview  between  Danvers  and  the  Miser ;  two  men,  who  in 
former  years  had  been  of  congenial  habits,  at  all  events,  but  were 

now oh,  how  changed  !     The  mind  moves,  the  nature  departs. 

"  Strange  !" 


THE  MISER'S  SON.  27 


CHAPTER  VI.* 


You  cast  the  event  of  war,  ray  noble  lord, 
And  sum  the  account  of  chance. — SIIAKSPEARE. 

Fortune  may  smile  upon  a  future  line, 

And  Heaven  restore  an  ever-cloudless  day. — BYROX. 


DANVERS    AND    THE   MISER — WALSINGHAM  S    LIBERALITY— A 
LITTLE   MYSTERY    AND    SOME    REFLECTIONS,   &ۥ 

"  WELL,  Walter  Danvers,"  said  the  Miser,  after  a  silence  of  some 
minutes,  "  what  brings  you  here  ?"  and  his  voice  trembled  percep- 
tibly as,  with  even  more  than  customary  suspicion  in  his  glance,  he 
perused  with  furtive  quickness  the  striking  face  turned  towards  him. 
"  If  you  want  money,"  he  continued,  writhing  under  the  terror  of 
parting  with  his  beloved  gold,  "  you  know  that  I  am  poor,  that  I 
ruined  myself  by  the  excess  of  my  youth,  when  you " 

"  Pshaw,  man  !"  interrupted  Danvers,  contemptuously,  "  if  I 
wanted  your  gold,  it  were  easy  enough  for  me  to  force  it  from  you. 
No  doubt  you  have  plenty  in  that  iron  box  you  watch  with  such 
nervous  anxiety !  But  you  need  not  (urn  so  pale,  for  I  require  not 
money  now.  I  am  come,  according  to  the  intimation  conveyed  by 
the  letter  which  you  of  course  received  from  me,  to  communicate 
with  you  on  a  subject  of  importance  ;  and  should  you  accede  to  the 
propositions  I  am  about  to  make,  your  wealth  and  influence  will  be 
extensively  magnified." 

It  was  curious  to  watch  the  operation  of  the  Miser's  mind,  as 
they  imprinted  themselves  on  his  wasted  and  prematurely  wrinkled 
countenance,  while  the  bold  and  mysterious  being  before  him,  with 
a  clear  and  rapid  utterance,  spoke  ;  but  curiosity  appeared  the  para- 
mount feeling  within  him,  as  Danvers  concluded. 


28  THE  MISER'S  SON. 

"  I  do  not  understand  you,"  replied  the  Miser,  as  he  still  fruit- 
lessly endeavoured  to  glean  the  purport  of  Danvers'  visit  by  stealthily 
observing  his  gestures  and  general  bearing.  "  But  I  cannot  trust 
you,  Walter;  for  I  know  that  you  have  become  .  .  .  Well,  well,  that 
does  not  matter  to  me.  What  brings  you  here  now  ?" 

"  Well,  then,  listen  ;  and  remember,  that  if  you  should  dare  to 
breathe  a  syllable  of  what  I  am  about  to  communicate,  to  any  person 
hostile  to  the  cause  I  am  attached  to,  I  can  blast  your  name  for  ever  ; 
and  by  heaven  ! " 

"  Nay,  nay,  good  Danvers !  kind,  generous  Walter  !"  exclaimed 
the  Miser,  shaking  in  every  limb,  as  if  afflicted  with  a  fit  of  the  ague. 
"  You  know  that  I — I — you  will  not  betray  me— you  cannot — and 
of  what  advantage  would  it  be  to  you,  who  are  implicated " 

The  utterance  of  the  Miser  here  became  so  thick,  that  it  was  im- 
possible to  distinguish  what  he  attempted  to  articulate  ;  but  it  was 
evident  that  he  suffered  acutely  from  some  unknown  cause,  perfectly 
understood  by  Danvers,  as,  quivering  from  head  to  foot,  he  cower- 
ed in  a  supplicating  attitude  before  him,  casting  terrified  glances 
from  his  person  to  the  iron  box,  the  utility  of  which  he  seemed  so 
well  acquainted  with  ;  as  if  revolving  how  much  it  would  be  neces- 
sary to  part  with  of  that  glittering  dust,  which  is  as  the  heart's 
blood  to  the  avaricious  man,  to  preserve  the  secret — the  disclosure  of 
which,  even  though  merely  hinted  at  as  a  possibility,  almost  petrified 
him  with  horror,  and  fear,  and  agooy. 

Danvers  appeared  to  enjoy  the  dismay  evinced  by  the  Miser,  as  he 
sat  in  imperturbable  composure,  striking  his  boot  with  the  butt-end 
of  a  heavy  riding- whip  which  he  carried. 

"  Be  easy,  Everard  Walsingham,"  at  length  returned  Danvers, 
"  I  am  not  the  man  to  discover  what  indeed  would  not  benefit  me, 
though  it  would  destroy  you,  without  a  very  sufficient  motive  ;  nay, 
if  you  comply  with  the  terms  I  am  about  to  make  you,  I  will  take 
any  oath  you  like  to  impose,  never  to  reveal  your  secret  to  man." 

•'  Oh,  Walter  !  I  am  poor,  I  tell  you,"  replied  the  other.  "  You 
cannot  expect  that  I  should  give  you  a  great  deal  out  of  my  little  ; 
but  if  a  thousand  guineas—ugh!  did  I  say  a  thousand  ?— would — 
purchase  the  oath  you  talk  of,  you  should  have  them  forthwith." 

Danvers  opened  his  eyes.  Great,  indeed,  must  have  been  the 
desperation  of  the  Miser,  which  could  have  induced  him  to  offer 
such  a  sum  for  anything  ou  earth,  save  what  was  certain  to  increase 
liis  store :  and  after  he  had  ejaculated  the  astounding  sentence,  he 


THE  MISER'S  SON.  29 

clenched  his  bony  hands,  and  remained  the  very  image  of  hopeless 
misery,  doubting  not. that  his  munificent  offer  would  be  accepted, 
and  the  gold  depart  from  him  for  ever.  But  he  was  mistaken  in  his 
man. 

"  Zounds,  Walsingham  !  I  never  thought  to  hear  you  tender  a 
thousand  guineas  for  any  one's  acceptance,"  exclaimed  Danvers, 
"  even  to  save  you  from  perdition  ;  but,  Jrepeat,  I  want  not  your 
money,  and  your  secret  at  present  is  safe  with  me." 

The  Miser  breathed  freely  again.  His  face  became  radiant  with 
satisfaction  ;  and  taking  Danvers  cordially  by  the  hand,  he  said  : — 
"  Well,  then,  my  good,  liberal,  and  disinterested  friend,  what  is  it 
that  you  would  have?  I  suppose  that  you  are  planning  some  scheme 
to  enrich  yourself  at  the  public  expense  ;  but  take  care.  Oh  !  take 
care,  Walter — ugh !  You  might,  when  in  prison,  be  induced  to  be- 
tray— ugh !"  and  again  his  cheek  became  blanched  with  apprehen- 
sion. "  Indeed,  you  had  better  accept  my  offer."  His  trepidation 
now  became  still  greater.  "  If  one  thousand  pounds  be  not  suffi- 
cient, I  will  make  it — yes,  I  will  make  them  two  thousand  ! — Oh  ! 
two  thousand  pounds  ! — to  be  wasted  in  riot  and  extravagance  ; — 
horrible!  I  cannot  contemplate  the  picture." 

Danvers,  still  more  astonished  at  the  liberality  of  Everard  Wal- 
singham, replied  : — *'  1  have  a  scheme  ;  but  it  is  not  my  own,  but 
one  concocted  for  the  restoration  of  the  rightful  monarch  of  the  Bri- 
tish crown  to  his  throne ;  and  although  our  plans  are  as  yet  imma- 
ture, our  resources  will  be  great,  our  friends  multitudinous,  and  you 
are  invited  by  the  king  himself — the  true  king,  who  is  resolved  to 
die,  or  regain  the  legitimate  sceptre  of  his  ancestors — to  unite  in  the 
confederacy  now  organising  for  the  purpose  of  expelling  the  Elector 
of  Hanover  from  these  dominions.  In  which  case,  he  promises  to 
grant  you  the  forfeited  estates  of  your  family,  seized  upon  by  the 
rapacious  hand  of  William  of  Orange;  and,  in  addition,  to  elevate 
you  to  the  dignities  of  a  duke,  with  all  the  privileges  and  immunities 
held— Ah!  what  was  that?"  suddenly  ejaculated  Danvers,  hastily 
interrupting  himself,  and  rising  from  his  seat. 

"  Did  you  hear  a  noise?"  inquired  the  Miser. 
/"  Yes.     Have  you  any  domestic?" 

"  No,  no ;  I  can't  afford  to  keep  a  servant.  You  must  certainly 
be  mistaken." 

"  And  yet  I  could  have  sworn  it  was  a  stifled  cough." 

So  saying,  Danvers  opened  the  door  of  the  cottage,  and  looked 


30  THE  MISER'S  SON. 

around  ;  but  though  the  moon  was  shining  brightly,  no  living  object, 
save  his  own  horse,  quietly  nibbling  the  short  herbage,  was  discer- 

«'  Perhaps  it  was  the  horse  that  coughed?"  suggested   the  Miser. 

"  Well,  it  might  have  been  ;  but  the  sound  did  not  seem  to  pro- 
ceed from  that  direction.  However,  as  you  say  there  is  nobody  in 
the  house  except  yourself,  I  suppose  1  was  deceived." 

The  conference  was  resumed  ;  but  Everard  Walsingham,  notwith- 
standing the  glittering  bait  which  Danvers  held  out  to  him,  did  not 
appear  to  relish  the  proposals  made. 

"  If  the  plot  were  discovered,"  he  said,  "  I  should  lose  all !  All 
the  savings  of  nine  long  years  ;  for  which  I  have  pinched  myself,  and 
denied  my  miserable  body  almost  the  necessaries  of  life.  Nor  should 
I,  perhaps,  obtain  the  estates  you  referred  to,  after  all ;  for  we  all 
know  that  princes  in  power  are  not  what  they  are  out  of  it.  I  would 
rather  not  engage  in  the  plot  personally." 

"What!"  returned  Danvers,  impetuously  ;  "do  you  think  that 
the  Stuart  would  forfeit  his  kingly  word,  for  which  he  has  here  trans- 
mitted a  document,  signed  and  sealed  by  himself,  and  which  I  am 
commissioned  to  deliver  to  you?  Shame  on  such  a  vile  and  unwor- 
thy suspicion  !  Wherefore  should  you  doubt  a  pledge  so  sacred  ?" 

"  It  would  not  be  the  first  pledge  which  a  Stuart  has  broken," 
replied  Walsingham  ;  "  for  when  my  brave  ancestor,  John,  demanded 
from  Charles  the  Second  the  restoration  of  those  estates,  which  had 
been  confiscated  by  Oliver  Cromwell,  during  the  Protectorate,  for 
his  adhesion  to  the  ro^al  cause,  he  was  answered  with  insult;  and, 
old,  feeble,  and  impoverished,  was  obliged  to  quit  the  Court." 

"  But  James  the  Third  is  not  Charles  the  Second,"  responded 
Danvers,  biting  his  lip;  for  the  well-known  ingratitude  and  selfish- 
ness of  the  Stuarts  had  already  often  baffled  this  warm  adherent  of 
their  cause,  in  many  exertions  he  had  made  in  it. 

It  is  a  remarkable  feature  in  the  peculiar  physiology  of  the  Miser's 
ruling  passion,  that,  although  earnestly  set  on  acquiring  wealth,  he 
is  cautiously  alive  to  the  slightest  risk  in  doing  so :  and  probably 
this  characteristic  in  their  commerce  with  mankind,  has  materially 
aided  the  Jews— those  most  avaricious  of  the  human  race — in  fre- 
quently amassing  such  prodigious  riches,  and  also  in  keeping  them. 
But  Danvers  had  fancied  that  the  covetousuess  of  Walsingham  would 
immediately  induce  him  to  join  the  league,  of  which  he  was  an 
agent.  It  was  not  a  little,  however,  that  could  overcome  the  perse- 


THE  MISER'S  SON.  31 

verance,  or  baffle  the  ingenuity  of  the  shrewd,  powerful-minded  man, 
than  whom,  the  cause  he  upheld  could  scarcely  have  chosen  a  more 
sagacious,  cool,  active,  and  bold  instrument  for  the  furtherance  of 
those  schemes  which  were,  in  the  course  of  a  few  years,  to  plunge 
England  into  civil  war,  and  create  a  clashing  of  those  elements,  held 
together  by  union,  without  which  it  is  a  moral  impossibility  for  any 
system  of  polity  for  any  length  of  time  to  subsist.  The  consequence, 
in  the  abstract,  of  a  disunion  in,  and  disorganization  of,  the  estab- 
lished opinion  which  rules  the  majority  of  the  mass,  although  it  may 
only  be  apparent  for  a  brief  period,  is  productive  of  effects  seldom 
calculated  by  the  ordinary  politician,  who  habituates  himself  to  con- 
sider that  the  expediency  of  the  hour  is  all  that  should  be  consulted 
in  legislating  for  an  empire.  The  philosophic  mind,  however,  per- 
ceives results  more  remote,  and  is  accustomed  to  contemplate  the 
action  of  causes  apparently  the  most  nugatory  in  the  succeeding 
effects. 

The  infamous  abuse  of  the  Stuarts  of  the  powers  entrusted  to 
them  by  the  nation,  induced  that  dormant  spirit  of  liberty  to  germi- 
nate, the  vast  effects  of  which  are  now  visible  in  "  the  wreck  of  old 
opinions,"  in  the  abhorrence  of  oppression,  and  contempt  of  systems 
and  dogmas,  based  solely  on  the  authority  of  the  past.  In  vain 
does  tyranny  endeavour  to  shackle  the  gigantic  energies  of  the  hu- 
man mind  when  once  aroused  ;  in  vain  attempt  to  stem  the  tide  of 
popular  sentiment,  as  it  rushes  ocean-like  through  the  whole  body  of 
'aws  and  institutions,  carrying  away  with  it  bloody  enactments  and 
iniquitous  statutes,  but  perhaps  annihilating  much  that  might,  with 
gentle  modifications,  have  been  productive  of  beneficial  results,  in  its 
eager  desire  to  witness  the  purification  of  the  universe  from  the  taint 
of  the  cruelty  and  the  ignorance  of  our  predecessors  ;  while  the  indi- 
vidual mind,  unchanged,  mocks  at  the  futility  of  intellectual  enlighten- 
ment for  the  entire  regeneration  of  the  faculties  which  constitute 
our  moral  l^eing.  The  optimist  imagines,  as  he  perceives  that 
progression  in  science  appears  to  be  a  law  of  development,  that  the 
mental  organization  of  the  rational  and  intelligent  creature  must  in- 
evitably act  upon  the  heart,  and  consequently  that  virtue  must  ulti- 
mately reign  throughout  the  world  ;  but,  alas !  nature  is  too  strong 
for  all  the  wisdom,  the  knowledge,  the  power,  and  the  experience  of 
man  !  Change  pervades  all  things  in  time  ;  and,  indeed,  without  it, 
time  would  not  subsist  ;  so  that  even,  if  we  attained  to  perfection  it- 
self, a  change  would  necessarily  cause  imperfection.  With  the  Great 


32  THE  MISER'S  SON. 

Disposer  of  events  alone  exists  the  means  of  turning  the  hearts  of  the 
disobedient  to  the  wisdom  of  the  just.  How  impotent,  in  his  power, 
is  man ! 


CHAPTER  VII. 

What  have  we  here?— a  man,  or  a  fish? 
Legged  like  a  man,  and  his  fins  like  arms. 

What's  the  matter?     Have  we  devils  here? 
Do  you  put  tricks  upon  us  with  savages,  and  men  of  Inde  ? 

SHAKSPEARE'S  Tempett. 

THE   CHILD    AND   THE   MONSTER. 

AGAIN,  gentle  Reader,  the  Author  has  to  solicit  your  indulgence 
for  his  offence  in  launching  forth  into  an  argument  on  the  possibility 
of  perfection  being  rendered  permanent  in  anything  in  time,  though 
in  a  preceding  chapter  he  expressed  his  opinion  of  the  inexpediency 
of  introducing  digressions,  when  not  necessitated  to  do  so ;  but  re- 
member, in  mitigation  of  the  offence,  that  we  are,  all  of  us,  for  ever 
promising  amendment,  and  for  ever  renewing  our  transgressions. 
But  how  many  kindly  and  generous  feelings  of  the  soul  are  elicited 
by  the  reciprocal  forgiveness  of  trifling  injuries,  the  recurrence  of 
which  (if  they  do  not  swell  into  great  outrages)  are  productive  of  such 
ameliorating  influences  with  those,  imperfect  indeed,  but  yet  possess- 
ing the  right  stuff  of  humanity  within  their  secret  bosoms,  that  it 
might  well  reconcile  us  to  being  created  less  than  the  angels,  when 
the  sweet  smile,  and  the  tearful  eye,  and  the  trembling  lip,  ail  fondly 
assure  us  of  the  entire  forgiveness  of  a  hasty  word  or  omission,  arid 
render  all  the  privileges  of  dear,  social  intercourse  and  mutual  love* 
and  aspiration  endeared  to  us,  beyond  expression  of  such  a  pen  as 
inscribes  these  humble  pages. 

Considered  rightly,  then,  there  is  no  evil  which  has  not  its  due 
counterpoise  of  good,  whatever  Byron,  Shelley,  and  other  mistaken 
sceptics  have  asserted  to  the  contrary. 

But  lest,  in  entreating  pardon  for  the  offence  which  has  been 
deprecated,  a  second  and  more  mortal  reiteration  of  the  crime  be 
unintentionally  committed,  let  us,  without  attending  to  the  turn  of 


THE  MISER'S  SON.  33 

a  fluent  sentence,  recommence  the  narrative  from  which  we  have 
diverged. 

Notwithstanding  the  reluctance  of  the  Miser  to  involve  himself  in 
any  scheme  which  might  endanger  his  safety,  Danvers  possessed  a 
power  over  him — a  power  which  he  had  been  accustomed  to  exercise, 
and  the  weak  Walsingham  acknowledge  and  ohey  in  years  past, — 
against  which  he  vainly  attempted  to  struggle ;  so  that  after  a  pro- 
tracted visit,  the  political  agent  quitted  his  ancient  friend  fully  assured 
that  he  had  gained  over  a  valuable  adherent  to  the  cause  he  served. 
Taking  leave  of  Walsingham,  he  mounted  Dickon,  and  proceeded  to 
retrace  a  portion  of  the  way  he  had  previously  traversed  ;  but  did 
not  observe,  as  he  quitted  the  place,  that  a  female  form  emerged 
from  behind  a  projection  in  the  wall  of  the  cottage,  and  gazed  after 
him  with  a  malicious  grin,  in  which  there  was  much  mischief  lurk- 
ing; for,  engrossed  in  his  own  reflections,  plans,  and  intricate  plot- 
tings,  he  suffered  his  horse  to  walk  leisurely  along  in  the  direction 
of  a  village,  at  the  distance  of  about  a  mile. 

"  What  a  strange  being  is  that  Walsingham  !"  thought  he ;  "  but 
I  have  him  fast ;  although  I  would  not  trust  him  otherwise ;  for  he 
would  sell  his  soul  for  gold  :  and  at  present  the  Elector  of  Hanover 
can  bribe  more  highly  than  James  the  Third.  But  the  time  is  coming 
quickly  when  England  will  be  aroused  to  a  sense  of  the  injustice  she 
has  committed  in  suffering  these  foreign  rascals  to  occupy  the  an- 
cient throne  of  her  legitimate  monarchs ;  and  then — and  then  I 
shall  not  be  what  I  am  now  !  an  outlaw,  a  robber — aye,  so  should  I 
be  called  by  those  conventional  people  who  judge  of  men  entirely  by 
externals.  But  I  shall  have  high  military  rank ;  I  am  promised  a 
Colonel's  commission  for  these  services,  and  then  surely  I  shall  be 
able  to  wipe  away  the  stain  that  clings  to  my  name.  From  a  Colonel 
to  a  General  there  is  but  one  step,  and  why  should  not  I  be  a  second 
Marlborough,  in  the  service  of  my  true  sovereign  ?  Yes,  yes,  I  feel 
that  1  shall  rise ;  that  I  was  never  destined  to  play  a  subordinate 
part  in  the  great  game  of  life  ;  ultimately,  I  may  be  ennobled,  and 
my  children,  my  dear  children " 

As  the  ambitious  man  recurred  to  the  images  of  those  beings  who 
in  infancy  had  fondled  and  clung  to  him,  and  had  entwined  them- 
selves around  the  branches  and  fibres  of  bis  heart,  an  unwonted 
tenderness  entered  his  soul,  and  his  eyes  moistened. 

"  My  Ellen,  my  own  Ellen  !  and  my  dear  boy — bright  children  of 
a  most  unworthy  mother  !  how  proudly  they  will  adorn  the  station 

F 


34  THE  MISER'S  SON. 

at  which  I  now  aim !  It  is  for  them  I  plot,  and  scheme,  and  waste 
the  night  in  thought ;  without  them,  I  were  but  a  blighted  tree,  and 
existence  would  be  objectless  !" 

Intent  on  these  desultory  dreams  and  musings,  Danvers  had  come 
suddenly  upon  a  scene  so  singular  that  our  history  must  make  a 
backward  movement,  in  order  that  it  may  be  distinctly  pourtrayed 
to  those  who  peruse  it. 

A  young  boy,  of  about  nine  years  old,  was  occupied  in  eating  a 
large  slice  of  plum  cake,  as  he  walked  across  a  broad  green  park, 
and  had  just  struck  into  the  midst  of  an  avenue  of  magnificent  trees, 
when  a  strange  object,  which  might  well  have  startled  into  horror 
any  ordinary  child  of  his  age,  so  grotesque  and  hideous  was  its 
almost  indescribable  appearance — on  a  sudden  came  upon  him. 
This  was  a  creature  with  long  and  matty  locks  of  a  rusty  hue,  with 
a  dull,  stony  eye,  a  forehead  apishly  low,  a  vast  mouth,  stretching 
from  ear  to  ear,  a  flat  nose,  a  gigantic  head,  arms  of  most  dispropor- 
tionate magnitude  to  the  body,  which  was  hardly  that  of  a  lad  of 
thirteen  in  stature,  but  nevertheless  was  marvellously  muscular  and 
sinewy,  and  a  strange  mixture  of  the  man,  the  boy,  and  the  brute  in 
his  whole  appearance. 

No  sooner  did  this  frightful  being  behold  the  tempting  cake  that 
the  young  boy  was  munching,  than  he  rushed  forwards  and  attempted 
to  snatch  it  from  his  hand.  But  the  brave  little  fellow,  nothing 
daunted,  withheld  the  object  which  had  excited  the  desires  of  the 
unnameable  creature,  and  doubling  his  fist,  with  flashing  eyes  and 
dilated  figure,  dared  him  to  despoil  his  grasp  of  the  plum  cake.  The 
nondescript,  upon  this,  uttered  a  most  hideous  cry,  resembling,  in 
some  degree,  that  of  a  monkey  when  infuriated,  and  darting  on  the 
little  boy  would  speedily  have  inflicted  a  severe  punishment  on  him, 
had  he  not  eluded  the  long  horny  nails,  resemblhig  the  talons  of  a 
wild  beast,  which  were  aimed  at  his  face,  and  dealt  his  enemy  a 
hard  blow  on  his  bare  and  hairy  chest. 

Howling  horribly,  the  creature  again  attacked  the  child,  who 
took  to  his  heels,  closely  pursued  by  his  foe,  and  they  were  now 
within  a  few  paces  of  the  spot  where  Danvers  had  arrived. 

"  Oh,  help,  help !"  cried  the  poor  little  fellow,  as  the  detestable 
creature  at  length  overtook  him,  and  threw  him  violently  to  the 
earth,  "  he  is  choking  me !" 

"  The  devil !"  exclaimed  Danvers,  leaping  from  his  horse's  back, 
and  hastening  to  the  child's  assistance. 


- 


THE  MISER'S  SON.  35 

Had  he  been  a  few  seconds  later,  the  fiendish  being,  whom  we 
know  not  how  to  designate,  save  as  the  boy-brute,  would  absolutely 
have  strangled  the  child  ;  but  bestowing  a  buffet  on  his  huge  ears, 
which  for  an  instant  stunned  the  nondescript,  he  released  the 
struggling  and  panting  object  of  pursuit,  who  clung  to  him  now 
fairly  terrified  and  trembling. 

But  it  appeared  that  the  contest  might, not  be  so  easily  termi- 
nated ;  for  as  the  boy-brute,  his  ears  gushing  with  blood,  recovered 
himself  and  uttered  a  mighty  yell,  an  ape  suddenly  rushed  forwards, 
and  clasping  him  in  its  embrace  surveyed  Danvers  and  his  protegee 
with  vindictive  hate. 

"Never  fear,  my  pretty  boy,  they  shall  not  hurt  you,"  he  said, 
encouragingly,  and  had  hardly  spoken,  when  the  boy-brute  hastily 
broke  a  branch  from  oft'  a  tree  beneath  which  he  stood,  and  dividing 
it  between  himself  and  the  ape,  assumed  an  offensive  attitude,  whirl- 
ing his  weapon  rapidly  round,  and  making  gesticulations  of  menace, 
which  excited  nothing  but  a  smile  from  Danvers.  who,  notwithstand- 
ing, could  almost  have  fancied  himself  in  one  of  his  childhood's 
dreams  of  fairy  land,  so  incomprehensible  and  wild  was  the  whole 
affair. 

The  boy-brute  again  advanced  to  battle,  and  had  even  the  auda- 
city to  direct  his  attack  on  the  formidable  protector  of  his  former 
adversary  ;  but  he,  stepping  briskly  forwards,  seized  him  by  the 
throat.  Demoniacal  was  the  rage  of  the  boy-brute,  as  he  writhed 
in  the  vice-like  grasp  of  his  powerful  antagonist ;  and,  gigantic  as 
was  the  strength  of  Danvers,  it  required  no  common  exertion  of  it 
to  restrain  his  furious  endeavours  to  inflict  some  injury  upon  him. 
The  ape  now  came  to  the  assistance  of  its  bestial  friend,  and  though 
its  teeth  chattered  with  fear,  having  gathered  up  some  large  stones 
from  the  road,  might  have  seriously  hurt  Danvers,  when  the  young 
boy,  similarly  armed  with  flints,  discharged  a  volley  of  those  mis- 
siles at  the  animal,  which  caused  it  to  retire.  Still  the  engagement 
was  not  over.  The  ape  having  climbed  the  tree  from  which  the  boy- 
brute  had  broken  the  bough,  commenced  hurling  the  stones  with 
unerring  aim  at  Danvers,  whose  only  resource  was  to  cover  himself 
behind  the  body  of  his  foe,  whom  the  ape  at  length  wounded  in  the 
head  with  a  stone  intended  for  the  other. 

Perceiving  this  mis-adventure,  which  was  succeeded  by  a  sharp 
cry  of  pain  from  him  who  had  suffered  by  it,  the  ape  descended, 
and,  emboldened  by  its  strange  affection,  actually  struck  ut  Danvt-rs 


36  THE  MISER'S  SON. 

with  the  stick  previously  given  to  it.  Angered  and  provoked,  Dan- 
vers  on  a  sudden  drew  his  sword  and  aimed  a  blow  at  the  ape, 
which,  had  it  fallen  on  the  skull,  must  inevitably  have  severed  it, 
but,  instead  of  doing  so,  cut  off  the  nose,  as  it  fell  in  a  slanting  direc- 
tion, and  together  with  it  a  portion  of  the  face.  With  agonized 
screams,  the  miserable  beast  fled,  and  Danvers  permitting  the  non- 
descript to  escape  from  him,  they  were  soon  both  out  of  sight. 

Now,  my  sweet,  pretty  little  maiden,  whom  I  value  beyond  all  my 
readers  for  the  tenderness  and  romance  in  that  little  heart  of  thine, 
and  for  whom  I  intend  something  better  than  has  hitherto  appeared 
in  this  true  chronicle,  don't  shake  your  .glossy  ringlets  with  that 
incredulous  look  of  dissatisfaction  at  what  may  appear  to  your  saga- 
cious judgment  a  recurrence  to  the  style  of  the  old  impossible  stories 
which  you  have  discarded  with  your  dolls  and  the  nursery  with  very 
proper  disdain,  for  the  character  of  the  boy-savage  will  not  probably 
fill  a  very  prominent  part  in  the  tale  before  you  ;  and,  moreover, 
though  he  is  a  kind  of  Casper  Hawser,  or  Caliban,  or  one  of  those 
monsters  which  fact  and  which  fiction  have  occasionally  presented 
to  man,  you  may,  after  all,  find  him  a  remarkably  amusing  kind  of 
brute,  and  as  original  as  a  fancy  portraiture  of  the  ideal  in  the 
author's  mind  can  make  him. 

But  it  is  time  to  hasten  onwards  before  the  curiosity  and  sympathy 
of  my  lovely  friend  have  subsided  in  the  affairs  of  Captain  Charles 
Walsingham. 


THE  MISER'S  SON.  37 


CHAPTER  VIIL 


I  do  believe  as  whirlpools  to  the  sea 
Love  is  to  life.— The  Sea-Captain. 

Dost  thou  not  breathe  a  spirit  like  the  morn, 

That  warms  like  blood,  and  bids  thee  on  to  something  ? 

***** 
I  know  no  more  of  this  than  that  'tis  evil. — G.  STEPHENS. 


ELLEN  DANVERS  AND  WALSINGHAM — THE  SECRET  CONFERENCE. 

WHO  would  not  be  an  invalid,  if,  on  condition  of  a  little  corpo- 
real suffering,  he  might  have  so  sweet  a  nurse  as  that  unlucky, 
lucky  dog,  the  Captain — watching  his  slumbers,  smoothing  his 
pillow,  administering  his  medicines,  speaking  the  kindest,  softest 
words,  in  accents  of  such  honied  music!  OJove!  and  O  Cythe- 
rea  !  I  must  not  permit  my  imagination  to  conjure  up  the  delights  of 
such  a  sick  room,  or  in  a  n't  of  temporary  madness  I  may  go  and 
throw  myself  out  of  window,  on  the  speculation  that  some  fail- 
daughter  of  Eve,  witnessing  the  catastrophe,  may  take  compassion 
on  me,  also,  and  then,  and  then — Tush,  whither  am  I  rambling? 

Charles  Walsingham  was  a  romantic  young  man,  as  has  been 
already  observed,  and  a  fellow  of  all  others  calculated  to  excite 
a  tender  emotion  in  the  heart  of  a  not  less  sensitive  young  maiden  of 
sixteen.  Handsome  in  person,  chivalrous  by  nature,  gentlemanly, 
ardent,  and  now  suffering  from  a  broken  head,  he  was  altogether 
irresistible;  and  destiny  ordained  that  Ellen  Danvers — gentle,  com- 
passionate, warm-hearted  girl— should  witness  how  nobly  he  could 
endure  great  suffering,  restrain  the  natural  irritability  and  impa- 
tience of  illness,  and  most  unmistakeably  admire  her  budding 
charms. 

There  is  something  in  the  atmosphere  of  a  sick  room  (could  I  not 


38  THE  MISER'S  SON. 

find  some  oriental  metaphor  now,  such  as  so  abundantly  adorns  the 
glittering  sentiment  of  Lalla  Rookh  ?)  which  apparently  predisposes 
to  the  melting  sensations  of  Love ;  not  that  pity  alone  is  entirely 
sufficient  for  kindling  such  a  passion,  which  indeed  would  soon 
expire  amidst  such  roses  as  Mr.  Moore  was  in  the  habit  of  con- 
tinually pelting  us  withal ;  for  it  requires  a  sustenance  more  solid 
than  the  perfumed  breath  of  flowers,  and  gums,  and  spices ;  there 
must  be  something  ever  to  counteract  the  effects  of  excessive  sweet- 
ness  innumerable  collaterals  must  combine  to  excite  those  im- 
passioned feelings,  which  thrilling  each  fibre  of  the  sentient  being, 
pervade  also  the  spiritual  framework  of  intellect,  and  evoke  from 
its  "  vasty  deep"  the  undeveloped  sympathies  and  dormant  senti- 
ments, the  associations  and  the  poetry  which  constitute  the  great 
elements  of  the  existence  of  that  divinity, 

" Without  whom 

The  earth  would  seem — like  what  it  is — a  tomb." 

How  rich,  how  exquisite,  would  be  that  page  which  could  accu- 
rately pourtray  the  progress  of  a  pure  and  innocent  love,  carrying 
away  by  its  aerial  impetuosity  all  the  ideas  which  had  preceded  the 
epoch  of  its  first  nascent  fascinations,  creating  a  new  universe,  full  of 
hope,  and  aspirations,  and  joyous  dreams,  and  while  elevating  and 
ethereaHsing  our  belief  of  its  holiness  and  immortality,  most  irresis- 
tibly convincing  us,  despite  the  sneers  of  the  sensualist,  and  the 
invectives  of  the  ascetic,  that  its  origin— if  in  its  object  and  as  an 
effect  it  is  human---in  its  cause  cannot  be  otherwise  than  divine! 

Yes,  there  she  sate,  her  large,  azure  eyes  at  one  time  tracing  the 
bold  and  noble  outline  of  the  soldier's  features,  and  at  another  fixed 
thoughtfully  on  the  ground,  and  then  raised  to  the  heaven  that 
appeared  through  the  little  casement  in  all  the  cloudless  beauty  of 
serenest  summer,  while  her  heart  was  palpitating  with  the  gushing 
sentiments  which  were  slowly  beginning  to  centre  themselves  in  the 
not  unworthy  object  who  lay  asleep  before  her.  Elizabeth  had  again 
quitted  her  patient,  and  Ellen  was  filling  her  spirit  with  those 
bright  and  ecstatic,  but  delusive  dreams,  which  are  for  ever  melting 
in  air,  and  again  returning  upon  the  imagination  with  a  redoubled 
splendour. 

A  few  brief  months,  and  where  shall  the  radiant  vision  have  de- 
parted? The  remembrance  may  exist ;  but  the  principle  which 


THE  MISER'S  SON.  39 

nourished  and   mingled    with    it — the   hope,  the  passion,  and  the 
fancy,  shall  they  return  again  ? 

"  A  shadow  shall  come,  and  the  light  of  that  sky, 
Like  the  song  of  the  swan,  in  its  own  glory  die." 

Ellen  sunk  into  a  deep  reverie.  Her  transparent  temples  pressed 
by  her  lily  hand,  and  her  arm  resting  on  the  table  placed  by  the 
bedside  of  Walsingham,  her  regular  and  soft  breathing,  and  the  faint 
respiration  of  the  sleeper,  were  the  only  sounds  of  life  distinguish- 
able there.  Suddenly  the  eyes  of  the  soldier  unclosed,  for  he  had 
been  merely  dozing,  and  the  mellow  radiance  of  the  harvest  moon 
poured  down  on  the  fair  young  face  that  was  presented  to  his  view. 

"  How  like  an  angel  she  does  look  !"  thought  he,  endeavouring 
to  discover  what  might  be  passing  within  her  bosom  by  earnestly 
studying  the  expression  of  her  ingenuous  face ;  and,  fearful  lest  he 
should  disturb  her  from  a  position  which  afforded  him  a  perfect 
prospect  of  all  her  virgin  and  delicate  loveliness,  he  remained  hushed 
and  mute ;  "  I  wonder  if  there  can  be  anything  more  beautiful  in 
heaven  ?" 

Take  care,  take  care,  Charles  Walsingham  !  When  young  fellows 
of  your  age  launch  forth  into  rhapsodies  about  angels,  and  compare 
their  possible  graces  with  those  of  an  earthly  creature,  there  is  dan- 
ger, very  great  danger,  indeed,  to  their  quiet  and  peace. 

At  length,  Ellen  looked  up,  and  encountered  the  tender  and 
rather  passionate  gaze  of  Charles. 

"  Oh,  how  kind  you  are,"  he  exclaimed,  "  to  take  all  this  trouble 
about  me.  I  know  not  whom  I  am  addressing;  but  permit  me  to 
assure  you  that  the  gratitude  I  feel  for  your  goodness  towards  one 
so  totally  unworthy  of  it " 

"  Hush,  hush,  I  beseech  you,"  interrupted  the  maiden,  the  warm 
blood  mantling  to  her  temples,  "  any  over-exertion  on  your  part 
might  be  fatal.  Are  you  well  enough  to  take  anything  to  eat?" 
And  Ellen  timidly  tendered  some  delicious  fruit. 

*'  Thank  you,  thank  you,  F  feel  almost  quite  well  now,  I  assure 
you  ;"  but,  as  Walsingham  spoke,  he  experienced  a  throb  of  pain, 
the  most  acute  he  had  yet  suffered,  which  caused  him  to  turn  to  an 
ashy  paleness  ;  but,  with  a  great  effort,  he  mastered  the  anguish  he 
endured,  and  smiled  upon  his  beautiful  attendant. 

The  maiden  after  a  silence  of  several   minutes  spoke,  and  said, 


40  THE  MISER'S  SON. 

"  Your  nurse  has  been  called  away  unexpectedly,  and,  as  you  are 
not  fit  to  be  left  alone,  I— 1— " 

Why  was  it  that  Miss  Danvers  could  not  conclude  that  sentence  ? 
There  was  nothing  in  it ;  but  there  arose  such  a  fluttering  at  her 
breast  that,  for  the  life  of  her,  she  could  not  articulate  one  single 
syllable  further. 

Walsingham  was  rejoiced  somehow  that  she  was  confused.  He 
would  not  have  had  her  calmly  kind,  on  any  account,  and  so  he  did 
not  attempt  to  assist  her  out  of  her  dilemma.  But  why  attempt  to 
describe  all  the  sweet  falterings,  and  the  broken  accents,  and  un- 
finished sentences,  and  the  nameless  nothings,  which  invariably 
characterise  the  growth  of  a  First  Love  (for,  though  the  soldier  had 
accomplished  six-and-twenty  mortal  years,  he  had  never  once  expe- 
rienced a  throb  of  passion,  save  in  his  wild  enthusiasm  of  fancy,  and 
Ellen  had  not  even  dared  to  dream  hitherto) — a  love  which  was 
ordained  to  undergo  many  vicissitudes,  but  one  which  was  as  warm 
and  disinterested,  and  free  from  "  baser  stuff,"  as  our  great  poets 
have  ever  succeeded  in  delineating  it.  Suffice  it,  then,  that  about 
one  hour  of  uninterrupted  intercourse,  in  which  hardly  ten  ideas 
were  interchanged,  determined  Ellen  and  Walsingham  that  they 
were  respectively  the  most  charming  young  lady  and  gallant  cavalier 
in  the  whole  world ;  and,  if  ever  they  did  marry,  each  was  the 
model  of  the  other's  beau  ideal  of  a  wife  and  husband. 

What  a  pleasant  thing  it  must  be  to  credit  that  there  is  one  being 
in  this  wide  universe  of  wickedness,  folly,  and  moral  deformity  in 
every  various  phase,  free  from  a  single  taint  of  its  corruption  ! 

When  Miss  Danvers  quitted  the  brave,  the  enthusiastic  Walsing- 
ham, no  wonder  if  the  excitement  produced  by  her  presence  on  his 
nerves  were  productive  of  some  slight  augmentation  of  fever  ;  never- 
theless, his  strength  appeared  to  recruit  itself,  and  though  occa- 
sionally visited  by  sharp  twinges,  he  forgot  almost  entirely  the  object 
of  his  interrupted  journey  into  that  part  of  the  country,  and  indeed 
every  thing  under  the  sun,  except  the  adorable,  the  angelic  Ellen. 
Again  the  soldier  dozed,  and  presently  his  chamber-door  was  softly 
opened  by  the  stately  Elizabeth,  who,  conceiving  him  to  be  in  a 
sound  sleep,  cautiously  retreated. 

Soon  afterwards  there  issued  from  the  adjoining  chamber  a  sound 
of  voices  in  earnest  conversation,  and  Walsingham  awoke,  with  the 
sense  of  hearing  rendered  painfully  acute  by  the  irritable  state  of  his 
nervous  system. 


THE  MISER'S  SON.  41 

Through  a  small  chink  in  the  wall,  which  was  of  no  great  thick- 
ness, he  perceived  a  light,  and  could  catch  a  glimpse  of  the  figure 
of  a  man,  although  he  was  not  able  to  discern  his  features. 

"  The  cause  advances  bravely,"  said  the  voice  of  Elizabeth,  in 
answer  to  something  that  had  been  previously  uttered  by  the  indi- 
vidual Walsingham  had  perceived,  "  but  nevertheless,  more,  much 
more,  remains  to  be  accomplished.  We  want  money  beyond  every 
thing;  yet  we  must  not  by  any  means  neglect  to  secure  as  many 
adherents  as  possible." 

The  soldier,  if  his  curiosity  were  somewhat  aroused  by  the  mystery 
which  lurked  in  this  conversation,  aware  that  it  was  not  intended  for 
his  ear,  was  about  to  endeavour  to  turn  his  attention  to  some  mental 
exercise  (no  very  hard  one  probably,  but  redolent  of  love  and  his 
inamorata's  loveliness),  when  he  heard  his  own  name  spoken. 

"  Touching  this  same  Captain  Walsingham,"  exclaimed  the  voice 
of  the  man,  "  I  should  fear  it  is  almost  an  Utopian  scheme  to 
attempt  to  divert  him  from  his  loyalty  ;  nevertheless,  I  know  that 
Danvers  has  an  oily  tongue,  and  a  subtle  wit ;  and,  if  we  could 
gain  him  over  to  our  cause,  he  would  be  a  most " 

*'  Hush,  do  not  speak  in  so  loud  a  tone,"  interrupted  Elizabeth. 
"  I  left  him  buried  in  sleep ;  but  a  slight  noise  frequently  disturbs 
an  invalid." 

An  answer  was  returned,  but  in  so  low  an  accent,  that  even  the 
soldier,  all  attention,  and  with  a  preternaturally  excited  sensibility  of 
hearing,  could  only  catch  a  few  detached  sentences. 

"  When  will  Captain  Danvers  return  ?"  inquired  the  strange  man, 
after  a  debate  of  some  duration,  apparently  upon  the  expediency  of 
a  measure,  the  nature  of  which  Walsingham  could  not  clearly  com- 
prehend— although  he  could  not  divest  himself  of  the  notion  that^ 
throughout,  himself  formed  a  topic  of  discourse. 

"  A  few  hours  hence,  at  all  events,  but  he  is  extremely  uncertain 
in  all  his  movements,"  responded  Elizabeth. 

•'  I  must  see  him  to-morrow,  before  I  leave  England  ;  but  must 
now  be  in  motion  again  without  delay,  as  the  friends  of  the  good 
cause  expect  me  at  the  distance  of  nearly  ten  miles,  in  the  course  of 
an  hour  and  a  half;  and  I  would  impress  upon  you  the  necessity  of 
exerting  whatever  influence  you  may  possess  to  make  this  young 
man  our  own.  Be  not  sparing  in  your  offers,  and  be  assured  that 
he  will  ratify  them  ;  but  be  cautious  lest  you  unwarily  betray — " 

"  /  betray,  Sir  Agent !     /,  who  hand  and   heart  am  bound  up 


42  THE  MISER'S  SON. 

in—"  (here  a  few  words  remained,  not  overheard).  "  I,  who  every 
hour  that—"  (again  some  sentences  were  lost  on  the  listener),  "  fear 
not  my  discretion." 

"  And    if,   and    if— the    young   maiden   could    do   anything  to 

serve-- " 

"Speak  no  more  of  that !"  exclaimed  Elizabeth,  hastily,  "  her 
safety  must  not  in  any  case  be  imperilled  ;  and  were  we  to  lay  a 
snare  in  which  she  might  hold  the  net,  she  might  suffer — "  another 
hiatus  here  ensued  in  the  conversation,  and  immediately  afterwards 
the  man  took  his  departure,  Walsingham  remaining  a  prey  to 
doubt  and  conjecture. 

Under  ordinary  circumstances,  he  would  have  been  the  last  in  all 
the  world  to  play  the  eaves-dropper ;  but  uniformly  in  sickness  the 
mind  is  agitated  by  an  under-current  of  fancies  and  feelings,  which 
in  health  would  never  for  an  instant  cross  it. 

Our  soldier,  too,  was  beginning  to  experience  very  serious  sensa- 
tions about  the  regions  of  the  heart,  of  which  the  idea  of  Miss 
Danvers  formed  the  nucleus ;  and  probably  he  thought  he  might 
by  possibility  discover  something  relative  to  her  also.  However  the 
case  may  be,  he  remained  restless  and  uneasy  during  that  whole 
night ;  and,  when  he  again  sank  into  a  state  of  unconsciousness,  he 
dreamed  confusedly  of  treasons,  plots,  and  love-makings;  some- 
times fancying  that  he  had  become  a  statesman,  and  was  involved 
in  a  thousand  intrigues,  which,  when  awake,  would  never  have  en- 
tered into  his  honest  soul  to  conceive ;  sometimes  imagining  that 
the  syrens  were  tempting  him  into  interminable  dangers  and  difficul- 
ties, out  of  which  the  hand  of  the  faithful  lady  of  his  heart  could 
alone  extricate  him. 


END  OF  BOOK  J. 


" 


BOOK  II. 


The  past  is  Death's — the  future  is  thine  own. 

The  Revolt  of  Islam. 

Our  ancient  crown  's  fa'n  in  the  dust, 

Deil  blind  them  wi'  the  stour  o't ; 
And  write  their  names  in  his  black  beuk, 

VVha  ga'e  the  Whigs  the  power  o't. 
Grim  vengeance  lang  has  ta'en  a  nap, 

But  we  may  see  him  wauken ; 
Cude  help  the  day  when  royal  heads 

Are  hunted  like  a  mauken  ! — BURNS. 


QQ 


CHAPTER  I. 

-• 

Yes,  be  the  glorious  revel  mine, 
Where  humour  sparkles  from  the  wine. 

MOORE'S  Anacreon. 

Away,  away,  for  only  flight  can  save  you. 

Richard  III. 

THE  TAP-ROOM—CORPORAL  FIGGINS — THE  BEARDED  WOMAN — 
A  PLOT,    AND   MYSTERY — DANVERS — THE   CHILD. 

EAT  ED  in  the  tap-room  of  a  small  hostelry, 
whose  outward  sign  was  a  flaming  picture  of  a 
very  red-nosed  lady,  somewhat  damaged  by 
storm  and  wind,  and  which,  as  the  large  letters 
beneath  informed  the  wayfarer,  was  intended  to 
represent  Britannia,  were  several  jolly  topers^ 
many  of  whom  were  already  in  that  blissful 
state  of  semi-intoxication  and  unconsciousness,  which  is  the  Drunkard's 
Paradise  ;  and  the  greater  number  essentially  elevated  beyond  the 
ordinary  pitch  of  their  spirits ;  while  a  few — a  couple,  or  perhaps 
three,  old  steady,  regular,  not-to-be-made-drunk-with-drinking  tip- 
plers, retained  their  wonted  equibility, — only  their  eyes  were  a  thought 
more  sparkling,  and  their  noses  a  degree  more  crimson  than  when 
for  a  brief  interval  they  refrained  from  paying  their  devotions  to  the 
god  of  wine. 

Among  those  of  the  latter  denomination,  whose  proboscis  was 
redder,  and  whose  whole  appearance  was  more  indicative  of  long- 
continued  habits  of  adoration  to  Bacchus,  than  that  of  any  other 
person  present,  was  a  huge  brawny  man,  with  a  face  of  extraordinary 
breadth,  bearing  some  slight  resemblance  to  that  of  a  certain  cele- 


46  THE  MISER'S  SON. 

brated  Irish  barrister  and  political  luminary  of  the  present  day,  and 
who  was  evidently  "  the  star  of  that  good  company,"  occupying  the 
seat  of  honour,  and  appearing  the  cynosure  of  attraction  to  every 
gaze  present. 

There  was  so  much  shrewdness,  good  humour,  cunning,  wit,  and 
joviality  in  this  worthy's  face,  that  he  would  have  been  invaluable  to 
a  painter  of  the  Dutch  school,  whose  peculiar  merit  lies  in  delinea- 
ting features  illustrated  by  breadth  and  originality  of  character, 
while  his  tall  stature,  his  vast  shoulders,  and  a  certain  soldierly 
erectness  of  carriage  that  he  maintained  even  in  his  easy  posture, 
although  they  might  not  exactly  add  dignity  to  his  form,  imparted 
a  sort  of  antique,  burly,  and  stalwart  formidability,  which  carried 
the  imagination  back  to  the  days  when  hard  blows  and  deep  drink- 
ing constituted  the  chief  delights  of  such  a  sturdy,  terrible,  merry 
and  boon  a  fellow,  as  was  that  whom  our  artist  has  pourtrayed  in 
the  engraving,  with  a  tankard  of  humming  ale  in  his  great  coarse 
hand. 

"  Come,  Corporal  Figgins,  jolly  Corporal  Tom,  tip  us  a  stave  of 
the  right  sort !"  exclaimed  an  individual,  who  with  some  difficulty 
maintained  his  equilibrium,  as  he  sat  opposite  to  the  person  he 
addressed. 

"  Ay,  a  song,  a  song  !"  shouted  the  whole  party,  unanimously  ; 
"  a  good  song,  and  a  merry  tune  to  it." 

"  With  all  my  heart,  good  gentlemen,"  quoth  Figgins,  tossing  off 
the  remainder  of  the  contents  of  his  tankard,  and  immediately  calling 
for  more.  Clearing  his  throat,  and  elevating  his  head,  while  his 
small  twinkling  grey  eyes  glittered  like  those  of  a  snake,  the  Cor- 
poral immediately  trolled,  in  a  voice  of  gigantic  power,  and  with 
great  animation  and  effect,  the  following  words  to  a  favourite  air  of 
the  time. 

"  Hurrah  for  the  ale !  for  the  jolly  jolly  ale, 

That  fills  the  heart  of  man  with  gladness ; 
If  the  soul  should  be  sick,  and  the  spirit  fail, 
Quaff  the  ale,  quaff  the  ale,  the  jolly,  jolly  ale, 
And,  d e,  'twill  away  with  all  sadness  ! 

"  Look  around— as  the  ale,  as  the  jolly,  jolly  ale 

Fills  the  breasts  of  good  fellows  with  mirth, 
While  it  circles  and  warms,  it  tells  a  tale, 
That  there's  strength  and  bright  life  in  all  jolly  ale, 

Tis  man's  constant  good  friend  upon  earth. 


THE  MISER'S  SON.  47 

"  Drink  away,  drink  away !  and  if  drinking  we  die. 

Why  the  Devil  will  say  as  he  takes  us, 
(What  the  parson  may  preach  is  all  my  eye, 
For  he  drinks  himself,  though  he  well  can  lie,) 

'  What  splendid  fine  devils  ale  makes  us.' 

"  There,  my  lads,  I  made  all  that  as  I  sang,"  said  Corporal  Fig- 
gins,  as  he  finished  his  Bacchanalian  ditty  amid  thunders  of  ap- 
plause. "  It  is  my  opinion,  gentlemen,"  continued  he,  with  a  look 
of  genius,  as  he  again  moistened  his  throat  with  the  beverage  he 
loved,  "  that  there's  something  more  than  the  mere  spirit  itself  in 
choice  liquor — 'tis  the  essence  of  wit,  the  nourisher  of  good  fellow- 
ship, the  promoter  of  mirth  and  love ;  it  darts  through  all  the  veins 
and  arteries,  and  calls  to  the  brain,  I  know  not  how,  at  once,  every 
pleasant  sensation  the  body  can  experience.  Gad's  my  life !  they 
say  that  it's  a  friend  of  old  Satan,  and  sends  many  to  the  bottomless 
pit ;  but  let  me  ask  all  here  present — and  I  could  not  find  a  more 
unprejudiced  jury-— if  it  be  reasonable  to  believe  that  what  makes  us 
all  so  happy,  can  come  from  the  realms  of  woe?" 

"  Bravo,  Corporal,  you  are  right,  old  boy." 

"  Gentlemen,"  rejoined  Figgins,  "  I  used  to  hear  some  of  my 
officers,  when  I  served  in  the  Royal  Horse  Guards,  affirm  that  wiiie 
is  the  nectar  of  the  Gods.  I  don't  know  precisely  what  nectar 
means  myself,  being  no  scholar;  but,  blood  and  'ouncls,  I  know  that 
a  couple  of  pots  of  this  ale  elevates  my  spirits  to  the  moon ;  a 
third,  to  the  stars;  a  fourth,  to  the  sun ;  and  a  fifth,  up  to  heaven 
itself!  So,  here  goes  now  for  another  song  of  my  own. 

"  When  I  was  a  boy,  and  my  chin  was  yet  smooth, 

I  fell  into  love,  and  I  snivell'd  away, 
I  prayed  and  besought  her,  but  never  I  caught  her, 

For  then  I  knew  not  Love's  only  right  way. 
But  soon  I  grew  wiser,  I  flew  to  the  glass, 

I  kissed  her,  I  fondled,  as  much  as  I  chose, 
For  the  juice  of  the  grape,  and  drink  in  each  shape, 

Makes  a  man,  makes  a  man — in  her  favor  I  rose." 

The  Corporal  was  proceeding  to  improvise  some  more  verses  for 
the  delectation  of  the  company,  when  he  was  suddenly  pulled  by  the 
sleeve ;  and,  on  turning  round,  beheld  a  very  ugly  old  woman,  of 
forbidding  aspect,  who  whispered  a  few  words  in  his  ear. 

"  Well,  mother  Stokes,"  he  exclaimed,  "  what  the  deuce  brings 
von  ?" 


48  THE  MISER'S  SON. 

The  presence  of  the  new  comer  instantaneously  damped  the 
joviality  of  the  assembled  topers ;  and,  indeed,  her  presence  was  not 
calculated  to  inspire  pleasurable  emotions  of  any  sort.  She  was  low 
of  stature,  of  swarthy  complexion,  with  a  dark  beard  on  her  chin, 
now  mingled  with  grey,  and  her  eyes  were  sinister,  and  her  wrinkled 
brow  scowling ;  while  there  was  a  fierceness  and  a  maliciousness  in 
the  entire  expression  of  her  countenance,  such  as  we  usually  asso- 
ciate in  idea  with  the  witches  of  Macbeth. 

"  Wherefore  delay  ?"  returned  the  woman,  in  answer  to  Figgins, 
and  in  a  low  voice,  at  the  same  time  unceremoniously  helping  her- 
self to  drink,  at  the  expense  of  a  more  than  two-thirds  fuddled 
individual  who  sat  on  the  right  of  the  Corporal,  "  you  will  lose  a 
prize,  such  as  may  never  fall  to  your  lot  again,  if  you  don't  quickly 
bestir  yourself." 

"  Well,"  replied  Figgins,  unwillingly  quitting  his  seat,-ftnd  follow- 
ing the  hag  out  of  the  room. 

They  proceeded  into  a  small  apartment,  which,  it  being  nearly 
midnight,  was  dark  as  pitch,  and  the  female  then  eagerly  exclaimed, 

"  Walter  Danvers  is  here  !" 

"  Ha!"  ejaculated  the  Corporal,  evidently  not  a  little  startled. 

"  You  know  the  reward  offered  for  his  apprehension  formerly, 
and  we  have  him  now  beyond  the  possibility  of  escape.  Let  us  at 
once  bar  all  egress  from  the  room  he  occupies." 

"  But,"  said  Figgins,  irresolutely. 

"  Do  you  hesitate ?"  was  the  rejoinder;  "nay,  then,  1  myself 
will  secure  him,  and  obtain  the  reward  of  one  hundred  pounds." 

"  Stay,  mother  Stokes,"  said  the  Corporal,  detaining  her  as  she 
was  on  the  point  of  leaving  him,  "  I  do  not  hesitate;  but  we  must 
be  cautious  how  we  proceed.  You  know,  Danvers " 

"  Fear  not,"  interrupted  mother  Stokes,  "  I  have  a  hold  on  him 
you  know  not  of.  Come  this  way  ;  I  have  the  key  of  the  padlock 
that  secures  the  outer  door  leading  to  his  chamber.  Vengeance, 
vengeance !  Curse  him  !  I  shall  soon  see  the  villain  suspended  on  a 
gallows.  Oh,  that  I  might  tear  the  heart  out  of  him  !"  And  with 
these  words,  the  amiable  female  and  Figgins  proceeded  to  consum- 
mate the  scheme  that  the  former  had  projected. 

Leaving  these  worthy  coadjutors  to  their  business,  let  us  run  up  a 
flight  of  stairs,  advance  through  a  long,  gloomy  passage  at  whose 
extremity  there  is  an  oaken  door  of  great  thickness,  and  again  up 
two  or  three  steps,  at  the  end  of  which  there  is  another  and  common 


THE  MISER'S  SON.  49 

door;  and  taking  the  liberty  of  peeping  through  it,  by  an  exercise 
of  the  faculty  that  is  spiritual  within  us,  behold  an  old  acquaintance, 
in  the  person  of  the  identical  Danvers,  whose  adventures  have  occu- 
pied perhaps  the  greater  portion  of  our  first  book. 

Yes,  there  he  is,  leaning  on  one  hand,  and  apparently  buried  in 
thought.  He  seems  melancholy,  and  often  lifting  up  his  eyes  to  the 
glorious  heavens,  spangled  with  "  stars  innumerable,"  is  engaged  in 
a  train  of  fancies,  indefinable  even  by  poetry  or  philosophy,  but  yet 
sometimes  experienced  by  every  created  being  with  soul  and  feel- 
ing— fancies  steeped  in  the  relics  of  passion,  and  hope,  and  rapture, 
occasionally  presenting  some  fixed  image  indeed  ;  but  yet,  notwith- 
standing the  predominance  of  a  particular  phase  of  reflection,  still 
made  up  of  a  hundred  associations,  connecting  themselves  with  the 
visions  of  the  past,  the  present  (if  there  be  a  present)  and  the 
future ;  like  those  beings  created  by  the  vivid  imagination  of  some 
lofty  dreamer,  as  they  flit  before  him  in  dim  reality,  in  all  their  pen- 
sive, their  radiant,  and  solemn  show. 

"  Poor,  poor  Harriet,"  he  exclaimed,  in  a  tone  of  remorse  and 
sorrow,  "  how  I  loved  her  !  Oh,  God  !  oh,  God  !  And  I  know — 
I  am  sure  that  I  was  dear  to  her  also ;  but  destiny  battled  against 
us.  She  was  too  pure  and  perfect  for  such  a  world  as  this.  Peace 
be  with  her !" 

He  relapsed  into  silence,  and  completely  concealing  his  face  with 
his  hands,  appeared  to  sleep,  though  he  was  only  in  a  kind  of  torpor, 
totally  oblivious  of  the  actual  world  around,  and  from  which  he  did 
not  arouse  himself  for  a  considerable  period. 

During  this  interval,  had  he  not  been  so  deeply  abstracted,  he 
might  have  heard  a  grating  sound,  as  of  the  drawing  of  a  bolt  out- 
side his  door ;  but  the  report  of  a  park  of  artillery  would  hardly  at 
that  particular  time  have  caused  him  to  start ;  so  that  although  he 
was  conscious  of  perceiving  a  slight  noise  with  his  outward  senses, 
the  mind  within  took  no  cognizance  of  it,  and  consequently  his 
reflections  were  in  no  degree  disturbed. 

Presently,  however,  there  was  a  tapping  at  the  window  of  the  room 
from  the  outside,  the  continued  recurrence  of  which  for  several  mi- 
nutes at  length  broke  the  spell  that  bound  his  soul.  He  arose  from 
his  seat,  and  gazing  out  of  the  window  beheld  the  figure  of  the  very 
same  child  whom  he  had  rescued  from  the  clutches  of  the  savage  a 
few  hours  before,  standing  on  the  topmost  branch  of  a  tree  that 

H 


50  THE  MISER'S  SON. 

grew  at  the  distance  of  two  or  three  jards  from   1he  wall  of  the 
house,  and  making  gesticulations  of  alarm  to  him. 

"What  is  amiss?"  he   inquired,  immediately  throwing  up  the 

casement. 

"  Hush !"  returned  the  boy,  who  had  been  throwing  pebbles  at 
the  window,  "  I  fear  you  are  in  danger ;  but  know  nothing  about 

it  yet." 

"In  danger!"  echoed  Danvers,  mechanically  catching  up  his 
pistols,  and  examining  the  priming,  "  from  whom  ?" 

"  They  have  been  fastening  you  in,"  was  the  whispered  response. 

Danvers  rushed  to  the  door,  and  found  it  was  bolted.  With  an 
oath,  he  applied  his  shoulder  to  it,  and  broke  it  down  in  an  instant ; 
but  having  done  so,  soon  discovered  a  farther  obstacle  to  his 
departure. 


CHAPTER  II. 

For  life  and  death  he  flies  ;  indeed, 

Like  Death's  upon  the  wind  his  speed. — MS. 

MOTHER  STOKES  AND  HER   FAMILY — THE  LADY   IN   THE  STRAW 
— DANVERS  AGAIN — THE  PURSUIT. 

UNWILLING  as  the  Author  may  be  to  tantalize  the  patience  of 
his  Readers,  he  is  unavoidably  constrained  to  take  up  the  narrative 
where  it  broke  off  in  the  seventh  chapter  of  the  first  book  ;  but 
religiously  promises  not  to  presume  hereafter  upon  a  quality  ex- 
cessively rare  with  us  poor  imperfect  mortals,  and  should  not  that 
promise  satisfy  any  fair  lady  or  noble  gentleman  who  is  desirous  of 
instantly  following  up  the  adventure  that  has  befallen  Danvers,  it  is 
only  necessary  to  pretermit  the  intervening  matter,  which  will  not 
occupy  a  very  considerable  space. 

"  By  Jove!"  said  Danvers,  when  the  savage  and  the  ape  had 
both  vanished,  "  this  has  been  a  most  extraordinary  scene  !"  Then 
turning  to  his  protege^  he  asked,  "  Have  you  ever  seen  that  strange 
being  before  ?" 


THE  MISER'S  SON.  51 

"  Yes,  sir,  I've  seen  him  once,"  answered  the  child. 

"  And  what  is  your  name,  my  little  fellow  ?" 

"  My  name  is  George." 

"  And  where  are  you  going?" 

"  Oh,  not  a  very  long  way  from  here !  I  am  so  grateful  to  you, 
sir,  for  your  kindness  to  me,  and,  though  I  am  a  poor  boy,  God 
will  hear  me  when  I  pray  for  you  !" 

Danvers  was  touched  at  the  earnest  gratitude  of  the  child's  man- 
ner. "  I  will  see  you  home,  if  you  do  not  live  far  hence,  then," 
said  he,  and  mounting  Dickon  offered  to  take  him  up  before  him. 
The  child  was  delighted,  and  Danvers  found  von  inquiry  that  he  was 
returning  to  the  identical  Inn  where  he  had  resolved  to  sojourn  the 
night.  "  And  have  you  a  father  and  mother?"  he  inquired  of  little 
George,  as  he  put  his  horse  into  a  trot. 

"  No  father,"  answered  the  boy  sadly,  "and  my  mother  is  ill  now, 
and  away  from  me." 

"  And  what  is  your  mother  ?" 

"  Oh,  she  is  an  actress,  and  I  act  with  her  very  often,  and  dance 
on  a  rope,  and  sing." 

"  Indeed  !     And  how  long  have  you  lived  thus?" 

"  Ever  since  I  can  remember — about  five  years." 

"  Have  you  been  to  school?" 

"  Never,  sir ;  but  1  have  learned  to  read,  and  oh,  I  am  so  fond 
of  books,  they  are  friends  to  me." 

"  Fond  of  books  are  you  ?  What  books  do  you  read  ?" 

*'  Any  that  I  can  get,  but  I  like  plays  best." 

"  Whose  plays  do  you  prefer?" 

*'  Shakspeare's !"  replied  the  child,  with  sparkling  eyes,  and 
subdued  enthusiasm  in  his  sweet  voice,  which,  strange  to  say, 
though  Danvers  was  quite  certain  he  had  never  before  beheld  him, 
seemed  familiar  as  a  remembered  music  to  his  ear.  "  Yes,  Shak- 
speare  is  so  grand,"  continued  George,  and,  when  his  characters 
speak,  I  can  see  them  before  me,  as  if  they  were  really  so  !" 

More  and  more  interested  in  this  singular  boy,  Danvers  proceeded 
to  put  several  questions  to  him,  which  he  answered  with  intelli- 
gence beyond  his  years ;  and  when  he  arrived  at  the  Britannia  Inn, 
he  told  him  to  be  sure  and  come  to  him  the  following  morning — a 
request  with  which  George  gladly  complied. 

Meanwhile,  the  savage  had  run  after  the  ape,  whose  bowlings  and 


52  THE  MISER'S  SON. 

groans  were  still  continued,  and  had  hardly  overtaken  it,  when  a 
female  arrived  on  the  spot. 

"  Who  has  done  this  ?"  she  screamed,  on  perceiving  the  piteous 
condition  of  the  animal. 

The  boy-savage  made  no  reply,  but  pointed  in  the  direction 
Danvers  had  taken,  and  the  woman,  ascending  an  eminence,  imme- 
diately saw  him  as  he  rode  along  with  the  child.  Dire  were  the 
threats  of  vengeance  that  she  uttered  as  she  descended  to  the  aid  of 
the  luckless  ape,  and  applied  such  bandages  as  were  within  reach  to 
the  injuries.  She  then,  followed  by  the  savage  and  the  brute,  di- 
rected her  steps  to  a  hovel,  at  a  few  furlongs  distance,  and  entering 
it,  vented  her  indignation  and  wrath  in  audible  curses. 

"  What  is  the  matter?"  asked  a  faint  voice  from  the  farther  end 
of  the  room,  which  (with  the  exception  of  a  kind  of  loft)  was  all 
the  hut  could  boast. 

"  Matter,  wench !"  replied  the  woman,  striking  a  light,  and 
seating  herself  beside  the  bed  of  a  female,  who  held  a  sleeping  in- 
fant in  her  arms,  of  which  she  had  been  apparently  delivered  but  a 
few  hours;  "  but  I'll  be  revenged  ;  yes,  Master  Walter  Danvers,  1 
have  you  !"  and  the  hag  chuckled  fiercely. 

"  Walter  Danvers !"  repeated  the  lady  in  the  straw,  who,  though 
passed  the  perfection  of  her  beauty,  still  retained  many  traces  of  it, 
"  what  of  him  ?" 

"  Look  at  that  poor  ape ;  niece  Sophy,  he  has  done  it — curse 
him,  curse  him !" 

"  I  do  not  understand  you ;  do  you  mean  my " 

"  Husband !  Yes.  Ha,  ha,  you  love  him,  and  he  loves  you,  as 
one  devil  loves  another.  Haw,  haw  !" 

"  But,  mother  Stokes,  if  you  have  seen  Walter — " 

"  I  saw  him  about  three  hours  ago,  as  I  was  watching  the  Miser's 
house,  and  I  listened,  long,  and  heard  them  hatching  treason.  I 
shall  wring  money  from  the  avaricious  dog's  fears  now  ;  and  for  your 

husband,  he  shall  swing,  me !  Figgins  is  at  the  Britannia, 

and  I  will  go  to  him  directly.  Poor  ape,  poor  ape;  and  my  grand- 
child, too— the  only  things  I  do  not  hate  in  all  this  cursed  earth. 
Oh,  he  shall  suffer!" 

Mistress  Stokes,  thus  having  spoken,  fortified  herself  with  a  deep 
draught  from  a  bottle  of  spirits,  inquired  whether  the  newly -delivered 
lady  needed  anything,  and  being  answered  in  the  negative  (for  it 
was  evident  nothing  could  be  elicited  from  the  hag  to  satisfy  curio- 


THE  MISER'S  SON.  53 

sity),  soon  afterwards  quitted  the  hovel,  and  wended  her  way  in  the 
same  direction  Danvers  had  taken.  And  now  the  adventures  of  that 
personage,  against  whom  so  much  mischief  is  brooding,  may  be 
resumed  at  once. 

Having  by  main  force  broken  down  the  door  of  his  apartment, 
Danvers  rushed  forwards,  but  found  that  the  outer  door,  which  was 
of  immense  strength,  was  fastened  on  the  outer  side.  In  vain  he 
strained  his  prodigious  muscles  to  burst  it  off  the  hinges  (for  none 
but  a  Sampson  could  have  achieved  such  a  feat) ;  and  now  voices 
and  footsteps  approached  up  the  stairs.  His  only  resource  was  to 
draw  a  bolt  on  the  inner  side,  and  return  to  his  apartment. 

"  Hasten,'  cried  the  voice  of  George,  who  remained  on  the  tree, 
"  here  is  a  rope,  and  I  will  fasten  it  to  this  branch.  There  are 
soldiers  below."  So  saying,  the  little  fellow  threw  Danvers  a  rope, 
which  he  caught,  and  at  the  same  time  heard  a  great  noise  at  the 
outer  door,  and  immediately  afterwards  it  fell  with  a  crash. 

Delaying  no  longer,  Danvers  sprang  out  of  window,  and  was  soon 
standing  foot  to  foot  with  his  young  ally. 

"  I  have  taken  out  your  horse  for  you,"  said  the  little  fellow 
quickly,  "  there  he  is — good  bye." 

Hastily  descending  the  tree,  Danvers  was  soon  on  terra  firma, 
and  he  had  no  sooner  reached  the  ground,  than  several  persons 
appeared  at  the  window,  which  was  twenty  feet  from  it,  and  a  pistol- 
ball  whizzed  past  him,  grazing  his  cheek.  He  uttered  a  shout  of 
defiance,  and  vaulted  on  the  back  of  Dickon  ;  but,  .before  he  could 
quit  the  place,  a  gigantic  hand  arrested  him. 

With  the  swiftness  of  thought,  the  pursued  dealt  his  opponent  an 
awful  blow  on  the  face,  which  for  a  moment  stunned  him,  and  in 
that  moment  Danvers  was  off  like  the  wind. 

"Pursue!"  cried  Corporal  Figgins,  who  had  just  received  the 
stroke  of  that  iron  fist,  and  suiting  the  deed  to  the  word,  he  mounted 
a  large,  powerful  animal,  belonging  to  a  dragoon,  and  urged  it  on 
to  its  greatest  speed.  Half  a  dozen  soldiers  instantly  dashed  for- 
wards, and  seizing  their  horses,  leaped  into  the  saddles,  and  joined 
in  the  chase. 

O'er  hill  and  dale,  on,  on  they  went,  leaping  ditches,  gates,  and 
precipices,  Corporal  Figgins  shouting,  at  the  top  of  his  stentorian 
voice,  "  Fifty  pounds  for  the  man  that  takes  him !  Spur  onwards, 
my  lads!" 

But  Danvers  was  at  least  three  hundred  yards  in  advance  of  his 


54  THE  MISER'S  SON. 

pursuers,  and  Dickon,  having  rested  nearly  two  hours,  was  almost 
as  fresh  as  ever. 

The  country  that  they  traversed  became  gradually  more  lev  el,  and 
less  intersected  by  streams  and  morasses,  and  Danvers,  after  the 
lapse  of  half  an  hour,  during  which  he  had  left  nine  good  miles  be- 
hind him,  was  well  nigh  out  of  the  range  of  the  soldiers' sight. 
Striking  into  a  cross  road,  he  was  congratulating  himself  on  his 
escape,  when  on  a  sudden  he  beheld  the  glittering  of  steel,  as  the 
moon  burst  forth  with  dazzling  brightness,  at  no  very  great  distance 
in  advance. 

The  path  was  narrow,  so  that  more  than  two  horsemen  could  not 
conveniently  ride  abreast,  and  his  eagle  eye  at  once  discovered  that 
a  considerable  body  of  cavalry  was  approaching  him.  On  one  side 
there  was  a  river,  broad  and  deep,  on  another  there  was  a  ploughed 
field,  and  in  the  van  and  rear  the  troops  and  his  pursuersj 

Without  a  moment's  hesitation  he  plunged  into  the  water,  and 
swam  Dickon  across.  But  the  stream  was  remarkably  rapid,  and 
unfortunately  the  beautiful  planet  which  had  directed  his  observa- 
tion to  the  cavalry  shone  with  undiminished  and  sun-like  splendour 
on  him.  Corporal  Figgins,  rising  in  his  saddle,  discerned  the  troop, 
of  whom  the  handful  that  had  joined  in  the  pursuit  of  Danvers 
formed  the  advanced  guard,  and  bawled  out,  as  the  best  means  of 
directing  their  attention  to  the  fugitive — "  A  Deserter !"  In  an 
instant  the  whole  troop  was  led  on  to  secure  the  runaway,  and  dis- 
persed in  various  directions ;  some  swimming  their  horses  after  him, 
some  taking  a  short  cut  by  a  bridge  thrown  across  the  river,  and 
others  flying  to  prevent  him  from  gaining  a  valley  on  the  other 
side,  which  he  had  now  nearly  reached  ;  and,  thus  hemmed  in  on 
every  side,  escape  seemed  next  to  impossible.  But  Walter  Danvers 
was  a  lion,  though  in  the  toils,  and  his  hunters  were  not  to  make 
him  their  prey  without  a  violent  and  bloody  struggle. 


THE  MISER'S  SON.  55 


CHAPTER  IH. 


Sae  rantingly,  sae  wantonly, 

Sae  dauntingly,  gaed  he. — BURNS. 

And  therefore,  when  he  ran  away,  he  did  so 
Upon  reflection. — Dow  Juan. 


THE  CHASE  CONTINUED  — DAN VERS  DISPLAYS  HIS  POWERS. 

BULLETS  whizzing  past  his  head,  and  encompassed  by  foes  on 
every  side,  the  desperate  courage  and  cool  self-possession  of  Walter 
Danvers  did  not  for  an  instant  desert  him.  His  resources,  his 
powers,  like  those  of  all  persons  pre-eminently  gifted  with  a  quality 
on  a  sudden  called  into  operation,  rose  with  the  occasion  ;  and 
every  expedient  of  his  fertile  ingenuity  passed  through  his  brain 
with  the  swiftness  of  lightning,  while  he  crossed  the  rapid  stream, 
holding  his  pistols  with  one  hand,  so  as  they  might  not  be  injured 
by  the  water,  and  with  the  other  grasping  the  bridle, — his  docile 
horse  apparently  understanding  the  whole  affair  as  well  as  his  mas- 
ter, and  obeying  the  slightest  impulse  of  his  arm. 

There  was  a  peculiarly  precipitous  bank  on  the  other  side,  which 
the  enemy,  conceiving  it  impossible  for  Danvers  to  ascend,  neglected 
to  guard  ;  and  he  thought,  by  making  a  feint,  as  if  he  would  dash 
among  the  thickest  of  them,  and  then  mounting  the  steep  abruptly, 
he  might  gain  a  considerable  start,  and  then,  still  trusting  to  the 
prowess  of  the  paragon  he  bestrode,  he  conceived  that  in  the  open 
country  he  might  easily  elude  them  all. 

Acting  upon  this  resolution  he  caused  Dickon  to  strike  out 
towards  the  land  where  it  was  level  with  the  stream,  and  then  sud- 
denly turning,  before  his  opponents  could  catch  the  drift  of  his 
manoeuvre,  he  had  actually  gained  the  bank,  and  without  stumbling 
or  accident  ascended  it. 


5(j  THE  MISER'S  SON. 

One  alone  had  the  quickness  to  conceive  the  whole  stratagem 
before  it  was  completed,  and  that  one  was  the  redoubtable  Figgins, 
who  had  reached  the  opposite  side,  and  instantly  dashed  forwards 
to  prevent  Danvers  from  making  good  his  landing,  while  he  was 
yet  contending  with  the  tide.  He  was  just  in  time  to  meet  the  fugi- 
tive hand  to  hand ;  and,  burning  with  rage  at  the  memory  of  the 
tremendous  blow  he  had  previously  sustained  at  his  hands,  he 
struck  at  his  head  with  a  huge  broadsword. 

Danvers  arrested  the  heavy  blade  as  it  was  descending  on  him 
impelled  by  tremendous  force,  and  turning  it  aside  with  his  weapon, 
aimed  at  the  Corporal  with  one  of  his  pistols ;  but  a  small  portion 
of  water,  notwithstanding  the  care  he  had  taken,  had  entered  the 
barrel,  or  Figgins  would  never  have  wielded  sword  again.  They  were 
equally  matched  ;  but  Danvers  had  no  time  to  lose  in  "  exchanging 
hardiment,"  if  he  desired  to  make  his  escape ;  and  therefore  wheel- 
ing round,  and  dealing  blows  like  hail  upon  his  burly  antagonist, 
dashed  past  him,  and  was  borne  along  a  nearly  open  country,  still 
followed  closely.  The  Corporal  was  well-mounted,  and  bent  on 
capturing  the  runaway ;  but  his  bulk  was  very  great  (not  less  than 
eighteen  stone  of  mortality  encompassed  his  heroic  soul),  and  caused 
a  considerable  deterioration  in  the  speed  that  he  might  otherwise 
have  used. 

Dickon,  however,  although  unequalled  in  his  way,  was  still  a  mere 
earthly  horse,  and  Danvers  was  most  reluctantly  compelled  to  relax 
his  celerity  at  this  juncture,  notwithstanding  that  he  perceived 
several  of  the  soldiers  were  rather  gaining  on  him  than  otherwise. 
Nevertheless  he  had  left  the  great  body  of  his  pursuers  far  in  the 
rear,  and  he  hoped  he  should  be  able  to  cope  singly  with  the  very 
stoutest  that  might  choose  to  try  his  mettle.  Accordingly  he  exa- 
mined his  remaining  pistol,  and  found  it  was  fit  for  immediate  use, 
calculating  that  at  all  events  he  might  despatch  one  of  his  opponents 
with  that.  Bracing  up  his  sinews  for  the  encounter,  he  now  fronted 
the  advancing  foe,  and  with  deadly  determination  on  his  brow, 
though  without  the  quiver  of  a  muscle,  levelled  the  pistol. 

There  is  something  peculiarly  calculated  to  daunt  the  boldest 
heart  in  that  calm  passionless  aspect  and  immoveable  rigidity  of 
position,  especially  when  they  sit  on  the  face  and  form  of  so  fierce 
and  bold  a  man  as  Walter  Danvers.  A  tall  dragoon,  a  young  offi- 
cer, and  Corporal  Figgins  were  the  first  to  come  within  range  of  fire  ; 


THE  MISER'S  SON.  57 

yet,  though  heated  and  inflamed  by  the  wild  ferment  superinduced 
by  a  hard  chase,  when  they  observed  the  cold,  keen  eye  fixed  sternly 
upon  them,  and  felt  the  fearful  accuracy  with  which  the  steel-strung 
hand  would  direct  that  little  weapon  it  grasped,  they  prudently  re- 
tired behind  a  vast  tree,  and  one  of  them  discharged  his  carabine  at 
him.  The  shot  would  have  taken  effect,  Jiad  not  the  pursued  (to 
use  a  familiar  phrase)  ducked,  and  conceiving  that  it  might  be  better 
policy  to  meet  one  at  a  time  if  possible,  he  adopted  the  stratagem  of 
the  old  Roman  hero,  pretending  again  to  fly,  and  the  officer  impru- 
dently quitted  the  shelter  of  the  tree,  heedless  of  the  warning  voice 
of  Figgins,  who  was  not  deceived  by  the  feint.  Danvers  turning  in 
his  saddle  perceived  how  matters  stood  ;  but  the  beardless  face  and 
stripling  form  of  the  rash  boy  who  dared  to  put  his  puny  power  in 
competition  with  one  of  the  most  redoubtable  warriors  of  his  day, 
then  saved  him  from  a  death  which  would  certainly  have  met  a 
sturdier  soldier. 

"  Poor  fellow,  he  is  like  Harry  !"  muttered  Danvers,  as  he  dropped 
the  arm  that  he  had  raised  with  the  intention  of  firing.  Figgins  and 
the  dragoon  now  emerged  from  behind  the  tree,  and  resumed  the 
chase.  "  They  shall  have  it,  d — n  them  !"  exclaimed  the  pursued 
from  between  his  clenched  teeth,  as  their  shouts  became  more  loud 
and  exulting ;  for  they  saw  that  the  strength  of  Dickon  was  begin- 
ning to  diminish,  and  had  been  fearful  lest  the  wind  of  their  own 
beasts  should  soon  fail.  Again  wheeling  round  and  facing  the 
enemy,  he  awaited  their  coming  with  the  same  stern  and  statue-like 
calmness  which  has  something  in  it  so  far  more  appalling  than  the 
wildest  desperation. 

The  young  officer,  anxious  to  display  his  courage,  with  reckless 
impetuosity  spurred  on  his  charger,  and  called  on  Danvers  to  yield, 
threatening  to  blow  out  his  brains,  if  he  refused.  The  only  reply 
was  a  slight  laugh,  which  so  irritated  the  lad,  from  the  contempt  it 
appeared  to  throw  upon  his  prowess,  that  drawing  a  pistol  from  one 
of  his  holsters  he  aimed  at  the  "  tiger  at  bay,"  and  grazed  his  fore- 
head with  the  ball.  Nought,  perhaps,  stirs  up  the  blood  of  a  na- 
ture like  that  of  Danvers,  as  the  ignominy  of  being  hunted  like  a 
wild  beast,  and  when  excited  he  was  indeed  like  the  fiercest  animal 
in  his  ferocity. 

"Fool!"  he  exclaimed,  as  the  officer  now  engaged  with  him, 
hand  to  hand,  "  I  spared  you  once."  Then,  with  one  stroke  of  his 
weapon  disarming  him,  he  rushed  upon  the  ill-fated  boy,  and  with 


58  THE  MISER'S  SON. 

the  butt-end  of  his  pistol  struck  him  on  the  temples.  Danvers  had 
not  intended  to  deal  a  death-blow  on  his  insignificant  antagonist ; 
but  the  weight  of  his  unarmed  hand  alone  was  such  that  it  might 
well  have  annihilated  the  stripling,  particularly  when  nerved  as  it 
was  by  resentment;  and,  uttering  a  sharp  cry  of  agony,  he  fell 
lifeless  from  his  horse,  as  the  hard  iron  of  the  pistol-barrel  entered 
nto  his  brain. 

"  Come  on  !"  cried  Danvers,  as  the  Corporal  and  the  dragoon 
deliberately  advanced  like  veterans,  as  they  were,  to  the  attack,  and 
his  voice  was  hoarse  as  he  spoke,  for  somehow,  despite  himself,  he 
felt  pity  for  the  unfortunate  youth  he  had  destroyed  in  the  fair 
promise  of  his  spring,  and  sought  to  turn  aside  the  feeling  of  remorse 
which  he  experienced  by  venting  his  anger  on  a  foe  equal  to  combat 
with  him.  Nor  did  he  long  wait  the  expected  assault.  Figgins, 
sword  in  hand,  spurred  on  his  horse,  and  the  dragoon  followed  his 
example.  Danvers,  had  he  chosen,  might  have  killed  one  with  his 
pistol ;  but  he  thought  it  might  yet  stand  him  in  good  stead,  a  more 
urgent  occasion  requiring,  and  therefore  refrained,  relying  on  his 
admirable  and  almost  unequalled  swordmanship. 

It  was  a  tremendous  struggle,  and  one  which  tried  the  strength, 
and  skill  and  quickness  of  the  fugitive  to  the  uttermost.  Parrying, 
striking,  wheeling,  feinting,  never  exposing  himself  for  a  single 
instant  but  of  necessity,  he  realized  all  the  achievements  of  ancient 
chivalry ;  for  taller,  more  powerful,  and  more  consummate  soldiers 
than  the  dragoon  and  the  corporal  seldom,  if  ever,  swelled  the 
ranks  of  the  British  troops.  And  now  the  shouts  of  the  advancing 
cavalry  were  distinctly  heard  by  Danvers,  who  felt  that  to  be  taken 
was  to  be  executed,  and  that  the  contest  he  now  maintained  could 
not  be  greatly  prolonged.  Flinging  the  pistol  that  had  previously 
proved  useless  with  wonderful  precision  at  the  Corporal,  it  struck 
him  full  in  the  face;  ami,  before  he  could  recover  the  shock  of  the 
concussion,  closed  with  his  other  opponent,  seized  him  by  the  neck, 
and  whirling  him  from  his  horse  with  the  strength  of  a  giant,  threw 
him  to  the  earth,  so  as  he  might  fall  on  the  head,  and  stun  himself 
in  doing  so. 

Again  he  was  compelled  to  trust  all  to  the  wind  and  limb  of 
Dickon,  who  exerted  himself  with  almost  incredible  spirit;  as  if  aware 
of  the  urgency  of  the  occasion,  and  carried  his  rider  in  a  few  minutes 
beyond  the  sound  of  the  lusty  vociferations  of  the  pursuers.  Still 
Danvers  did  not  flatter  himself  that  he  was  by  any  means  secure— 


THE  MISER'S  SON.  59 

the  more  so  that  he  knew  he  was  now  in  a  tract  affording  but  few 
facilities  of  escape,  and  he  was  certain  that  some  portion  of  the 
enemy  had  taken  a  course  so  as  to  encounter  him  in  the  van,  and 
cut  oft'  the  possibility  of  his  retreat. 

Under  these  circumstances,  it  was  necessary  again  to  have 
recourse  to  stratagem.  One  road  would  only  have  led  him  back  to 
the  river ;  and  he  was  shut  out  from  taking  the  opposite  direction 
by  the  knowledge  that  a  chain  of  hills  extended  in  that  line,  the 
ascent  to  which,  on  that  side,  was  impracticable.  Revolving  swiftly 
in  his  mind  these  difficulties,  he  directed  his  glance  along  the 
champaign  which  extended  far  as  the  eye  could  reach,  and  discerned 
a  pretty  and  romantic  little  cottage  embowered  among  trees  of 
luxuriant  growth,  and  appearing  the  only  place  of  refuge,  far  or 
near. 

Dickon  was  almost  exhausted , and  even  Dan  vers  himself  experienced 
some  sensations  of  fatigue ;  for  he  had  taken  no  rest  at  all,  and  all 
the  previous  day  had  been  in  the  saddle.  Irresolute  how  exactly  to 
proceed,  the  first  faint  streaks  of  morning  tinted  the  horizon,  and 
again  the  voices  of  his  pursuers  were  borne  upon  the  wind.  As  he 
expected  he  also  thought  he  could  hear  indistinctly  the  cries  of  those 
sent  round  to  take  him  in  the  van,  and  hesitating  no  longer,  quitted 
the  back  of  Dickon.  "  Be  careful  of  yourself,  my  horse,"  he  said, 
as  soon  as  he  had  dismounted  ;  and  pointing  out  to  him  the  direc- 
tion he  wished  he  should  take,  the  sagacious  animal  trotted  off* 
towards  the  river.  Danvers  then  strode  hastily  forward,  leapt  the 
low  wall  that  encircled  the  isolated  cottage,  and  was  speedily  lost  to 
viewt 


60  THE  MISER'S  SON. 


CHAPTER  IV. 


Pale  as  the  marble  covering  thrown  aside, 
And  scared  as  he  were  peering  in  some  tomb 
To  confront  horrible  death— So  looks  Castaldo. 

G.  STEPHENS. 


THE  SILENT   CHAMBER — A   RHAPSODY    OF    BEAUTY — THE    UN- 
EXPECTED MEETING — SHADOWS  OF  THE  PAST— DANGER. 

IN  a  small  but  elegantly-furnished  apartment,  adorned  with  pic- 
tures executed  with  the  most  masterly  and  exquisite  taste,  and  fur- 
nished with  unpretending  yet  admirable  simplicity  of  effect,  there 
lay  a  woman  of  strange  beauty,  the  faint  moon-beams  throwing  a 
weird  light  on  features  as  perfect  as  ever  Phidias  moulded,  and  a 
mind,  a  spirit  more  divine  in  the  expression  than  any  save  God 
himself  could  impart  to  clay. 

She  was  extended  on  a  couch,  having  apparently  fallen  asleep 
over  a  book  that  was  spread  before  her— an  Italian  copy  of  the 
great  Dante's  Divina  Comedia,  of  which  there  were  some  fine  trans- 
lations and  criticisms — evidently  in  a  lady's  hand-writing  on  the 
blank  leaves  of  the  volume. 

Some  eight- and -twenty  summers  had  laid  their  hands  upon  that 
woman's  form ;  but  her  unequalled  loveliness  had  apparently  in- 
creased rather  than  diminished  with  time.  Her  brow  and  cheek 
were  both  like  Parian  marble ;  not  a  ray  of  colour  could  be  discerned 
in  her  chiselled  face ;  yet  the  absence  of  what  may  lend  a  lustre  to 
the  charms  of  others,  imparted  a  more  seraphic  glory  to  her  splen- 
did and  unearthly  beauty. 

The  characters  of  profound  thought,  of  deep  sensibility,  of  imagi- 
nation, purity,  and  the  lofty  aspiration  that  becomes  a  part  of  being, 
were  imprinted  on  her  snowy  forehead,  and  appeared  to  quiver  on 


THE  MISER'S  SON.  61 

her  arched  and  open  lip,  which  exposed  to  view  a  row  of  pearly 
teeth  (but  pearls  were  never  so  dazzling  and  unspotted),  and  around 
a  mouth  where  poetry  and  passion  breathed  a  spiritual  radiance 
such  as  never  vivifies  even  the  eyes  of  common  souls.  Her  hair  was 
of  dark  brown,  silken,  glossy,  and  luxuriant;  her  skin  fair  and 
delicate,  and  her  voluptuous  figure  combining  dignity,  modesty,  and 
softness,  appeared  instinct  with  a  life  ot  pervading  grace.  But 
never,  had  I  the  pen  of  a  Shakspeare  or  a  Milton,  and  the  pencil  of 
a  Raffaelle  and  Titian,  could  I  convey  any  correct  idea  of  the  love- 
liness I  have  feebly  sketched,  hopeless  of  conveying  more  than  the 
outline  to  the  reader's  fancy. 

Such  forms  have  flashed  on  the  dreaming  spirit  of  the  rapt  poet, 
as  his  winged  imagination  has  wandered  among  the  stars,  and  in 
moments  of  wild  inspiration  he  has  been  able  to  "  turn  them  to 
shape,"  yet  never  to  convey  the  divinity  he  has  witnessed  to  any 
other  intellect,  though  it  may  catch  some  faint  glimpses  of  the 
meaning  that  struggles  through  shadowy  metaphors,  and  of  which 
the  following  description  of  a  divine  enthusiast  in  ardent  youth 
may  give  an  illustration. 

"  Seraph  of  Heaven !  too  gentle  to  be  human ! 
Veiling  beneath  that  radiant  form  of  woman 
All  that  were  insupportable  in  thee 
Of  light  and  life  and  immortality  ! 
Sweet  benediction  in  the  eternal  curse, 
Veiled  glory  of  this  lampless  universe ! 
Thou  moon  beyond  the  clouds  !  thou  living  form 
Among  the  dead  !  thou  star  above  the  storm  ! 
Thou  wonder,  and  thou  beauty,  and  thou  terror  ! 
Thou  harmony  of  nature's  art !  thou  mirror 
Wherein,  as  in  the  splendour  of  the  sun, 
All  shapes  seem  glorious  which  thou  lookest  on." 

How  wonderful  is  the  human  face  !  Now  sad,  now  joyous,  now 
tranquil,  now  impassioned,  now  darting  fire,  now  smiling  fondest 
love,  and,  while  overshadowed  or  unclouded,  never,  never  the 
same,  but  borrowing  the  Spirit's  genius,  and  glassing  the  emotions  of 
the  heart.  In  sleep,  too,  there  is  something  inexpressibly  touching, 
and  calculated  to  excite  the  deepest  sensibility  in  every  brain  and 
bosom  where  there  exist  feeling  and  fancy — when  the  hushed  breath, 
and  the  closed  eyes,  and  the  motionless  form,  present  a  lovely  likeness 
of  the  image  we  must  all  assume  at  last,  before  our  dust  mingle* 


62  THE  MISER'S  SON. 

with  the  dust  whence  it  arose—when  the  mighty  spirit  of  life  is 
stirring  indeed,  but  so  still,  so  csthn,  and,  in  natures  like  that  of  the 
beautiful  woman,  so  innocent  in  its  visions,  thoughts,  and  ideas. 

And  it  is  a  strange  mystery,  with  its  pomp,  its  darkness,  its 
fierce,  but  melancholy  and  brief  delight,  that  seems  an  antepast  of 
eternity,  to  wean  us  from  the  world  (if  we  could  but  see  Heaven, 
who  could  endure  existence  here?)  leaving  darkness  and  desolation 
behind— hopes,  cares,  sorrows  and  despair  alternating !  Then  we 
again  live  over  our  childhood's  days — our  sins,  our  griefs  and  joys — 
now  passing  from  life  to  death,  now  beyond  time  and  space,  now  in 
some  little  spot  of  earth,  with  some  dear  human  tie  to  bind  us 
closely  to  it ;  then  in  the  heaven  of  heavens,  with  the  Great  Omni- 
potence beaming  upon  our  immortalized  being  : — at  one  moment  in 
the  empyrean  of  God,  with  the  blue  and  glorious  floods  of  ether 
around,  around,  around,  and  instantaneously  precipitated  into  the 
lowest  abyss  of  hell,  all  agony,  and  gloom  and  horror !  Is  it  possible, 
is  it  conceivable,  that  aught  but  an  immaterial  principle  could  per- 
form these  most  antithetical  of  operations  so  immediately  that  they 
hardly  appear  an  act  of  the  will  ?  Truly  may  it  be  said  the  Creator 
has  made  us  in  his  own  image.  As  in  the  beginning  God  said, 
"  Let  there  be  light,  and  there  was  light,"  the  human  mind  compels 
eternity  to  be  present  to  it,  evoking  the  darkness  to  its  conceptions, 
or  soaring  above  it  with  eagle  wings — creating  an  universe  in  the 
illimitable  resources  of  ideas — rushing  beyond  the  bounds  of  its 
own  great  thoughts  (for  it  is  not  itself  subject  to  limits)  making  chaos 
into  beauty,  vivifying,  destroying,  annihilating — it  sinks,  it  rises, 
for  ever  baffling  conception,  for  ever  active  in  sleep  or  wakefulness — 
so  grand,  so  august,  so  awful,  and  incomprehensible! 

There  was  a  settled  expression  of  pensiveness  which  even  in 
slumber  did  not  depart  from  the  countenance  of  the  lovely  being 
who  might  well  have  been  mistaken  for  an  angel  by  those  who 
believe  in  pure  intelligences  having  shape  (but  I  myself  am  Kan- 
tian enough  to  believe  that  there  is  no  such  thing  as  form  in  the 
abstract,  and  that  what  is  purely  spiritual  can  have  no  location  but 
in  the  mind — though  I  do  not  contend  for  the  nonentity  of  matter), 
as  she  slept  so  peacefully. 

On  a  sudden  the  door  of  the  apartment  was  slowly  and  cautiously 
opened,  and  the  figure  of  a  man  darkened  the  space  it  occupied 
previously.  The  moon  had  withdrawn  her  light,  so  that  he  did  not 
instantly  perceive  the  contents  of  the  room,  and  having  closed  the 


THE  MISER'S  SON.  63 

door,  had  advanced  some  paces ;  so  that  he  was  within  a  foot  of 
the  sleeper  (though,  so  soft  and  regular  was  her  breathing,  he  could 
not  hear  a  sound),  when  again  the  radiant  planet  burst  forth,  and 
revealed  her  to  his  gaze.  As  if  by  the  effect  of  electricity  his  whole 
strong  frame  shook,  convulsed,  contracted — then  became  still  as 
death — his  lips  quivered,  but  uttered  not  a  syllable ;  his  eyes  became 
fixed  and  ghastly — the  very  life  seemed  issuing  from  his  heart.  He 
fell  upon  his  knees,  he  clasped  his  hands  in  supplication  ;  and  never 
did  pious  Papist  address  his  patron  saint  with  more  devout  worship 
than  did  tliar  man  adore  the  sleeper. 

"  Great  God  !"  he  at  length  articulated,  "  can  it  be  ?  The  dead 
returned  to  life  !  I  dream,  or  is  it  her  spirit  ?  Dear  ghost,  where- 
fore art  thou  here?  Alive  or  dead  I'll  touch  her !"  He  bent  down, 
and  kissed  that  pure,  bright  brow.  The  breath  of  the  lady  fluttered 
on  his  cheek.  "  She  lives,  she  lives !"  he  exclaimed  wildly.  "  It  is 
herself!  My  Harriet,  my  first — last  beloved  !'* 

The  sound  of  that  deep  and  thrilling  voice,  as  it  burst  forth  in 
accents  of  passionate  joy,  of  wonder,  and  of  tenderness,  awoke  the 
sleeper.  She  gazed  around  with  bewildered  looks. 

"  Ah,  I  am  ever  dreaming  of  him,"  she  said.  "  Great  Heaven," 
(perceiving  a  man  on  his  knees  before  her,)  "  help,  help !" 

"  Harriet,  it  is  I — who  have  thought  you  dead,"  replied  the 
intruder,  in  a  tone  that  could  never  be  forgotten,  suffocated  though 
it  were  from  the  effects  of  excessive  emotion. 

"Walter  Danvers!"  exclaimed  the  lady,  almost  sinking  to  the 
earth,  and  her  knees  trembling  under  her. 

"  Yes,  Harriet  Walsingham.  After  long,  long  years  of  agony  and 
desolation,  we  meet  again,"  responded  Danvers.  "  Oh,  Harriet,  to 
find  you  thus,  when  I  thought  that  those  matchless  features  were 

mouldering  in  the  silence  of  the  charnel ;  and  that  glorious  form 

my  God,  my  God  !" 

And  the  being  of  haughty,  of  fierce,  and  desperate  daring,  who, 
a  few  minutes  before,  had  been  engaged  in  bloody  and  mortal  strife, 
was  humbled  in  the  dust  before  a  helpless  woman,  trembling  and 
quailing  before  her  gaze,  and  unable  to  give  voice  to  his  feelings. 

The  lady  regained  her  composure  with  a  mighty  effort,  and 
steadily  regarding  the  face  of  Danvers,  an  expression  of  mingled 
pride  and  detestation  infused  itself  to  her  own.  Her  stately  and 
perfect  form  erect,  her  pale  cheek,  if  possible,  a  shade  paler  than 
usual,  she  appeared  like  a  being  of  another  world,  addressing  a 


64  THE  MISER'S  SON. 

mortal  abased  by  tbe  deep  consciousness  of  crime  and  inferiority,  as 
after  a  long  silence  she  calmly  and  firmly  spoke. 

"  Man  of  blood  !"  were  her  first  words,  "  what  do  you  here?" 
Then  apparently  relenting  from  the  sternness  of  her  purpose,  before 
an  answer  could  be  given  to  her  question,  added,  "  I  thought  you 
would  never  dare  to  present  yourself  before  me  again.  I  never 
thought  to  see  you  more !" 

"Oh,  Harriet,  Harriet,"  cried  Danvers,  despairingly,  "you  know 
not  what  I  have  suffered.  I  know  that  I  acted  like  a  villain  towards 
you,  but  indeed  I  am  not  so  guilty  as  you  imagine.  Your  image 
has  pursued  and  haunted  me  day  and  night.  Life,  love,  hope — all 
that  we  poor  things  of  dust  prize  in  the  sanctuary  of  the  heart  of 
hearts,  you  have  been — you  yet  remain  to  me.  Pardon  me,  pardon 
a  guilty  wretch,  whose  greatest  crime  was  a  wild  adoration  of  your 
divine  perfections,  and  who  never-— never  can  forgive  himself  the 
misery  he  has  caused  you." 

"  Alas,*'  returned  the  lady,  evidently  touched  by  the  profound 
humility  and  agonized  remorse  depicted  on  the  face  of  Danvers,  "  I 
have  little  to  forgive,  and  never  harboured  for  an  instant  a  vindic- 
tive feeling  towards  you.  Oh,  Walter,  Walter "  sobs  choaking 

her  utterance  (for  her  previous  tranquillity  had  been  indeed  only  on 
the  surface),  "  how  could  you-— how— " 

"  Angel  of  light!"  exclaimed  Danvers,  "  you  have  never  expe- 
rienced the  wild  throbs  of  burning  passion  ;  the  frenzy  and  hope- 
lessness and  anguish  unutterable  of  an  eternal  but  desperate  love  ! 
Yet  I  call  God  to  witness  that  despite  the  deadly  sin,  which  nothing 
can  efface,  that  love  I  bore  for  you  was  pure,  was  sacred  ;  say  that 

you  but  pardon  me,  sweet  saint,  that  I  may  go  forth oh,  heaven, 

and  having  found  you  thus — alive,  compassionate,  I  must  quit  you 
for  ever!  Death,  oh  Death,  would  that  I  were  thine  !"  And  as  he 
spoke  he  struck  his  forehead  with  his  clenched  hand,  and  writhed  in 
fearful  agony. 

"Nay,  Walter,  this  must  not  be!"  ejaculated  the  beautiful 
woman,  "  whatever  your  crimes,  God  is  merciful,  and  if  you  sin- 
cerely repent — Ha !  what  is  that  noise  ?" 

A  sound  of  many  feet  was  heard  approaching  the  cottage. 

"  They  come  to  take  me,"  answered  Danvers,  without  stirring  an 
inch,  or  moving  a  muscle  of  his  face,  though  the  inward  conflict  of 
many  passions  was  vast  and  tumultuous.  "  It  is  well ;  I  shall 
make  no  more  resistance." 


THK  MISER'S  SON.  65 

"  To  take  you !"  echoed  the  lady  with  dismay  and  horror  in 
every  line  of  her  speaking  countenance,  and  her  frame  shaking 
with  the  wild  excess  of  sudden  emotion,  "  no,  no,  no — they  shall 
kill  me  first !  Come  this  way,  1  do  entreat  you  !  Make  haste — oh, 
make  haste,  for  the  love  of  heaven  !  Ah,  I  hear  them  below  at  the 
window.  For  mercy's  sake,  Walter,  come !" 

"  No,"  he  replied,  abstractedly,  "  wherefore  should  I  ?  My  hour 
is  come — let  fate  do  its  worst." 

"  Hark,  Walter,  they  are  on  the  stairs — for  my  sake,  Walter — by 
the  memory  of  that  fatal  passion,  I  implore  you,  come,  come!" 

He  shook  his  head.  "  It  were  vain,"  he  answered. 

"  Not  so,  not  so — they  are  here  at  the  door,"  (her  voice  sinking 
to  a  thrilling  whisper)  "  but  I  will  lock  it ;  there,  now  I  know  that 
I  can  conceal  you  in  the  adjoining  room." 

Still  Danvers  remained  rooted  where  he  was.  Steps  and  voices 
were  now  indeed  to  be  distinguished,  though  the  fears  of  the  lady 
had  made  her  imagine  them  before  they  were  actually  heard.  She 
threw  herself  on  her  knees  before  him,  and  raised  her  beautiful  and 
glorious  orbs  to  his  moveless  face. 

"  You  -must,  Walter,"  she  exclaimed,  in  low  and  startling  tones, 
that  searched  his  very  soul.  "  Shall  /thus  prostrate  myself  before 
you  ?  //  Now  they  are  here  ;  they  will  burst  open  the  door ;  if 
you  ever  loved  me— me,  who  idolized  you,  and,  oh  God,  even  now, 
in  spite  of  all  that  has  passed,  cherish  a  guilty  and  eternal  love — " 

"  Enough,"  interrupted  Danvers,  a  violent  and  electric  shock 
convulsing  him,  "  dispose  of  me  as  you  will,"  and  they  entered  the 
inner  chamber  without  further  delay. 


THE  MISER'S  SON. 


CHAPTER  V. 


Passion  !  I  see:  Passion  !     't  has  many  senses; 
And  plays  in  each  the  abortive  casuist. 
A  startling  paradox  is  passion,  sir ; 
Wormwood  and  honey!  brief  as  mortal  thought! 
Eternal  as  the  everlasting  word. — Martinuxzi. 

Srevit  amor,  magnoque  irarum  fluctuat  aestu. 

VrIRCIL. 


CORPORAL    FIGGTNS'    DISCERNMENT — THE    SEARCH — DEVOTION. 

CORPORAL  FIGGINS,  foremost  in  the  chase  of  Danvers,  when  he 
found  that  the  fugitive  had  again  obtained  a  start,  and  that  the 
horse  he  himself  rode  was  not  able  to  sustain  his  great  bulk  much 
longer  in  such  a  pursuit,  lost  no  time  in  ascending  a  tall  elrn,  though 
it  was  with  difficulty  he  managed  to  do  so—the  boughs  being 
hardly  able  to  bear  him — regardless  of  the  insensible  state  of  the 
dragoon,  who  had  been  so  signally  worsted.  He  was  thus  enabled  to 
reconnoitre  his  movements  for  a  considerable  distance,  but  at  length 
an  angle  in  the  road  concealed  him  from  sight.  Descending  with 
all  expedition,  and  finding  that  the  dragoon  was  gradually  recover- 
ing, he  left  him  to  the  care  of  his  comrades,  who  were  now  within 
musket-shot,  and  re-mounting,  again  spurred  forwards  until  he 
reached  the  spot  where  Danvers  had  disappeared.  Just  at  this 
juncture  he  saw  Dickon  at  a  great  distance  in  full  career,  and  with- 
out a  rider.  The  Corporal  put  his  finger  to  his  nose,  and  thought. 

"  That  fellow  would  never  be  thrown,"  he  exclaimed  aloud,  after 
a  minute's  pause;  "  no,  no,  it's  a  stratagem  of  war.  Monstrous 
clever  dog !" 

Again  he  continued  his  course,  carefully  marking  the  prints  of  the 
horse's  hoofs ;  but  there  had  been  a  recent,  mounted  traveller  on 
the  same  road,  so  that  he  was  somewhat  puzzled  exactly  to  trace 


THE  MISER'S  SON.  67 

the  fugitive  as,  farther  on,  it  was  evident  that  Danvers  had  not 
taken  the  same  path  as  his  precursor.  Accordingly,  once  more  lie 
had  recourse  to  his  peculiar  ratiocinative  process,  which,  although 
not  conducted  by  any  rules  of  the  dialecticians,  was  simple,  shrewd, 
and  astute. 

"  Let  me  see,"  quoth  the  Corporal,  "  one  of  these  two  roads 
here  he  must  have  taken,  and  this  one  he  surely  would  not  have 
thought  of,  as  it  is  so  exposed.  But  then,  I  should  think  he  must 
be  aware  that  the  other  would  only  lead  him  into  fresh  peril.  Ah, 
I  have  it !  He  is  hiding  in  the  shrubbery  yonder,  and  wishes  us  to 
imagine  his  horse  threw  him  into  the  river — that  must  be  it,  for  I 
see  the  cavalry  sent  round  to  take  him  in  the  van — the  cunning- 
rascal  !" 

And  with  these  expressions  Figgitis  immediately  proceeded  to  the 
garden  wall  that  Danvers  had  leaped.  His  quick  eye  detected  a 
foot-mark  in  the  sod,  and  finding  that  the  soldiers  were  close  at 
hand  he  shouted  to  them  to  follow,  and  with  elephantine  agility 
threw  himself  over,  and  cocking  a  pistol  began  to  look  about  for 
more  unmistakable  traces  of  the  fugitive. 

He  was  not  long  in  discovering  the  fresh  marks  of  his  feet,  and 
followed  them  up  to  the  house  in  which  he  had  taken  refuge.  "  How 
could  he  have  got  in,  for  he  must  be  in  the  house !"  meditated 
Figgius.  He  tried  a  door,  which  was  locked  ;  but,  on  turning  his 
eyes  upwards,  descried  a  window  that  was  not  quite  closed,  about 
seven  feet  from  the  earth.  "  So,  so,  he  must  have  had  a  hard 
scramble  up  there,"  thought  the  Corporal,  "  I  shan't  attempt  to 
follow."  He  returned  to  the  garden  wall. 

"  Surround  the  house !"  he  cried  to  the  dragoons  who  now,  to 
the  amount  of  a  dozen,  had  arrived,  "  and  one  or  two  of  you  come 
with  me,  for  he  is  a  desperate  dog." 

The  Corporal  now  returned,  burst  open  the  door,  and  entered  the 
house,  a  couple  of  troopers  having  dismounted  and  followed  him. 
By  this  time  nearly  half  the  detachment  had  reached  the  scene  of 
action,  and  several  of  them  made  for  the  dwelling,  and  having 
gained  it,  every  practicable,  and  indeed  impracticable  mode  of 
egress  was  speedily  guarded.  Meanwhile  the  Corporal  cautiously 
made  his  way  along  a  dark  passage,  and  entered  a  room,  where  he 
found  a  female  domestic  buried  in  deep  repose,  and  having  struck  a 
light  and  found  that  Danvers  was  not  there,  he  proceeded  up  a 
flight  of  stairs,  and  discovered  an  open  door. 


68  THE  MISER'S  SON. 

"  Where  the  deuce  can  he  be  ?"  muttered  Figgins  to  the  soldiers, 
"  he  is  not  in  this  room." 

"  No,  there  is  the  mark  of  a  dirty  shoe,"  was  the  rejoinder  of 
one  of  the  dragoons,  "  this  way." 

They  were  now  at  the  door  of  an  apartment,  which  it  was  evident 
Danvers  had  entered,  and  perceiving  it  was  locked  they  hesitated  for 
an  instant  how  to  proceed.  "  Down  with  it !"  at  length  exclaimed 
Figgins  peremptorily,  and  throwing  himself  against  it,  his  own  weight 
alone  sufficed  to  demolish  the  panels.  He  had  scarcely  effected  an 
entrance,  when  a  form  of  grace  and  majesty  advanced  from  an  inner 
chamber,  a  lamp  in  her  hand,  and  confronted  the  intruders. 

There  was  something  so  august  in  the  beauty  presented  to  their 
view,  that  the  rude  troopers  instantly  doffed  their  helmets,  and 
Figgins,  viewing  the  lady  with  astonishment,  ejaculated, 

"  What !  do  I  see  Miss  Walsingham  ?" 

"  How  is  it,"  said  the  lady  with  stern  and  haughty  accents,  "  that 
you  thus  violently  invade  the  privacy  of  my  house  at  such  an 
hour?" 

"  I  beg  your  pardon,  Miss  Walsingham,  but  we  are  in  search  of 
a  culprit  who  is  hiding  here,"  returned  Figgins,  reverentially,  "  and 
indeed,  madam,  I  didn't  know  you  were  the  mistress  of  the  house, 
or  I  should  have  used  more  ceremony ;  but  we  must  not  delay. 
Will  you  allow  us  to  continue  our  search  ?" 

"  Certainly,"  answered  Miss  Walsingham  calmly  ;  "  but  I  can- 
not but  think  that  your  conduct  has  been  most  unwarrantable,  in 
breaking  open  this  door,  before  applying  for  admittance  ;  and  as  I 
have  been  sitting  up  hitherto,  and  no  person  has  passed  through 
this  apartment,  I  must  request  you  to  retire  forth  with." 

Corporal  Figgins  hesitated  to  comply  with  this  demand.  «'  For- 
give me,  madam,"  he  said,  "  but  we  saw  the  print  of  a  dirty  foot  at 
the  door,  and  I  perceive  it  in  this  chamber,  and  therefore  duty — " 

"  Impossible!"  interrupted  Miss  Walsingham,  "  unless  it  be  my 
own  footstep.  I  was  in  the  garden  late  this  evening." 

The  Corporal  fixed  his  keen,  penetrating  eye  on  the  beautiful 
face  before  him,  and  he  thought  he  could  detect  a  slight— a  very 
slight  blush  on  it. 

"That  footmark  cannot  be  yours,  madam,"  returned  Figgins; 
"  your  shoe  is  very  small ;  pray,  permit  me  to  pass  you ;"  and  so 
saying,  he  was  about  to  enter  the  inner  apartment,  when  the  lady 
prevented  him. 


THE  MISER'S  SON.  69 

"  Not  one  step  farther,"  she  said,  in  a  voice  that  awed  the  firm 
heart  of  the  Corporal,  so  steady,  so  proud  and  commanding  was  its 
clear,  bell-like  sound  and  articulation.  "  I  have  told  you  already — '* 

"  Pardon  me,  madam,  but  I  think  I  heard  a  sound  issue  from 
your  chamber,  just  then." 

"  That  is  my  sleeping  apartment,"  rejoined  Miss  Walsingham, 
with  an  increase  of  dignity,  "  and  none  caw  be  there.  I  command  you 
to  retire." 

"  Indeed,  madam,  I  should  be  sorry  to  offend  you,  but  I  believe 
I  have  no  alternative  as  to  my  conduct.  I  do  not,  of  course,  doubt 
your  word,  but  the  man  may  have  stepped  by,  unobserved  by  you  ;" 
and  hearing  the  voices  of  several  soldiers,  as  they  ascended  the 
stairs,  Figgins  again  attempted  to  proceed  in  his  investigation. 

With  flashing  eyes,  with  frowning  brow,  with  erect  stature,  and 
lips  that  seemed,  as  it  were,  instinct  with  passion,  yet  in  a  voice 
subdued  almost  to  a  whisper,  Miss  Walsingham  caught  the  arm  of 
the  Corporal,  and  exclaimed, 

"  Beware !  I  will  not  endure  insult.  I  have  told  you  it  is  impos- 
sible that  any  person  can  have  entered  this  chamber ;"  and,  per- 
ceiving that  an  officer  was  now  present,  she  added,  "  I  believe,  sir, 
your  name  is  Captain  Norton.  Will  you  have  the  goodness  to  order 
your  men  to  withdraw  ?" 

"  I  should  be  loth,  dear  madam,"  returned  the  officer,  in  that 
Grandisonian  style  of  gallantry  that  characterised  the  politeness  of 
the  middle  of  the  eighteenth  century,  "  I  should  be  loth  to  in- 
vade the  sanctity  of  a  lady's  chamber,  more  especially  that  of  Miss 
Harriet  Walsingham,  whom  I  heartily  rejoice  to  see  after  an  interval 
of  so  many  years;  but,  really,  I — I  cannot  exactly  perceive  how  it 
is  possible  to  comply  with  your  wishes  under  the  circumstances  of 
the  case,  and  as  it  cannot  pain  you " 

"  Your  ear,  one  moment,"  interrupted  Miss  Walsingham,  trem- 
bling violently,  and  agitated  beyond  expression  by  some  inexplicable 
feelings,  on  perceiving  that  she  had  nothing  to  hope  from  the 
civility  of  Captain  Norton,  who  was  a  rigid  disciplinarian,  and 
would  not  have  sacrificed  a  single  iota  of  duty  for  all  the  ladies  in 
the  world,  despite  the  veneration  in  which  he  held  them  ;  ("  yes, 
it  is  the  only  way  to  save  him,"  she  thought  to  herself  with  agony), 
and  whispered,  "  Oh,  sir,  you  are  an  old  acquaintance  of  my 
family,  save — save  my  honour  !" 

"  Good  God  !"  ejaculated  the  officer,  with  undisguised  horror, 


70  THE  MISER'S  SON. 

hut  before  he  could  recover  his  utter  astonishment  at  receiving  such 
an  intimation,  Figgins,  taking  advantage  of  Miss  Walsingham's 
forgetfulness  of  having  left  sufficient  room  for  a  person  to  pass  by 
her,  darted  into  the  inner  room.  Uttering  a  scream  of  agony  and 
dismay,  Miss  Walsingtiam  rushed  after  him. 

"  Back,  rny  men !"  ejaculated  Captain  Norton,  finding  that  the 
dragoons  were  pressing  forwards,  and  hastily  endeavouring  to  avert 
an  exposure,  the  idea  of  which  filled  him  with  repugnance.  But, 
before  he  could  himself  enter  after  the  Corporal  and  the  lady,  and 
close  the  door,  there  was  the  sound  of  a  blow  loud  as  the  report  of 
a  pistol. 

The  scream  of  Miss  Walsingham  reached  the  ear  of  Danvers,  who 
had  been  concealed  by  her  in  a  closet,  and  bursting  forth  with  rage 
and  indignation,  imagining  that  she  had  received  some  outrage,  and 
perceiving  that  she  clung  struggling  to  the  arm  of  Figgins,  who,  in 
his  efforts  to  disengage  himself,  threw  her  down,  he  struck  him  so 
desperately  as  to  dash  his  huge  form  motionless  to  the  ground. 
Raising  the  scarcely  less  inanimate  body  of  Miss  Walsingham  in  his 
arms,  he  chafed  her  hands,  and  tenderly  besought  her  to  be  com- 
forted. Then  perceiving  the  presence  of  Captain  Norton  he  drew  his 
sword  ;  but  instantly  changing  his  determination,  said, 

"  I  am  the  man  you  seek.     I  yield  my  weapon  to  you." 

"  Mr.  Danvers !"  cried  Captain  Norton,  "  I  am  all  wonder  ! 
Ah,  I  have  discovered  the  mystery  now.  Oh,  Miss  Walsingham,  you 
should  not  have  thus  imposed  upon  me — though,  indeed,  1  could  not 
for  an  instant  believe  that  as  pure  a  saint  as  ever  graced  the  courts 
of  heaven,  could  be  guilty " 

"  What,"  exclaimed  Danvers,  impetuously,  gathering  in  an 
instant  the  whole  enigma,  "did  she  indeed  say  that1.  Oh  Harriet, 
Harriet — and  for  me — such  a  worm — for  me,  too  !  God — God 
bless  you  !" 

And  heedless  of  the  presence  of  the  officer,  he  knelt  down  and 
pressed  the  hand  of  that  lovely  arid  devoted  woman  to  his  lips, 
while  tears  rolled  rapidly  upon  it,  and  sobs  heaved  his  broad  Her- 
culean chest.  The  Captain  was  deeply  affected,  notwithstanding 
his  decorum  and  dignity. 

"  What  devotion  !"  he  inwardly  exclaimed.  "  Such  a  love  as  this 
woman  must  entertain  for  this  man  is  beyond  conception  priceless." 

Woman's  love  is  indeed  a  treasure,  which  transcends  the  power 
of  thought  to  conceive.  I  speak  not  of  the  ordinary  love  of  ordinary 


THE  MISER'S  SON.  71 

woman;  but  of  a  devotedness  like  that  just  displayed,  which  their 
good  sort  of  inoffensive  commonplace  natures  cannot  comprehend. 
True  love  almost  appears  to  reverse  the  general  laws  of  our  being, 
and  to  make  us  infinitely  more  anxious  for  the  welfare  of  the  one 
object  than  our  own.  Well  might  the  poet  exclaim  that  it  is  not  of 
earth,  but  it  is  in  the  earth  as  a  solitary  Angel,  cheering,  supporting, 
strengthening  ;  and  affording  no  dim,  nor  faint,  nor  shadowy  and  un- 
certain image  of  the  ETERNITY  IT  BRINGS  DOWN  TO  TIME. 


CHAPTER  VI. 


Nay  now  bestir  thyself;  there  is  no  time 
For  long  delays  and  council.     Let  the  wind 
Bear  on  its  wings  thy  heart  and  thy  resolve. 

Old  Play. 

Sleep  stays  not,  though  a  monarch  bid  ; 

So  I  love  to  wake  ere  break  of  day. — COI.ERIDCK. 


LITTLE    GEORGE    AND    HIS    ADVENTURES — SHOWING    THAT    THE 
INFLUENCE  OF  A  PRETTY  MAIDEN  IS  UNIVERSALLY  POTENT. 

WHILE  Danvers  was  engaged  in  the  terrible  struggles  detailed  in 
the  foregone  chapters,  the  noble  little  fellow,  whose  gratitude  for 
the  service  he  had  rendered  him  had  prompted  to  such  great  exer- 
tions in  his  behalf,  did  not  remain  inactive ;  for  overlooked  in  the 
precipitation  of  pursuit,  he  was  able  to  enter  the  apartment  of  his 
new  friend  and  ally  unobserved,  and  to  discover  an  open  letter 
which  he  had  dropped  accidentally,  bearing  his  name  and  address. 
George  ruminated  an  instant. 

"  I  wonder  whether  he  will  escape,"  he  murmured  ;  "  if  not, 
what  is  best  to  be  done  ?"  This  was  a  puzzling  question  to  the  boy, 
whose  only  object  was  to  be  of  service  to  his  benefactor,  towards 
whom  he  felt  a  sentiment  of  kindness  and  affection,  which  he  had 
never  before  experienced  for  so  recent  acquaintance.  "  Let  me  see," 


72  THE  MISER'S  SON. 

continued  the  thoughtful  child,  "  if  he  is  taken  they  will  put  him 
into  prison,  and  his  friends  will  be  anxious  about  him  at  any  rate. 
Either  way,  I  of  myself  can  do  nothing  to  serve  him,  and  so  I  think 
I  will  try  and  find  out  this  place."  Thus  resolved,  George  descended 
cautiously,  and  looked  around  him.  All  had  vanished  from  the 
place,  eager  to  behold  as  much  as  possible  of  the  pursuit. 

"  I  will  saddle  the  landlord's  pony,  and  so  save  time,"  said  the 
boy.  And  proceeding  to  the  stables  he  there  found,  as  he  expected, 
a  diminutive  steed  quietly  reposing  on  his  straw,  and  speedily  com- 
pleted arrangements  for  the  journey  on  which  he  had  determined. 
Mounting  the  pony,  he  was  about  to  quit  the  stable  when  a  sturdy 
lad,  who  was  help  to  the  hostler,  upon  a  sudden  made  his  ap- 
pearance. 

"  I  say,  young  gemman  !"  exclaimed  this  functionary,  on  per- 
ceiving George  all  equipped  for  a  ride,  "  what  be  you  a-going  for 
to  do  with  that  'ere  powney  ?" 

The  child  made  no  reply ;  but  knowing  the  great  necessity  for 
dispatch,  if  he  wished  to  get  clear  away,  he  bestowed  a  hearty 
smack  on  the  pony,  and  immediately  galloped  from  the  spot. 

Indignant  at  this  supercilious  disregard  of  his  authority,  the 
stable-boy  quickly  pursued,  and  another  hard  chase  was  the  result. 
George  was  a  good  rider,  considering  his  years,  a  circumstance  in  a 
great  measure  owing  to  his  once  having  been  engaged  in  some 
equestrian  performances  something  similar  to  those  now  exhibited 
at  Astley's,  and  although  the  ground  was  extremely  rugged,  bravely- 
kept  his  seat,  and  urged  on  the  pony  both  with  voice  and  hand. 
The  stable-boy  was  nimble  of  foot  and  sound  of  wind,  so  that  the 
little  steed  was  not  much  more  than  a  match  for  him  in  swiftness ; 
but  his  present  rider  was  of  very  little  weight,  and  he  was  fresh 
after  a  long  repose. 

But  an  unexpected  difficulty  here  assailed  poor  George;  for 
several  persons  were  approaching  towards  him  down  a  narrow  lane, 
which  he  had  chosen  to  thread,  and  he  knew  that  he  must  be  inevi- 
tably captured  by  them,  if  they  heard  the  lusty  voice  of  his  pursuer 
vociferating  "  Stop  him  !"  Indeed  he  discerned  that  they  belonged 
to  the  Inn,  so  that  he  was  certain  to  be  recognised.  At  once  taking 
his  resolution,  he  abruptly  turned,  and  dashing  back,  made  a  despe- 
rate charge  on  the  stable-boy,  who  was  so  unprepared  for  such  a 
fierce  attack  that  he  was  knocked  down,  and  George  obtained  a 
start  of  nearly  a  hundred  yards.  With  loud  shouts  of  triumph  he 


THE  MISER'S  SON.  73 

continued  his  flight,  cleared  a  low  hedge,  bounded  over  a  clover 
field,  and  ultimately,  after  a  chase  of  half  an  hour,  succeeded  in 
baffling  all  pursuit.  Victorious  thus  far,  his  next  consideration  was 
how  to  find  the  locality  to  which  he  was  directed  by  the  letter  he 
had  picked  up ;  and  the  moon  shining  forth  with  splendour,  he 
took  the  epistle  out  of  his  pocket,  and,  after  a  moment's  hesitation, 
perused  it. 

The  hand-writing  was  ^fortunately  clear  and  large,  or  George 
could  not  have  deciphered  it ;  but  as  it  was,  he  had  no  difficulty  in 
reading  the  bold  characters,  and  was  rewarded  by  a  clue  to  his  ob- 
ject of  search.  The  following  was  the  purport  of  the  letter : — 

"  MY  UEAR  DANVERS, 

"  I  have  just  seen  Harry,  and  we  are  now  proceeding  to  the  vil- 
lage of  A  *  *  *  *,  in  order  to  communicate  with  several  persons 
favourable  to  the  good  cause.  Your  exertions,  I  know,  are  unceas- 
ing, and,  I  cannot  but  think,  will  ultimately  be  attended  with  suc- 
cess. Walsingham  will  be  a  great  acquisition,  as  he  can  lend 
money,  for  which,  t  have  no  doubt,  we  shall  be  able  to  offer  him 
excellent  security.  I  shall  be  with  you  in  two  or  three  days  at  far- 
thest, and  meanwhile,  if  you  want  to  know  anything  of  my  move- 
ments, if  you  call  at  a  little  cottage,  just  out  of  the  London  road, 
and  about  half  a  mile  from  Y  *  *  *,  the  owner  of  which  is  an  old 
friend  of  yours,  as  I  shall  call  there  to-morrow  (probably,  your  son 
with  me),  you  will  be  able  to  obtain  accurate  information  of  yours, 
very  truly,  "  A.  NORTON." 

"  Norton — I  have  heard  that  name,"  thought  George,  "  oh,  I  re- 
member a  Mr.  Norton  has  the  fine  house  about  five  miles  away.  It 
is  possible  it  may  be  him.  But  my  best  plan  will  be  to  make  at 
once  for  A  *  *  *  *,  and  try  to  find  the  cottage  mentioned  here. 
I  wonder  who  he  is — my  kind  friend  ?  His  name  is  Danvers ;  that 
I  overheard  when  I  found  that  old  witch  and  Figgins  were  plotting 
mischief  against  him.  But  A  *  *  *  *  is  a  very  long  way  off,  and  I 
have  no  time  to  waste."  So  putting  the  pony  into  a  fast  trot, 
George  resumed  his  journey. 

The  bell  of  a  church-clock  tolled  the  hour  of  one  as  he  passed  the 
village  of  A  *  *  *  *,  and  descending  a  short  hill  looked  around 
him  for  the  cottage  indicated  in  the  letter.  In  vain,  however,  he 
directed  his  gaze  now  here,  and  now  there,  for  the  moon  had  chosen 

L 


74  THE  MISER'S  SON. 

to  withdraw,  and  the  trees  grew  to  so  great  a  height,  and  in  such 
thickness  in  every  direction,  that  it  was  probable  a  small  cottage 
might  be  entirely  concealed  by  them.  It  was  not  likely  that  he 
should  obtain  any  directions  at  such  an  hour,  and  perplexed  and 
fatigued  he  knew  not  how  to  act,  when  he  heard  the  clattering  of 
horses'  hoofs  advancing,  and  two  men  emerged  from  an  opening 
among  the  trees,  apparently  engaged  in  interesting  conversation. 
Again  the  moon  shone  forth,  illuminating  every  object,  and  disclosing 
the  persons  of  the  horsemen  to  George.  One  was  a  middle-aged 
man,  of  gentlemanly  exterior,  and  mounted  on  a  fine  grey  mare;  the 
other,  a  slight  and  graceful  youth,  of  some  seventeen  years  of  age, 
whose  horse  was  of  admirable  proportions,  and  whose  dress  was 
studiously  neat  and  plain. 

"Ha!"  exclaimed  the  adventurous  child,  as  he  gazed  on  the 
latter  of  these  individuals,  "  how  like — how  very  like  to  Mr.  Dan- 
vers he  is !  There  can  be  no  harm,  at  all  events,  in  asking  him  his 
name — perhaps  he  maybe  the  son  spoken  of  in  this  letter."  Accost- 
ing the  travellers,  who  now  had  reached  the  ground  where  his  pony 
stood,  George  inquired  "  Pray,  gentlemen,  are  you  acquainted  with 
— with  Mr.  Danvers  ?" 

The  persons  thus  interrogated  were  startled  at  the  abruptness  of 
this  address,  and  surveyed  George  with  curious  and  rather  mis- 
trustful looks. 

"  I  think,  sir,"  continued  the  young  boy,  appealing  to  the  youth, 
"  I  think  you  must  be  Mr.  Harry  Danvers  ?"  and  he  waited 
anxiously  the  rejoinder. 

"  And  if  I  am,  what  do  you  want  with  me,  my  lad  ?" 

"  But  are  you  the  son  of  Mr.  Danvers  ?"  asked  George. 

"  What  is  your  motive  for  inquiring?  I  am  the  person  you  seek." 

"  Then,  sir,  1  think  that  your  father  is  in  great  danger,  for  he  is 
pursued  by  soldiers." 

"  What—pursued  !  where  ?"  exclaimed  the  youth  and  his  com- 
panion in  one  breath. 

"  Ah,  I  don't  know  where  he  is  now — but  I  will  tell  you  all  I 
can  about  him."  And  with  these  words  George  proceeded  to  re- 
count with  brief  simplicity  the  escape  of  Danvers,  and  his  own 
instrumentality  in  facilitating  it ;  and  finally  produced  the  letter  he 
had  picked  up  in  the  Inn. 

"This  is  most  unfortunate,  Harry,"  said  the  gentleman  who 
accompanied  young  Danvers.  "  I  wrote  that  letter  to  your  father 


THE  MISER'S  SON. 

yesterday,  and  sent  it  by  my  own  groom.  I  know  that  my  brother, 
the  captain,  is  out  also  with  a  troop  of  dragoons,  and,  from  what  I 
can  gather  from  this  lad,  in  the  direction  he  has  taken  in  flight;  so 
that  Danvers  will  surely  be  intercepted." 

"  Prompt  measures  must  be  pursued  to  save  him,"  rejoined 
Harry  Danvers,  with  the  decisiveness  of  his  father.  "  Suppose  you 

ride  to (which  is  not  above  half  an  hour's  gallop  hence),  and 

consult  with  the  meeting  now  held  there.  I  will  proceed  to  the  Inn 
which  this  little  fellow  mentions — gain  farther  intelligence,  and  re- 
join you  with  all  despatch.  I  wish  I  could  communicate  with  our 
good  Elizabeth,  too — she  might  devise  something  in  case  of  his 
being  already  captured. "- 

"  Can  I  be  of  use  to  you  ?"  inquired  George. 

"  You  are  a  brave  boy — yes."  Tearing  out  a  leaf  from  his 
pocket-book,  Harry  Danvers  wrote  a  few  words  with  a  pencil,  and 
gave  it  into  George's  hand.  "  Make  what  speetl  you  can,"  he  said, 

"  to ,  which  is  about  eight  miles  from  this  spot,  if  you  are 

not  too  fatigued,  and  you  will  easily  find  the  house  mentioned  in  the 
direction  of  this  letter.  If  possible,  get  into  the  cottage  without  any 
noise,  and  ask  for  Mrs.  Elizabeth  Haines.  Take  these  ten  guineas, 
and  God  speed  you — many  thanks  for  your  assistance." 

Before  George  could  make  a  reply  of  any  sort,  Harry  Danvers 
had  thrust  some  money  into  his  hand,  and,  striking  spurs  into  his 
horse,  was,  together  with  his  friend  speedily  out  of  sight. 

Wearied  as  he  was,  the  child  did  not  loiter  on  his  journey,  but  man- 
fully bearing  up,  before  the  first  peep  of  dawn  was  in  front  of  the 
cottage  of  Danvers.  Dismounting,  he  reconnoitred  the  house,  and 
finding  that  all  was  buried  in  profound  repose,  hesitated,  in  com- 
pliance with  the  instructions  which  he  had  received,  whether  to  dis- 
turb the  inmates.  Conceiving,  however,  that  anything  was  prefer- 
able to  delay  in  so  urgent  an  affair,  he  was  about  to  knock  for  ad- 
mittance, when  he  heard  a  window  thrown  up  above  him,  and 
perceived  a  fair  face  looking  out  of  it. 

"  Can  I  speak  with  Mrs.  Elizabeth  Haines  ?"  inquired  George,  of 
the  person  thus  presented  to  his  notice. 

"  At  this  time?  What  do  you  want,  child  ?" 

*'  I  must  deliver  my  message  to  her  myself,  pretty  one." 

"  Saucy  boy,"  was  the  reply,  accompanied  with  a  musical  laugh, 
"  Mrs.  Haines  cannot  be  disturbed  at  present,  without  sufficient 
cause." 


76  THE  MISER'S  SON. 

"  But  indeed,  indeed,"  returned  the  child  earnestly,  "'I  must  see 
her,  if  she  is  within." 

•'  From  whom  do  you  come  ?" 

"  I  don't  mind  telling  you,  because  you  have  such  a  sweet  face," 
said  George,  "  and  I  think  you  must  be  related  to  him,  from  your 
likeness— from  Mr.  Harry  Danvers." 

"  Indeed,  little  flatterer— and  what  does  my  brother  want?" 

At  this  juncture  another  window  was  thrown  up,  and  a  more  ma- 
jestic, but  less  lovely  face,  became  apparent. 

"  What  is  the  matter  ?"  asked  the  stern  voice  of  Elizabeth. 

"  I  have  a  note  for  Mrs.  Haines,  from  Mr.  Harry  Danvers,"  was 
the  answer. 

"  Then  give  it  to  me — here,  tie  it  on  to  this  string." 

"  Are  you  sure  you  are  Mistress  Elizabeth  Haines  ?" 

"  Yes,  yes  ;"  and,  drawing  up  the  missive,  Elizabeth  read. 

"  Is  anything  amiss  ?"  inquired  Ellen  Danvers,  (whom  the  reader 
may  have  recognized  in  the  lady  George  first  accosted. 

"  Why,  no — I  think  we  need  not  alarm  ourselves,"  returned 
Elizabeth.  Then,  addressing  the  little  messenger,  she  observed, 
"  You  look  tired,  child,  and  must  need  rest.  I  will  come  down,  and 
let  you  in  directly." 

"  But  is  Harry  ill  ?"  said  Ellen,  anxiously. 

"  No,  he  is  quite  well,"  answered  George,  readily,  while  Mrs. 
Haines  threw  on  her  habiliments  and  descended  to  admit  him. 

"  But  what  is  the  matter?  pray  tell  me,  pretty  boy,  if  you  know," 
said  Ellen,  imploringly. 

The  appeal  was  irresistible,  and  George  replied,  "  Mr.  Danvers, 
who,  I  suppose,  is  your  father,  has  been  pursued  by  some  soldiers." 

Before  he  could  conclude  the  sentence,  Mrs.  Haines  had  opened 
the  door  to  him,  and  frowning  at  his  indiscretion  told  him  to  enter. 


THE  MISER'S  SON.  77 


CHAPTER  VIK 


Oli.  What's  a  drunken  man  like,  fool  ? 

Cln.  Like  a  drowned  man,  a  fool,  and  a  madman ;  one  draught  above  heat  makes 
him  a  fool ;  the  second,  mads  him  ;  and  a  third,  drowns  him. — SHAKSPEARE. 

Peopled  with  unimaginable  shapes. — SHELLEY. 


HARRY    DANVERS    AND    THE    LITTLE    FUDDLED    PHILOSOPHER — 
THK  OLD   WOMAN — ASSOCIATION    OF   IDEAS. 

MEANTIME  Harry  Danvers,  not  a  little  anxious  on  account  of  his 
father,  with  all  speed  made  towards  the  village  where  the  Britannia 
Inn  was  situated,  and  reached  it  without  any  adventure.  Aware  of 
the  necessity  for  caution  in  his  proceedings,  he  looked  about  him,  for 
the  purpose  of  examining  the  premises,  that  he  might  discover  whe- 
ther any  one  were  in  motion  to  whom  he  might  direct  his  inquiries ; 
but  for  a  considerable  time  his  search  was  crowned  with  no  success. 
The  denizens  of  the  Inn  had  at  length  retired  to  rest,  and  were  bu- 
ried in  sleep. 

Debating  with  himself  whether  he  should  arouse  the  somnolent 
inmates,  or  endeavour  to  procure  his  information  by  other  means,  he 
observed  not  a  rotund  figure  progressing  towards  him  with  uneven 
steps,  now  and  then  breaking  forth  into  snatches  of  song,  the  bur- 
then of  which  it  was  not  a  very  easy  matter  to  catch  (so  thick  was 
the  minstrel's  utterance),  but  which  contained  allusions  to  wine,  to 
women,  to  love  and  the  devil,  in  conjunction  with  sundry  other 
ladies  and  gentlemen,  and  et  cceteras,  "  altogether  too  numerous  to 
mention." 

Harry  turned  in  his  saddle,  as  his  ear  caught  a  fragment  of  the 
melody  which  the  fat  individual  was  delighting  himself  withal ;  and 
saw  the  diminutive  figure  of  a  man,  with  a  tolerable  protuberance  of 


78  THE  MISER'S  SON. 

stomach,  who  had  evidently  been  indulging  in  copious  libations,  and 
who  was  directing  his  steps  to  the  door  of  the  Inn  where  the  youth 
had  halted. 

Hesitating  whether  he  should  address  the  pinguid  little  stranger, 
Harry  remained  stationary,  while  the  other  reeled  onwards,  inter- 
larding his  musical  performance  with  a  variety  of  ejaculations,  some 
of  which  were  so  strange  and  incoherent,  that  they  gave  the  hearer  an 
idea  that  he  was  labouring  under  some  extraordinary  hallucination, 
independent  of  that  produced  by  the  fumes  of  alcohol  on  the  brain. 

"  Bright  are  the  heavens !"  exclaimed  the  stranger,  as  he  neared 
the  youth,  "  bright  with  stars  — but  thy  dear  eyes  are  more  divinely 
bright !  Wine,  wine,  drink  the  wine — the  ruby,  ruby  wine !"  and  here 
he  broke  forth  into  incomprehensible  song ;  but,  suddenly  stagger- 
ing against  the  horse  of  Harry,  he  tottered,  reeled,  and  fell  to  the 
earth,  where  he  lay,  looking  upwards  with  a  most  ludicrous  expres- 
sion of  countenance,  that  at  any  other  time  would  have  excited  a 
hearty  burst  of  merriment  from  the  youth ;  but  now  he  was  aware 
that  he  might  not  delay  an  instant  longer  than  was  absolutely  requi- 
site, wishing  to  succour  his  father.  Accordingly,  he  addressed  the 
fallen  gentleman,  who  was  making  vain,  though  violent  efforts  to 
recover  his  centre  of  gravity,  his  corpulent  person  wagging  up  and 
down  in  the  exertions  he  made  to  rise,  and  said, 

"  Can  I  assist  you  to  stand  ?"  holding  his  hand  to  the  unknown. 
"  I  thank  you,  gracious  stranger !"  responded  the  fat  little  per- 
sonage, with  theatrical  pomposity,  and  availing  himself  of  the  prof- 
fered help.  "  I  come  from  far  this  light — this  night,  and  long  to 
reach — ah,  what  was  I  saying?  1  beg  your  pardon,  sir — but  I'm  a 
man  so  crossed  by  fortune,  and  by  fate  so  stung— the  black  and  fell 
ingratitude  of  man  hath  overshadowed  so  my  mind  of  life — (that's 
fine— mind  of  life — damme,  eh  ?") 

"  My  good  sir,"  interposed  Harry,  impatiently. 
"  My  mind  of  life !  it  is  metaphysical,  psychological,  ontological ; 
you  perceive  it  is  an  imitation  of  the  Elizabethan  dramatists,  whose 
peculiar  forte  lay  in  happy  allusion,  analogy,  and  correct  expression 
of  ideas." 

"  I  want  to  ask  you "  commenced  the  youth,  but  he^was  not 

permitted  to  conclude  his  sentence. 

•'  The  lucid  and  divine  perspicuity,  perspicacity  and  comprehen- 
siveness of  the  most  abstract  ideas  in  poetry— the  bringing  down  of 
lofty  and  immortal  truths  to  the  intelligence  of  the  ignorant  vulgar, 


THE  MISER'S  SON.  79 

is  a  privilege  appertaining  to  Genius  only.  There's  a  fluent  period 
for  you,  full  of  strength  and  harmony  !  Come,  I'll  give  you  a  song 
now,  if  you  like." 

"  Friend,  I  am  in  great  haste,  and  desirous  of  know " 

"  There's  a  great  mystery  in  poetry — a  very — very  great  one  !" 
continued  the  poet  stranger,  without  noticing  the  impatience  of  his 
auditor  ;  "  and  I  can  demonstrate  to  you  that  the  heart  of  this  mys- 
tery may  be  found  in  the  combination  of  abstract  ideas " 

"D — n  abstract  ideas!"  exclaimed  Harry,  angrily. 

"  No,  no,  don't  damn  abstract  ideas !"  said  the  little  man,  with 
drunken  gravity,  "  for  you  perceive  that  the  imagination  is  evi- 
dently affected  by " 

"  I  cannot  stay  to  dispute  the  point  with  you,  my  friend.  Have 
you  seen " 

"  Seen,  seen !  what  have  not  poets  seen  ? — and  I  have  once  a 
poet  been  !  As  the  wild  music  of  the  spheres  revolves — Ha,  I  won- 
der what  makes  the  earth  totter  so  under  one's  feet  ?  It's  a  philoso- 
phical problem,  that  has  never  yet  been  solved  by  the  ingenuity  of 
man. — My  worthy  sir,  I  pray  you,  leave  me  not,  but  check  impa- 
tience even  in  the  bud.  I  say,  it's  a  problem  " 

"  Confound  the  fellow,"  muttered  the  young  man,  as  the  tipsy 
individual  caught  him  by  the  arm,  and  prevented  him  from  quitting 
so  unprofitable  a  companion. 

"  It's  a  philosophical  problem  whether  what  we  call  motion  be 
not  the  tendency  of  the  mind  to  activity — whether  motion  be  not  in 
the  mind — no,  that's  not  it — how  shall  I  state  the  proposition?" 

"  I  can  stay  no  longer,"  exclaimed  Harry,  roughly,  "  for  I  see 
you  are  drunk,  and  can  give  no  information." 

"  Drunk,  sir !  What  do  you  call  drunk  ?  An  affection  of  the  ex- 
ternal senses  is  not  drunkenness,  or  you  would  be  drunk — as  you 
imagine  I  am  so.  No,  I  define  the  idea  of  drunkenness  to  be  mo- 
tion in " 

Here  Harry,  rinding  that  the  fat  individual  was  resolved  on  detain- 
ing him  in  order  to  deliver  his  (i.  e.  the  fat  man's)  overflowing  soul 
of  its  superabundant  riches,  with  a  sudden  jerk  pitched  him  again 
to  the  earth,  where  he  measured  five  feet  one  on  some  mud  and  dirt 
that  lay  conveniently  for  his  reception :  thus  affording  a  complete 
and  practical  illustration  of  the  philosopher's  idea,  by  making  him 
exhibit  motion  in  filth. 


80  THE  MISER'S  SON. 

While  the  genius  lay  kicking  and  bawling  lustily,  Harry  again  re- 
volved the  difficulties  of  his  position. 

"  What  the  deuce  shall  I  do  ?"  he  muttered  to  himself.  "  I  fear 
from  my  likeness  to  my  father  I  should  be  suspected  ;  but  better 
incur  the  risk  than  remain  inactive.  I  suppose  I  must  knock  up  the 
landlord— that  drunken  little  brute  can't  give  a  rational  reply  ?" 

He  was  relieved  from  his  embarrassing  dilemma  by  the  appear- 
ance of  a  female,  who,  on  perceiving  him,  gave  a  start  of  surprise, 
and  appeared  undecided  how  to  act.  Harry  accosted  her,  without 
allowing  her  time  for  thought  however,  (as  she  seemed  wavering 
whether  to  retire  or  advance,)  saying, 

"  I  find  that  there  has  been  a  remarkable  event  here — the  capture 
of  a  prisoner,  was  it  not." 

"  O,  yes !"  replied  the  woman,  mysteriously  surveying  the  youth 
with  an  air  of  confidential  significance,  and  approaching  nearer  to 
him,  she  whispered,  "  He  is  not  taken,  Master  Danvers,  he  is  safe." 

Harry  was  put  off  his  guard  by  the  woman's  manner,  and  though 
surprised  at  Ihe  familiarity  of  her  address,  inquired  with  breathless 
interest,  "Where  is  he?" 

"  He  is  hiding ;  but  this  is  not  the  place  for  such  a  confidence  as 
ours.  We  might  be  watched,  and  you  arrested  on  suspicion,  for  the 
authorities  are  all  alive,  since  the  discovery  of  your  plot.  Follow 
me,  and  you  shall  learn  further." 

Harry  paused  irresolute ;  but  conceiving,  even  if  treachery  were 
meditated,  that  the  strange  female  could  not  have  any  motive  for 
leading  him  away  from  a  place  where  he  might  easily  have  been  cap- 
tured— fatigued  as  was  his  horse  with  a  long  journey — moreover  for- 
getting, in  the  excitement  of  the  moment,  the  singular  resemblance 
he  bore  to  his  father,  and  thinking  that  she  could  not  have  recog- 
nised him  so  immediately,  unless  entrusted  by  the  object  of  his  in- 
quiries with  a  special  communication,  he  yielded  to  the  impulse  of 
his  feelings,  in  the  hope  of  being  able  to  extricate  Danvers  from 
difficulty. 

The  woman  hobbled  briskly  onwards,  maintaining  an  unbroken 
silence,  and  apparently  engaged  in  her  own  cogitations.  Occasion- 
ally, she  would  mutter  to  herself  indeed,  indistinctly,  almost  inau- 
dibly,  and  direct  furtive  glances  at  Harry,  displaying  a  sort  of  un- 
steady vigour  and  agility,  which  her  apparent  decrepitude  hardly 
intimated  she  could  possess. 

At  length,  as  they  reached  a  green  knoll,  surmounted  by  a  growth 


THE  MISER'S  SON,  81 

of  underwood,  the  female  abruptly  stopped  and  said,  "  Your  father 

commissioned  me  to  seek  you,  and  to  say "     The  sentence  was 

interrupted  by  the  apparition  of  a  strange  creature  whom  Harry  at 
first  imagined  to  be  a  large  ape,  but  which,  on  nearer  inspection,  he 
perceived  to  bear  some  resemblance  to  a  human  being,  and  whose 
speed  was  astonishingly  great,  as  it  bounded  toward  the  spot  where 
he  stood  with  his  guide. 

A  wild  confusion  of  ideas  and  associations  rushed  on  his  mind. 
He  seemed  familiar  with  something  about  the  woman,  and  was  con- 
vinced that  he  had  before  seen  a  shape  similar  to  the  nondescript's ; 
but  all  was  like  a  dream  of  the  past — more  vivid  than  a  mere  vision 
indeed,  but  connected  indissolubiy  with  the  fantasies  and  recollec- 
tions of  his  childhood. 

That  wonderful  association  of  ideas — so  complex,  yet  so  clear — 
so  {indefinable,  yet  so  self-evident,  so  wild,  and  strange,  and  unac- 
countable. The  relations  of  things  intermingling  with  the  shadows 
and  chimeras  of  the  brain!  the  infinite  and  indefinite  contrasting 
the  definite  and  finite !  Oh,  the  vast  mysteries  of  mind — the  inter- 
minable diversities  of  sensation !  What  power  is  it  that  binds  alt 
these  together — that  abstracts  and  generalizes,  that  forms,  com- 
bines, and  modifies  ? 

What  wonder,  if  individuals  of  lofty  intellect,  plunged  into  the 
glorious  and  stupendous  ocean  of  mental  philosophy,  are  apt  to  con- 
temn the  tangible  and  the  real,  the  palpable  and  material,  for  the 
beautiful  ideal  of  the  spiritual  and  metaphysical !  The  speculations 
of  abstract  philosophy  must  ever  teem  with  lofty  and  divine  interest; 
and  the  bias  of  fine  souls  and  original  idiosyncrasies  for  ontological 
studies,  clearly  demonstrates  the  magnetic  influence  which  the  un- 
seen and  the  invisible  exercises  over  the  immaterial  principle  within  ; 
and  which  is  developed  in  proportion  as  the  understanding  is  di- 
rected from  the  common  concerns  of  this  common,  vulgar  life,  to 
that  which  exists  within  the  radiant  and  beautiful  heaven  of  pure 
intelligence.  Here  is  nothing  to  clip  the  wings  of  the  spirit!  Little 
though  the  one  being  may  appear  in  his  own  estimation,  when  over- 
whelmed with  the  majesty  of  the  Eternal  Universe,  the  ability  to 
comprehend  a  portion  of  that  infinity,  elevates  while  it  depresses. 
Thank  God  for  that  innate  conviction  of  the  bright  Immortal  which 
\w.  has  stamped  upon  the  spirit  of  the  brain  in  His  own  divine  and 
indestructible  characters,  which,  the  more  that  reason  is  brought 
into  action,  expands  and  quickens.  That  conviction  vivifies  many 


82  THE  MISER'S  SON. 

a  lofty  aspiration — profoundest  breathings  of  the  heart  and  the 
imagination — desires  after  the  existence  beyond  the  grave — a  poetry 
wherein  passion  becomes  celestial,  and  love  is  extended  to  all,  with 
hope,  and  faith,  and  joy.  The  poet  and  philosopher,  who  has  a 
high  and  holy  mission  to  fulfil,  realizes  frequently,  in  his  sublime 
reveries,  pictures  far  too  ethereal  and  exquisite  for  the  pencil  or  the 
pen  to  embody,  to  be  felt  rather  than  analyzed,  and  yet  in  some 
degree  to  be  imparted  by  the  eloquence  of  his  glowing  genius, 
simply  through  that  same  marvellous  faculty  of  association  in  others 
that  perceives  occult  meanings,  and  dim  revealings  of  loveliness  that 
never  cast  its  spell  upon  earth, — reason  approximating  to  imagina- 
tion (is  not  the  highest  philosophy  poetry),  and  imagination  streng- 
thened by  the  very  power  it  antagonizes.  Yet  we  cannot  fathom  the 
depths  of  our  own  hearts,  nor  understand  the  connexion  and  ana- 
logy between  external  objects  and  mental  phenomena.  Still,  the 
very  mystery  is  awfully  delightful,  and  in  tracing  the  delicate  filia- 
tions of  mind,  although  much  is  incomprehensible,  dark,  and  dream- 
like, the  soul  is  filled  with  moral  beauty,  and  drinks  of  the  undefiled 
waters  whence  angels  quench  their  thirst.  Knowledge  is  happiness, 
for  it  is  within;  but  to  fancy,  in  grasping  a  segment  of  it,  we  have 
reached  all,  produces  scepticism  and  foolishness — pride— vanity — 

TO  KNOW  OUR  IGNORANCE  IS  TO  BE  WISE. 


BOOK  III. 


Man's  yesterday  may  ne'er  be  like  his  morrow ; 
Nought  may  endure  but  mutability. — SHELLEV. 

No  doubt  our  souls  can  conjure  with  strong  thoughts, 
Which  are  but  dreams  till  their  effects  be  tried, 
Nor  yet  ensnared  in  the  web  of  destiny, 
Whose  objects,  who  can  reach?— G.  STEPHENS. 


IT Ull*  '*" 


CHAPTER  I. 

A  noble  spirit  in  that  lady  dwells, 
Gentle  as  morn,  and  radiant  as  is  Day, 
Her  heart  ne'er  cherishes  one  mean  desire, 
Her  soul  is  truth,  her  mind  is  virtue's  angel. 

Oid  Play. 

Deep  thoughts  are  ever  dangerous.— R.  H.  HORN*. 

NIL    ADMIRARI — HARRIET    WALSINGHAM'S    CHARACTERISTICS — 
THE   EPICUREAN    AND    HIS    SOLILOQUY. 

!  T  is  a  wonder  (though  nothing  is  to  be  wondered 
at,  considering  the  endless  series  of  miracles, 
which  attract  no  attention  whatever)  that  the 
constitution  of  the  human  mind  should  admit  of 
the  susceptibility  to  excessive  joy  and  anguish, 
which  so  frequently  succeed  each  other ;  and  it 
only  evinces  that  ail  things— moving  in  an  eternal 
cycle — that  the  transition  of  sensations  is  an  effect  of  an  exhaustion 
of  the  segments  that  compose  it,  and  in  order  that  a  new  succession 
of  feelings  may  be  evolved,  a  process  in  some  degree  similar  to  thai 
material  substances  undergo,  before  they  can  be  restored  to  their 
primitive  elements  from  the  corruption  of  decomposition,  must  take 
place.  And  thus  it  is.  We  cannot  remain  stationary  in  Time ;  and 
consequently,  when  we  attain  the  pinnacle  of  bliss,  a  fall  is  certain, 
is  inevitable ;  and  the  contrast  is  so  vivid,  that  what  under  ordinary 
circumstances  might  seem  a  common  misfortune  is  an  irremediable 
woe — a  spectral  memory,  a  haunting  dream  of  darkness — a  ruin, 
and  a  desolation.  Beautiful  is  the  harmony  preserved  even  in  the 


86  THE  MISER'S  SON. 

economy  of  what  men  term  evil.  If  we  do  not  experience  a  very 
great  amount  of  happiness,  we  are  better  prepared  for  a  reverse  of 
fortune ;  and  the  true  philosopher  will  regard  absolute  wretchedness 
as  but  the  prelude  to  a  comparative  heaven,  and  therefore  to  be  en- 
dured with  fortitude  and  resignation.  But  there  are  some  characters 
whose  organization  is  so  peculiarly  sensitive  and  delicate,  that  it  is 
morally  impossible  for  them  to  govern  their  passions  and  feelings  by 
a  rule  which  even  the  sternest  of  Stoics  have  not  always  been  able 
to  carry  out  in  practice ;  and  their  acute  sufferings  are  not  to  be 
assuaged  by  all  that  old  moralists  have  written,  and  deep  sages  enun- 
ciated. There  are  some  whose  hearts  are  so  fine  and  fragile,  that  a 
rude  touch  will  break  the  exquisite  existence  which  they  breathe,  for 
ever;  and  nothing  save  the  bright  vision  of  immortality — God's 
last,  best  gift  to  man — can  compensate  the  dreary  loss. 

Happily,  there  is  a  limit  to  all  mortal  misery,  and  in  proportion  as 
grief  is  violent,  is  the  period  of  its  duration  brief  or  long.  The  mind 
of  Harriet  Walsingham,  it  is  vain  to  attempt  a  full  development  of. 
The  depth  of  her  spirit  was  commensurate  with  the  ardour  of  her 
passion,  and  in  the  violent  contest  to  which  they  were  continually 
exposed,  there  was  an  intensity  of  high  dramatic  poetry,  never  to  be 
all  embodied.  Profound  feelings  are  seldom  demonstrative.  The 
breaking  heart  is  silent  as  the  charnel.  A  smile  has  frequently  more 
agony  in  it,  though  quiet  and  transient,  and  conveys  more  eloquence 
of  deep  and  voiceless  woe  to  the  soul  capable  of  appreciating  high 
and  rare  natures,  than  even  the  groan  wrung  from  the  tortured  bo- 
som ;  and  so  a  common  observer  would  not  have  dreamed  that  she 
was  a  woman  with  the  most  fiery  emotions,  nor  imagined  there  was 
'  a  very  life  in  her  despair,'  which  was  only  to  be  exterminated  with 
the  source  whence  it  sprang.  Highly  imaginative  persons,  it  has 
been  asserted  by  a  great  poet  of  this  century,  impair  the  power  of 
passion  in  their  own  breasts,  by  the  tension  of  their  souls  in  the 
lofty  ideal  they  cherish  ;  but,  although  there  may  be  some  instances 
of  the  truth  of  this  aphorism,  it  is  not  either  rational  theoretically, 
nor  visible  practically,  since  it  appears  indisputable  that  the  quality 
of  a  fine  imagination  necessarily  depends  on  the  force  of  feeling  and 
sensation,  and  how  can  they  be  vivified  and  engendered,  except  by 
the  impression  made  upon  the  heart  itself?  And  this  refined  sensi- 
bility existing,  it  is  impossible  that  it  should  all  be  dissipated  in 
idealism. 

Certain  it  is,  that  Harriet  Walsiugham,  eminently  gifted  with  the 


THE  MISER'S  SON.  87 

highest  attributes  of  fancy — in  fact,  a  poetess  from  childhood, — was 
a  woman  in  tenderness,  a  man  in  mind  and  energetic  impulse  and 
resolution,  yet,  despite  her  gushing  feelings,  and  overflowing  soul, 
calm  in  the  command  which  she  usually  exercised  over  her  inclina- 
tions, and  almost  unalterably  determined  in  the  course  which  she 
considered  that  of  rectitude  and  virtue. 

She  was  seated  in  an  arbour,  the  fragrance  of  the  wild  honey- 
suckle and  the  music  of  the  thrush  and  lark  exciting  no  observation 
nor  delight  in  the  spirit  ordinarily  so  sensitive  to  them.  It  was  a 
lovely  spot,  realizing  the  beautiful  description  in  the  strange,  wild, 
and  spiritual  imagination,  which  imparts  so  all-pervading  a  charm 
to  the  verses  of  my  favourite  dreamer,  in  one  of  his  latest  poems. 

Broad  water  lilies  lay  tremulously, 

And  starry  river  buds  glimmered  by, 

And  around  them  the  soft  stream  did  glide  and  dance 

With  a  motion  of  sweet  sound  and  radiance. 

And  the  sinuous  paths  of  lawn  and  of  moss 

Which  led  through  the  garden  along  and  across — 

Some  open  at  once  to  the  Sun  and  the  breeze, 

Some  lost  among  bowers  and  blossoming  trees, 

Were  all  paved  with  daisies  and  delicate  bells, 

As  fair  as  the  fabulous  asphodels. 

And  flowerets,  which  drooping  as  day  drooped  too, 

Fell  into  pavilions  white,  purple,  and  blue 

To  roof  the  glow-worm  from  the  evening  dew. 

How  that  pure,  bright  creature,  who  there  sat  engaged  in  painful 
meditation,  would  have  adored  the  divine  idealism  of  the  ill-fated 
Shelley,  had  he  lived  in  her  day ;  for,  although  her  own  fancy  was 
not  of  that  vivid  description,  which  seems  to  intensify  every  object 
into  a  species  of  self-life,  and  although  sufficiently  material  to  love 
the  real  for  its  own  sake,  she  often  craved  for  a  food  capable  of  fill- 
ing the  mysterious  void  which  all  fine  minds  experience,  in  the  ima- 
gination as  well  as  the  heart,  at  frequent  epochs  of  mental  progress. 

The  real  of  itself  is  not  sufficient  for  the  aspirations  excited  by  it, 
and  hence  the  fascination  of  poetry  is  enhanced  by  the  state  of  the 
mind  searching  for  the  spiritual  and  divine ;  and  the  ideal  becomes, 
in  some  instances,  a  haunting  passion,  from  the  magic  associations 
evoked  by  those  feelings  which  but  the  few  strongly  experience,  and 
can  never  analyze.  As  the  tone  of  the  universal  mind  is  elevated  by 
the  external  influences  of  science  and  philosophy,  an  inner  growth  of 


88  THE  MISER'S  SON. 

sentiment  requires  sustenance,  and  thus  the  wildly  fanciful  acquires 
a  factitious  popularity  unheard  of  in  the  first  stages  of  civilization. 
It  is  a  gross  error  to  suppose  that  nations  immersed  in  ignorance  and 
superstition  are  capable  of  liking,  far  less  of  appreciating,  the  higher 
order  of  poetry ;  for  though  such  an  order  may  exist,  how  can  it  be 
felt  and  understood  by  those  who  have  not  rendered  up  their  secret 
souls  to  the  enchantment  of  elevated  and  sublime  trains  of  ideas? 
We  may  depend  upon  it,  that  the  grand  and  shadowy  intimations  of 
a  mysterious  beauty,  irradiated  by  a  passionate  adoration  of  the  spirit 
of  their  material  forms,  must  possess  within  them  a  charm  for  future 
generations,  independently  of  the  intrinsic  value  of  their  sentiments  ; 
for  the  farther  we  advance  in  science,  the  more  we  pant  for  the  un- 
attainable and  the  unseen.  But,  not  to  digress  any  farther,  and  to 
return  to  the  immediate  interests  of  the  poetess. 

The  traces  of  tears  and  emotion  were  yet  visible  in  her  sculptured 
lineaments,  yet  an  air  of  tranquillity  was  diffused  through  the  veil  of 
her  sorrow  and  sadness,  like  the  pensive  radiance  of  a  star,  shining 
through  clouds  and  gloom.  Her  white  hands  clasped  on  her  knees, 
her  proud  head  meekly  bent,  and  her  beaming  eyes  suffused  with  a 
gentle  moisture,  no  better  image  of  patience  could  have  been  desired 
as  a  model  by  the  sculptor.  Yet  she  had  but  just  attained  the  victory 
in  a  terrible  struggle  with  herself,  and  although  the  tempest  was 
hushed,  it  had  left  its  scathing  marks  upon  the  very  centre  of  her 
being. 

"  He  is  changed,'*  she  murmured,  her  low  but  clear  voice 
sounding  sweetly  and  plaintively  in  the  stillness,  "  but  still  he  is  the 
same.  Nothing  can  ever  destroy  the  character  of  his  noble  form. 
Time  may  plant  wrinkles  in  the  open  brow,  and  dim  the  fire  of  the 
eagle  eye ;  but  in  the  decay  of  youth,  and  the  utter  blight  of  the 
heart,  and  the  storm  of  raging  passions,  the  traces  of  the  irrevocable 
past  will  burn  forth  and  be  discernible  as  the  sky,  over  which  vast 
and  innumerable  shadows  have  passed.  Poor,  poor  Walter !  Guilty 
though  he  be — steeped  in  crime  though  he  be — I  am  certain  he  is  not 
lost  to  good.  God  will  forgive  him  !  And  shall  we  poor  things  of 
dust  and  corruption  judge  one  like  ourselves  ?  Who  can  answer 
what  would  have  been  his  own  actions,  if  exposed  to  sore  temptation? 
The  best  of  men  may  become  the  worst,  and  the  worst  the  best.  If 
we  have  not  strong  passions  we  are  but  negatively  virtuous  in  acting 
rightly,  and  if  we  do  possess  them,  it  is  hardly  possible  for  us  to 
conquer  our  nature.  We  can  only  triumph  over  ourselves  by  the 


THE  MISER'S  SON.  »9 

help  of  Heaven.  I — I  myself  have  only  heen  rescued  from  deadly 
sin  by  the  mercy  of  that  Great  Being  who  saves  us  from  our  own 
defeat  by  decreeing  pain  and  anguish  for  our  lot ;  for  what  a  mighty 
spirit  of  evil  is  inherent  in  my  nature!  Had  1  heen  a  man,  1  shudder 
to  think  of  the  deeds  I  might  have  committed." 

While  Miss  Walsingham  was  yet  soliloquising  (a  hahit  of  the  ex- 
istence of  which  those  who  indulge  in  it  are  hardly  aware,)  a  form 
darkened  the  pleached  entrance  to  the  arbour,  and  lifting  up  her 
eyes,  she  saluted  her  visitor  with — 

"  Well,  William,  have  you  learned  anything?" 

"  Danvers  will  be  examined  before  the  magistrate  to-morrow," 
answered  he  to  whom  the  question  was  addressed,  a  young  man  of 
appearance  as  remarkable  as  that  of  the  lady.  And  he  seated  him- 
self beside  her. 

Harriet  Walsingham  was  silent  for  some  seconds.  Thought  was 
evidently  busy  in  her  brain,  and  her  companion  contemplated  her 
curiously,  as  if  he  would  have  read  all  that  was  passing  in  it.  But 
even  he,  close  observer  as  he  was,  could  not  fathom  the  soul  of  such 
a  woman.  Indeed,  it  appears  problematical,  whether  we  of  the 
juder,  can  ever  accurately  interpret  the  softer  sex.  It  is  evident  we 
must  not  judge  them  by  an  arbitrary  standard,  deduced  from  our  own 
experience,  for  their  feelings  are  frequently  in  total  opposition  not 
only  in  degree,  but  in  kind,  from  ours.  Their  passions  are  not  only 
more  rigidly  subdued,  and  their  feelings  more  exquisitely  sensitive, 
but  they  appear  in  the  most  antithetical  phases,  and  flow  in  the  most 
dissimilar  channels.  The  very  simplicity  of  her  pure  and  lovely 
nature  makes  woman  incomprehensible  to  any  save  the  inspired 
poet,  who  possesses,  as  it  were,  the  elements  of  two  distinct  beings, 
in  his  intense  appreciation  of  beauty  in  the  abstract,  which  becomes 
a  part  of  his  own  nature,  and  the  less  subtile  and  delicate  ope- 
rations of  his  own  weak  human  heart ;  and  notwithstanding  both 
these  advantages  in  conjunction,  it  is  by  no  means  indisputable,  that 
he  can  depict  with  perfect  nature,  the  sensations  he  imagines,  rather 
than  feels.  The  imagination  of  feeling  is  distinct  from  the  feeling  of 
imagination,  and,  consequently,  the  two  distinct  natures  which  a 
highly  ideal  being  may  possess  in  himself  and  out  of  himself,  are 
absorbed  and  blended  in  the  interest  of  the  one,  or  centred  and  com- 
bined in  the  passion  of  the  other.  Miss  Wabingham  at  length 
di\ulged  the  result  of  her  self-communings  ; — 

"William,  I  rely  upon  your  aid.     You   will,    I   know,  render  me 


90  THE  MISER'S  SON. 

what  help  you  can,  and  I  have  great  reliance  on  you  when  you  wilt 
exert  yourself." 

"  Mv  hand,  and  heart,  and  life  shall  be  devoted  to  your  service. 
What  would  you  have  me  do  ?" 

«•  The  service  that  I  shall  ask  will  be  of  no  personal  peril  to  your- 
self ;  but  I,  as  a  woman,  could  not  so  well  execute  it.  Leave  me  for 
a  few  minutes,  that  I  may  consider  the  feasibility  of  the  scheme  I 
contemplate." 

In  silence  the  young  man  acquiesced  in  the  last  request  of  Har- 
riet Walsingham,  and,  quitting  the  arbour,  directed  his  steps  along 
a  gravelled  walk,  terminating  in  a  labyrinth  of  various  trees,  imper- 
vious to  the  light  of  the  sun,  so  closely  were  they  interwoven.  There 
is  something  very  pleasant  in  a  labyrinth,  as  there  always  is  in 
everything  imbued  with  a  slight  degree  of  mystery  ;  for,  our  curiosity 
excited  in  however  small  a  ratio,  the  mind  is  necessarily  amused, 
and  imagination  plays  her  aery  gambols,  much  to  the  delectation  of 
vivid  associations,  and  in  contempt  of  the  very  troublesome  and  im- 
pertinent monarch,  Reason.  So  throwing  himself  on  a  rustic  bench, 
and  lazily  reclining  on  his  aim,  the  youth  resigned  himself  to  reve- 
rie. "  This  is  what  I  like,"  he  thought  to  himself,  "  almost  for- 
getful of  existing,  and  yet  enjoying  the  full  force  of  animal  life. 
Let  those  who  style  themselves  philosophers  talk  what  they  will  of 
the  gratification  resulting  from  the  exercise  of  our  moral  and  intellec- 
tual powers;  or  silly  sentimental  poets  rhapsodize  about  the  unin- 
telligible ecstacies  they  assert  they  experience  in  evoking  bright 
forms  of  grace  and  splendour — give  me  a  soft  breeze  just  fanning 
the  cheek  through  the  interstices  of  green  boughs,  and  perfumed 
with  the  rain -sweetened  breath  of  flowers  and  new-mown  grass. 
Oh,  the  senses  are  the  sole  source  of  pleasure." 

Thus  cogitating,  the  Epicurean  lapsed  into  a  sort  of  doze,  such 
as  excessive  indolence  alone  knows  the  delights  of,  resolutely  shut- 
ting out  every  thought,  in  the  absorption  of  sensuous  being.  Thus 
he  remained  for  at  least  half  an  hour,  when  rousing  himself  he  took 
a  pocket  volume  in  his  hand,  and  began  to  peruse  it. 

"  Admirable  Wycherly,"  he  exclaimed,  after  reading  a  few  sen- 
tences, "  what  fine  nonsense  in  your  wit.  The  world — the  old, 
canting,  hypocritical,  lying,  and  face-making  world— thinks  you  ex- 
cessively immodest  now,  and  modest  maidens  colour  at  the  mere 
mention  of  your  name  ;  but  I  will  maintain  that  there  is  excellent 
morality  in  what  you  have  written.  Your  plots  are  all  licentious — 


THE  MISER'S  SON.  9! 

What  of  that — is  not  the  life  we  all  lead  so  ?  Your  characters  are 
almost  all  vicious — the  parallel  will  hold  again.  Your  humour  ia 
ribald — granted  ;  so  is  that  of  ail  men.  Your  wit  is  indelicate- 
acknowledged  ;  1  never  knew  any  otherwise.*  Your  scenes  are  the 
nc  plus  ultra  of  shameless  indecency  ;  but  had  they  been  less  so, 
they  would  not  have  represented  man  as  he  is — man  as  he  must 
always  be — a  low,  sensual  brute  in  nature,  despite  his  endowments 
of  mind,  and  knowledge,  and  fancy.  True,  true  to  the  very  life  you 
are,  oh  witty,  wicked  Wycherley  !  Though  you  do  not  search  each 
corner  of  the  heart,  and  anatomize  the  grander  passions  of  man, 
like  TEschylus  and  Shakspeare,  you  paint  with  a  master's  hand  the 
filth  that  comes  forth  from  what  some  dunces  call  an  immaterial 

soul,  and  expose  the  profligacy  and  natural pshaw,  what  folly  I 

am  talking  !  All  is  irresistible  necessity  !  There  is  no  such  thing 
as  vice,  properly  speaking ;  but  it  is  as  well,  perhaps,  if  we  wish  to 
let  man  take  his  station  above  the  other  animals,  we  should  let  him 
think  there  is." 

Here  raising  his  eyes,  the  Necessitarian  encountered  the  calm, 
tranquil,  and  pitying  gaze  of  Miss  Walsingham,  who  had  followed 
him  to  the  labyrinth,  aware  of  his  propensity  to  idle  away  hours,  in 
total  oblivion  of  having  promised  to  execute  any  commission.  He 
arose,  his  sallow  cheek  slightly  tinged  with  crimson,  which  instantly 
vanished,  and  stood  listlessly  regarding  the  weeds  that  grew  in  rank 
luxuriance  beneath  his  feet. 

"  William — William  Walsingham,  why  have  you  adopted  these 
vile  arid  miserable  sophistries,"  said  the  lady,  with  suppressed  in- 
dignation, "  when  you  must  feel,  in  your  heart,  that  they  are  irra- 
tional and  mischievous  ?  1  beseech  you  to  weigh  the  matter  dispas- 
sionately, and  believe  not  that  we,  with  such  glorious  intellectual 
and  moral  powers,  are  the  vile  slaves  of  organization  and  externa 
circumstances,  which  may  modify,  but  cannot  mould  the  actions." 

The  Epicurean  smiled,  and  there  was  a  bitter  sneer  lurking  be- 
neath, "  You  women,"  was  his  answer,  "  argue  from  the  heart, 
and  not  the  head.  I  have  no  eloquence,  and  therefore  have  no 
chance  with  you.  How  can  we  possibly  act,  except  from  the  origi- 
nal bias  given  us  in  our  formation,  and  the  effects  produced  on  us 
by  the  circumstances  of  time,  and  place,  and  society,  acting  upc* 
the  organization '?" 

*  The  reader  will  be  pleased  to  recollect  that  the  Epicurean  was  speaking  • 
"  Tom  Jones"  was  a  picture  of  manners. 


92  THE  MISER'S  SON. 

«•  But  the  human  mind,  being  an  essentially  active  principle,  is 
capable  of  building  up  its  component  parts  from  volition.  Circum- 
stance must  and  will  have  an  effect ;  but  when  you  talk  of  original 
formation,  in  conjunction  with  it,  being  all-powerful,  you  are  in  fact 
what  logicians,  I  think,  call  merely  begging  the  question." 

"  I  really  cannot  see  the  necessity  for  such  an  inference.  Who 
ever  exercised  that  which  you  call  volition  in  coming  into  existence, 
more  than  a  plant  or  blade  of  grass  ?  and  who  ever  ordered  the 
train  of  events  that  formed  his  character?" 

"  Certainly,  we  have  not  exercised  volition  in  coming  into  existence. 
But,  my  dear  nephew,  the  mind  creates  circumstances.  All  action 
proceeds  from  mind." 

"  Ay,  but  the  cause  for  the  effect !  Motives,  feelings,  convictions, 
call  them  what  you  will,  all  spring  from  external  circumstances,  over 
which  it  is  impossible  we  can  exercise  control.  The  mind  is  but  a 
machine  set  in  motion,  say  what  you  will." 

"  Nay,  mind  must  will  either  to  act  or  be  inert,  and  while  motives 
sway,  and  feelings  and  convictions  urge  to  deeds,  they  in  themselves 
are  merely  passive  in  their  influence.  They  cannot  organise  action. 
Where  do  they  operate  in  any  way  without  the  mind  ?  Therefore  it 
is  reasonable  to  conclude  that  the  will  is  sovereign  and  supreme  over 
motives." 

"  Answer  me,  do  we  not  desire  to  will,  not  will  to  desire  ?" 

"  Surely  not.  The  desire  and  the  will  may  possibly  be  simulta- 
neous ;  but  it  is  impossible  desire  can  precede  volition,  and  for  this 
reason.  There  must  be  an  effect  for  a  cause,  as  you  have  already 
asserted.  There  cannot  possibly  be  an  infinite  succession  of  effects, 
but  a  starting  point  there  must  exist.  Then  the  first  cause  of  desire 
must  originate  somewhere,  and  a  cause  must  be  active.  Circum- 
stances act  upon  the  mind  ;  but  that  mind,  being  a  superior  princi- 
ple to  the  external  agency,  they  cannot  necessitate  its  operation." 

"  Ah,  you  have  had  a  lesson  from  Spenser,  1  perceive.  I  will 
answer  your  objections  in  a  few  words.  The  mind  must  either  act  or 
be  inert,  you  say.  Truly  so.  Must !  you  used  the  word.  Then,  if 
you  tell  me  it  is  free  to  do  either,  you  are  involved  in  an  anomaly  of 
terms.  Motives,  feelings  and  convictions,  according  to  you,  are 
passive,  and  have  no  existence  without  the  mind.  Then  how  can 
passive  causes  (a  ridiculous  solecism  in  speech,  as  well  as  sense) 
produce  active  effects?  The  desire  and  the  will  again  you  assert 
are  at  all  events  simultaneous.  There  must  be  a  motive  for  all 


THE  MISER'S  SON.  93 

volition.  Then,  whence  that  motive,  but  for  the  external  influen- 
ces around  ?  As  to  the  impossibility  of  an  infinite'series^of  effects, 
something  must  be  infinite,  and  the  original  cause  must  be'produced." 
"  I  see  you  fancy  you  have  obtained  a  victory,  but  I  \vill  not 
allow  it ;  neither  do  I  admit  that  my  arguments  were  furnished  by 
Henry  Spenser.  I  speak  according  to  my  best  judgment,  and, 
though  1  pretend  not  to  philosophy,  I  do  to  reason.  I  willj-eply  to 
what  you  have  said,  and  then  we  will  quit  the  subject  until  we  have 
more  leisure.  The  mind  must  either  act  or  be  inert.  (I  believe  that 
argument  of  yours  is  a  plagiarism  from  Hobbes.)  Then  what  is  it 
that  constrains  action  or  inaction  ?  Does  the  mind,  or  does  it  not  ? 
If  not  the  mind,  then  it  can  have  no  agency  at  all,  and  of  course 
cannot  be  concerned  in  the  matter.  In  fact  it  could  not  be  said  to 
exist,  and  no  materialist  denies  that  it  does.  I  will  act,  I  say,  or 
the  reverse.  Then,  if  I  say  I  will,  at  any  rate  there  is  a  counterba- 
lancing anomaly  in  terms  for  your  must,  if  I  cannot,  The  motives 
and  feelings  are  all  vivified  by  mind,  and  made  active  agencies  by  it ; 
so  that  the  will  is  established,  whether  we  act  or  otherwise.  For  the 
production  of  an  original  cause — everything  has  a  beginning  in  Time, 
though  connected  with  Eternity,  and  consequently  volition  is  a 
cause  for  action,  and  so  the  first." 


94  THE  MISER'S  SON. 


CHAPTER  VII. 


Man  is  of  dust ; — ethereal  hopes  are  hi», 
Which  when  they  should  sustain  themselves  aloft 
Want  due  consistence. — The  Excursion. 

Respecting  man,  whatever  wrong  we  call, 

May,  must  be  right  as  relative  to  all. 

What  makes  all  physical  or  moral  ill  ? 

There  deviates  Nature,  and  here  wanders  will.— POPE. 


THE  EPICUREAN  AND  HIS  ATHEISM — THE  ANGLER  AND  ANGLING 

— THE   OLD   MAN'S   PHILOSOPHY. 

"  SHE  is  a  splendid  woman  that  Harriet  Walsingham,"  thought 
the  Epicurean,  as  he  quitted  his  aunt  (for,  though  she  was  so 
young,  such  was  her  relationship  to  him),  after  having  held  a  con- 
ference with  her  at  the  termination  of  the  dispute  in  the  last  chap- 
ter; "but  her  reasoning  is  inconclusive.  1  hate  arguing  with 
females — particularly  when  they  possess  beauty.  What  man  with 
any  soul  can  resist  the  bright  eloquence  of  pleading  eyes  ?  Pshaw  ! 
and  then  they  never  allow  us  to  meet  their  reasonings,  but  appeal  to 
our  passions,  not  our  judgment,  and  we  all  know  very  well  that  in 
such  a  contest  the  feelings  predominate  over  the  convictions,  and 
solid  sense  goes  to  the  devil,  for  the  sake  of  a  radiant  glance,  or 
musical  tone.  But  she  has  a  mind  as  well  as  a  heart,  by  Jove ! 
None  of  us  understand  Harriet." 

Thus  ruminating,  the  young  man  striking  into  a  path  divaricating 
from  the  high  road,  and  pursuing  multifarious  sinuous  fancies,  ascen- 
ded a  green  hill  upon  which  several  sheep  were  grazing,  and  from 
whose  pine-crowned  summit  a  landscape  of  considerable  beauh 
stretched  away  far  as  the  eye  could  reach  ;  hamlets,  villages,  an< 
towns  picturesquely  insulated  in  the  general  area  they  occcupie*' 


THE  MISER'S  SOX.  5 

The  scenery  of  England  is  characterised  by  little  bold  variety,  or 
striking  grandeur,  so  that,  in  all  descriptions  of  it,  frequent  repetition 
becomes  nearly  unavoidable— -a  fact  which  some  of  our  novelists  who 
sometimes  usurp  their  privilege  of  prescriptive  infliction  in  prosing 
on  the  beautiful,  would  do  well  to  consider.  Yet  who  is  there  with 
any  feeling  for  country  or  Nature,  who  will  not  linger  over  the 
graphic  pictures  which  some  of  our  rural  poets  have  been  so  happy 
in  the  execution  of,  and  among  which  the  following,  from  the  "Ex- 
cursion," is  not  the  least  delightful  nor  applicable  to  that  on  which 
the  Epicurean  gazed  from  the  hill. 

"  In  rugged  arms  how  soft  it  seems  to  lie, 
How  tenderly  protected !     Far  and  near 
We  have  an  image  of  the  pristine  earth, 
The  planet  in  its  nakedness  ;  were  thia 
Man's  only  dwelling,  sole  appointed  seat, 
First,  last,  and  single  in  the  breathing  world, 
It  could  not  be  more  quiet." 

"  How  wonderful  is  Nature/'  said  the  youth,  musingly.  "  How 
marvellously  sustained  the  vast  whole  by  the  unerring  laws  which 
Necessity  organizes.  Thou  vital  and  permeating  principle  of  the 
universe !  Beautiful  and  incomprehensible  Necessity  !  Thou  art  no 
solitary  sovereign,  exhausting  the  powers,  and  destroying  the  harmo- 
nies created  by  himself,  but  in  the  immensity  of  what  we  call  space, 
diffusing  life,  and  light,  and  motion  ;  and  [maintaining  through 
countless  mazes  the  eternal  series  of  causes  and  effects  of  which  thou 
art  the  first  and  the  last !  Necessity  !  Where  does  it  not  exist  ? 
What  is  not  in  fact  Necessity?  It  is  the  nucleus  of  all  things,  and 
the  heart  and  centre  of  the  interminable  systems  which  baffle  the 
conception  of  the  finite  mind.  And  jet — and  yet — millions  live,  and 
surfer,  and  die ;  and  convulsions  of  Nature  scatter  anguish,  and  woe, 
and  desolation,  demonstrating  thou  art  imperfect  and  deficient  in 
the  power  which  we  call  intellect.  If  there  were  one  to  controuland 
regulate  thine  operations,  we  should  not  behold  the  elements  of  evi 
nor  the  discordancies  of  moral  and  physical  agencies.  What  ha: 
man  in  truth  to  hope  ?  Nothing  can  ever  satisfy  the  inordinate  de 
sires  of  his  aspiring  mind,  nor  fill  the  scope  of  his  wants  and  hi> 
ambition.  It  is  singular,  but  incontrovertible,  that  all  other  animal) 
are  satisfied  with  their  condition,  and  he,  though  nothing  more  th< 
an  intellectual  animal,  is  always  sighing  after  the  unattainably  pt  < 


96  THE  MISER'S  SON. 

feet.  I  know  not  how  to  account  for  this,  because  we  do  not  find 
that  the  amount  of  pleasurable  sensations  among  other  living;  crea- 
tures is  in  anywise  proportioned  by  the  amount  of  understanding  that 
they  possess.  The  sfupid  insect  is  as  happy  as  the  sagacious  dog — 
it  lives,  it  flutters,  and  becomes  extinct.  Difficulties  surround  the 
mind  on  every  side,  and  I  have  almost  come  to  the  conclusion  that 
one  creed  is  as  reasonable  as  another  ;  though  I  did  not  think  so 
four  years  ago,  when  I  first  embraced  materialism  with  such  ardour. 
Strange — most  strange  !  that  our  sentiments  and  feelings  should  un- 
dergo such  an  entire  revolution  in  so  brief  a  space  of  time  ;  but  every 
thing  is  mutable  in  matter :  and  so  we  cannot  expect  mind,  which  is 
only  the  highest  attribute  of  it,  to  be  stationary." 

Descending  the  hill,  our  philosopher  found  himself  in  a  pleasant 
and  fertile  valley,  through  which  a  river  of  some  length  extended, 
and  on  the  banks  of  which  were  seated,  at  far  distant  intervals,  two 
or  three  anglers,  earnestly  and  silently  engaged  in  their  piscatory 
occupations.  The  youth  smiled,  and  he  never  did  so  without  a  mix- 
ture of  scorn  and  sarcasm. 

"  It  amuses  me  to  remark  on  what  trifles  the  mind,  whose  cravings 
after  perfection  I  was  just  admiring,  will  frequently  fritter  away  its 
noble  and  lofty  energies.  But,  so  it  is.  One  man  is  endeavouring 
to  make  the  conquest  of  the  world  with  all  its  multitudes  of  rational 
beings;  another  is  wasting  his  time  in  absurd  pastimes  and  frivolous 
pursuits.  Here  is  an  old,  grey-headed  man,  now,  who,  in  other  cir- 
cumstances might  have  been  a  Newton,  entirely  absorbed  in  watch- 
ing that  childish  toy  that  flaunts  so  gaily  with  its  gaudy  paint  on  the 
stream.  He  considers  not  the  tortures  of  his  unhappy  victims,  not 
he;  but  he  is  acting  from  impulse — from  an  inherent  instinct, — 
even  as  the  great  Necessity,  itself  necessitated  to  perform  its  intricate 
evolutions,  unmindful  and  ignorant  of  the  effects  which  its  multiform 
operations  must  cause.  As  the  human  being  unconsciously  inflicts 
torture  and  misery  on  myriads  of  living  things,  so  the  first  cause  of 
his  existence  is  eternally  occupied  in  a  blind  arrangement  of  Nature, 
and  hence  the  earthquakes,  tempests,  and  innumerable  plagues  of 
earth  ;  which  all,  however,  alternately  increase  the  aggregate  amount 
of  enjoyment  and  collective  happiness.  I'll  speak  to  this  fellow." 
And  as  he  repeated  the  words  of  Shakspeare's  divine  conception, 
the  Materialist  addressed  the  personage,  whose  keen  and  anxious 
glances  at  his  float  had  so  much  excited  his  contempt  and  wonder- 


. 


£-'tw^(V;.:^v':V  •>•      ;.;    ^.^t^ 


THE  MISER'S  SON.  9? 

merit — for  he  had  some  greatness  in  him,  though  he  had  adopted 
false  and  distorted  principles. 

The  old  man  was  as  unique  a  specimen  of  the  disciples  of  Walton 
and  Cotton  as  can  be  imagined.  He  was  decidedly  diminutive  in 
stature,  and  his  hair  was  perfectly  white  with  the  snows  of  nearly 
seventy  winters ;  but  his  well-natured  face  was  rosy,  and  his  eyes 
were  still  eager,  and  bright,  and  animated.  The  Epicurean  accosted 
him,  saying, 

**  You  have  a  fine  day  for  your  sport,  old  man." 

The  angler  appeared  surprised  at  the  freedom  of  this  address,  and 
answered  in  a  manner  far  above  the  station  of  life  he  seemed  to  fill 
would  have  intimated  a  probability  of 

**  Ay,  I  have  travelled  almost  twenty  miles  this  morning,  in  order 
to  arrive  at  this  spot,  where  I  am  told  there  are  some  particularly 
fine  fish.  Have  you  ever  caught  anything  rare  about  here,  young 
sir?" 

"  Very  silly  fish,"  returned  the  youth  with  his  cold  sneer. 

*'  You  think  that  they  seldom  venture  into  such  shallow  water," 
said  the  old  man,  hardly  noticing  the  contemptuous  tone  in  which 
he  had  been  answered,  "  but  you  may  find — ah,  ha !  a  nibble  !  Now, 
my  fine  fellow — my  delicate  trout !  you  are  a  beauty  !  Look  at  him, 
friend!  Remark  his  colour  and  size!  What  do  you  think  he  weighs?'* 

"  He  ought  to  weigh  a  good  deal  heavier  than  some  brains,  in 
order  to  recompense  your  trouble." 

"  Trouble — trouble,  quotha  ?  Fishing  is  never  a  trouble,  young 
gentleman.  I  have  pursued  it,  solely  for  the  pleasure  I  find  in  the 
pursuit,  for  fifty  years.  In  all  weathers  you  might  have  seen  Roger 
Sidney  (ay,  and  though  he  is  in  his  70th  year  )ou  may  see  him  now) 
with  his  rod  in  hand,  and  basket  on  arm,  early  and  late,  winter  and 
summer — whenever  anything  was  to  be  caught.  By  Bacchus!  Ano- 
ther bite  !  1  have  him  safe  enough  !  A  fish  for  a  king  !  Beautiful! 
Magnificent !" 

And  the  old  man  rubbed  his  hands,  which,  from  long  exposure  to 
the  inclemency  of  the  weather,  were  hard  and  horny,  in  the  rapture 
of  his  soul,  as  he  safely  brought  to  land  a  second  trout  of  magnitude. 

**  Wonderful!"  muttered  the  young  philosopher.  "  A  man  on 
the  verge  of  threescore  years  and  ten,  with  one  foot  in  the  grave, 
delighting,  mind,  and  heart,  and  body,  with  all  the  exuberant  gaiety 
of  youth,  in  a  cruel  pastime,  unworthy  the  intellect  of  a  child.  A 
wretched  fool ! — But  he  imagines  himself  well-pleased,  and  so  I 

o 


98  THE  MISER'S  SON. 

know  not  why  I  should  spurn  him.  Man  !  oh,  man  !  Slave  of  mean 
vices!  Abject  worm!  unworthy  of  the  prerogative  which  chance 
affords — the  lordship  of  the  universe  !  only  maintained  by  a  superior 
organisation,  for  other  animals  have  far  nobler  instincts.  I  wonder 
if  this  man  have  the  least  atom  of  a  heart,  or  an  understanding?" 

As  the  Epicurean  was  thus  engaged  in  his  own  bitter  and  peculiar 
strain  of  moralizing,  the  angler  had  been  busy  in  making  preparations 
for  departure,  and  having  completed  them,  looked  into  his  face  with 
a  gaze  of  inquiring  shrewdness  and  penetration,  such  as  a  spectator 
would  have  deemed  it  impossible  for  him  to  wear,  who  had  just  dis- 
played such  childish  eagerness,  in  his  somewhat  inhuman  sport.  He 
appeared  to  gather  the  import  of  his  companion's  cogitations,  for 
observing  the  deep  abstraction  into  which  he  had  fallen,  he  fidgetted 
for  some  moments,  and  finally  addressed  him  thus — 

«'  You  are  amazed  that  a  person  of  my  age  should  fritter  away 
the  valuable  and  irrevocable  time  apportioned  for  preparation  for  a 
higher  state  of  existence  in  the  pursuit  of  an  idle  pastime,  which  can 
neither  intellectualize  his  mind,  nor  elevate  his  moral  being.  I  have 
not  done  so  without  consideration,  1  assure  you.  But  life  is  so  over- 
shadowed with  the  clouds  of  fate,  that,  to  divert  the  soul  from  hood- 
ing upon  it  is  something ;  and  1  am  content  in  my  old  age,  having 
scarcely  a  connexion  in  the  world,  to  wander  about  at  will,  to  observe 
the  loveliness  of  Nature  in  her  varied  aspects,  and  to  render  up  my 
spirit  to  quiet  meditation.  For  you  will  observe,  that  while  the  un- 
certainty of  success  in  angling  amuses  the  mind,  it  does  not  prevent 
it  from  pursuing  trains  of  thought,  while  the  quiet  necessary  to  be 
observed,  is  calculated  to  arouse  reflection  ;  and  undisturbed  by  the 
sound  of  human  voices,  as  the  stream  ripples  past  in  the  light  of 
heaven,  and  the  birds  sing  blithely,  and  the  very  air  is  instinct  with 
pleasant  sounds,  the  soul  abstracts  itself  from  the  present,  while  the 
senses  are  gratified  also,  and  engages  in  devout  meditation." 

"  Amazing  !"  ejaculated  the  Epicurean,  raising  his  eyes  to  the 
firmament.  "What!  You  engage  in  *  devout  meditation,'  and 
raise  your  mind  to  the  infinite  and  eternal,  while  you  are  occupied 
in  watching  a  little  float  upon  the  water,  and  eagerly  anticipating 
the  moment  which  shall  deliver  )our  innocent  and  unsuspecting  prey 
into  your  hands  ?  You  can  delight  in  such  a  sport,  when  you  know 
the  agonies  you  inflict  upon  Nour  wretched  victims,  and  can 
el herealize  your  being  as  you  describe,  while  playing  the  butcher's 
part  ?" 


THL  IVIISEKS  SOW. 

The  old  angler  appeared  momentarily  offended  at  the  bluntnesg 
and  severity  of  the  censure  passed  upon  himself  and  his  favourite 
recreation  ;  but  after  reflecting  for  a  little,  he  replied,  mildly — 

"  It  has  pleased  God  that  countless  myriads  of  harmless  creatures 
should  suffer  a  brief — a  very  brief  physical  struggle,  and  a  termina- 
tion is  put  to  their  life.  It  is  evident  that  all  things  that  live,  must 
cease  to  do  so,  and  does  it  matter  in  what  "way  an  end  is  put  to  ex- 
istence, so  that  needless  torture  is  not  inflicted  ?  Indeed,  young  sir, 
you  attack  the  pursuit  1  love  with  too  much  harshness.  It  has  none 
of  I  he  wild  frenzy  which  appears  to  animate  the  hunter,  but  allows 
ample  scope  for  contemplation,  and  is  calculated  to  engender  thought 
even  in  the  thoughtless." 

•'  But  do  you  consider  the  agonies  of  the  poor  fish  as  it  writhes 
beneath  your  skill  and  cunning?  Do  you  reflect  that  its  little  life  is 
all  it  possesses,  while  you  are  endued  with  lofty  mental  energies,  and 
capacities  for  pleasure,  in  which  it  is  impossible  that  beings  of  a  less 
elevated  order  can  participate  ?  Nothing  can  restore  the  life  that  we 
destroy,  and  to  what  we  usually  call  the  purely  animal,  the  sense 
of  it  alone  is  unending  satisfaction,  if  enjoyed  under  no  bodily  afflic- 
tion. Do  you  not  think,  if  we  regard  not  the  sufferings  of  the  lower 
order  of  animals,  we  may  be  apt  to  forget  the  claims  of  the  highest 
on  our  humanity  ?  If  your  pastime  have  not  the  wild  frenzy  of  the 
chase,  it  seems  to  me  of  a  much  meaner  madness.  1  saw  that  your 
eyes  glittered,  even  now,  with  as  much  glee  as  if  you  had  made  a 
nation  happy,  instead  of  putting  a  period  to  the  existence  of  a  poor 
trout." 

"  But  you  are  aware  that  we  are  necessitated  to  give  pain  and 
inflict  death  upon  multitudes  of  living  creatures  totally  independent 
of  volition.  Every  inspiration  that  we  draw  probably  destroys  more 
than  one  animalcule  ;  but  the  capacity  of  that  animate  atom  for  en- 
joyment is  proportioned  to  the  brevity  of  its  existence.  I  allow  that 
for  a  few  moments  the  sufferings  of  a  fish  caught  by  the  rod  are  ex- 
cessive ;  but  I  am  careful  to  terminate  them  as  speedily  and  merci- 
fully as  is  practicable.  And  does  not  the  Creator  himself  thus  act 
towards  me  ?" 

The  aspect  of  the  Materialist's  face  darkened. 

"  Is  it  not  infatuation,  ignorance,  and  superstition,  to  imagine  that 
a  Being  infinite  in  power,  illimitable  in  wisdom  and  knowledge,  eter- 
nal, holy,  pure  -and  beneficent,  would  permit  a  state  where  such 
wretchedness  is  paramount,  and  such  crimes  and  cruelties afe almost 


100  THE  MISER'S  SON. 

universally  perpetrated  ?  The  amount  of  actual  acute  and  unmiti- 
gated suffering  in  this  world  is  altogether  incalculable,  it  defies  con- 
ception, it  baffles  mathematical  powers.  Wherever  we  go  we  see  it. 
Not  a  sweet  breath  of  air  but  arises  from  the  pain  of  some  portion  of 
animated  Nature.  Even  allowing  that  man  is  given  volition,  and 
therefore  is  accountable  for  his  actions,  surely  these  poor  brutes  and 
insects,  which  have  nothing  save  instinct  to  direct  them,  should  not 
undergo  the  penalties  of  sin  and  transgression.  They  have  never 
sinned,  nor  are  they  capacitated  to  disobey  the  moral  law." 

"  I  am  speaking  to  an  atheist,"  said  the  old  man,  sadly,  when 
Walsingham  had  finished.  "  Well,  I  once  had  my  doubts,  and  God 
forbid  that  I  should  judge  harshly  of  any  frail,  erring  human  being 
whose  opinions  differ  from  mine.  The  arguments  you  have  used 
may  have  some  force,  but  are  not  by  any  means  unanswerable.  Many 
a  time,  while  following  my  silent  and  lonely  occupation,  I  have  deeply 
reflected,  as  far  as  my  poor  intellect  would  allow,  on  the  vast  myste- 
ries by  which  we  are  surrounded  ;  and  the  existence  of  evil,  moral 
and  physical,  has  been  a  subject  of  engrossing  interest.  That  there 
is  evil,  both  in  the  moral  and  material  universe,  none  will  controvert. 
Neither  will  you  deny  that  there  is  good  also.  If  there  be  more  good 
than  evil  in  the  world,  then  we  are  justified  in  concluding  that,  sup- 
posing an  Intellectual  First  Cause,  His  attributes  are  benevolent.  I 
assert,  after  long  and  patient  investigation,  that  the  amount  of  good 
is  greatly  more  than  that  of  evil,  morally  and  physically.  If  evil 
predominated,  we  should  then  be  authorized  by  reason  in  calling 
into  question  the  beneficence  and  intelligence  of  the  First  Cause ; 
since  those  qualities  would,  of  course,  organize  happiness.  But, 
surely,  sir,  you  will  allow  that  more  experience  an  amount  of  plea- 
surable than  painful  sensations  in  some  way  ?  We  are  discontented 
from  the  very  amount  of  good  that  we  are  susceptible  of,  and  pro- 
portionally with  the  blessings  we  have  received  is  the  reluctance  to 
endure  that  evil  that  generally  succeeds.  You  must  here  acknow- 
ledge the  preservation  of  a  beautiful  harmony  which  reason,  pure 
reason,  and  nothing  else,  enables  all  men  who  will  think  to  descry. 
If  we  suffer  intensely  now,  by  so  much  the  more  is  our  capacity  for 
future  fruition  enlarged  ;  according  to  the  contrast  of  pain  is  the  in- 
tensity of  pleasure  enhanced.  Indeed  we  must  suffer  the  one,  in 
order  fully  to  appreciate  the  other.  Are  we  to  charge  omnipotence 
with  partiality  in  the  distribution  of  its  good  ?  I  answer,  that  we 
make  or  destroy  our  own  happiness,  and  that  the  Creator  is  just  in 


THE  MISER'S  SON.  101 

the  apportioning  of  His  benefits.  There  is  always  some  counter- 
balancing advantage  or  disadvantage  in  every  situation.  The  beggar 
has  health  and  rags,  the  king  sickness  and  purple.  The  one  has  a 
cheerful  mind  and  poverty,  the  other  riches  and  discontent.  Circum- 
stances may  create  character  in  some  measure,  and  modify  our  feel- 
ings in  various  methods ;  but,  you  perceive,  that  if  they  antagonize 
with  what  is  usually  termed  good,  they  produce  a  power  of  contrast, 
which  enables  what  is  evil  to  one  man  to  afford  pleasure  to  another. 
So  that  in  the  moral  government,  search  where  \<>u  will,  examine 
how  you  may,  there  is  evidence  of  a  good,  merciful  Providence,  even 
though  evil  is  so  widely  diffused  over  its  works." 

"  I  hardly  expected  to  encounter  so  formidable  an  opponent  in  an 
angler,"  said  the  materialist,  as  the  old  man  paused  to  breathe  and 
allow  an  answer,  before  resuming  his  forcible  and  logical  argument. 
"  But  I  will  disprove  that  evil  under  any  circumstances  is  good,  or 
that  there  is  an  equipoise  of  happiness  in  the  distribution  of  it.  We 
cannot  conceive  that  one  man  enjoys  this  existence  as  much  as  ano- 
ther, when  millions  drag  on  a  weary  burthen  of  poverty  and  destitu- 
tion, constrained  to  actions  by  stern  necessity  at  which  they  shudder 
and  recoil  to  think  of.  Have  not  Circumstances— -the  gods  of  Time  I—- 
created all  this  misery  ?  And  if  a  Supreme  Being  exist,  has  He  not 
ordained  those  circumstances  ?  If  not,  He  could  have  had  no  purpose 
in  creating.  But " 

"  Wait !  I-  did  not  say  there  is  equality  of  happiness.  Happiness 
is  essentially  a  state  of  mind.  We  make  our  own  happiness  or  moral 
misery  ;  but  we  do  not  order  the  series  of  causes  and  effects  around 
us.  Pleasure  is  external,  and  happiness  internal.  As  to  the  millions 
who  endure  a  wretched  physical  life,  of  course  we  do  not  pretend 
that  they  are  privileged  in  the  same  measure  as  ourselves.  Still,  ac- 
cording to  the  amount  of  physical  evil  they  endure,  is  the  exquisite 
sense  of  pleasure  if  it  arrive.  Give  a  man  the  whole  world  and  he 
will  be  heartily  sick  of  it  in  a  short  time.  We  always  wish  for  some- 
thing that  we  cannot  attain,  and  so  are  dissatisfied  with  all  that  we 
possess.  Surely  this  fact,  instead  of  being  an  argument  against,  is  a 
strong  reason  for  the  existence  of  a  future  state  ?  Then,  as  to  God 
having  ordered  all  things,  we  must  be  careful  to  draw  a  line  of  demar- 
cation betwixt  creating  and  permitting.  We  ourselves  surfer  what 
is  evil  to  remain  (though  it  would  be  a  crime  to  cause  it),  in  order 
that  more  might  not  arise  by  the  extinction  of  it.  Look  through 
all  Nature  !  Is  anything  done  ill  or  amiss  ?  All  things  indeed  con- 


102  THE  MISER'S  SON. 

tain  the  elements  of  decomposition,  but  are  made  fresh  from  the 
hands  of  the  immortal,  and  are  excellent  in  kind,  whatever  they  may 
be  in  degree.  All  things  certainly  become  corrupt,  but  we  see  they 
are  not  created  so." 

"  A  distinction  without  a  difference,  to  my  mind." 
"  Pardon  me— God  creates  the  elements  of  evil,  because  what  He 
creates  must  be  less  perfect  than  himself.  Everything  out  of  God  is 
liable  to  change.  He  can  sustain  a  being  beyond  the  possibility  of 
falling;  but  susteutation  would  prevent  free-will ;  but  if  that  being 
is  not  God,  the  inference  is  obvious.  So  that,  in  causing  the  elements 
of  material  decomposition,  He  adapts  the  material  to  our  necessities, 
and  affords  a  clear  analogy  of  our  own  state,  with  this  difference, 
that  if  we  depend  upon  the  changeable  we  must,  like  other  sub- 
stances, become  corrupt ;  but  if  on  the  unchangeable,  we  cannot 
fade  away.  Thus  in  the  moral  universe  (the  analogical  deductions 
from  which  and  the  material  demonstrate  that  they  are  from  the 
same  hand,  for  they  are  truly  wonderful)  man  may  do  well  or  ill,  but 
he  rises  or  sinks  by  his  own  exertions.  All  living  things  are  subject 
to  death,  but  here  secondary  causes  are  the  agencies  which  the 
Eternal  employs  for  the  operation  of  what  we  ignorantly  term  evil — 
since  death  is  none  in  the  abstract.  The  animal  world  having  no  sad 
experience  nor  dark  anticipation  enjoy  more  good  than  evil,  even  in 
the  extremest  limitation  of  existence,  so  that  they  are  not  entitled  to 
another  life.  Man  alone  aspires  after  the  everlasting.  And  to  him 
alone,  as  he  possesses  that  aspiration,  is  the  everlasting  due." 

Frequently  as  the  young  Materialist  had  heard  arguments  similar 
to  these  urged  with  yet  greater  eloquence  and  power,  there  was  a 
simple  energy  and  an  earnest  faith  in  every  tone  and  look  of  the  old 
man  that  made  a  greater  impression  on  him  than  he  cared  to  avow  ; 
and  it  may  be  remarked,  in  passing,  that  these  are  the  keys  of  per- 
suasion and  conviction.  The  discussion  between  the  old  and  young 
man  was  here  interrupted,  but  in  what  manner  a  succeeding  chapter 
must  solve.  It  is  now  requisite  that  we  quit  the  personages  who 
have  occupied  the  mure  prominent  stations  in  our  tale,  to  detail 
events  remotely  to  be  connected  with  them. 


THE  MISER'S  SON.  103 


CHAPTER  III., 


My  name  d'ye  see's  Tom  Tough, 
I've  seen  a  little  sarvice. — C.  DIBDIN. 


THE    MAIMED   SAILOR — THE    SCHOLAR,    AND    A    VISITOR. 

A  SMALL  but  neat  habitation,  containing  two  or  three  rooms,  and 
thatched  with  admirable  ingenuity,  comprised  the  small  portion  of 
mortality  which  belonged  to  the  excellent  Mr.  Samuel  Stokes.  Na- 
ture had  once  bestowed  on  Mr.  Stokes  the  ordinary  stature  of  a 
man,  but  the  "  unspiritual  God"  had  deprived  him  of  a  quantity  of 
those  useful  and  ornamental  appendages,  called  legs. 

Beneath  an  ancient  oak  slowly  falling  into  decay,  the  sun  stream- 
ing down  upon  his  sun-burnt  and  weather-beaten  features,  reclined 
the  aforesaid  Samuel,  upon  a  crazy  bench,  a  pipe  in  his  mouth,  and 
a^mug  of  beer  in  his  hand.  His  face,  though  not  exactly  handsome, 
according  to  the  models  of  Grecian  antiquity  and  the  analysis  of 
Hogarth,  was  certainly  very  far  removed  from  what  we  include  in  the 
category  of  ugliness.  Though  his  nose  inclined  to  the  snub  forma- 
tion, it  was  a  good  nose — full  of  good  nature  and  simplicity,  not  of 
impudence  and  conceit,  like  many  such  noses ;  and  though  his  eyes 
were  of  a  greenish  grey,  a  colour  not  generally  preferred  to  black,  or 
brown,  or  blue — though  the  cheeks  were  too  fat,  and  the  chin  en- 
larging into  the  Siamese-twins  contour,  there  was  an  indescribable 
something  in  it— a  real,  honest  English  courage  and  kindness  lhat 
absolutely  irradiated  it  into  pleasingness,  such  as  Phidias  could  not 
have  permanently  imparted  to  stone.  His  hair  was  grey,  his  frame 
strong  and  firmly  set,  and  his  years  amounting  to  about  six-and- 
forty.  Thus,  apparelled  in  a  sailor's  jacket  and  straw  hat,  with  a 
long  staff  supporting  him  crutch -like  beneath  his  arm,  and  his  un- 
fortunate legs  defended  at  the  extremities  with  manifold  pieces  of 
hard  leather,  in  order  that  when  he  walked-— which  he  did  without 


104  THE  MISER'S  SON. 

artificial  support— he  might  not  wear  out  his  bones  and  flesh  more 
than  was  inevitable,  we  have  a  picture  of  a  maimed  British  tar  of 
the  last  century,  and  as  good  a  specimen  of  honesty,  valour,  good 
nature,  and  cordial  feeling  as  ever  existed. 

Mr.  Stokes  was  engaged  in,  apparently,  no  very  pleasant  reverie, 
for  occasionally  he  would  heave  a  sigh  and  exclaim,  "  Oh,  Sally, 
Sally,  cruel  Sally  !"  Then  he  would  drink  about  half  a  pint  from  his 
mug,  and  resume  his  occupation  of  puffing  clouds  and  turning  up  his 
eyes  to  heaven,,  as  if  to  request  a  special  interposition  in  his  favour. 
"  I  don't  know,"  sighed  Stokes,  having  at  length  finished  his  beer, 
and  nearly  exhausted  his  tobacco,  and  reasoning  the  matter  over  with 
rueful  earnestness,  "  why  I  should  take  on  so,  seeing  as  how  I'm 
getting  into  middle  age,  and  in  the  course  of  natur'  must  soon  slip 
the  cable ;  but  flesh  is  flesh,  and  blood  is  blood,  and  cousin  Sal — is 
cousin  Sal  anyhow."  He  paused,  as  soon  as  he  had  enunciated  these 
incontrovertible  propositions,  and  seemed  to  ruminate  whether  there 
existed  any  new  aspect  in  which  he  might  regard  his  peculiar  posi- 
tion. "  Sartinly,"  continued  Sam,  after  an  interval  of  some  minutes, 
"  I  oughtn't  to  have  expected  Sally,  after  my  misfortin',  to  take 
me  for  better  for  worse  ;  but  considering  what  did  pass — well,  I 
suppose  it's  a  punishment  I  desarve  for  having  taken  advantage  of 
her  youth  and  innercence — though  I'd  ha'  married  her  over  and  over 

again,  for  that  'ere  matter,  d — n 1  wish  as  I  could  conker  that 

evil  habit  o'  swearin',  as  I've  caught — but  habit  is  natur,  or  maybe 
natur' s  habit.  Ah,  Mr.  Smith,  how  goes  the  world  with  'ee?" 

"  Thank  you,  Samuel,  pretty  well,"  answered  a  little  man  with  a 
protruding  stomach,  who  tad  come  upon  Stokes  as  he  was  moralizing 
on  the  force  of  habit.  "  What  was  it  that  I  heard  you  say  just  now?" 

"  I  was  a-thinkin'  how  unpossible  it  is  to  get  over  bad  habits. 
Sit  down,  sir,  and  I'll  go  and  make  some  grog  ready  in  a  jiffy  " 

"  No,  Sam,  no,  I'm  much  obliged  to  you,  but  I  exceeded  the 
bounds  of  moderation  last  night — in  point  of  fact,  I  got  drunk." 

"  I  hopes  that  aint  your  common  custom,  sir  ?" 

«'  Why,  Sam,  the  truth  of  the  matter  is,  that  my  ardent  tempera- 
ment aroused,  it  outstrips  my  judgment,  and  enthrals  my  reason  too 
frequently.  Stokes,  I  am  now  engaged  in  multifarious  occupations, 
and  when  any  one  of  them  is  crowned  with  success,  I  indulge  too 
much  in  the  bottle— I  make  too  great  sacrifices  to  Bacchus,  from 
the  exuberance  of  joy  I  then  experience." 

"  Ah,  Mr.  Smith,  I'm  glad  I'm  no  scholar.     I  always  see  as  you 


THE  MISERY  SON. 

learned,  clever  gentry  never  does  well  in  the  world.  It  seems  as  if 
stupidity  was  the  best  quality  for  use/' 

"  You  may  be  in  some  measure  right,  my  worthy  friend.  Dull 
rascals  stick  to  business,  and  diligence  is  one  chief  element  of  success. 
They  never  make  excursions  into  the  regions  of  divine  philosophy, 
nor  indulge  in  the  poetic  raptures  which  persons  of  cultivated  minds 
derive  so  unappreciable  a  gratification  from.  But  1  do  not  doubt 
but  that  I  shall  ultimately  succeed  in  my  present  pursuits.  The 
manager  of  a  theatre  has  half  promised  to  accept  a  tragedy  of  pecu- 
liar construction,  combining  the  classical  elegance  and  majestic 
grandeur  of  the  Grecian  drama,  with  the  glorious  nature  and  pas- 
sionate power  of  the  tragic  writers  of  the  Elizabethan  era.  O  !  I 
must  succeed  !  A  radiant  future  lies  in  the  perspective  of  my  aspira- 
oYJ!Jons'  an€'  inste&d  of  drudging  on  as  an  obscure  village  schoolmaster. 
10  »  shall  attain  to  the  pinnacle  of  fame,  and  be  crowned  with  the  lau- 
-els  of  eternal  ages.  Stokes !  I  could  not  be  content  with  compe- 
tence and  obscurity.  I  must  have  the  acclamations  of  multitudes. 

must  hear  the  shouts  of  admiring  thousands.     I   must  possess  the 

enown  of  genius  and  of  scholarship.    For  these  1  have  toiled  by  day 

and  night.     For  these  I  have  abandoned  the  '  ignorant  present/  and 

I  live  and  breathe  in  the  far  future,  encircled  by  a  living  halo  of  light 

and  glory." 

During  this  eloquent  oration,  which  Mr.  Smith  delivered  with  du- 
energy  and  emphasis,  marking  the  periods  of  his  fluent  sentences 
with  a  flourish  of  his  short  arms,  Samuel  Stokes  remained  gazing  on 
him  in  silent  admiration,  as  if  an  eighth  wonder  of  the  world  had 
visited  his  lowly  duelling.  When  the  speech  was  finished  (Mr.  S. 
was  practising  prior  to  the  time  when  he  hoped  to  make  his  public 
debut  as  a  second  Cicero),  Sam  slowly  recovered  from  the  effects  of 
the  bewilderment  he  felt  at  hearing  such  a  vast  explosion  of  intellect 
and  fine  words,  and  though  much  had  been  incomprehensible  in  the 
declamation,  to  his  unsophisticated  mind,  yet  catching  the  substance 
of  the  rhapsody,  he  replied — 

"  You  are  a  wonderful  man,  Mr.  Smith,  that's  sartain ;  but  I 
can't  myself  understand  no  how,  why  anybody  should  bother  hisself 
arter  fame,  and  houner,  and  all  that  sort  o'thing ;  when  it  aint  pos- 
sible for  him  to  enjoy  it.  What  1  means  is  this.  Our  great  folks  as 
wins  battles,  and  our  wise  men  as  governs  the  affairs  of  state,  and 
our  clever  men  as  writes  books,  what  none  but  clever  folks  like  them- 
selves can  comprehend,  don't  they  take  all  their  trouble  for  no  reward 

p 


106  THE  MISER'S  SON. 

at  all  ?  No  one  talks  well  of  'em  when  they're  alive.  It's  only  arter 
they  die  they  becomes  famous." 

"  Nay,  Samuel,  there  are  many  illustrious  persons  who  reach  the 
goal  of  their  ambition,  even  in  life.  There  are  many  whose  glory  is 
now  shining  above  the  horizon  with  intense  lustre,  and  which  will  in- 
crease in  radiance  to  the  end  of  time." 

"  The  gole  of  their  ambition,  d'ye  say,  sir  ?  I  don't  know  ixactly 
what  gole  is  ;  but  this  I  knows,  those  folks  never  seem  satisfied, 
when  they've  got  all  they  wanted.  And  I've  had  sad  exper'ence  of 
that  'ere  myself — not  as  I  would  compare  myself  with  them.  I  did 
think  when  I  got  lots  of  rhino,  and  a  nice  bit  of  a  cabin  like  this,  I 
should  be  as  happy  as  the  day  is  long.  But  disappointment  follows 
us  all  through  life.  I  hopes  when  we  goes  aloft  as  we  shall  leave  it 
behind  for  ever." 

'•  True,  Sam,  very  true,"  responded  Smith,  "  and  I  have  frequently 
thoughts  of  abandoning  the  dear  and  bright  schemes  I  have  laid  for 
immortality,  when  I  consider  the  instability  of  all  things  here.  I  cer- 
tainly should  be  inclined  to  do  so,  if  I  might  enjoy  the  blessings  of 
domestic  felicity,  far  from  the  folly  and  contention  of  cities.  But 
circumstances  have  urged  me  on.  You  know  that  I  placed  my  early 
affections  upon  an  eminently  worthy  object — O,  she  was  so  good,  so 
pure,  that — upon  my  soul,  Sam,  I  can't  speak  of  her  now  without 
playing  the  woman !  She  was  taken  from  me — and  I  feel  very,  very 
desolate  sometimes  still.  I  would  give  all  I  may  ever  possess  to  hold 
poor  Rose  to  my  heart  again." 

The  worthy  Mr.  Smith  here  turned  away,  and  honest  Sam 
appeared  to  sympathize  deeply  with  him;  'one  touch  of  nature' 
making  '  the  whole  world  kin.'  A  few  minutes  previously  the  scholar 
was  unintelligible  to  the  sailor  ;  but  now  he  was  reduced  to  the  stan- 
dard of  his  own  humble  affections,  and  he  felt  for  him  like  a  brother. 
"  Poor  fellow,"  he  exclaimed,  brushing  away  a  tear. 

"  God  has  bereaved  me,  and  so  I  must  submit,"  resumed  Smith  ; 
"  but  I  see  a  visitor  approaching,  and  so  I  will  leave  you  at  once." 
Thus  saying,  he  shook  the  sailor  by  the  hand,  and  hastened  away. 

"  A  visitor !  who  can  it  be?"  ejaculated  Stokes,  "  shiver  my 
timbers,  I  should  know  him  ;  but  I  can't,  for  the  life  of  me— ah, 
surely  I  do,  though,  and  yet  it  can't  be,  its  quite  unpossible.  But  he 
is  so  like  his  father,  there  can't  be  no  mistake.  Master  Francis  !  is 
it  you,  sir  ?  Lord  bless  us,  what  a  man  you  are  grown,  to  be  sure." 

Uttering  this  exclamation,    Stokes  grasped  the  extended  hand  of 


THE  MISER'S  SON.  107 

a  fine  gentlemanly-looking  young  man  of  perhaps  nineteen,  attired  in 
a  naval  uniform,  and  whose  warm  and  hearty  return  of  the  rough 
tar's  violent  shaking  of  the  limb  evinced  that  their  acquaintanceship 
was  one  of  long  duration. 


CHAPTER  IV. 

O  cauld — cauld  now  those  ruby  lips 

I  aft  hae  kissed  sae  fondly ; 
And  closed  for  aye  the  sparkling  glance, 

That  dwelt  on  me  sae  kindly. — BURNS. 

THE   SCHOLAR    AT   THE   GRAVE  OF  HIS  BELOVED — THE  STRANGE 
UNKNOWN — THE    PACKET. 

MR.  SMITH,  after  quitting  the  abode  of  his  humble  friend,  struck 
into  a  path,  which  communicated  at  its  opposite  extremity  with  an 
old  church-yard,  where  yews  and  willows  sighed  mournfully  in  the 
faint,  sweet  breeze  ;  and  where  numerous  wild-flowers  contrasted 
with  the  more  pretending  cultured  ones,  which  the  hand  of  affection 
had  planted  over  the  graves  of  the  lost  and  loved  ;  as  if  to  show  that 
Nature  can  mourn  her  children  with  as  much  fragrant  sorrow  in  her 
tranquil,  sweet,  sad  face,  as  any  emblems  that  man  in  his  vanity 
may  rear. 

Here  a  monument  of  marble  erected  its  stately  head,  to  comme- 
morate the  virtues,  the  rank,  or  the  celebrity  of  the  senseless  dust 
beneath  ;  and  here  a  rude  stone  was  carved  with  some  pious  and 
affectionate  sentiment,  indicative  of  the  simplicity  of  the  living 
grief,  and  the  reality  of  the  departed  worth  ;  while  the  greater  num- 
ber of  green  mounds,  over  which  the  pretty  daisies  and  the  golden 
buttercups  grew  in  great  luxuriance,  possessed  no  other  external  me- 
mentoes, nor  afforded  the  slightest  clue  to  what  the  beings,  once  so 
full  of  life  and  elastic  vigour,  and  who  now  slept  so  movelessly  a  few 
feet  below,  had  appeared  to  those,  so  soon  to  share  a  similar  fate — 
oblivion,  ashes,  nothingness! 

And  must  we  all  come  to  this?  Must  the  smiles  we  treasure,  must 
the  looks  we  cherish,  and  the  hearts  that  make  us  rich,  though 
poorest,  with  their  sacred  wealth  of  tenderness,  fade,  fade  away, 


108  THE  MISER'S  SON. 

and  be  no  more  beheld  ?  The  delicate  loveliness,  the  haughty 
beauty,  the  lofty  and  divine  intelligence  which  breathes  in  human 
lineaments  are  scattered  in  abhorred  dust — first  worshipped  in  the 
zenith  of  their  glory— the  theme  of  poets,  the  admiration  and  model 
of  painters — giving  light  to  passion,  and  inspiration  to  song — next, 
a  banquet  to  the  hated  worms  of  the  earth,  and  finally  portions  of 
that  earth  we  so  carelessly  tread  upon. 

The  scholar — for  despite  his  pedantry  and  extravagance  Smith 
was  really  such — pursued  his  way  over  the  burying-ground,  until  he 
reached  a  grave,  over  which  there  was  a  low  stone,  whereon  was 
engraved  in  rough  and  inartificial  characters — indeed  so  clumsily 
executed  that  it  was  not  easy  to  spell  them  ;  but  in  its  sentiment 
full  of  pathos  and  affectionate  sorrow. 

"  ROSE  STOKES,  DIED  MAY  17,  1720,  AGED  NINETEEN  YEARS. 

'*  No  marble  consecrates  the  dust  that  lies 

In  mouldering  silence  'neath  this  lowly  stone- 
That  dust  once  bright  as  are  the  summer  skies, 

The  soul  that  lit  it — like  itself  ALONE. 
Lo  !  yon  blue  cope  is  beautiful  and  Jit 

To  cover  even  my  pure  angel's  head, 
But  the  great  God  so  loves  and  prizes  it, 

His  bosom  keeps  it  safe  and  blest  instead." 

"  Ah,  how  I  am  altered  since  that  time/'  murmured  the  little 
man  to  himself,  "  strangely  altered  altogether  !  Ten  years — is  it 
possible  ?  Ten  years  since  my  dearest  left  me,  and  I  wrote  that  in- 
scription there  !  How  often  we  used  to  wander  together  in  this — 
then  to  us — pleasant,  though  melancholy  place,  and  talk  about 
future  happiness — never,  never  to  be  attained  !  Little  did  I  think, 
ten  years  ago,  I  should  be  gazing  on  this  stone,  and  be  standing 
above  the  corruption  that  was  once  more  dear — " 

He  left  the  sentence  unfinished,  and  seating  himself  upon  the 
grass  was  lost  in  the  abstraction  of  memory.  Poor  fellow,  with  all 
his  absurdity  and  vanity,  he  had  as  warm  and  kind  a  heart  as  ever 
beat  within  human  bosom;  and  isolated  as  he  now  was,  he  clung  to 
the  past  with  a  tenacity  such  as  those  only  in  similar  circumstances 
of  bereavement  can  comprehend.  Though  he  frequently  looked  for- 
ward to  a  golden  future  of  splendour  and  renown,  his  first  warm 
affections  were  buried  in  that  lowly  resting-place,  and  all  appeared 
as  uihility  to  him,  in  comparison  with  his  irreparable  loss.  What 


THt  MISER'S  SON.  109 

was  fortune,  what  power,  what  popularity,  when  he  had  no  one  to 
share  them  with  him,  when  no  fair  face  would  smile  upon  his  own, 
no  gentle  voice  partake  in  joy  the  elation  of  his  prosperity. 

Mr.  Smith  was  the  son  of  a  poor  farmer,  and  by  his  own  almost 
unaided  industry  had  acquired  sufficient  learning,  by  the  time  he 
had  grown  to  man's  estate,  to  capacitate  him  for  a  private  tutor, 
which  situation  he  was  fortunate  enough  to  obtain.  He  afterwards 
accepted  an  engagement  as  master  to  the  foundation  school  of  his 
native  village,  and  in  which  village  we  find  him  at  present ;  an  office 
which  he  rilled  with  diligence  and  respectability  for  a  period  of  some 
years. 

He  had  fixed  the  affections  of  his  heart  on  a  pretty,  ignorant  girl, 
who  was  related  to  Samuel  Stokes,  and  had  all  his  good  qualities, 
and  applied  himself  assiduously  to  effect  the  removal  of  her  mental 
darkness  ;  but  having  succeeded  in  intellectualising  her,  even  beyond 
his  most  sanguine  expectations,  "  fell  death's  untimely  frost"  sud- 
denly deprived  him  of  his  darling,  and  instead  of  receiving  a  loving 
wife  to  his  bosom,  as  he  had  hoped,  in  the  course  of  a  single  week 
she  occupied  the  narrow  mansion  where  no  sounds  are  heard.  So 
great  was  the  agony  of  his  loss,  that  he  found  himself  unequal  to 
the  office  he  had  hitherto  filled,  and  having  nobody  dependent  on 
him,  retired  from  it,  much  to  the  regret  of  his  scholars,  by  whom  he 
was  almost  universally  beloved.  In  order  to  divert  his  grief  and 
melancholy,  which  preyed  on  his  mind  to  so  great  an  excess  that  at 
one  time  there  were  serious  fears  of  his  becoming  a  lunatic,  he  sub- 
sequently engaged  in  a  multiplicity  of  the  most  heterogeneous  pur- 
suits— now  joining  a  party  of  strolling  players,  now  undertaking  to 
instruct  some  aspirant  to  dramatic  honours  (to  which  indeed  he  was 
fully  competent,)  now  composing  verses,  some  good,  some  indifferent, 
and  many  nonsensical,  now  conceiving  various  works  of  science,  ima- 
gination, criticism,  or  erudition,  and  not  unfrequently  betrayed  into 
excess  in  his  libations,  hoping  to  dissipate  the  weight  that  oppressed 
his  spirits,  in  everything  he  did.  In  some  measure  he  was  success- 
ful in  this  object,  but  the  respectability  of  his  character  had  suffered 
materially  from  the  extravagances  in  which  he  indulged,  and  he  was 
often  hard-pressed  to  procure  even  the  necessaries  of  life,  though  too 
proud  to  acknowledge  the  fact ;  but  occasionally  he  obtained  a  wind- 
fall, for  he  really  possessed  abilities,  which  when  directed  into 
proper  channels,  were  by  no  means  contemptible.  Not  possessing 
a  single  relation  of  any  kind,  he  was  accustomed  to  take  up  his  quar- 


HO  THE  MISER'S  SON. 

ters  in  all  parts  of  the  country  which  he  traversed,  never  remaining 
stationary  for  three  weeks  together.  Such  was  the  eccentric  character 
introduced  to  the  reader's  notice  in  the  last  chapter,  and  in  whom 
may  possibly  be  recognised  the  fuddled  gentleman  from  whom  Harry 
Danvers  had  found  it  impossible  to  extract  any  available  or  useful 
information.  It  was  astonishing,  however,  when  his  feelings  were 
thrown  into  their  old  phases,  how  they  resumed  the  truth  and  purity 
of  nature,  and  how  his  pedantry  and  hyperbolical  expressions  dissi- 
pated with  the  delusive  mists  which  he  was  in  the  habit  of  conjuring, 
to  beguile  himself  from  himself. 

He  was  startled  from  his  contemplation  by  hearing  a  sob  or  groan 
at  a  little  distance  from  him.  The  church-yard  was  so  remote  from 
any  habitation,  and  was  so  rarely  visited  except  on  the  Sunday  (for 
there  was  a  shorter  cut  to  the  cottage  occupied  by  Stokes,  than  that 
which  terminated  in  the  burying-grouud),  that  Smith  was  surprised 
at  discovering  that  he  was  in  the  vicinity  of  a  human  being.  A  high 
grave-stone  was  placed  at  about  a  dozen  paces  from  that  on  which 
he  leant,  and  directing  his  eyes  to  it,  he  saw  a  head  bent  toward  the 
earth  and  over  the  stone,  the  lower  part  of  his  face  resting  on  two 
emaciated  hands. 

Rising  from  his  stooping  position,  then,  he  surveyed  the  tall,  thin 
figure  which  had  been  previously  concealed  from  his  view,  and  fan- 
cied that  he  was  familiar  with  it,  but  could  not  make  up  his  mind 
whether  imagination  cheated  him  or  not.  The  stranger,  unconscious 
of  the  proximity  of  another  person,  indulged  his  emotions,  and  from 
the  agitation  of  his  bony  and  angular  frame,  it  was  quite  evident  he 
endured  no  ordinary  degree  of  suffering.  Again  he  groaned,  and  this 
time  spoke  aloud,  not  hearing  the  cough,  by  which  the  scholar 
deemed  it  right  to  intimate  his  presence. 

"  Crime,  oh  deadly  crime  !  What  can  erase  from  my  soul  the  red 
spots  upon  it  ?  Blood — ay,  blood  !"  and  he  shuddered  visibly. 
"  Where  is  the  water  that  shall  wash  it  out  ?  Oh,  God,there  is  no 
mercy  for  me  !  No  hope,  no  pity,  no  forgiveness  !  No  comfort  for 
me  on  earth,  and  horror  and  despair  petrifying  me  when  I  dare  to 
look  into  futurity  !" 

It  would  be  difficult  to  describe  the  appearance  of  fear  and  wret- 
chedness which  imparted  a  ghastly  and  livid  hue  to  the  naturally 
almost  death-like  pallor  of  the  stranger's  sunken  cheek  ;  his  chest 
wrung  with  the  anguish  of  his  repeated  groans,  and  his  hands 
clasped  together,  and  uow  pressed  upon  his  high,  narrow  forehead, 


THE  MISER'S  SON.  Ill 

on  which  large  drops  of  agony  were  standing.  He  was  not  old,  and 
yet  he  appeared,  in  some  respects,  to  have  passed  middle  age, 
though  in  fact  his  years  were  short  of  forty  ;  his  grey  hair,  which 
had  nearly  deserted  the  temples,  his  wrinkled  brow,  and  the  deep 
lines  in  his  cheeks,  appearing  the  effect  of  excessive  misery,  and  of 
passions  in  contention,  rather  than  the  ordinary  result  of  the  certain 
and  gradual  operations  of  the  destroyer  Tifoe.  He  fell  down  upon 
a  sudden,  in  a  species  of  stupor,  and  his  face  became  as  vacant  as 
that  of  the  dead. 

The  scholar  approached  him,  and,  as  no  notice  was  taken  of  his 
presence,  he  became  apprehensive  that  the  unknown  had  been  seized 
with  a  lit.  Acting  upon  this  supposition  he  was  on  the  point  of 
attempting  to  raise  him  in  his  arms,  when  he  abruptly  started  to  his 
feet  and  exclaimed  with  wild  and  intense  energy, 

"  My  gold  !  my  gold  !  thou  shalt  not  have  my  gold — Hell  shall 
not  wrest  it  from  me.  I  tell  you  that  I  have  sacrificed  Heaven  for 
it — I  have  committed  mur — ha,  ha  !  1  will  take  it  down  with  me  to 
the  grave,  and  it  shall  be  placed  here,  here  !"  putting  his  hand  to 
his  heart,  "  so  that  in  the  great  day  of  account,  when  I  shall  be 
asked  wherefore  I  did  the  deed — I  may  point  to  the  glittering  dust 
and  say,  '  Avarice  was  made  my  master  passion,  and  I  was  not 
given  help  to  struggle  against  the  temptation.'  Avarice  and  Jealousy 
are  the  fiends  of  fate,  and  bear  down  the  unwilling  soul  to  the 
depths  of  perdition  !" 

With  such  rapidity  were  these  incoherent  words  ejaculated,  that 
it  was  impossible  for  Smith  to  get  in  a  sentence.  He  now  was  in- 
clined to  think  the  unhappy  man  a  maniac  broken  loose  from  prison, 
and,  desirous  of  soothing  his  excitement,  said, 

"  My  good  friend,  your  gold  shall  not  be  taken  from  you,"  (a 
likely  thing  he  should  have  any,  was  Smith's  inward  thought,  with 
such  a  coat  as  he  wears,)  "  and  I  shall  be  happy  to  render  you 
service  ?" 

"  What  do  you  say  ?  who  are  you  ?"  returned  the  stranger  with 
quickness,  and  not  waiting  for  an  answer  continued,  "  I  am  not  in 
need  of  your  assistance ;"  saying  which,  he  strode  rapidly  away, 
and  was  lost  to  sight  in  the  winding  of  a  road  which  extended  almost 
in  a  circle  to  the  churchyard.  Smith,  crossing  his  arms,  lapsed  into 
a  musing  attitude. 

"  1  do  not  think  he  is  insane,"  he  thought,  "  but  how  awfully  he 
looked  and  spoke.  I  am  certain  I  have  seen  that  man  before — but 
where,  I  cannot  conjecture." 


112  THE  MISER'S  SON. 

Thus  engaged  in  cogitation,  his  eyes  happened  to  fall  upon  the 
spot  where  the  mysterious  being  had  stood,  and  were  arrested  by  a 
small  packet  which,  it  seemed,  he  had  dropped.  He  picked  it  up, 
and  hastily  followed  in  the  direction  which  its  owner  had  taken,  with 
the  purpose  of  restoring  it  to  him  ;  but,  far  or  near,  he  had  not  left 
a  vestige  behind. 

"  There's  a  terrible  mystery  about  this  fellow,  which  it  is  impos- 
sible to  fathom,"  again  meditated  the  scholar.  "  He  talked  of  blood 
and  murder ;  and  his  face — upon  my  soul  I  shall  never  forget  the 
aspect  it  wore." 

Returning  to  the  churchyard,  he  lingered  at  the  grave  where  the 
stranger  had  remained  so  long,  and  read,  though  not  for  the  first, 
time, — for  he  was  familiar  with  every  tombstone  there, — the  inscrip- 
tion on  its  marble  tablet.  It  was  simply  this • 

"  F.  W.  DIED  1721,  AGED  28. 

"  SHE  SHALL  WAKE,   TO   WEEP   NO   MORE." 

There  was  nothing  farther  of  any  kind  to  distinguish  what  the 
occupant  of  that  dreary  abode  had  been  ;  and  Smith  recollected  a 
funeral  which  he  had  accidentally  witnessed,  at  which  there  was  no 
mourner  present,  terminating  there.  The  church  clock  reminding 
him  that  it  was  time  for  him  to  fulfil  his  engagement,  he  quitted  the 
burying-ground  and  walked  briskly  on  his  way. 

"  1  can't  make  out  the  business  in  any  way,  so  it  is  useless  to 
waste  farther  time  in  thinking  of  it,"  said  the  worthy  ex-pedagogue 
to  himself.  "  I  will  keep  this  parcel  safe,  and  leave  it  with  Stokes, 
that  it  may  be  returned  to  its  legal  possessor,  if  he  inquire  for  it.'* 
And  so,  he  endeavoured  forthwith  to  dismiss  the  inexplicable  matter 
from  his  mind. 

It  is  a  very  singular  fact,  and  one  which  future  metaphysicians 
may  discuss  until  discussion  be  exhausted,  (a  period  which,  our 
American  friends  would  say,  extends  "  from  July  to  Eternity")  that 
in  proportion  as  the  human  mind  endeavours  to  dismiss  a  theme 
from  the  sphere  of  its  apprehension,  so  it  is  magnified  into  conside- 
ration and  importance  ;  and  hence  we  may  conclude  that  the  very 
best  method  of  getting  speedily  rid  of  an  insuperable  difficulty 
within  the  regions  of  intellect,  is  to  permit  it  to  have  its  run — to  let 
it  get  out  of  breath,  in  whirling  round  the  cycle  of  the  brain,  till 
dizzy  and  tired,— for  here  the  sad  fruits  of  Mother  Eve's  fatal 


THE  MISER'S  SON.  113 

iii discretion  are  distinctly  apparent,  in  the  perversity  with  which  the 
soul  ever  turns  to  a  prohibited  subject ;  for  no  other  reason  in  the 
world  than  because  it  is  so.  But  there  are  exceptions  to  this  general 
rule,  for  the  lucid  exposition  of  the  first  principles  of  which,  you  may 
consult  the  "  Metaphysic  of  Ethics,"  or  the  heavenly  mysteries  of 
Emanuel  Sweden  borg,  or,  if  you  prefer  it,  the*?  Transcendentalism"  of 
Mr.  Thomas  Carlyle,  or  any  other  book  dealing  in  subtile  casuistry 
and  ontological  illumination,  and  which  some  of  our  ignorant  English 
critics,  not  yet  inoculated  with  German  mysticism,  have  the  strange 
audacity  to  denominate  incomprehensible.  Not  that  old  Kant,  and 
Sweden  borg,  and  Mr.  Carlyle  are  not  all  excellent  in  their  way 
"  as  their  sceptical  adversaries  allow"  even  to  the  understandings  of 
beer-bemuddled  English  brains ;  but  the  deuce  of  the  matter  is,  that 
when  you  have  arrived  at  some  sort  of  definite  conclusion  as  to  their 
doctrines,  you  discover  that  they  only  tell  you  what  might  have  been 
explained  in  a  dozen  common -seiisica I  sentences — but  then  we 
should  lose  all  their  acute  reasoning,  anal \ sis,  synthesis,  and  ob- 
scurity. 

So  our  scholar  bothered  his  sensory  with  the  operations  of  conjec- 
ture, just  like  many  wiser — or,  as  others  may  conceive — more  foolish 
fellows,  from  the  Stagyrite  down  to  the  Mathematicians  who  occupy 
themselves  in  the  attempt  to  effect  the  quadrature  of  the  circle.  It 
was  ordered,  however,  by  the  stern  sisters  that  an  end  should  be  put 
to  his  surmises,  before  imagination  run  riot  could  be  guilty  of  any 
very  grave  extravagancies,  as,  fortunately  for  themselves,  the  force 
of  utilitarianism  brings  down  psychology  to  the  earth  and  constrains 
its  votaries  to  follow  the  business  of  life.  But  hang  the  doctrines  of 
Bentham,  as  well  as  the  antitheses  of  the  others.  Benthamism  is 
good,  and  so  is  idealism  ;  but  what  is  there  beneficial  in  extremes, 
whether  in  science,  politics,  or  philosophy  ?  Mischievous  materialism 
and  absurd  abstraction  (rum  the  world  for  which  we  are  created,  are 
equally  at  variance  with  sound  wisdom,  happiness,  utility,  and 
truth. 

k .;>;:;•  i«t£  »:...*»• 


]]4  THE  MISER'S  SON. 


CHAPTER  V. 


"  Here"  he  was  interrupted  by  a  knife, 
With  "  Damn  your  ayes!  your  money  or  your  life !" 
:-&d'  Don  Juan. 

Ha,  ha!  what  a  fool  honesty  is!  and  trust,  his  twin  brother,  a  very  foolish  gentle- 
man. I  see  this  is  the  time  that  the  unjust  man  doth  thrive. — SHAKSPEARE. 

THE   OLD    STRANGER — A    POETICAL    DISCOURSE    UNPLEASANTLY 
BROKEN    IN    UPON — OLD    ACQUAINTANCES. 

AS  Smith  was  preparing  to  pursue  the  vagaries  of  fancy,  instead  of 
the  logical  inductions  of  the  higher  faculty  of  reason,  a  remarkable 
figure  arose  from  beneath  a  hedge,  and  gave  him  a  good-morrow. 

The  individual  in  question  was  an  old  man,  of  rather  venerable 
appearance,  with  long  white  hair  and  bushy  eyebrows  of  the  same 
colour,  a  large  moulh,  furnished  with  white  and  even  teeth,  in  a 
high  state  of  preservation  for  his  years,  a  nose  of  the  aquiline  order, 
and  forehead  puckered  up  into  wrinkles,  though  the  remainder  of 
his  face  was  smooth,  and  even  youthful  in  its  freshness.  There  was 
a  lurking  expression  of  cunning  about  the  corners  of  the  mouth,  and 
a  dash  of  ferocious  daring  in  the  keen  grey  eye,  scarcely  iti  accord- 
ance wilh  the  other  characteristics  of  his  general  appearance. 

His  stature  must  once  have  been  very  great,  for,  although  he 
stooped  a  great  deal,  it  was  above  six  feet,  and  his  dress  was  com- 
posed of  an  old,  shabby  hat,  a  long,  faded,  threadbare  coat,  and 
unutterables  so  ancient  that  it  appeared  a  question  whether  they 
could  ever  have  been  made  for  him,  old  as  he  was. 

It  is  delightful  weather,"  observed  the  old  man,  slowly  dragging 
on  his  gigantic  legs,  and  keeping  pace  with  Smith,  who  was  trotting 
along  as  fast  as  his  little  members  would  permit. 

"  Very  pleasant,  indeed,  answered  the  scholar;  "  but  you  seem 
fatigued,  my  good  man,  will  ^ou  lean  on  me  ?" 


THE  MISER'S  SON.  115 

"  No,  I  thank'ee,  sir ;  Tin  not  quite  sure  that  I  could  manage  to 
do  so,  however  well  inclined/'  he  replied,  with  a  smile,  looking  down 
upon  the  short  man. 

Smith  was  the  essence  of  good -nature,  and  could  take  a  joke  with 
perfect  equanimity,  so  that  he  merely  returned  the  smile  of  his  new 
acquaintance,  nor  heeded  the  implied  insignificance  of  his  personal 
appearance,  and  rejoined — "  We  appear  to  be  journeying  in  the 
same  direction,  and  as  I  have  heard  of  frequent  robberies  in  this 
part  of  the  country,  we  shall  be  a  mutual  protection  to  each  other; 
for  although  neither  of  us  be  very  formidable — you,  from  your  age, 
being  feeble,  and  I,  from  my  original  organization,  not  being  gifted 
with  great  strength — robbers  seldom  attack  more  than  one  person  at 
a  time; — not  that  either  you  or  I  probably  possess  much  to  tempt 
rapacity." 

"  Why,  as  for  that  matter,  sir,"  returned  the  old  man,  "  I 
shouldn't  like  to  lose  what  little  1  have;  for  though  my  dress  is 
beggarly,  my  purse  is  not  empty — but  I  am  imprudent  in  talking 
thus,  in  spite  of  the  respectability  of  your  appearance,"  he  added, 
with  a  peculiar  expression  of  countenance.  "  1  have  just  been  to 
market,  and  my  horse  having  met  with  an  accident,  1  thought  I 
would  walk  home;  for  I  didn't  like  the  useless  expense  of  hiring 
another.  But  what  of  these  robbers  you  mention  ?" 

"  I  have  heard  there  are  two  men,  of  absolutely  gigantic  stature, 
who  usually  infest  this  road,  and  have  been  known  to  stop  a  dozen 
farmers  and  others  returning  from  market,  one  after  another,  when 
no  one  is  near.  But,  little  as  I  am,  1  would  show  right,  and  yon,  1 
am  sure,  with  that  long  staff  of  oak,  \vould  second  me.  You  must 
have  been  a  terrible  fellow  when  young,  judging  from  what  you  now 
are.  It  is  not  often  a  person  at  your  time  of  life  can  show  such  a 
muscular  hand." 

"  I'm  a  peaceable  man,  now  ;  but  1  believe  i  could  wrestle  and 
use  a  cudgel  with  most  fellows,  certainly ;  but  1  don't  think  I 
should  be  able  to  do  much  now.  Still  I  would  stand  by  you — Ah  ! 
that  looks  a  suspicious  character  approaching  on  horseback  now — 
that  tall  man  in  a  long  cloak  !"  >  .,*• 

"  Fortunately,  however,"  remarked  Smith,  *•  1  can  perceive  two 
labouring  men  advancing  down  the  lane." 

As  he  was  yet  speaking  the  object  of  the  old  man's  trepidation,  a 
rather  handsome,  dashing  fellow,  with  a  black  patch  on  his  cheek, 
put  the  large  well-made  horse  he  rode  inio  a  canter,  and  met  tlitm. 


116  THE  MISER'S  SON. 

A  look  of  significance  passed  between  Smith's  companion  and  the 
mounted  traveller  (unobserved  by  the  little  scholar),  and  the  latter, 
with  a  polite  bow  to  them,  continued  his  journey. 

"Well,  I'm  glad  we've  escaped  from  the  scoundrel,  if  he  be  the 
highwayman,"  said  Smith,  whose  heart  had  been  beating  a  trifle 
faster  than  was  its  wonted  impetus,  though  he  was  no  coward,  "  for 
he  certainly  is  a  terrible  fellow  to  look  at,  and  I  am,  unfortunately, 
quite  unarmed." 

The  pedestrians  now  descended  a  winding  path,  intersected  by  a 
stream  that,  with  gentle  plash  and  sparkling  foam,  coursed  along 
and  divided  the  lofty  trees,  which  grew  even  into  the  water,  and 
from  whence  no  trace  of  man  or  man's  abode  could  be  descried.  It 
was  poetically  lonely,  and  the  birds  and  the  gay  insects  that  fluttered 
and  flew  through  the  clear  air,  were  the  only  things  of  life  percepti- 
ble by  any  of  the  senses,  far  or  near;  save  when  at  intervals  some 
finny  tenant  of  the  river  rose  above  the  surface,  or  some  reptile  ran 
into  its  hiding-place,  at  the  unusual  sound  of  footsteps  in  that 
sequestered  valley. 

Smith's  romance  was  excited  by  the  subdued  and  picturesque 
beauty  of  the  spot,  and  failing  into  an  attitude  half  natural,  half 
theatrical,  he  exclaimed, 

"  Divine  loveliness  of  Earth  !  How  tranquil  is  the  charm  you 
wind  around  the  heart,  and  how  soft  and  delicious  the  calm  that 
dwells  in  all  your  secret  nooks !  As  we  wander  among  your  varied 
landscapes,  and  read  the  excellent  lessons  you  afford  to  the  medita- 
tive mind,  the  soul  expands  to  moral  beauty,  and  we  feel  more  of 
the  dignity  of  our  nature,  than  when  encircled  by  the  noise  and  tur- 
moil of  crowded  cities  ;  for  there  issues  from  the  mysterious  recesses 
of  life  that  aspiration  after  the  true  which  manifests  itself  in  the 
love  of  the  ideal,  and  the  ideal  becomes,  as  it  were,  an  abstraction  of 
the  ethereal  and  the  everlasting.  In  the  lines  of  the  admirable  Pope, 
the  first  of  our  living  geniuses— 

'  Happy  the  man  who  to  the  shades  retires, 
Whom  Nature  charms,  and  whom  the  Muse  inspires, 
Whom  humble  joys  of  home-felt  quiet  please, 
Successive  study,  exercise,  and  ease.' " 

During  this  long  effusion,  the  old    stranger  had   manifested  very 
evident  symptoms  of  ennui,  and  not  appreciating   the   excellence  of 


THK  MISER'S  SON.  117 

Mr.  Smith's  ideas,  nor  the  appositeness  of  his  quotation,  he  broke 
in  upon  the  harangue,  and  said, 

"  I  think  we  had  better  make  the  best  of  our  way  onwards,  for 
this  is  an  unfrequented  place,  and  the  labourers  you  saw  just  now 
will  soon  be  out  of  the  reach  of  your  voice,  though  you  seem  to  have 
good  lungs,"  (Smith  had  the  voice  of  a  Stentor)  "  so  that  should  the 
robbers  )ou  are  apprehensive  of "  35* 

"  True,  true,  you  wisely  act  the  Mentor  to  my  forgetful  ness.  As 
we  proceed,  I  can  as  well  discourse,"  returned  the  scholar,  "  after 
the  manner  of  the  Peripatetics.  I  have  a  notion  of  establishing  some 
sort  of  institution,  for  the  purpose  of  instructing  adults  in  classics  and 
philosophy,  and  1  think  I  shall  resume  the  ancient  practice  of  Aris- 
totle, and  in  fine  weather  deliver " 

In  the  middle  of  his  sentence  Mr.  Smith  was  suddenly  and  most 
disagreeably  interrupted  ;  for  the  huge  hand  of  his  companion  was 
placed  on  his  throat,  so  as  to  prevent  the  possibility  of  his  crying 
out,  and  iu  an  altered  voice  the  old  man  said, 

"  I  didn't  come  here  to  be  humbugged  with  your  nonsense,  my 
rum  chap!  Come,  fork  out  what  >ou've  got.  1  ain  one  of  (he 
gentlemen  you  bestowed  the  very  complimentary  epithet  of  scoun- 
drel on,  just  now." 

"  Oh,  the  devil !"  ejaculated  Smith,  speaking  with  difficulty, 
from  the  compression  of  his  new  friend's  fingers  on  his  throat, 
which  was  so  intense  as  to  threaten  his  windpipe  with  adhesion, 
"  indeed,  indeed,  Sir,  if  you  recollect,  I  didn't  callyow  a  scoundrel. 
Pray,  relax  your  grasp,  or  you  will  throttle  me.  I  have  got  nothing 
to  give  to  you,  upon  my  word  and  honour  as  a  gentleman." 

"  Pshaw,  don't  think  to  gammon  me,  old  cock  !  As  for  your  not 
calling  me  a  scoundrel,  you  applied  the  term  to  my  partner  and  re- 
lation, as  well  as  insulting  my  professional  dignity,  and  those  in  the 
same  house  of  business,  you  know,  are  one  and  the  same.  Other- 
wise, for  your  civility  in  offering  }our  support,  believing  me  to  be 
infirm,  I  might  have  let  you  off.  I'm  hard  up  for  cash,  and  so  I 
must  search  your  pockets,  not  doubling  >mir  word  of  honour  as  a 
gentleman,  but  conceiving  it  is  possible  jour  memory  may  not  be  so 
good  for  the  common  concerns  of  life  as  it  is  for  Pope's  poetry." 

With  these  words,  delivered  with  much  urbanity  and  humour,  the 
robber  proceeded  to  take  cognizance  of  the  contents  of  Smith's 
pockets,  and  rifled  them  of  a  pen-knife,  a  pocket-book  containing 
only  some  memoranda,  a  Greek  Homer,  and  a  very  few  half-pence, 


118  THE  MISER'S  SON. 

all  of  which  the  highwayman  politely  restored  to  their  owner, 
adding, 

"  I  believe  you  have  told -me  truth,  Mr.  What's-your-name,  and, 
somehow  or  another,  folks  so  often  forget  their  morality  in  that 
respect,  when  speaking  to  me,  that  I  suppose  1  must  let  you  off, 
though  I  can  tell  you  that  I  didn't  endure  the  bother  of  your  com- 
pany so  long  for  nothing.  I  promise  you  that  you  shall  not  be 
troubled  with  me  again,  till  you  carry  something  more  substantial 
with  you  than  the  stuff  you've  got  in  your  brains.  But  wait  a  mo- 
ment— 1  see  something  in  your  breast — allow  me  to  inspect  it. 
You  shall  have  it  again,  if  it  is  as  worthless  as  all  the  rest  about 
you." 

"  No,  Mr.  Robber,  yon  shall  not  have  that ;  it  isn't  mine !"  ex- 
claimed the  scholar,  vehemently  struggling  in  the  nervous  grasp  of 
the  gentleman  footpad,  "  and  I  must  and  will  retain  it,  in  order  to 
return  it  to  its  lawful  owner." 

But  the  robber  threw  Smith  on  his  back,  and  easily  deprived  him 
of  the  object  of  contention,  while  the  victimised  party  vociferated 
with  lungs  which  had  been  exercised  in  several  barns  in  such  cha- 
racters as  Richard  and  the  fiery  spir  ts  of  the  drama.  Nor  were 
his  cries  long  unavailing  ;  for  while  the  footpad  was  leisurely  exami- 
ning the  contents  of  the  parcel  which  the  scholar  had  accidentally 
picked  up,  two  persons  appeared  from  behind  a  broad  tree  which 
had  concealed  them,  and  Smith  recognizing  one  shouted, 

"  Oh,  Master  Walsingham,  help,  help  me!" 

The  robber,  thrusting  his  spoil  into  his  dress,  drew  a  long  rapier 
from  under  his  coat,  and  assumed  a  defensive  attitude,  at  the  same 
time  hurling  away  the  unfortunate  scholar  with  such  terrific  violence 
as  to  throw  him  stunned  and  senseless,  at  the  distance  of  some 
yards,  upon  the  earth. 

William  Walsingham  (for  it  was  no  other  than  the  Epicurean  and 
his  acquaintance  of  the  rod,  who  had  heard  the  cries  of  Smith,  and 
hastened  to  the  scene  of  action  to  render  their  assistance)  lost  no 
time  in  unsheathing  his  weapon,  which  he,  like  almost  all  gentlemen 
of  the  age  in  which  he  lived,  habitually  wore,  and,  gathering  at  a 
glance  the  state  of  affairs,  attacked  the  robber  who  instantly  drew 
up  his  tall  form  to  its  real  altitude  of  six  feet  four,  and  with  mena- 
cing brow  appeared  to  think  it  probable  that  his  gigantic  appear- 
ance would  intimidate  so  joutig  a  foe  into  retreat.  But  Walsingham 
was  a  lion  iu  daring,  nor  \vas  he  unskilled  in  the  use  of  the  weapon 


THK  MISER'S  SON.  119 

which  he  wielded,  so  (hat  he  was  by  no  means  an  insignificant  anta- 
gonist, even  when  opposed  to  such  an  one  as  the  tall  footpad. 

Every  vestige  of  age  and  infirmity  had  vanished  from  the  robber, 
as  if  by  magic,  and  his  slender  but  sinewy  and  towering  figure,  and 
the  way  in  which  he  flourished  his  rapier,  showing  great  scientific 
accomplishment  in  the  swiftness  of  his  cuts,  demonstrated  that  the 
disparity  in  numbers  (for  the  old  angler  with  the  butt-end  of  his 
rod  was  preparing  to  aim  a  blow  at  him)  would  be  counterbalanced 
by  his  superior  agility,  strength,  stature,  and  skill.  Walsingham  now 
parrying  a  thrust  from  the  footpad,  commenced  a  vigorous  assault, 
but  his  weapon  was  made  rather  for  ornament  than  use,  and  the 
length  of  his  opponent's  blade,  as  well  as  his  extraordinary  exten- 
sion of  limb,  were  fearful  odds  against  him. 

Seconded  by  the  angler,  however,  who,  it  he  could  not  seriously 
injure,  could  annoy  and  harass  the  robber,  he  maintained  the  com- 
bat with  the  highest  credit  to  his  coolness  and  self-possession,  until 
his  ill-tempered  blade  was  shivered  beneath  a  well-directed  stroke 
of  his  antagonist's  sword,  and  he  was  left  defenceless.  In  an  in- 
stant the  footpad's  steel  was  at  his  chest;  but  here  the  angler  ren- 
dered good  service,  by  striking  it  away  with  his  fishing-rod,  and 
Walsingham  suddenly  closing  with  his  enemy,  endeavoured  to 
pinion  his  arms.  But  he  was  struggling  with  one  of  the  most  vigo- 
rous and  gigantic  men  in  England,  and  though  his  own  muscular 
powers  were  great  for  his  age,  he  had  not  exercised  them  so  that 
they  could  avail  much  against  the  practised  skill,  and  steel-strung 
sinews  of  the  robber.  Nor  could  the  disciple  of  Walton  and  Cotton 
be  of  efficient  assistance ;  for,  though  hale  and  strong,  he  was  more 
than  commonly  diminutive  in  person,  and  wholly  unaccustomed  to 
the  violent  and  terrific  struggles,  which  can  alone  develop  the  ener- 
gies and  capacities  of  the  body,  so  as  to  make  them  serviceable  in 
contests  of  such  a  description. 

The  scholar  still  remained  insensible,  and  before  he  recovered,  the 
contest  had  terminated  ;  for  the  footpad,  with  a  mighty  effort, 
aided  by  the  vast  advantage  which  he  derived  from  his  extraordinary 
height,  succeeded  in  raising  his  opponent  from  the  ground,  and  in 
hurling  him  nearly  to  the  spot  where  the  other  lay,  when,  knocking 
down  the  angler  with  his  fist,  he  took  to  his  heels,  and  was  speedily 
lost  to  view  among  the  surrounding  trees. 

The  cause  of  his  precipitate  flight,  after  so  signal  a  victory,  was 
soon  apparent;  for  the  brawny  figure  of  a  man  might  huve  been 


120  THE  MISER'S  SON. 

discerned,  hastening  down  a  sloping  path,  and  in  a  very  few  moments 
the  discomfited  combatants  were  joined  by  one,  who  had  he  been 
previously  present  might  have  turned  the  event  of  the  day.  He  was 
indeed  equal  in  point  of  strength  and  swordmanship  to  the  gigantic 
robber. 

"  If  you  had  been  here  a  minute  sooner,  Figgins,"  said  William 
Walsirisham,  who  regained  his  faculties  almost  before  the  footpad 
had  fled,  "  you  might  have  secured  the  rascal ;  but  he  has  such  con- 
foundedly long  legs  that  he  would  outstrip  anything  but  a  racer, 
much  more  such  a  huge  unwieldy  fellow  as  you  are.  Let  us  see  how 
Smith  is  faring !  O,  he  has  recovered  !" 

The  scholar  was  gazing  around  with  bewildered  eyes,  and  slowly 
shaking  off  the  effects  of  his  stupefaction,  and  woefully  rubbing  his 
head — which  did  not  feel  any  the  better  for  having  come  in  hasty 
contact  with  the  hard  ground — he  strove  to  collect  his  scattered 
thoughts  and  address  his  allies. 

"  The  villain  !  Is  he  gone  ?"  asked  the  poor  scholar  ;  "  well,  he 
completely  bamboozled  me,  hang  him  !  Master  Walsingham,  I  hope 
you  are  not  hurt?  I  see  the  scoundrel  has  served  you  as  he  served 
me!" 

"  I  shall  have  some  sore  bones  to-morrow,  nothing  more,"  replied 
the  Epicurean.  "  I  will  wish  you  good  bye." 

"  But  you  are  not  going  the  road  the  robber  has  taken,"  exclaimed 
all  in  one  breath,  as  the  young  man  shook  the  angler  by  the  hand, 
and  nodded  familiarly  to  Smith. 

"  That  is  my  direction,"  he  answered,  haughtily.  "  Figgins,  per- 
haps you  can  lend  me  a  pistol  ?" 

"  Certainly,"  was  the  reply,  "  but  if  I  might  advise " 

"  You  know  I  never  take  advice,"  interrupted  the  Epicurean. 
"  I  will  wish  you  all  a  good  day.  Lend  me  the  pistol  at  once.  I 
hope,  Sir,  (turning  to  the  old  man  of  the  rod),  that  we  shall  meet 
again,  and  have  our  argument  out ;"  and  so  saving  he  took  his  depar- 
ture, having  received  the  pistol. 

"  An  audacious  boy,"  muttered  Figgins,  "yet  I  like  him  for  his 
pluck.  "  Mr.  Smith,  are  you  better  now?" 

"  Thank  you,  Corporal,  I  shall  do  very  well  ;  but  I  am  sorry  the 
rascal  has  robbed  me  of  that  packet." 

"  We  must  try  and  catch  him,"  observed  Figgins,  "but  he  has 
got  such  precious  legs  that  he  would  lead  the  devil  himself  a  chase 
from  here  to  Africa!"  With  a  bow  to  the  old  man,  Figgins  then 
resumed  his  wav. 


THE  MISER'S  SON.  121 

Witli  the  reader's  permission  (perhaps,  it  is  to  be  feared,  without 
it)  the  course  of  the  narrative  shall  follow  Figgins's  thoughts,  and 
tread  on  his  heels,  and  we  shall  thus  obtain  some  further  insight 
into  the  peculiar  character  of  the  Corporal,  who,  no  doubt  it  is  per- 
ceived, is  a  bit  of  an  original,  in  his  way  ;  and  originality  is  always 
amusing,  whether  it  be  that  of  eccentricity,  roguery,  or  intellect — a 
fact  which  Will  Shakspeare's  genius  took  cognizance  of,  when  it 
created  that  marvellous  monstrosity,  which  is  so  life-like  that  we 
ail  know  him  as  well  as  if  we  had  been  intimately  acquainted  with 
his  fun,  his  joviality,  and  his  cunning,  our  whole  existence — no  need 
to  add  that  the  fat  knight  is  alluded  to. 

Taking  a  cross-road  which  terminated  in  a  common  of  consider- 
able extent,  Corporal  Figging  resumed  the  train  of  thought  which 
had  been  broken  in  upon  by  the  recent  adventure*  "  So,  we  have 
got  Danvcrs  safe,  but  I  think  it  would  have  been  better  policy  to 
have  left  him  alone.  Yet  the  reward  is  worth  having,  and  I  owe  the 
fellow  a  grudge,  so  I  shall  not  be  sorry  to  see  him  swing.  I  am 
getting  on  in  the  world  ;  but  I  must  be  careful  of  my  character,  and 
Danvers  could  reveal  what  I  don't  wish  known.  But  I  shouldn't 
think  he  would  consider  it  worth  his  trouble  to  blab  ;  and,  should 
he  even  do  so,  my  credit  is  better  than  his.  And  I  remark  that  in 
this  life  the  man  whose  character  for  honesty  stands  highest  is 
almost  certain  to  maintain  it,  unless  there  be  damning  evidence 
against  it.  Who  will  believe  a  murderer  like  that  fellow  ?  Oh,  I'm 
safe !  Then,  this  business  with  Sophy  is  a  cursed  nuisance.  Who 
would  have  imagined  that  the  woman  at  her  age  would  have  taken 
to  child-bearing?  I  might  as  well  have  taken  a  younger  one.  1 
must  exert  my  wits,  and  keep  a  sharp  look-out,  or  I  shall  get  into  a 
mess  with  the  perils  and  difficulties  which  are  gathering  round  me. 
That  boy,  William  Walsingharn,  suspects  me,  and  he  is  confoundedly 
clever ;  but  then,  1  know  his  intrigue  with  Sophy's  cousin — so  that 
there  I  have  him  in  my  power,  for  he  would  not  like  that  the  matter 
should  be  made  public,  if  I  know  anything  of  him.  I  don't  care 
much  fo/  any  one  else.  I  am  universally  thought  as  houest  as  I  am 
shrewd  — ha,  ha  !  But  what  man  ever  rose  to  consideration  by 
probity  ?  Humbug  !  No,  no — the  knaves  of  this  world  talk  a  deal 
about  virtue  and  truth,  and  all  that  cant  and  stuff,  and  the  fools 
believe  them,  and  so  they  are  properly  and  egregiously  gulled.  Why 
not  ?  They  were  made,  like  silly  brutes,  without  strength,  to  be 
preyed  upon  by  the  cunning  and  powerful  ;  and  so  the  world  goes 


122  THE  MISER'S  SON. 

on,  and  the-devil  is  amused.  The  devil !  1  wonder  if  there  is  a 
devil  ?  He  must  be  a  queer  chap,  at  any  rate.  That  young  William 
doesn't  believe  even  in  a  God,  I  fancy— but  that—lium  !  I  don't 
think  I  could  bring  myself  to  think  so— though  1  might  be  more 
comfortable,  if  I  could." 

Such  was  the  substance,  though  not  the  exact  phraseology  of  the 
mental  operations  of  the  selfish  and  hypocritical  man  of  the  world  ; 
and  we  shall  soon  see  that  his  theory  and  practice  harmonized.  He 
had  by  this  time  arrived  at  his  destination. 


CHAPTER  VI. 


Foul  murtler  has  been  here,  and  treachery 
Still  meditates  some  dark  and  horrid  deed. 
Within  this  place  how  easy  'twere  to  strike 
At  unprotected  life. — Old  Play, 


HARRY    DANVERS    FINDS    MORE    NOVELTY    THAN    PLEASURE — 
THE    SKELETON. 

IT  will  be  remembered — by  those  who  take  the  trouble  to  remem- 
ber anything  in  a  work  of  this  description — that  Harry  Danvers,  at 
the  end  of  the  last  chapter  of  the  last  book  of  this  veracious  chro- 
nicle, having  accompanied  a  woman  as  far  as  a  hill  crowned  with 
trees,  as  he  was,  he  hoped,  about  to  hear  a  communication  from  his 
father,  was  surprised  by  the  apparition  of  a  strange  creature ;  and 
that  the  scene  in  which  he  found  himself  conjured  up  one  of  early 
life. 

That  scene  was  fraught  with  horror,  and  had  never  been  effaced 
from  his  memory  ;  so  that  when  he  found  himself  in  the  very  spot 
where  it  had  taken  place,  all  the  circumstances  connected  with  it 
returned  with  vivid  force  upon  his  mind,  and  he  was  convinced  that 
he  had  been  betrayed,  and  that  he  might  be  murdered  by  some  lurk- 


THE  MISER'S  SON.  123 

ing  assassin,  if  he  did  not  instantly  make  his  escape.  Before  lie  could 
act  upon  the  resolution  which  he  had  taken,  the  witch-like  female 
he  had  followed  seized  the  bridle  of  his  horse,  and  the  undefinable 
being  whose  hardly  human  appearance  had  made  so  great  and  inde- 
lible an  impression  on  his  boyish  imagination  that,  though  lie  was 
greatly  altered,  it  at  once  recalled  the  whole  terrible  drama  he  had 
seen  enacted,  so  long  antecedently,  to  liis  brain,  appeared  to  be  pre- 
pared to  prevent  his  flight,  if  it  were  meditated. 

"  You  must  dismount,"  said  the  woman  to  Harry,  "  your  father 
is  concealed  within  a  few  yards " 

"  Devil  hag  !"  interrupted  the  \oung  man,  with  fierce  indignation, 
"  >ou  would  have  imposed  on  my  credulity  ;"  and  for  the  first  time 
in  his  life  raising  his  hand  against  a  woman,  Harry  struck  her  with 
his  riding  whip,  and  wheeled  round. 

Unfortunately,  the  ground  was  slippery,  and  his  horse  stumbling, 
(he  youth  lost  his  balance  and  his  seat,  and,  before  he  could  recover 
himself,  a  bear-like  paw  was  laid  upon  his  throat,  and  he  was  strug- 
gling for  life  and  death.  Though  his  form  was  slight,  Harry  was 
vigorous,  and  accustomed  to  act  in  emergencies,  so  that  disengaging 
one  arm  from  the  claw  of  his  enemy,  he  drew  a  dagger  which  he 
wore,  and  endeavoured  to  plunge  it  in  the  body  of  the  savage. 

But,  before  this  could  be  accomplished,  the  female  had  darted 
upon  him,  and,  uniting  her  strength  with  that  of  the  nondescript, 
strove  to  prostrate  the  youth,  who  had  succeeded  in  regaining  his 
feet,  and  who,  rendered  desperate  by  the  conviction  that  his  life 
would  be  taken,  if  he  were  vanquished,  made  agonized  exertions, 
and  ultimately  was  enabled  to  strike  his  female  adversary  with  the 
handle  of  his  dagger,  and  by  so  doing  felled  her  to  the  earth. 

Still  his  remaining  adversary  held  on  to  him  with  ferocious  tena- 
city, and  he  could  not  release  himself  with  all  his  efforts,  nor  stab 
him  effectually  with  his  weapon.  In  the  contest  he  also  struck  his 
head  against  a  tree  so  violently  as  in  a  great  measure  to  confuse  his 
faculties,  and  prevent  him  from  acting  with  the  promptitude  and 
decision  which  he  would  otherwise  assuredly  have  displayed.  At 
length,  however,  by  a  sudden  jerk,  he  was  able  to  spring  from  the 
clutches  of  his  wild  enemy,  and  to  dart  into  his  saddle,  for  his  horse 
had  been  accustomed  to  stand  still  in  action,  and  was  ready  to  re- 
ceive him. 

Drawing  a  rpistol  from  the  holster,  Harry  discharged  it  at  the 
savage — but  the  ball  merely  grazed  his  ear — and  then  stuck  spurs 


124  THE  MISER'S  SON. 

into  the  noble  beast  that  bore  him.  Fate,  however,  was  un propitious 
to  the  youth,  and  in  his  haste  he  took  a  path  which  led  into  a  hollow 
overgrown  with  underwood,  and  from  which  there  was  no  outlet  on 
the  other  side,  except  for  an  active  pedestrian. 

Turning  with  all  speed,  and  with  a  second  loaded  pistol  in  his 
hand,  Harry  galloped  back,  and  found  the  hag  and  the  savage 
ready  to  receive  him,  one  armed  with  a  Jong  pole,  and  the  other 
with  stories  and  similar  missiles,  which  were  hurled  against  him  with 
rapidity  and  effect. 

Again  Harry  fired,  and  this  time  wounded  the  savage  severely  in 
the  left  shoulder,  and  making  a  charge,  soon  cleared  a  passage,  and 
was  congratulating  himself  on  his  fortunate  escape,  when  a  heavy, 
slanting  blow,  directed  from  behind  a  tree,  alighted  on  his  head,  and 
he  fell  without  sense  or  motion  from  his  horse. 

When  he  recovered  from  the  stupor  thus  produced,  he  found 
himself  in  almost  total  darkness,  and  felt  also  stiff  and  sore  from  the 
effects  of  the  bruises  which  he  had  received  in  falling.  Arising,  he 
gazed  around,  as  far  as  the  dense  obscurity  of  the  place  permitted, 
and  discovered  that  he  was  in  a  cave  of  some  extent,  but  was  unable 
to  find  any  indication  of  an  outlet,  though  there  was  a  very  small 
aperture  at  the  top,  through  which  a  few  broken  rays  of  light  were 
streaming.  He  had  been  deprived  of  his  weapons,  but  otherwise  no 
farther  outrage  than  the  spoliation  of  liberty  had  been  inflicted  on 
him . 

"Cursed  fortune!"  he  cried,  "  what  will  become  of  my  father? 
Oh,  if  I  could  but  escape  !" 

In  vain  the  prisoner  endeavoured  to  penetrate  into  the  secret  of  a 
mode  of  egress,  though  he  struck  against  the  clay  walls  of  the  cave 
with  his  fist,  and  made  an  attempt  to  clamber  up  to  the  aperture  in 
the  roof — which  was  only  of  half  a  foot  in  circumference,  and  was 
at  the  height  of  several  yards  from  the  earth. 

For  his  own  fate — as  far  as  danger  was  concerned — he  entertained 
no  care.  He  had  so  often  looked  on  death  face  to  face,  that  he  had 
acquired  an  absolute  indifference  to  personal  peril,  natural  as  it  was 
for  one  so  young  to  cling  to  a  life  which  was  opening  with  such  a 
spring  of  bright  promise  to  his  eyes.  Yet,  when  he  recollected  the 
awful  catastrophe  which  he  had  witnessed  in  his  childhood,  and  felt 
that  he  was  in  the  power  of  the  very  miscreants  who  had  committed 
a  deed  which  he  shuddered  to  contemplate,  he  could  not  entirely 
divest  himself  of  a  fear  lest  he  should  fall  ingloriously  by  an  assas- 


THE  MISER'S  SON.  125 

sin's  knife  ;  and  he  had  fixed  his  heart  upon  the  attainment  of  mili- 
tary glory,  and,  if  destiny  so  willed  it,  an  honourable  death,  and  a 
fame  which  should  long  outlive  his  perishable  dust.  But  it  was  for 
his  father  that  he  was  most  anxious,  for  Danvers  had  been  an  ex- 
ceedingly affectionate  parent,  and  Harry  was  a  youth  of  warm 
feelings,  and  loved  and  admired  him  with  heart  and  soul.  Still  so 
confident  was  lie  in  the  inexhaustible  resources  of  that  father's  in- 
genuity, which  he  had  seen  successful  in  circumstances  of  difficulty 
so  fearful,  that  other  men  would  have  been  hopeless  to  extricate 
themselves  from  them,  that  he  entertained  no  apprehension  but  that 
he  would  ultimately  baffle  the  toils  of  his  hunters,  and  elude  the  vigi- 
lance, activity,  and  indefatigable  exertions  which  were  at  work  for 
his  destruction. 

Animated  by  this  hope,  he  roused  himself  from  the  lethargy  into 
which  he  had  fallen,  and  determined  on  setting  to  work,  in  order  to 
effect  his  own  restoration  to  freedom.  He  had  a  pocket-knife  of 
more  than  usual  size,  which  he  had  used  when  a  young  boy  for  cut- 
ting sticks,  and  which  had  not  been  taken  from  him,  with  his  other 
more  formidable  weapons  ;  and  again  sounding  the  walls,  that  he 
might  discover  where  the  thickness  of  them  was  most  inconsiderable, 
he  commenced  operations,  and  in  the  course  of  a  few  minutes  he  had 
made  a  hole  of  some  size  in  the  clay. 

Hours  passed  on,  and  still  Harry  Danvers  was  busy  at  his  employ- 
ment ;  and  at  length  his  exertions  were  in  some  degree  successful — 
though  not  so  much  so  as  he  had  anticipated — for  he  had  effected 
an  aperture,  large  enough  to  admit  of  his  body  passing  through  it: 
and  he  then  found  that  there  was  a  second  and  smaller  cave,  enter- 
ing which  he  perceived  that  there  were  numerous  articles  scattered 
about,  which  he  should  not  have  dreamed  of  finding  in  such  a  place. 
Doubting  not  that  these  were  stolen  goods,  so  deposited  in  order  to 
be  safe  from  discovery,  he  walked  onwards  as  far  as  the  limits  of 
the  second  cave  would  allow,  but  it  was  so  dark  that  he  could  with 
difficulty  distinguish  anything  in  it.  Setting  his  brains  to  work,  that 
he  might  procure  a  light,  he  picked  up  a  flint,  and  a  piece  of  dry 
wood,  and  striking  the  former  with  the  blade  of  his  knife,  was  thus 
furnished  with  the  requisite  means  for  exploring  the  cave. 

It  descended  into  the  earth  to  a  greater  depth  than  the  other,  and 
had  evidently  been  in  frequent  use  ;  but  the  prisoner  could  detect  no 
door,  or  any  other  mode  of  escape.  Nevertheless,  he  continued  to 
prosecute  his  search  with  diligence,  for  he  argued  that  he  could  not 


126  THE  MISER'S  SON. 

have  got  where  he  was,  unless  some  such  door  or  aperture  existed, 
and  he  industriously  hammered  all  around,  to  learn  the  hollowness 
and  thickness  of  the  walls.  But  still  his  long-continued  investiga- 
tion was  frustrated,  and  at  last,  thoroughly  fatigued  with  the  unusual 
labour  he  had  undergone,  he  sat  down  to  rest  himself,  and  at  the 
same  time  take  a  minute  survey  of  the  place. 

The  wood  to  which  he  had  set  fire  threw  a  dim  and  flickering 
light  over  the  desolate  cave,  and  revealed,  though  indistinctly,  an 
object  at  the  distance  of  a  few  paces  from  the  spot  he  occupied.  At 
first,  Harry  could  not  distinguish  its  shape  or  outline  ;  but  becoming 
more  and  more  accustomed  to  the  darkness,  he  was  startled  to  find 
that  it  bore  the  semblance  of  a  human  figure,  and  rising  from  the 
ground,  he  approached  it,  when,  to  his  horror  and  dismay,  on  touch- 
ing the  rotten  clothes  with  which  it  was  covered,  they  fell  off,  and  a 
fleshless  skeleton  was  grinning  ghastly  before  him. 

Strong  as  were  the  nerves  of  Harry  Danvers,  they  were  not  proof 
against  the  surprise  and  terror  of  this  loathsome  sight,  and  in  spite 
of  himself  he  uttered  a  cry  which  echoed  drearily  through  the  dismal 
place  ;  but  with  an  effort  mastering  his  feelings,  he  resumed  his  exa- 
mination, and  lifting  up  the  tatters  that  still  adhered  to  and  con- 
cealed some  of  the  bones,  a  pocket-book  in  a  state  of  decay  fell  into 
his  hand. 

There  were  some  papers  in  it ;  but  the  light  was  so  insufficient, 
and  the  characters  so  defaced  by  damp,  that  he  could  not,  with 
every  wish  to  do  so,  decipher  them  ;  so,  putting  the  whole  into  his 
pocket,  he  again  turned  his  attention  to  the  skeleton.  He  possessed 
sufficient  knowledge  of  anatomy  to  know  that  it  was  that  of  a  man, 
and  probably  in  the  prime  of  life  when  he  died,  and  on  looking 
steadily  at  the  skull,  that  it  had  been  fractured  by  a  blow,  but 
otherwise  he  could  not  obtain  any  trace  whereby  to  ascertain  aught 
relative  to  the  deceased.  But  he  had  a  clue  to  the  dark  affair,  in 
the  reminiscences  of  his  childhood,  and  he  could  not  doubt  but  that 
these  were  the  mortal  remains  of  him  whom  he  had  seen  savagely 
murdered  so  many  years  before. 

"And  is  such  the  accursed  fate  reserved  for  me?"  exclaimed 
Harry,  with  natural  repugnance.  "  O  God,  have  mercy  on  me!" 
He  relapsed  into  a  state  of  deep  despondency  ;  but,  after  a  few  mi- 
nutes, summoning  all  his  energies  to  his  aid,  and  obtaining  an  acces- 
sion of  light  by  means  of  some  more  wood  which  lay  near  him,  he 
looked  around  for  some  better  instrument  to  carry  on  his  work  than 


THE  MISER'S  SON.  127 

the  blade  of  a  pocket-knife  afforded.  A  rusty  pick-axe,  that  had 
previously  escaped  his  notice,  was  at  the  feet  of  the  skeleton,  and, 
furnished  with  this,  hope  resumed  its  empire  in  the  youth's  heart, 
and  he  recommenced  his  labours  with  renewed  vigour. 

All-sustaining  Hope  !  without  thee,  how  should  we  poor,  wretched 
mortals  journey  on  through  the  vast  wilderness  of  the  world  !  With- 
out thee,  tins  earth  so  beautiful,  as  Shelley  sadly  but  perhaps  truly 
predicates,  would  indeed  seem  "  like  what  it  is — a  tomb !" 

It  was  a  singular  scene,  and  one  well  worthy  the  attention  of  a 
painter — particularly  one  excelling  in  those  strong  lights  and  shades 
that  so  marvellously  distinguish  the  pictures  of  Rembrandt.  There 
was  the  human  being,  so  young,  so  comely,  so  active,  and  so  ener- 
getic. The  efforts  of  mind  were  visible  through  the  traces  of  ex- 
treme fatigue  upon  his  fair  smooth  face ;  while  the  symmetrical 
limbs  were  in  motion  with  the  life  of  his  hope,  and  appeared  to 
adapt  themselves  naturally  to  a  labour  that  fatigues  even  the 
brawny  arms  of  the  sturdy  operative. 

And  there  was  the  silent  skeleton,  with  the  eyeless  sockets  and 
the  ghastly  nose,  and  the  hair  still  clinging  to  the  ugly  skull — so  un- 
sightly, so  grim,  and  useless.  But  for  the  hand  of  death  those  mo- 
tionless bones  might  have  stirred  as  bravely  as  the  ardent  youth's, 
and  the  brain  have  acted  in  obedience  to  the  mind  of  which  it  is  the 
organ,  with  as  resolute  a  firmness,  instead  of  lying  there,  of  no  more 
value  than  the  vile  and  inanimate  matter  to  which  it  was  moulder- 
ing fast.  What  is  this  death  ?  this  omnipotent  of  earth  ?  The 
nothing,  the  shadow  which  is  the  crowned  King  of  Time  ?  The  stern 
severer  of  affections,  the  destroyer  of  beauty,  the  conqueror  of  con- 
querors, the  victor  of  heroes,  the  exterminating  angel  against  which 
all  genius  and  love  and  passion  are  unavailing. 

But  the  strength  of  Harry  could  not  endure  much  longer,  and 
rinding  that  the  progress  he  had  made  was  not  sufficient  to  justify 
him  in  hoping  that  he  should  speedily  consummate  his  work,  he 
threw  himself  on  the  earth,  and  gradually  sleep  stole  over  his  senses. 
How  calm  and  happy  the  poor  boy  looked,  as  he  reposed  in  that 
dark  abode  !  The  dying  embers  of  the  fire  he  had  kindled  sufficed  to 
throw  a  faint  and  sickly  light  on  his  pale  tranquil  face,  while  his  now 
nerveless  hand  grasped  the  pickaxe  by  which  he  had  hoped  to  free 
himself,  and  with  which  he  would  have  defended  himself  if  any 
attempt  were  to  be  made  on  his  life. 

He  had  quite  forgotten  all  his  troubles  and  anxieties  in  the  dream- 


128  TFIE  MISER'S  SON. 

less  slumber  resulting  from  extreme  fatigue,  and  if  he  had  slept  on 
down,  surrounded  with  adherents,  and  certain  of  peace  and  prosper- 
ity, as  far  as  any  can  be  certain  of  them  in  this  life,  on  the  morrow, 
could  he  have  enjoyed  as  undisturbed  and  delicious  a  repose? 

We  have  now  arrived  at  a  point  in  our  tale,  when  the  events 
crowded  together  in  a  few  hours  are  to  be  developed  in  the  course  of 
months  and  years.  There  may  be  bitter  regrets  and  wasting  memo- 
ries, tears  and  lamentation — thoughts  like  spectres — haunting  ghosts 
— and  burning  passions  urging  along  and  destroying  the  very  vitality 
they  arouse :  but  still  the  current  will  bear  the  actors  on,  and  the 
child  will  become  the  youth,  and  the  youth  the  man,  in  ignorance  of 
the  elements  that  form  his  destiny.  Mind  may  expand,  and  wisdom 
unfold,  but  the  bias  who  shall  predict  1  Can  any  one  foretel  whether 
the  fate  of  an  individual  will  be  dark  or  bright,  whether  he  will  be 
good  or  depraved,  seek  the  praise  of  man  or  God,  drag  on  obscure 
life,  or  dazzle  a  nation  with  his  glory — whether  in  the  shadow  of  the 
tomb  his  memory  will  live,  and  his  good  deeds  smell  sweet ;  or  whe- 
ther he  will  be  execrated,  pitied,  forgotten  ? 


BOO'K   IV. 


Whence  are  we,  and  why  are  we?     Of  what  scene 
The  actors  or  spectators  ?     Great  and  mean 
Meet  mass'd  in  death,  who  lends  what  life  must  borrow  : 
As  long  as  skies  are  blue,  and  fields  are  green, 
Evening  must  usher  night,  night  urge  the  morrow, 
Month  follow  month  with  woe,  and  year  wake  year  to  sorrow. 

SHELLEY. 


Some  joys,  some  woes,  some  hopes  dispersed  in  air, 

Some  vain  contentions,  and  some  black  despair, 

Some  dark  delusions,  and  some  gleams  of  truth, 

Old  Age's  shadows,  and  the  dreams  of  youth  ; 

Passion  and  weakness,  vanity  and  pride, 

And  the  broad  stream  down  which  we  ever  glide 

And  vainly  strive,  is  past — Sage !  what  is  there  beside  ? — MS. 


CHAPTER  I. 


Cold — dead  ! — what  is  this  thing?     It  is  not  mine! 

The  empty  casket  is  not  what  I  want; 

Give  me  my  treasure — rob  me  not  of  that ! 

My  all — my  priceless,  and  my  beautiful ! — Old  Play. 


CAPTAIN   NORTON  —  CORPORAL  FIGGINS — THE   DEAD   BOY — 

AGONY. 

!  O  M  E  few  hours  before  the  time  when  the 
preceding  Book  closes  its  brief  but  eventful 
act,  a  person  was  seated  in  a  neat  and 
well  furnished  apartment,  dedicated  to  the 
purposes  of  study,  in  a  musing  attitude.  It  was 
no  other  than  the  officer  in  command  of  the 
troop,  by  whose  indefatigable  exertions  the 
redoubtable  Walter  Danvers  had  been  captured.  He  was  of  elderly 
appearance,  and  of  somewhat  low  stature,  with  gray  hair,  a  long, 
but  tolerably  well-shaped  nose,  eyes  without  much  lustre  or  ex- 
pression, and  severe  determination  of  character  on  his  wrinkled 
forehead  ;  yet  a  disciple  of  Lavater  would  have  conceived  from 
these  general  features,  taken  in  combination,  that  he  was  strictly 
conscientious,  and  that  he  possessed  qualities  of  head  and  heart, 
which,  if  not  very  remarkable,  were  of  much  respectability, — and 
he  would  not,  certainly,  have  greatly  erred  in  his  estimate  of 
Captain  Norton. 


132  THE  MISERS'  SON. 

The  officer  was  of  an  ancient  family,  which  had  of  late  years 
fallen  into  decay,  and  no  longer  enjoyed  the  celebrity  of  being  the 
wealthiest  commoners  and  most  extensive  landowners  in  the 
county  ;  but  still  he  was  not  absolutely  a  poor  man,  and  his 
aristocratic  connexions  were  ready  to  further  his  interests  at  court, 
in  which  hope  of  aggrandisement,  the  Captain,  after  a  long  inter- 
val of  idleness,  had  resumed  the  profession  of  arms,  and  was  now 
in  expectation  of  the  promotion  to  a  Majority,  which  he  had  been 
promised.  But  it  is  desirable,  before  the  narrative  recounts  any 
further  particulars  of  this  worthy,  that  the  reader  should  be  put 
in  possession  of  a  few  facts  relative  to  him,  which  had  occurred 
antecedently. 

It  will  be  remembered  that  Walter  Danvers,  in  the  desperate 
struggle  he  had  been  engaged  in,  had  unintentionally  destroyed  a 
youth,  whose  daring  had  vastly  overstepped  his  discretion.  The 
Dragoon  whom  he  had  unhorsed,  a  man  of  Brobdignagian  pro- 
portions, in  the  very  perfection  of  his  active  as  well  as  his 
muscular  powers,  on  recovering  from  his  stunning  and  unexpected 
fall,  descried  the  body  of  the  poor  boy  lying  at  the  distance  of  a 
few  yards,  just  as  the  main  body  of  the  military  was  in  sight ; 
and  although  he  had  previously  given  not  a  thought  to  the  fate  of 
the  hapless  stripling,  in  his  eagerness  to  obtain  the  reward  offered 
for  the  taking  of  Danvers,  he  now  hastened  to  the  spot  where  the 
motionless  clay  reposed,  and  raised  it  in  his  arms. 

"Why,  Jennings!"  exclaimed  a  Serjeant  of  the  horse,  who 
was  the  first  to  arrive,  "  is  Cornet  Norton  there  killed  ?" 

"  Quite  dead,"  answered  the  Dragoon,  "  nothing's  to  be  done 
for  him." 

"  We  must  not  let  the  Captain  see  the  body  of  the  poor  boy," 
said  an  elderly  man,  who  was  now  present,  and  was  also  the 
second  in  command  of  the  troop ;  "  Jennings,  take  the  corpse  on 
your  horse,  and  convey  it  to  the  nearest  cottage.  I  must  think 
of  some  means  of  breaking  the  piteous  matter  to  my  friend — his 
bereaved  relation.  What  a  dreadful  stroke  it  will  be  to  him,  for 
he  doted  on  the  ill-starred  youth — and  he  was  a  fine,  high-spirited 
fellow  !" 

It  was  extraordinary  to  mark  with  what  entire  calmness  the 
veteran  who  had  just  spoken  seemed  to  contemplate  the  dire 
calamity  of  one  he  had  known  from  boyhood,  and  the  untimely 


THE  MISF.R'S  SON.  133 

death  of  a  most  promising  la<l  be  had  nursed  in  his  infancy  ;  but 
he  had  fought  in  a  hundred  fields,  and  had  seen  his  dearest 
friends  fall  around  him  like  daisies  beneath  the  scythe  of  the 
mower  ;  so  that  a  solitary  misfortune  made  small  impression  on 
him,  though  he  was  by  no  means  an  unfeeling  person.  It  is 
astonishing  how  gigantic  an  influence  the  circumstances  in  which 
they  are  placed  will  exercise  on  similar  dispositions ;  if  he  had 
not  been  the  warrior  of  so  many  hard-fought  battles,  he  would 
probably  have  been  affected  even  to  tears,  by  such  a  catastrophe 
occurring  to  an  intimate  acquaintance.  Jennings  surlily  obeyed 
the  mandate  of  his  officer,  for  he  had  made  up  his  mind  to  come 
in  for  something  handsome  by  personally  capturing  the  fugitive, 
and  raising  the  dead  body  on  his  large  steed,  he  departed  with  it. 

Scarcely  had  he  disappeared,  when  Captain  Norton  was  seen 
galloping  to  the  spot  where  this  halt  had  occurred,  and  the  chase 
was  renewed  with  vigour.  After  Danvers  had  been  taken,  and 
placed  in  close  imprisonment,  Norton  proceeded  to  his  own  house, 
which  was  at  no  great  distance,  and  left  the  command  of  the  troop 
to  the  officer  who  had  ordered  Jennings  to  remove  the  corpse  of 
the  young  Cornet.  Unwilling  to  agonize  the  feelings  of  his  friend 
by  detailing  the  circumstances  of  the  young  man's  death,  ere  it 
was  absolutely  imperative  so  to  do — for  singular  to  state,  he 
would  much  rather  have  witnessed  a  thousand  deaths  of  torture 
on  the  "  tented  field  "  than  have  lacerated  the  heart  of  one  indi- 
vidual by  his  own  words — the  second  officer  assumed  the  head  of 
the  cavalry,  and  Norton  cantered  off  to  his  mansion,  at  which  he 
arrived  in  less  than  half  an  hour. 

And  the  tale  may  now  return  to  him  in  his  solitary  study, 
where  he  spent  the  greater  portion  of  his  time  in  general,  reading 
works  on  military  science,  or  in  perusing  the  elegant  literature 
afforded  by  the  works  of  Addison,  Steele,  "et  id  genus  omne." 

"  1  wonder  what  makes  Percy  so  long  coming !"  muttered  the 
Captain  to  himself,  "  I  left  directions  for  him  to  ride  home  without 
delay.  How  I  love  that  lad  !  And  he  is  a  noble  boy !  His  mind  is  so 
elegant,  his  habits  and  feelings  so  refined,  he  must  do  honor  to  his 
name,  and  the  profession  he  has  adopted.  I  wish  that  he  had  not 
been  so  anxious  to  enter  the  army — he  will  be  exposed  to  so 
many  perils,  and  he  is  so  ardent  and  daring !  But  Heaven  will 
protect  him — the  gallant  youth  !  He  will  be  a  hero,  I  am  certain. 


134  THE  MISER'S  SON. 

Oh,  that  he  should  be  the  offspring  of  illicit  passion!  I  can  never 
— never  forgive  myself— at  an  age  when  the  fever  of  youth  had 
subsided — but  then  how  could  I  marry  his  mother,— the  mistress 
of  another  previously  ?  Well,  she  is  gone,  and  my  darling  boy  is 
almost  the  only  tie  that  endears  existence  to  me." 

He  lapsed  into  silence,  but  after  an  interval  of  some  minutes 
added,  "  I  expect  my  Majority  in  a  few  days,  and  then  I  will  go 
to  London,  and  see  what  I  can  do  by  pushing  my  interest  with 
the  King.  It  was  most  unfortunate  that  my  deceased  father 
should  have  been  so  warm  an  adherent  of  the  Stuarts.  I  fear,  I 
am  looked  upon  with  distrust — the  more  so,  that  my  brother  is 
well  known  lately  to  have  had  an  interview  with  the  exiled  James 
abroad.  I  am  glad,  yet  sorry,  that  this  man  Danvers  is  taken, 
and  through  my  instrumentality.  My  loyalty  will  receive  some 
proof  of  its  stability  by  his  capture — but  poor  Miss  Walsingham 
will  be  dreadfully  pained  and  shocked.  He  will  be  hanged — the 
evidence  against  him  on  that  trial  was  conclusive,  and  he  was 
condemned — how  he  contrived  to  escape,  is  a  mystery  to  this 
day.  And,  upon  my  word,  I  am  even  sorry  for  him.  I  have 
known  him  from  his  early  manhood." 

As  Norton  ended  these  disjointed  sentences,  there  was  a  very 
heavy  footstep  outside  the  door,  a  hesitating  tap,  and,  on  the 
"  come  in"  of  the  Captain,  a  burly  form  became  visible. 

"  Well,  Figgins,"  exclaimed  the  officer,  "  and  so  you  were  the 
first  mover  in  this  business  of  Danvers,  I  hear." 

"  Y-e-s,  your  honour,"  replied  Figgins,  uneasily. 

"  He  is  a  terrible  fellow, Corporal,  and  must  be  strictly  guarded. 
You  know  he  killed  a  sentinel  when  he  effected  his  escape  so 
long  ago,  although  he  was  unarmed  !  But  have  you  seen  aught 
of  my — nephew?  He  ought  to  be  home  by  now." 

The  Corporal  cleared  his  throat,  and  seemed  about  to  speak, 
but  whatever  he  was  going  to  say  stuck  in  the  passage  out  of 
which  so  much  mischief  and  evil  continually  issue.  There  was  a 
brief  silence. 

"  He  is  a  fine  boy — my  dear  nephew  Percy,"  said  the  officer. 
"How  admirably  he  rides  that  fiery  horse  he  would  make  me 
give  him  yesterday,"  and  added  anxiously,  "  I  hope  he  will  not 
be  thrown.  He  is  very  late." 


THE  MISER'S  SON.  135 

"  Hem !  yes,  your  honour — a  splendid  young  gentleman  he  is 
every  way." 

"  He  has  been  taking  lessons  of  you,  Corporal,  in  the  use  of 
the  broadsword  ?  He  could  not  have  a  better  master,  I  am  con- 
vinced, in  all  England." 

"  You  make  me  proud,  Captain — I  see  the  sun  has  risen." 

"  Ah !  I  hear  the  clattering  of  the  hoofs  of  Percy's  horse," 
ejaculated  Captain  Norton,  suddenly  leaving  his  seat,  and  going 
to  the  window.  "  What  can  this  mean  ?"  he  exclaimed,  in  an 
accent  of  alarm,  "  I  trust  that  vicious  animal  has  not  kicked  him 
off'." 

The  officer  was  about  to  quit  the  apartment,  but  was  prevented 
by  Figgins — "  If  it  please  your  honour,  Master  Percy  will  not  be 
home  just  yet — he — has — " 

"  What !  he  is  ill — he  is  hurt?  for  the  love  of  mercy,  tell  me," 
cried,  or  rather  screamed  the  agonized  father  (for  such,  indeed, 
was  the  relationship  he  stood  in  to  the  ill-fated  youth.) 

But  Figgins  held  his  peace. 

"  God  of  heaven  !  I  see  it  all !  That  devil  there  has  thrown 
my  poor  boy — and  he  is  dead.  Oh,  misery,  oh,  wretchedness! 
My  son,  my  son  !" 

"  Bear  up,  your  honour,"  returned  the  Corporal,  with  as  much 
feeling  as  he  could  muster  for  the  occasion,  and,  though  a  heart- 
less man  of  the  world,  he  was  not  altogether  indifferent  in  reality, 
•'  he  is  indeed  dead,  but  he  died  like  a  hero — he  died  nobly,  as  a 
soldier  ought  to  die,  and  by  the  hand  of  one  of  the  most  able  and 
valiant  warriors  in  Christendom " 

"  Ha !  Walter  Danvers— -Danvers  killed— ha,  ha,  ha !"  inter- 
rupted the  officer,  with  a  sort  of  hysteric  energy.  "  Yes,  that 
was  it — 1  see  it  all.  Lend  me  your  arm,  Corporal,  and  lead  me 
to  the  corpse.  You  see  I  am  perfectly  calm  and  unmoved.  I 
must  behold  him,  or  I  shall  die  !" 

It  was  a  strange  sight  to  see  that  stiff,  stately  man,  the  crea- 
ture of  conventional  proprieties,  and  ordinarily  so  cold  and  unim- 
passioned,  tossed  about  on  the  raging  sea  of  his  convulsed  feel- 
ings; trembling  one  moment — then  rigid  as  a  statue — reeling, 
shouting,  whispering,  laughing  like  a  drunken  man.  It  was  hor- 
ribly absurd  ;  his  eyes  rolled  wildly,  his  lips  moved,  but  did  not 
articulate  when  he  attempted  to  speak,  and  cold  drops  of  awful 


136  THE  MISER'S  SON. 

agony  trickled  down  his  face.  Even  Corporal  Figgins  felt  com- 
passion for  his  frenzy.  He  endeavoured  to  lead  him  to  his  cham- 
ber, and  induce  him  to  lie  down,  but  could  not  prevail. 

"  No,  Corporal,  I  must  see  him,  and  then  I  shall  be  quite  con- 
tent.  Otherwise,  there  is  something  here,"  (pressing  his  fore- 
head tightly  with  his  hand,)  "  which  will  drive  me  mad.  My 
horse  is  ready  saddled — my  Percy's  horse — that  he  flattered  him- 
self would  carry  him  so  bravely  to  battle!  My  hero!  he  had  too 
much  of  the  Hotspur  in  him  ;  but  he  was  born  to  be  a  soldier. 
Yes,  he  might  have  been — but  now,  he  is  lifeless  clay  !  You  tell 
me  that !" 

The  old  man  passed  his  quivering  fingers  across  his  burning 
brow.  "  I  suppose  it  is  the  punishment  of  heaven  for  my  great 
crime  !  Just — just  are  all  its  ways  ;  but  he  was  innocent.  Oh» 
God  !  My  pride  !  my  hope !  my  passion  !  The  only  idol  I  have 
had  for  long,  long  years !  Great  Punisher,  thou  has  left  me 
quite  desolate  !  I  did  not  think  to  die  childless !" 

The  wretched  being  ceased  to  speak,  and    smiled such  a 

smile  !  Years  of  anguish  were  concentrated  in  it.  Figgins  did 
not  see  his  face,  his  back  being  turned  to  him,  and  deceived  by 
his  apparent  fortitude,  said, 

"  That's  right,  bear  it  patiently,  your  honour !" 
"  Oh,  yes,  1  will  see  him  now,"  exclaimed  the  old  man,  (he 
seemed  to  have  grown  old  in  the  last  few  minutes),  not  noticing 
the  words  of  the  Corporal,  "  I  must  see  him." 

"  I  think  you  had  better  not,  Sir.  He  is  terribly  disfigured." 
"  Oh,  devil,  to  do  that,"  cried  Norton  wildly,  for  singular  as 
it  appears,  we  find  invariably  that  defacement  on  the  senseless 
dust  aggravates  the  grief  of  the  survivors,  and  he  was  so  proud 
of  the  personal  beauty  of  his  young  son.  "  Tell  me,  where, 
where  is  the  wound  ?" 

"  At  the  temple,  Sir ;  but  do  not  talk  about  it." 
"  Disfigured,  is  he !  His  only  weakness  was  vanity  in  that 
respect,  and  he  was  wonderfully  handsome.  Come  now,  Figgins, 
I  think  I  shall  be  better  after  I  have  seen  the  body ;  at  all  events, 
I  cannot  be  satisfied  until  1  have  done  so !"  And  with  these 
words  the  Captain  opened  the  door,  and  as  he,  on  all  occasions, 
military  and  domestic,  exercised  unquestioned  authority,  the 
Corporal  obeyed,  and  they  were  speedily  mounted. 


THE  MISER'S  SON.  137 

At  first,  they  proceeded  at  a  slow  pace ;  but  in  the  course  of 
a  few  minutes  Captain  Norton  was  dashing  onwards  at  a  gallop, 
and  presently  a  cottage  was  seen,  surrounded  by  several  peasants 
engaged  in  earnest  conversation.  "  That  is  the  place  ?"  asked 
the  officer ;  and  receiving  an  affirmatory  bow  he  increased  his 
speed,  arrived  before  the  humble  abode,  ..sprang  with  the  agility 
of  youth  from  his  seat,  and  was  immediately  within  the  threshold 
and  before  the  inanimate  remains  of  him  he  had  so  much  loved. 

"  Leave  us  alone !"  exclaimed  the  Captain  authoritatively  to 
several  persons  collected  around  the  corpse,  and  gazing  with 
strange  looks  of  horror,  curiosity,  or  apathy  upon  it.  And  the 
room  was  quickly  emptied  of  life,  with  the  exception  of  that  in 
Norton's  desolated  heart.  The  broad  sun  streamed  brightly  and 
cheerfully  through  the  lattice  of  the  cottage,  and  irradiated  the 
pale  face  of  the  corpse. 

The  unfortunate  boy  was  remarkably  handsome,  with  long, 
soft,  auburn  hair,  like  that  of  a  girl,  and  much  intelligence  of 
expression  in  his  face,  while  despite  the  characters  of  intense  pain 
stamped  upon  his  smooth  forehead,  it  retained  a  gentleness  and 
a  radiance  which  intimated  that  he  united  fire  and  kindness  of 
disposition.  But  where  the  weapon  of  Danvers  had  entered  the 
brain,  there  was  a  ghastly  wound,  and  the  passions  in  the  fearful 
conflict  had  distorted  the  serene  beauty  of  his  perfect  and  Grecian 
lineaments.  He  was  of  tall  stature  for  his  years — which  could 
hardly  be  said  to  have  reached  manhood — and  his  chin  was  as 
guiltless  of  beard  as  an  infant's.  The  Captain  bent  down  and 
kissed  the  white  brow,  which  was  stained  with  the  life-blood  of 
his  only  son.  He  removed  the  fair  hair,  clotted  with  gore,  tenderly 
from  the  temples,  and  pressed  it  fondly  to  his  lips. 

It  was  an  affecting  spectacle,  and  one  which  might  have 
brought  tears  into  the  eyes  of  the  most  heartless.  The  grey  hairs 
of  the  bereaved  father,  as  he  stooped  to  kiss  the  yet  warm  remains, 
mingling  with  those  silken  ringlets  of  such  womanly  length  and 
luxuriance  ;  the  contrast  of  the  withered  figure,  and  the  graceful, 
but  motionless  form — the  associations  of  glorious  youth  and  the 
mangled  features — oh,  it  was  very  dreadful !  One  moment  and 
life,  and  grace,  and  power,  in  all  their  splendour  and  strength  and 
beauty  ;  another — and  corruption,  the  worm,  silence — -nothing- 
ness. Who  is  there  in  the  world  unacquainted  with  death  ?  Who 

T 


138  THE  MISER'S  SON. 

has  not  beheld  the  last  moments  of  suffering  humanity,  who  has 
not  seen  the  eye  grow  dim — the  strength  pass  away,  and  heard  the 
voice  fail depart—and  the  tremendous  stillness  that  succeeds—- 
save where  the  choking  sob,  and  the  stifled  cry  and  the  suppressed 
groan  attest  the  bereaved  one's  agony  ! 

What  more  terrible  than  a  father's  grief  over  the  remains  of 
his  only  child?  The  child  he  had  clasped  for  so  many  years  to 
his  bosom-— the  only  thing  that  rendered  the  cup  of  existence 
sweet— the  being  for  whom  he  would  have  toiled  and  labored, 
and  been  content  and  happy  so  to  do  for  his  excessive  love— now 
unable  to  respond  to  his  endearments— to  speak  one  word  of 
kindness  or  affection  to  sooth  him  in  his  affliction.  The  stern, 
grave,  haughty  man,  was  there  hopeless  and  humbled  to  the  dust. 
His  pride,  his  pomp,  his  vanity— where  were  they?  The  tendrils 
which  had  twined  around  his  heart  were  broken— -the  music  that 
dwelt  within  his  breast  was  crushed  for  ever,  and  life  with  all  its 
turmoil  of  ambition,  its  wild  passions,  its  enjoyment  and  bright- 
ness, was  without  a  joy  for  him.  Inscrutable  and  mysterious 
Providence  !  the  pangs  which  thou  inflictest  on  thy  weak  creatures 
are  beyond  expression  fearful. 

"  My  blessed  boy  !"  at  length  murmured  the  officer,  whose 
whole  spirit  had  till  then  been  absorbed  in  his  eyes,  "  thou  art 
happy  now  !  Thy  life  was  virtuous — thou  wert  beloved  on  earth, 
and  thou  shalt  be  blessed  with  Angels'  love  in  Heaven  !  Still  thy 
face  retains  the  majesty  of  its  former  radiance,  but  thine  eye  lacks 
all  its  fire — stony,  stony,  lifeless!  My  brave,  my  beautiful!  Pride 
of  my  heart,  and  solace  of  my  advancing  age  !  To  thee,  my  Percy, 
I  was  not  as  I  was  to  others!  and  even  from  thy  childhood,  thou 
didst  not  fear  me,  but  wouldst  climb  upon  my  knee,  and  kiss  my 
cheek,  and  clasp  thy  little  arms  around  my  neck — so  fondly  ! 
And  while  others  dreaded  to  hear  my  voice — for  I  have  been  a 
severe  man  too  frequently — thou  wouldst  run  unto  me,  and  look 
into  my  face,  and  smile  on  me— so  that  I  could  not  be  angry  ! 
And  thou  wert  ever  ready  to  plead  in  behalf  of  others  ! — O  me! 
my  soul  is  heavy  !" 

The  desolate  old  man  ceased  speaking,  but  from  the  working  of 
his  features  it  was  plain  that  painful  and  agonizing  thought  was 
busy  within.  ««  Now,  then,  i  have  nothing  left  to  do  in  this  life," 
resumed  Norton,  "  I  have  only  to  pray  for  pardon  and  death. 


THE  MISER'S  SON.  139 

Hadst  thou  lived,  my  darling  !  I  would  have  strained  every  energy, 
I  would  have  exerted  every  power  of  my  brain,  to  place  thee 
among  the  loftiest  of  the  children  of  men  !  I  had  hoped  to  have 
held  thy  children  to  my  bosom,  and  to  have  seen  thee  the  admired 
and  the  honored  among  the  great !  But  it  is  otherwise.  A  little 
while,  and  that  most  graceful  form  will  Jie  within  the  tomb — a 
little  while  and  the  red  worm  will  feast  upon  that  warm  and  noble 
heart  that  used  to  beat  with  impetuous  zeal, — and  thou  wilt  be 
forgotten  by  all— except  thy  father.  And  he!  Eternity  could  not 
efface  thy  recollection  from  his  spirit.  Thy  memory  will  haunt 
him  in  sleep — thy  presence— No  more-— no  more !  I  shall  go 
mad,  if  I  do  not  tear  myself  away.  That  ghastly  wound  !  My 
beautiful ! — Cursed,  thrice  cursed  be  the  bloody  hand  that  struck 
it!  I  pray  thee,  Heaven !  if  that  man  have  a  child,  to  let  him  />e 
childless  also.  If  he  have  doted  to  idolatry  upon  him,  if  he  have 
fixed  every  hope  and  aspiration  of  his  mind  and  being  upon  him, 
centred  each  desire  and  thought  in  him— -worshipped  the  very 
ground  he  trod  upon— weighed  rank,  and  friends  and  fortune  as 
things  of  air  in  the  balance  with  him Vengeance,  oh,  ven- 
geance !  Let  me  be  thine  instrument !" 

As  the  officer  in  his  inexpressible  grief  and  passion  spoke  these 
broken  sentences,  Corporal  Figgins,  who  had  hitherto  remained 
outside,  respecting  the  sacredness  of  a  father's  sorrow,  ventured 
to  enter,  and  suggest  that  Captain  Norton  had  been  long  enough 
with  the  body. 

"  Oh,  that  I  might  die,  and  be  buried  with  him,"  was  all  the 
reply  of  the  heart-broken  parent. 

In  vain  did  Figgins  urge  every  argument  his  ingenuity  could 
devise  to  draw  the  Captain  away  from  his  son.  He  would  quit 
the  corpse  for  an  instant  and  advance  to  the  door,  but  invariably 
returned  and  devoured  the  lifeless  looks. 

"Is  he  not  handsome,  Corporal !"  said  the  fond  father,  with 
calm  despair,  "  Oh,  he  is  like  some  far-famed  Grecian  statue, 
and  should  remain  a  monument  of  beauty  free,  from  corruption. 
He  is  far  more  gloriously  lovely,  even  now,  than  ever  breathing 
stone  shaped  by  genius.  Phidias  and  Praxiteles  never  formed  an 
Apollo  so  perfect !" 

Figgins  feared  that  Captain  Norton  would  go  distracted,  for  he 
was  habitually  so  cold  and  austere,  that  he  never  exhibited  the 


140  THE  MISER'S  SON. 

slightest  emotion  of  joy  or  sadness.  "  For  God's  sake,  Sir,  cease 
looking  at  the  corpse  in  that  way.  Your  eyes  start  from  your 
head  !"  cried  the  Corporal.  But  no  heed  was  given  to  what  he 
said.  As  a  last  expedient  to  divert  his  attention  by  appealing  to 
some  other  passion  of  his  heart,  he  cried, 

"  And  the  culprit— the  murderer— he  must  be  punished.  We 
must  not  allow  him  to  escape." 

"  True,  true,"  exclaimed  Norton,  as  if  awaking  from  a  trance, 
and  speaking  with  intense  energy,  "  Hell  itself  shall  not  rescue 
him  !"  and  imprinting  one  long,  lingering,  passionate  kiss  on  the 
cold  lips  of  the  corpse,  he  departed. 

Figgins  remained  gazing  calmly  on  the  rigid  features  of  the 
dead,  for  the  space  of  two  or  three  minutes.  "  He  was  a  fine 
lad,  a  very  fine  lad,  indeed,"  he  muttered,  "  and  I'm  extremely 
sorry  for  him.  But  we  must  all  come  to  this,  at  last ;  so  there's 
no  use  to  make  a  fuss  about  it.  What  has  become  now  of  the 
soul  of  the  unlucky  boy  ?  Humph,  that's  a  troublesome  thought, 
which  connects  itself  with  a  hereafter— a  d — d  thought." 

And,  covering  the  body  of  the  slaughtered  youth  with  a  cloak, 
the  Corporal  quitted  the  room  and  the  cottage.  It  was  some 
time  after  this  that  Figgins  came  upon  the  scene  in  which  the  tall 
robber  was  the  principal  actor ;  but  as  events  of  more  importance 
than  those  in  which  he  took  a  part  are  about  to  be  evolved,  we 
must  take  leave  of  the  worthy  Corporal  for  two  or  three  chapters. 


THE  MISER'S  SON.  141 


fe* 

CHAPTER  II. 


Few  of  Earth's  highest,  happiest,  do  not  deem 
That  youth's  least  joyous,  tamest,  dullest  dream 
Was  brighter  far  than  any  actual  bliss 
Which  gives  its  light  to  such  a  world  as  this. 

Mns  G.  LENOX  CONYNGHAM. 


CHARLES   WALSINGHAM — ELLEN— GEORGE — CYTHEREA  S 
WICKED    SON. 

Too  long  have  we  been  altogether  absent  from  the  gallant  gen- 
tleman who  was  the  first  to  make  his  debut  on  the  boards — or, 
should  it  be  written,  the  sheets  ?— of  "  The  Miser's  Son,"  who 
was  left  in  a  terrible  predicament  in  the  last  chapter  of  the  first 
book,  with  Cupid's  artillery  playing  on  his  ill-fortified  heart. 

I  wonder  what  love  is  ?  No  one  can  analyze  it — no  one  can 
even  perfectly  define  it.  Dr.  Johnson's  Dictionary  only  leaves 
one  still  more  obfuscated  than  with  ignorance.  "  Passion  between 
the  sexes,"  "  kindness,"  "  courtship,"  "  liking,"  "  fondness," 
"  concord,"  &c.  Really,  the  Doctor,  though  a  very  clever,  in- 
tellectual man,  must  have  been  stuffed  with  turtle-soup  when  he 
gave  such  a  definition.  It  is  all  moonshine.  But  who  can  give 
a  better?  Who  can  tell  how  love  grows?  Whether  it  is  a  plant 
of  celestial  sowing  or  growth  ?  What  is  its  first  cause  ?  And 
whether  it  is  necessary,  in  order  that  it  should  be  perfect,  for  the 
passion  to  be  simultaneously  .reciprocal  ?  There  was  a  singular 
old  fellow  by  the  name  of  Plato  known  among  us,  who  had  some 
figments  in  his  head  upon  the  subject — though  he  was,  it  is  said, 
a  terrible  sensualist  himself — which  have  been  conventionalized 
among  poets  until  they  have  become  prescriptive  in  their  autho- 


142  THE  MISER'S  SON. 

rity ;  but  then,  prescription  of  any  sort  is  now  laughed  at  by  our 
thinking  men  amazingly,  and  even  the  votaries  of  the  Muses, 
compelled  to  exercise  their  powers  of  ratiocination  to  keep  pace 
with  the  age,  are  beginning  "  to  apprehend"  that  the  ancient 
psychologist  has  enunciated  an  abstraction,  and  that  the  extreme 
idealism  of  the  hypothesis  is  as  opposite  to  truth  as  the  converse 
of  it.  We  shall  get  something  better,  it  is  to  be  hoped,  one 
day,  by  way  of  theory ;  and  as  for  practice,  who  ever  lived  to 
years  of  discretion  without  experiencing  a  stinging  sensation, 
from  the  arrow  glancing  by  and  grazing  the  epidermis,  or  more 
frequently  penetrating  the  outer  covering  of  the  organ  through 
which  all  the  blood  and  tender  emotions  must  pass? 

Captain  Charles  Walsingham  was  no  ontologist,  and  so  he  did 
not  attempt  to  trace  to  the  source  of  pure  being,  feelings  which 
were  becoming  so  perilous  to  him  ;  but  in  conformity  with  the  in- 
dolent inclinations  superinduced  by  languor  and  illness,  occupied 
all  his  thoughts  and  fancies  with  the  fair  ministering  spirit  who 
hovered  about  his  couch. 

She  was  a  charming  creature — that  Ellen  Danvers— the  child 
of  nature,  simple,  pure,  modest  and  tender-hearted.  Her  sen- 
sibility was  not  that  of  high  imagination  and  romance,  but  ema- 
nated from  the  genuine  warmth  of  her  unsophisticated  nature; 
and  living  entirely  in  seclusion,  sentiment  and  feeling  were  nou- 
rished by  the  external  calm  and  loneliness  which  she  loved.  It  is 
impossible  to  prescribe  any  fixed  period  for  the  germination  of  the 
master-passion  of  our  being.  In  crowded  cities,  the  mind  being 
distracted  by  a  great  variety  of  objects,  the  force  of  one  feeling 
is  in  some  measure  counteracted,  by  the  necessity  for  exercising 
the  intellectual  powers  and  using  the  physical  organs.  By  all 
means,  if  you  do  not  wish  a  young  man  and  maiden,  the  vacuum 
in  whose  breasts  is  not  pre-occupied,  to  yield  themselves  to  each 
other,  heart  and  soul,  suffer  them  not  to  be  together  alone  in  the 
country. 

Charles  Walsingham  was  enjojing  the  delights  of  very  excel- 
lent company-— he  was  by  himself.  The  morning  star,  "  day's 
harbinger,"  was  just  apparent  in  the  grey  and  silvery  sky,  over 
which  a  few  soft  purple  clouds  were  sailing  with  silent  grace,  and 
the  hush  of  the  outward  world  was  unbroken  even  by  the  sound 
of  the  matutinal  lurk's  inspiriting  song.  He  was  gazing  through 


THE  MISER'S  SON.  143 

the  half-closed  shutters  with  languid  eyes,  and  longing  to  behold 
the  sylph-like  form  of  Ellen  once  more. 

By  referring  to  the  place  where  we  last  shook  hands  with  our 
Captain,  it  will  be  found  that  he  had  passed  the  whole  night  in 
dreaming  confusedly  of  plots  and  treasons,  of  ambuscadoes  and 
love-makings,  heaped  together  in  heterogeneous  masses,  and  that 
the  idea  of  Miss  Danvers  had  been  the  nucleus  of  all.  He  awoke 
unrefreshed  and  feverish,  yet  with  a  delicious  tumult  in  his  veins, 
expecting  soon  to  behold  the  lovely  unknown,  which  he  never  re- 
membered to  have  experienced.  It  was  not  of  the  same  species 
with  that  fiery  ardour  which  used  to  rush  through  all  his  blood, 
when  he  was  in  momentary  expectation  of  encountering  a  foe ; 
but  it  was  not  less  violent,  nor  less  soul-absorbing.  He  had 
almost  entirely  forgotten  the  mysterious  conversation  he  had  over- 
heard the  preceding  night,  and  was  just  \ielding  up  his  spirit  to 
waking  dreams,  when  the  sound  of  a  window  being  thrown  up 
attracted  his  attention,  and  his  own  not  having  been  entirely 
closed,  as  the  weather  was  oppressively  warm,  his  acute  ear  dis- 
tinguished the  bell-like  tones  of  Ellen's  voice,  as  she  addressed 
some  person  below. 

What  can  all  this  mean  ?  thought  Charles.  What  can  she  want 
to  talk  with  any  one  at  a  time  like  this  for  ?  Well,  it  is  nothing 
to  me,  and  it  would  be  despicable  in  me  to  listen  !  Nevertheless, 
Captain  Walsingham  did  again  play  the  eaves-dropper  (how  mean 
in  some  respects  the  exalting  sentiment  of  love  will  make  the  most 
generous!)  and  became  acquainted  with  the  business  which  brought 
little  George  to  the  cottage  at  so  unseasonable  an  hour. 

In  the  course  of  a  few  minutes  afterwards  Walsingham  heard  a 
step  approaching  his  door — was  it  light,  fairy-like  ?  No,  it  was 
grave  and  majestic.  Still  he  hoped  on,  till  there  was  a  knock, 
and  immediately  a  tall  woman — how  unlike  the  little  sylph  he 
admired  so  much — entered  and  stood  before  him.  Despite  him- 
self, the  soldier  felt  peevish  and  angry.  Yet  he  was  one  of  the 
best-tempered  fellows  in  existence,  and  it  was  not  a  little,  even 
when  he  was  suffering  quite  as  acutely  in  the  flesh  as  at  present, 
that  could  destroy  his  equanimity  of  mind. 

Why  was  that  old  woman  there,  with  her  haughty  gestures  and 
her  commanding  voice  ?  He  hated  old  women  in  a  sick  chamber, 
and  never  liked  them  at  any  time  too  well :  (of  course  he  did  not 


144  THE  MISER'S  SON. 

say  what  he  thought.)  Elizabeth — for  it  was  no  less  a  personage, 
addressed  him — 

"  I  hope  you  have  passed  a  quiet  night,  Captain  Walsingham  ! 
Allow  me  to  feel  your  pulse  !" 

"  How  did  you  know  my  name?"  he  asked  quickly. 

Elizabeth  deigned  to  make  no  reply  to  this  direct  interrogation, 
but  taking  his  wrist  commenced  counting  the  beatings  of  his 
pulse. 

"  I  know  not  whether  you  should  not  be  bled  again — you  have 
too  much  fever,"  she  said.  "I  will  give  you  some  medicine  to 
allay  the  heat  of  your  blood,"  and  so  speaking,  the  imperious 
woman  quitted  the  chamber. 

"  How  in  the  name  of  wonder  could  she  know  my  name  ?"  ex- 
claimed the  invalid.  "  I  might  perhaps  have  talked  about  myself 
in  some  delirium  of  which  I  was  unconscious.  My  name  was  not 
on  the  knapsack  I  carried  with  me,  and  which,  I  perceive,  is  by 
my  side." 

Presently  Elizabeth  returned  with  a  draught,  which  she  deliv- 
ered to  the  Captain,  and  wishing  him  a  good  morning,  again, 
without  further  parley,  took  her  departure. 

"What  a  stately  old  dame  it  is!"  thought  our  soldier  to  him- 
self. "  I  wonder  if  she  is  related  to  that  sweet  girl !" 

Elizabeth  meanwhile  descended  to  the  sitting-room,  where  she 
found  George,  to  whom  she  had  previously  given  some  breakfast, 
which  he  was  eating  with  a  good  appetite,  and  Ellen  Danvers  at 
the  same  time  glided  into  the  room. 

Poor  George,  overcome  with  his  extraordinary  exertions  and 
loss  of  sleep,  could  with  difficulty  keep  his  eyes  open,  and  Eliza- 
beth having  extracted  from  him  previously  all  the  information  she 
could  concerning  Danvers,  desired  him,  in  compassion  to  his 
drowsiness,  to  lie  down  and  take  some  sleep ;  and  the  words  had 
hardly  quitted  her  mouth  before  the  boy,  suffering  his  weary  eyes 
to  close,  and  falling  back  in  his  seat,  was  buried  in  still  repose. 

"  My  child  !"  said  Mrs.  Haines,  addressing  Ellen  ;  «'  1  am 
compelled  to  leave  you  for  some  hours ;  but  I  will  not  be  absent 
longer  than  is  necessary.  You  will  attend  to  Captain  Walsing- 
ham, who  is  rather  feverish  this  morning,  and,  if  requisite,  give 
him  another  composing  draught." 

"  O,  my  kind  nurse  !    I  know  that  there  is  something  amiss  !" 


THE  MISER'S  SON.  145 

exclaimed  Ellen  ;  "  indeed  that  child  told  me  my  father  is  in 
danger,  and  if  so,  it  is  my  duty  to  go  to  him." 

"  You  could  be  of  no  service,  and  I  think  nothing  is  really  to 
be  apprehended,"  returned  Elizabeth,  peremptorily.  "  You  will 
be  cautious  how  you  speak  to  this  young  man,  who  is  a  zealous 
adherent  of  the  Elector  of  Hanover,  while»you  are  with  him,  and 
do  not  remain  in  his  room  longer  than  is  essential.  It  is  most 
unfortunate  our  servant  should  have  been  taken  ill ;  but  perhaps 
I  can  send  you  a  woman  from  the  village.  God  bless  you,  my 
daughter !"  and  kissing  the  fair  brow  of  the  maiden,  Mistress 
Haines  forthwith  vanished. 

Ellen  gave  herself  up  to  thought.  "  I  know  my  father  is  en- 
gaged in  some  hazardous  scheme,"  she  inwardly  exclaimed, 
"  thinking  to  serve  our  king,  and  I  fear  much  it  has  been  dis- 
covered, and  therefore  he  is  pursued.  If  so,  and  he  is  taken,  no 
mercy  is  to  be  expected  from  the  government,  and  they  might 
even  execute  him.  Oh,  how  dreadful — Almighty  Father,  protect 
and  save  my  parent!" 

Sinking  on  her  knees,  the  pious  and  affectionate  being  offered 
up  her  prayers  and  supplications  to  the  throne  of  mercy,  and  if 
ever  the  petitions  of  the  purest  and  most  innocent  of  His  weak 
creatures  are  heard  by  the  Omnipresent,  surely  the  earnest  and 
meek  address  of  Ellen  was  not  neglected  then.  Rising  from  her 
posture  of  humility,  she  surveyed  the  noble  and  tranquil  form  of 
the  sleeping  boy,  over  whose  fair  young  face  not  a  shadow  nor 
cloud  was  passing.  There  certainly  was  something  in  the  expres- 
sion and  contour  of  the  two  faces  of  the  girl  and  the  child,  by  no 
means  dissimilar ;  but  the  kilter's,  notwithstanding  his  extreme 
youth,  was  decidedly  most  marked  and  bold.  The  countenance 
of  Ellen  was  all  love  and  gentleness™ like  that  of  a  pellucid  river 
gliding  softly  beneath  the  peaceful  moonlight.  No  passion,  nor 
haughty  energy  of  disposition  was  impressed  upon  it,  and  yet, 
despite  this  lack  of  individuality  of  character,  there  was  sense 
and  sensibility,  there  was  candour,  intelligence,  and  sweetness ; 
but  though  she  bore  a  striking  similitude  to  her  father,  the  fire, 
the  splendour,  and  the  mighty  thought  of  his  striking  face  were 
totally  absent  from  hers.  The  features  of  the  young  boy,  on  the 
contrary,  promised  boldness,  decision,  and  originality  of  mind. 
Though  they  were  not  exactly  regular,  they  were  pleasing  and 


146  THE  MISER'S  SON. 

handsome,  and  his  form  was  graceful,  strong  and  active  in  a  re- 
markable degree. 

11  I  like  the  appearance  of  this  child,"  said  Ellen,  "  I  think  I 
know  some  one  to  whom  lie  bears  a  striking  resemblance— -nay,  I 
know  not  whether  he  be  not  something  like  myself." 

There  was  a  mirror  at  hand,  and  gazing  into  it,  the  maiden 
compared  her  own,  with  the  countenance  of  the  boy.  "  There  is 
something  more  than  fancy  in  this,"  she  thought;  "  but  still  he 
is  very  different  to  me.  If  he  do  not  rise  to  be  a  great,  I  am  per- 
suaded he  will  be  a  good  man,  and  perhaps  there  is  more  real 
greatness  in  virtue,  than  in  any  powers  of  wisdom,  or  stores  of 
learning  and  knowledge.  He  is  more  like  Harry  than  myself, 
perhaps ;  but  I  have  seen  some  one  he  yet  more  strikingly 
resembles.  Who  is  it?  Can  it  be  Captain  Walsingham  ?" 
Ellen  blushed  as  she  thought  of  the  invalid.  "  Let  me  see;"  she 
raised  the  fair  hair  from  the  white  smooth  forehead  of  the  little 
sleeper,  and  looked  at  him  narrowly.  "The  brow  will  be  broader, 
but  it  is  not  unlike,"  she  remarked  to  herself,  "  and  the  nose  will 
perhaps  grow  like  his,  and  the  mouth-— oh,  there  certainly  is  a 
likeness.  And  if  he  resemble  me  also,  I  must — what  stuff  I  am 
talking — I  am  not  in  the  slightest  measure  like  him." 

Nevertheless,  Ellen  Danvers  was  unaccountably  pleased  with 
the  notion  of  her  similitude  to  the  sick  officer,  and  after  an  inter- 
val spent  in  deliberating  in  what  way  they  resembled  each  other, 
she  thought  she  would  go  and  see  whether  he  wanted  any- 
thing. 

"  And  if  he  is  asleep,"  she  said  to  herself,  "  I  will  compare — 
pshaw,  I  will  do  no  such  thing !" 

Having  thus  cogitated,  as  soon  as  the  heightened  colour 
brought  to  her  transparent  skin  by  the  thought  of  Captain  Wal- 
singham in  relation  to  herself,  had  subsided,  she  softly  quitted 
the  sitting-room,  and  ascended  to  the  officer's  apartment.  Hesi- 
tating a  moment  at  the  threshold,  she  then  tapped,  and  on  being 
asked  to  enter,  she  did  so,  and  inquired,  in  a  voice  in  some  de- 
gree tremulous,  whether  he  would  take  any  breakfast? 

"  You  are  very,  very  kind,  to  trouble  yourself  so  much  about 
me,"  answered  Walsingham,  "  but  I  will  wait  an  hour  before  I 
try  to  eat.  Might  I  presume  to  request  you,  if  not  otherwise 
engaged,  to  sit  a  few  minutes  with  a  poor  invalid?"  (observing 


THE  MISER'S  SON.  147 

that  the  maiden  was  about   to    retire)  "  for    1   feel  somewhat 
solitary,  and  my  spirits  are  not  so  good  as  usual." 

Ellen  paused  irresolute  a  few  seconds,  but  in  the  guilelessness 
of  her  untainted  heart  imagining  it  impossible  that  there  could  be 
any  impropriety  in  complying  with  the  petition  of  the  poor  sol- 
dier, she  took  a  seat  by  his  bedside,  a*'  she  had  done  several 
times  before,  in  order  to  relieve  Elizabeth. 

"  What  a  heavenly  morning!"  exclaimed  Walsingham,  as  the 
sun  burst  forth  with  magnificence  and  power  in  the  sky,  and 
poured  its  effulgent  beams  upon  the  sleeping  earth. 

"  It  is,  indeed,  most  beautiful,"  was  the  rejoinder  of  Miss 
Danvers. 

"  It  is  a  glorious  time — the  early  morning !"  pursued  the  sol- 
dier, desirous  of  eliciting  something  more  than  a  passing  reply 
from  his  lovely  companion,  "  and  I  envy  not  those  who  sleep  it 
away  in  idleness  and  sloth." 

Ellen  bent  her  head,  but  made  no  response  to  this  last  obser- 
vation. Walsingham  looked  rather  disappointed,  but  continued, 
"  I  think  that  the  gentleman  who,  I  conclude,  so  kindly 
assisted  me  after  my  unlucky  accident,  is  your  father,  is  he  not?" 
This  was  hazarding  a  guess ;  but  he  thought  it  probable,  from 
Ellen's  resemblance  to  Danvers,  and  her  attendance  on  him,  that 
such  was  the  case. 

"  Ye-es,"  replied  Ellen,  confusedly,  recollecting  the  warning  of 
Elizabeth,  and  determined  to  be  discreet. 

"  I  cannot  express  the  feeling  of  obligation  in  my  heart  for  his 
kindness,"  said  the  soldier,  "  1  hope  he  will  pay  me  a  visit  ere 
long;  when  I  may  personally  thank  him  for  the  unmerited  good- 
ness he  has  extended  to  me.  And  the  elderly  lady  whoso  kindly 
officiated  as  my  physician,  and  to  whose  skill  1  am  indebted  for 

much,  is " 

"  She  was  my  nurse,"  responded  Miss  Danvers,  vainly  strug- 
gling with  her  embarrassment,  and  meditating  a  retreat,  in  order 
to  obviate  the  necessity  for  returning  an  answer  to  the  questions 
of  Walsingham. 

"  Pardon  me,  if  my  curiosity  is  impertinent,"  said  the  Captain, 
observing  the  hesitation  of  his  fair  companion,  and  with  the 
delicacv  of  a  refined  mind,  turning  the  conversation  immediately. 
"  I  was  a  foolish  fellow,"  he  added,  "  to  underrate  the  powers 


148  THE  MISER'S  SON. 

of  that  little  horse  which  your  father  rode.     I  thought  I  was  a 
better  judge  of  horses." 

"  Dickon  is  truly  a  wonderful  creature,"  returned  Ellen,  "and 
my  father  values  him  exceedingly."  She  moved  to  the  window. 

"  May  I  trouble  you  to  throw  it  up  ?"  asked  Walsingham, 
•'  the  fresh  air  will  revive  me.  I  feel  a  little  faint !" 

Another  paroxysm  of  pain  paled  to  a  deadlier  hue  than  it  had 
hitherto  worn  in  illness,  the  cheek  of  the  invalid,  and  alarmed 
Ellen  not  a  little,  as  he  could  not  help  writhing  under  his  agony. 
Oh,  that  sympathy  for  sick  men  in  the  female  bosom  !  Sir 
Edward  Bulwer  asserts  that  a  woman  thinks  it  incumbent  on  her 
to  give  her  heart  to  the  man  she  has  seen  in  his  night-cap.  Charles 
Walsingham  did  not  wear  that  ornament,  but  he  was  suffering 
acutely,  and  as  pity  is  near  akin  to  love,  it  may  safely  be  predi- 
cated that  little  Cupid  was  essentially  assisted  in  his  attacks  on 
Ellen's  sensibility  by  the  force  of  that  feeling  toward  the  invalid. 
The  pain  subsided,  and  the  sufferer  smiled — and  smiled  brightly, 
for  the  maiden's  eyes  were  fixed  on  him,  suffused  with  a  moisture 
evincing  the  reality  of  her  sympathy  for  him. 

"  I  am  giving  you  a  great  deal  of  trouble,"  he  said,  "  and  I 
fear  that  I  do  not  endure  pain  well ;  but,  if  you  look  so  pityingly 
on  me,  I  may  feign  it  for  the  sake  of  having  your  compassion, 
which  I  prize  so  highly." 

Ellen  turned  away  her  head,  and  tried  to  force  a  laugh. 

"  This  is  an  exquisite  spot,  as  far  as  I  can  judge,"  observed 
the  invalid,  "  I  could  be  content  ever  to  dwell  here." 

"  Indeed  !  you  have  not  lived  much  in  the  country,  perhaps." 

"  My  early  life  was  spent  in  it ;  but  for  ten  years  I  have  had 
little  solitude.  Yet  I  think  we  value  all  things  by  negatives,  and 
I  should  enjoy  a  secluded  life  the  more,  as  I  have  hitherto  mixed 
much  with  men.  Oh,  the  joys  of  the  free  air  and  the  mountain 
breeze,  the  thunders  of  the  cataract,  and  the  low  music  of  the 
stream,  are  no  poor  delights,  when  shared  with  one  whose  feelings 
are  congenial  with  our  own.  What  thrilling  happiness  to  be 
able  to  impart  every  secret  thought,  and  to  share  the  unfettered 
confidence  of  a  dear  and  affectionate  being,  whose  every  wish  and 
thought  is  pure  as  the  breath  of  heaven  !" 

Walsingham  paused,  partly  from  exhaustion,  and  partly  because 
he  hated  to  display  himself.  Ellen  drank  in  his  clear  tones  with 
"  a  greedy  ear,"  and  thought  that  he  was  passing  eloquent. 


THE  MISER'S  SON.  149 

"  I  wish,"  said  the  Captain,  recurring  to  a  theme  which  was 
uppermost  in  his  mind,  namely,  the  desire  of  knowing  more 
about  Ellen  Danvers,  "  that  I  could  be  of  assistance  to  your 
father.  I — accidentally  overheard — but  1  could  not  distinctly 
understand  the  matter — something  concerning  him,  a  short  time 
ago,  which  led  me  to  conclude  he  was  exposed  to  peril." 

No  reply  was  given  to  this  sentence.  Ellen  had  almost  for- 
gotten the  danger  to  which  her  father  was  exposed,  in  her  admi- 
ration of  the  fine  feeling  displayed  by  Walsingham.  "  Who 
knows,"  she  thought  to  herself,  "  whether  this  gentleman  might 
not  be  of  important  service  to  him  ?  I  know  he  is  in  the  service 
of  the  government,  and  should  suppose  he  is  highly  thought  of. 
But  I  dare  not — no,  I  dare  not  disclose — " 

The  officer  appeared  to  read  what  was  passing  in  the  brain  of 
Miss  Danvers,  for  contemplating  the  shadows  on  her  ingenuous 
face,  he  said,  "  I  am  not  a  person  of  great  importance,  being 
but  a  senior  captain  in  the  army  ;  but  I  have  friends  and  con- 
nexions who  have  influence,  and  it  would  give  me  the  sincerest 
pleasure  if  I  could  in  any  mode  repay  the  obligations " 

"  Talk  not  of  obligations,"  cried  Ellen,  "we  have  only  shown 
you  the  common  duties  of  humanity  ;  but,  if  you  would  interest 
yourself  in  my  dear  father's  behalf,  1  should  be  eternally  indebted 
to  you." 

The  maiden,  in  the  fervour  of  her  desire  to  procure  efficient 
aid  for  her  father,  forgot  herself  entirely  ;  but  when  she  saw  the 
ardent  eyes  of  Walsingham  fixed  almost  passionately  on  her 
glowing  face,  she  felt  abashed,  and  could  not  proceed  any  farther 
in  her  appeal.  Observing  her  confusion,  he  refrained  from  reply- 
ing as  he  had  meditated,  and  said, 

"  Most  cordially  I  thank  you  for  the  confidence,  however  small, 
you  have  reposed  in  me ;  and  you  may  be  assured,  amiable  girl ! 
that  soul,  and  heart,  and  hand,  Charles  Walsingham  is  at  your 
disposal.  May  I  ask  by  what  name  1  may  think  of  you?  1  only 
ask  your  Christian  name." 

Ellen  had  been  warned  not  to  disclose  the  appellation  of  Dan- 
vers,  as  they  went  by  a  fictitious  name,  but  her  own  baptismal 
designation,  she  thought  there  could  be  no  harm  in  telling ;  so 
rising  from  her  seat  she  answered  "  I  am  called  Ellen;"  and  dis- 
appeared from  the  enamoured  e>es  of  the  soldier. 


150  THE  MISER'S  SON. 


CHAPTER  III. 


Man,  one  harmonious  soul  of  many  a  soul, 

Whose  nature  is  its  own  divine  controul, 
Where  all  things  flow  to  all,  as  rivers  to  the  sea : 

Familiar  acts  are  beautiful  through  love  ; 

Labour,  and  pain,  and  grief,  in  life's  green  grove 
Sport,  like  tame  beasts,  none  know  how  gentle  they  could  be. 

In  the  immense  sum  of  human  existence,  what  is  a  single  unit.  Every  sod  on 
which  we  tread  is  the  grave  of  some  former  being  ;  yet  is  there  something  that 
softens  without  enervating  the  heart,  in  tracing  in  the  life  of  another  those  emo- 
tions that  all  of  us  have  known  ourselves.  For  who  is  there  that  has  not,  in  his 
progress  through  life,  felt  all  its  ordinary  business  arrested,  and  the  varieties  of 
fate  commuted  into  one  chronicle  of  the  affections  ? — E.  L.  BULWEU. 


THOUGHTS   ON    LOVE    AND    OTHER   MATTERS — ELLEN    AND 
GEORGE. 

THERE  are  lots  of  people  in  the  world,  some  good,"matiy  bad, 
and  the  greater  number  very  indifferent.  Yet  it  is  evident  that 
there  must  be  no  inconsiderable  amount  of  virtue,  or  we  should 
not  so  often  be  condemning  vice.  There  are  people  wrapt  up  in 
self,  whose  every  thought  and  desire  is  centered  in  that  dear  and 
estimable  being  whom  they  value  infinitely  beyond  all  the  residue 
of  humanity  collectively  (and  they  have  a  right  to  do  so, — they 
have  a  right  to  their  own  opinion  on  the  estimate  they  form  of  the 
universe  in  relation  to  the  individual,  if  they  like  it;  but  they 
may  chance  to  find  they  make  a  bit  of  a  mistake),  and  there  are 
persons  continually  mortifying  the  natural  man,  eschewing  all 
gaiety,  sociability,  and  so  on.  These  latter  are  excellent,  but 
perhaps  deluded  individuals,  who  are  in  the  minority  on  all  divi- 


THE  MISER'S  SON.  151 

sions  of  the  Great  House  of  the  entire  Earth  ;  and  then  there  are 
those  who  live  but  in  the  reflected  happiness  of  others,  as  the 
globe  derives  all  light  from  the  sun— Oh,  if  the  aggregate  of 
humanity  could  be  composed  of  these  !  But  they  are  meteors  far 
too  intensely  bright  to  burn  for  long  in  such  a  sphere  !  And  lastly 
there  are  "  the  good  sort  of  people,"  arnft-ng  whom  we  all  flatter 
ourselves  we  may  be  classified,  who  possess  sufficient  good  nature 
to  lend  a  hand  to  a  friend,  when  doing  so  is  not  attended  with 
any  very  serious  inconvenience  to  themselves,  who  scrub  on  from 
day  to  day,  eating,  drinking,  laughing,  swearing,  scolding, 
bustling,  smiling,  crying,  now  elated  with  prosperity,  now  dejected 
beneath  adversity,  one  moment  praising  the  wisdom  and  harmony 
that  subsists  in  Time,  and  another  thinking  in  their  hearts  it  is  a 
very  scurvy  and  disagreeable  order  of  things ;  doing  like  others 
for  the  sake  of  others'  good  opinion— or  contempt ;  neither  reli- 
gious nor  profane,  moral  nor  licentious,  beloved  nor  hated,  and 
so  the  dream  clouds,  and  brightens,  lowers  and  clears— 

'Till  tir'd  thay  sleep,  and  Life's  poor  play  is  o'er. 

You  will  find  their  philosophy  to  consist  in  some  such  apop- 
thegm  as  the  following—*'  This  is  but  a  poor  sort  of  existence  ; 
but  we  must  make  the  best  of  it ;  since  theologians  tell  us  we  can- 
not help  our  calamities  !"  How  the  angels  must  laugh  now  and 
then,  if  the  celestials  do  not  consider  risibility  incompatible  with 
the  dignity  of  their  immortality,  over  our  common,  humdrum, 
sensible,  absurd,  preposterous  ways,  all  tending  to  one  common 
centre  in  theory  and  supposition  ;  but  as  far  from  it  as  the  stars 
which  Dr.  Dionysius  Lardner,  and  some  greater  astronomer  be- 
fore him,  inform  us  are  so  distant  from  the  earth,  that  there  has 
not  been  time  yet  for  a  ray  of  light  from  them  to  visit  it,  however 
ancient  may  be  the  date  of  creation. 

Ay,  happiness  !  We  all  want  happiness ;  but  some  fancy  it 
consists  in  anticipating  eternity,  and  others  in  eating  turtle,  plum- 
pudding  or  beef. 

Is  there  no  one  in  these  days  of  Steam  and  Machinery  to  invent 
an  agent  for  Universal  Felicity  ?  Something  that  may  be  so  agree- 
able, and  pleasant,  arid  irresistible,  that  by  the  simple  use  of  it, 
we  may  forge  fetters  of  brass  for  that  old  hag  Care,  and  leap 
about  hither  and  thither,  breathless  with  fruition,  until  we  are 


152  THE  MISER'S  SON. 

swallowed  up  in  the  great  gulph  of  Death,  and  our  materiality 
mingles  with  the  huge,  horrible,  and  monstrous  thing,  which  we 
Philosophers— save  the  mark  !  are  for  ever  bothering  our  subtile 
and  queer  brains  about. 

I  dare  say  Captain  Walsingham  thought  he  was  going  to  be 
very  happy— no  doubt  he  did-— for  we  all  commit  that  wise  piece 
of  folly,  even  when  things  appear  least  inclining  to  prosperity— - 
and  probably  pictured  to  his  mind  the  delights  of  a  quiet  and 
undisturbed  abode,  with  a  sweet  fair  wife,  and  pretty  playful 
children,  all  as  amiable  and  loving  as  seraphim  and  cherubim  ; 
and  cheated  his  imagination  with  dreams  and  phantasies, 
which  hop  about,  Will-o'-the-wisp-like,  over  the  universe,  and 
plague,  and  tease  and  delight  us  alternately,  as  we  fancy  we  catch 
them  and  they  dissolve  "in  thin  air,"  even  as  those  dear  creatures 
we  love  and  worship  so  devoutly.  The  Captain  was  an  excellent 
fellow,  and  though  not  utterly  unselfish  perhaps,  had  more  in  him 
of  the  qualities  panegyrized  above  in  the  category  of  humanities 
beyond  all  the  rest,  than  one  in  five  hundred  on  the  average  of 
mankind.  But  he  was  not  a  philosopher.  Who  is?  Those  that 
style  themselves  such  ?  Was  Plato  wise  in  action  ?  Was  Solo- 
mon ?  They  were  tremendous  sensualists ;  and  although  William 
Walsingham  might  have  admired  their  wisdom  in  that  respect, 
while  he  ridiculed  the  spirituality  of  the  one,  and  sneered  at  the 
lofty  ethics  of  the  other,  depend  upon  it,  Sir,  epicureanism — which 
inevitably  defeats  its  own  object — is  as  great  a  piece  of  nonsense 

as  the  system  of but  hang  particulars  and  personals.  We  are 

all  of  us  imperfect,  and  as  philosophy  is  the  love  of  perfection  we 
shall  adore  its  ethics ;  but  give  the  lie  to  our  delight  in  Wisdom 
by  our  practice.  Oh,  no  !  we  are  ever  seeking  amaranths  among 
the  flowers  of  earth,  and  find  but  roses,  and  few  of  them,  poor  frail, 
dying  things,  flowers  that  bloom  for  a  day  with  an  odour  and  a 
beauty  of  the  eternal,  and  then  are  scattered  by  the  winds  of 
desolation.  We  may  love,  we  may  aspire,  and  adoration  of  and 
aspiration  to  some  bright  and  divine  ideal  will  afford  us  felicity 
awhile — a  poetry  of  feeling  that  clothes  the  common  and  the  real 
with  splendor ;  but  the  loveliness  is  a  shadow,  and  the  passion  is 
a  phantasmal  ecstasy;  Sorrow  lurks  within  the  buds  of  Joy,  and 
Despair  in  the  germs  of  Hope — 


THE  MISER'S  SON.  153 

"  Ah,  sister,  Desolation  is  a  delicate  thing : 

It  walks  not  on  the  earth,  it  floats  not  on  the  air, 
But  treads  with  silent  footstep,  and  fans  with  silent  wing 

The  tender  hopes  which  in  their  hearts  the  best  and  gentlest  bear  j 
Who  soothed  to  false  repose  by  the  fanning  plumes  above, 

And  the  music-stirring  motion  of  its  soft  and  busy  feet, 
Dream  visions  of  aerial  Joy,  and  call  the  monster  Love, 

And  wake  and  find  the  shadow  Pain,  as  he  whom  now  we  greet." 

And  Ellen — the  good,  gentle,  innocent  Ellen  Danvers — who 
though  not  the  heroine  of  this  chronicle  of  the  past,  which  it  has 
been  the  author's  aim  to  make  a  picture  of  life  and  man  as  they 
are,  dark,  radiant  and  variable — is  not  an  unimportant  nor,  it  is 
hoped,  an  uninteresting  character  in  it — -what  did  she  think  ? 
What  thoughts  occupied  her  heart  ?  I  wish  I  were  able  to  analyze 
them  (you  will  find  something  like  a  description  of  their  confusion 
in  Shakspeare  I  dare  say,  for  he  understood  what  love  is),  but 
they  were  in  such  a  chaos,  I  should  have  to  write  an  Essay  as 
long  as  Locke's  on  the  Understanding,  in  order  clearly  to  eluci- 
date them.  I  should  have  to  abstract  and  generalize  on  sensation 
and  modes  of  sensation  before  I  could  make  clear  what  she  ex- 
perienced ; — to  classify  and  re-classify,  and  say  the  same  things 
over  and  over  again,  like  all  other  psychologists  from  Pythagoras 
to  Schilling,  and  it  may  be  after  all  to  no  purpose ;  and  so  the 
well-natured  reader's  vivid  imagination  must  help  me  out  of  the 
dilemma. 

The  more  simple  and  true  a  mind,  the  more  powerfully  do  new 
and  strange  sensations  affect  it.  Hence  it  is  that  first  love  is  the 
most  pure,  absorbing  and  intense;  but  the  component  parts  of 
it,  I  do  most  sincerely  believe  and  avow,  we  are,  and  shall  ever 
remain,  in  almost  total  ignorance  of.  I  "do  not  wish  to  recur  to 
first  principles, [and  abhor  the  useless  repetition  of  such  things  a» 
we  see  in  the  systems  of  ontology  to  no  purpose  (entity — non- 
entity and  so  on — an  infinite  deal  of  nothing  unless  employed  to 
some  real  principle  of  being)  from  my  soul ;  and  therefore  I  pre- 
dicate that  Love,  in  all  its  phases  and  modifications,  is  a  great 
mystery,  an  arch  enigma,  and  that  every  primordial  substance  of 
our  complicated  nature  is  far  more  susceptible  of  demonstration 
relative  to  its  rise  and  progress  than  this.  Therefore  no  more 
concerning  the  origin  of  love,  which  like  that  of  evil,  will  remain 

x 


154  THE  MISER'S  SON. 

inscrutable,  and  yet  continue"  to  perplex  the  noddles  of  our  pro- 
fundities till  we  live  in  the  empyrean,  in  an  atmosphere  unclouded 
and  serene  as  virtue. 

Everv  thing  was  propitious  to  the  growth  of  the  passion  betwixt 
Ellen  aiid  Walsingham.  It  has  been  positively  asserted  that  ob- 
stacles to  love  promote  and  cherish  it  into  strength  and  vitality  ; 
but  this  appears  to  me  the  most  problematical  of  postulates. 
Difficulties  in  the  path  of  ambition  may  fire  and  energize  the 
mind  of  genius  ;  but  the  two  passions  are  essentially  dissimilar. 
We  want  soft  odours  and  fragrant  breezes,  genial  sighs  and  tender 
breathings,  at  the  commencement  of  such  a  sentiment  as  the  first, 
not  gigantic  aspirations,  vast  smugglings,  august  visions  and 
proud  dependence  on  self,  such  as  must  characterize  the  progress 
of  an  Alexander  or  a  Napoleon.  It  seems  to  me  as  if,  when  the 
active  powers  of  intellect  are  expanded,  as  they  are  in  ambition, 
the  passive  feelings  which  have  to  be  operated  on  by  various 
latent  principles,  must  be  swallowed  up  in  the  fierce  Maelstrom 
of  the  haughtier  nature  ;  that  they  cannot  equally  subsist  together, 
and  consequently  the  dreaming,  the  musing,  on  those  imaginary 
perfections  which  are  the  lover's  nympholepsy  (for  no  earthly 
creature  has  more  than  a  portion  of  them)  would  necessarily  be 
obstructed.  Thus,  at  all  events  in  the  first  instance,  the  soul 
should  not  be  diverted  from  brooding  on  its  ideal  by  the  compul- 
sion of  exercising  its  other  faculties;  the  stream  should  glide  de- 
liciously  and  calmly  on,  that  the  light  barque  may  speed  swiftly 
under  the  impetus  of  favoring  breezes — for  too  violent  a  sea  would 
hurl  it  into  destruction  in  a  brief  period. 

I  have  never  been  in  love  myself  since  I  was  ten  years  old, 
when  incontinently  I  adored  every  pretty  little  creature  of  every 
rank  and  style  of  beauty  I  encountered,  but  "  I  have  had  some 
dreams ;"  and  whether  silly  or  otherwise,  dreams  constitute  the 
greater  part  of  being.  This  was  the  case  with  Charles  Walsing- 
ham, as  far  as  the  visionary  business  was  concerned,  and  having 
arrived  at  an  age  when  with  such  hearts  as  his  there  is  an  absolute 
necessity  for  loving,  he  was  the  more  prepared  to  conceive  a  deep 
and  lasting  affection  for  so  amiable  a  girl  as  Ellen.  So,  when  she 
had  left  him,  he  thought  he  would  have  a  resolute  reverie  on  her 
charms  of  mind  and  person,  real  and  imaginary,  and  rendering 
himself  up  to  this  delightful  recreation  and  occupation,  heeded 
not  the  flight  of  time. 


THE  MISER'S  SON.  155 

One  of  the  most  singular  features  of  "  the  divine  passion  "  is 
its  total  forgetfulness  of  the  measure  of  duration.  To  the  Idealist 
the  incontestable  fact  may  afford  a  proof  in  favor  of  his  system 
of  non-entities,  and  to  the  Lover  and  the  Poet  it  may  demonstrate 
that  it  lives  in  eternity  and  has  nothing  to  do  with  the  hour ;  and 
certain  it  is  that  days  may  seem  as  minutes  when  the  mind  and 
heart  are  pre-occupied  and  take  no  cognizance  of  external  objects, 
in  some  measure  showing  that  our  internal  sensations  act  upon 
the  outward  world  rather  than  the  converse,  and  so  mark  the  flight 
of  the  destroyer.  But  Time  again  is  another  great  mystery. 

It  was  noonday,  and  the  sun  was  shining  gorgeously,  and 
creation  smiled  in  the  pure  light  of  heaven  as  brightly  as  when 
the  first  man  opened  his  eyes  in  Eden,  and  all  but  the  lord  of  all 
and  those  subjugated  to  his  tyranny  and  caprice  were  blithe  and 
gay.  The  painted  butterflies  were  thick  in  the  radiance  which 
displayed  their  splendid  colours,  and  rejoiced  in  the  ignorance— 
the  happy  ignorance ! — of  the  brevity  of  their  existence  ;  the 
scarcely  less  glittering  insects  on  the  greensward  and  the  flowers 
were  eating  their  favorite  food  and  basking  in  the  heat,  and  the 
joyous  birds  were  singing  "  and  soaring  as  they  sang."  None 
would  have  imagined,  if  they  could  have  been  transported  from 
some  distant  world  among  the  stars,  where  sin  and^  sorrow  have 
never  fixed  their  cruel  fangs,  that  anything  but  virtue  and  hap- 
piness could  exist  in  so  bright  an  earth. 

Walsingham  was  admiring  the  scene,  which  he  could  easily 
distinguish  through  his  open  window,  and  his  heart  was  merry, 
for  he  felt  better  in  himself  than  he  had  for  many  hours,  and  who 
is  unacquainted  with  the  delightful  sensations  of  returning  health? 
and  anticipation  was  busy  in  his  brain.  "  To  share  this  cottage 
with  her  !  To  pour  into  her  faithful  bosom  the  transport,  the 
romance,  the  feeling,  excited  by  the  beauty  of  God's  sublime  crea- 
tion— it  would  be  an  antepast  of  heaven  !" 

So  thought  the  soldier.  "  How  gladly  shall  I  resign  the  hope 
of  renown,  the  ambition  which  so  often  proves  a  curse — the  entire 
passions  of  my  being  to  be  the  beloved  of  such  a  creature  !*' 

As  he  was  thus  rhapsodizing  he  heard  a  voice  which  was 
hardly  that  of  a  child,  but  yet  not  that  of  a  youth,  carolling  the 
words  of  a  song  which  he  remembered  to  have  heard  when  he  was 
a  boy  himself,  and  a  flood  of  recollections  burst  upon  him,  as  his 
ear  distinguished  the  following  words : — 


156  *         THE  MISER'S  SON. 

"  O,  remember  this  life  is  but  dark  and  brief, 
There  are  sorrows,  and  tears,  and  despair  for  all. 
And  that  hope  and  joy  are  as  leaves  that  fall ! — 
Then  pluck  the  beauteous  and  fragrant  leaf, 
Before  the  Autumn  of  Pain  and  Grief! 

There  are  hopes  and  smiles  with  their  starry  rays, 

O,  press  them  tenderly  to  thy  heart  J 

They  will  not  return  when  they  once  depart  * 

Rejoice  in  the  radiant  and  joyous  days, 

Though  the  light,  tho'  the  glee  but  a  moment  stays ! 

As  the  dew-drops  fall  with  their  diamond  sheen, 
They  sparkle  beneath  the  ethereal  beam, 
And  die  in  their  light — like  some  Angel  dream  ! 
Which  is  loved  and  is  blessed,  but  no  sooner  seen 
Than  it  flies — O  'twere  better  it  ne'er  had  been  !" 

The  mournful  pathos  and  artless  melody  of  the  young  minstrel's 
song  went  directly  home  to  the  feelings  of  Walsingham,  and  raising 
himself  in  his  bed  he  tried  to  look  out  of  window  ;  and  succeeded 
in  catching  a  glimpse  of  a  childish  figure  walking  across  the  plot 
of  grass  beneath. 

He  had  not  been  the  only  listener  to  the  ballad,  for  Ellen  Dan- 
vers,  who  had  been  engaged  in  thoughts  not  very  dissimilar  to 
those  that  were  passing  through  his  mind  when  he  first  heard  the 
song,  recognized  from  her  window  the  young  boy  she  had  left 
asleep  below  a  few  hours  before,  and  immediately  descended,  and 
quitting  the  house  joined  him. 

"  I  hope  you  have  recovered  from  your  fatigue,  my  little  friend," 
said  Ellen,  offering  her  pretty  hand  to  him. 

"  Thank  you,  sweet  lady,  yes  !"  returned  the  child,  gallantly 
pressing  the  taper  fingers  of  the  maiden  to  his  lips. 

"What  a  pretty  song  that  was  you  were  singing  just  now," 
observed  Ellen,  smiling  at  the  gallantry  of  the  little  fellow,  "I 
should  like  to  hear  you  repeat  it." 

"I  think  I  must  be  going"  answered  the  boy,  sadly,  "Oh, 
how  I  wish  that  I  might  live  with  you  who  look  so  kind  and 
beautiful,  and  your  noble  father  and  brother.  I  should  love  you 
so  very  very  much  !" 

"  Have  you  no  parents— no  relations  then  ?" 

"  Ah  yes  !  I  have  a  mother,  but  she  does  not  love  me,"  returned 


THE  MISER'S  SON.  157 

the  child,  "  nobody  ever  loved  me,  as  I  could  love.  And  yet  many 
have  been  kind  to  me." 

"  Nay,  that  is  impossible  if  you  have  a  mother,"  rejoined  Ellen, 
beginning  to  feel  much  affection  for  this  singularly  interesting  and 
engaging  boy.  "  I  am  certain  you  dre  good,  and  do  not  give  her 
trouble." 

"  I  try  to  be  good,"  answered  George,  "  but  it  is  often  very  diffi- 
cult to  be  so,  when  you  are  treated  with  harshness  and  unkindness  ; 
and  if  there  did  not  exist  a  great  God  (as  I  have  been  told,  and 
as  I  feel  in  my  soul  there  must  be)  who  protects  all  his  creatures, 
and  chiefly  those  who  need  his  aid,  I  think  I  should  almost  be 
driven  to  despair  and  wickedness. 

There  were  tears  in  the  boy's  eyes  xvhich  demonstrated  the 
earnestness  and  sincerity  of  his  feelings,  and  his  clear  and  musical 
voice,  more  than  commonly  manly  for  his  age,  was  unsteady  with 
emotion.  Ellen  took  his  hand  in  hers  and  pressed  it  warmly. 

"  You  are  a  good  child,"  she  said,  "  but  how  is  it  that  your 
mother  does  not  love  you  ?" 

"  I  know  not,"  responded  George,  "  she  has  never  done  so, 
though  I  have  often  felt  more  love  for  her  than  I  can  tell  you. 
She  has  met  my  fond  kisses  with  coldness,  and  never  returned 
my  caresses.  I  have  sometimes  wept  in  secret,  because  I  have 
seen  other  children  pressed  to  their  parent's  breasts,  and  received 
with  such  looks  of  fondness.  Oh,  how  happy  are  you,  dear  lady  ! 
to  have  such  a  father  as  I  am  sure  you  must  have.  He  must  love 
you  as  his  own  life  !  and  I  think  I  should  love  you  too,  almost 
as  much,  if  I  lived  with  you.  Your  looks  have  so  much  pity  in 
them !  I  could  almost  fancy,  as  I  look  in  your  kind  and  gentle 
face,  some  good  angel  from  heaven  is  gazing  with  compassion  on 
me,  who  am  doubly  an  orphan  in  having  a  mother  but  not  sharing 
her  love.  Farewell !  I  will  remember  you  in  my  prayers !" 

"  Stay,  my  young  friend,  you  must  not  leave  me  yet.  I  have 
a  great  deal  to  ask  you,  and  if  you  will  kindly  take  upon  you  the 
office  of  my  messenger,  I  shall  thank  you  from  my  heart." 

"  That  I  will,"  answered  George  with  alacrity. 

"  But  I  should  wish  you  to  wait  a  few  hours,  until  we  sec 
whether  my  nurse  will  return.  Meanwhile,  let  me  hear  the  story 
of  your  life." 

As  Ellen  Daiivers  finished  speaking,  the  child  and  herself  had 


158  THE  MISER'S  SON. 

* 

entered  a  sort  of  summer  house,  rudely  and  recently  constructed, 
and  odorous  with  the  pure  breath  of  roses  and  violets  and  wall- 
flowers which  grew  around  it  in  luxuriance.  It  was  the  place 
where  Ellen  was  accustomed  to  read  or  amuse  herself  with  draw- 
ing or'em broidery  while  she  listened  to  the  jocund  notes  of  the 
thrush,  the  black-bird,  and  others  of  the  feathered  tribe,  who 
congregated  in  a  clump  of  trees  at  the  distance  of  a  few  yards, 
and  appeared  to  emulate  each  other's  strains  through  the  day. 

"  I  have  not  much  to  tell  you,"  said  the  young  boy,  «'  though 
I  have  passed  through  more  adventures  than  most  children  of  my 
age ;  but  they  would  not  for  the  most  part  interest  you.  But 
my  life  has  been  one  of  thronging  feelings,  which  I  cannot  well 
describe  to  you — and  would  not  to  all  others.  As  you  wish,  you 
shall  hear  as  much  about  me  as  I  know  myself;  but  I  am  afraid 
I  shall  often  want  words  to  paint  what  I  desire.  I  will  stay  with 
you  as  long  as  you  like,  if  I  can  be  of  use  to  you,  for  no  one  cares 
about  me,  and  I  am  suffered  now  to  do  just  as  I  like  with  my 
time." 

The  child  passed  his  bands  through  his  fair  hair,  and  gather- 
ing his  thoughts  together,  prepared  to  relate  his  tale.  It  was  a 
pretty  sight  to  behold  those  two  young  and  bright-natured  beings 
as  they  sat  together,  Ellen's  dove-like  eyes  fixed  with  attentive 
interest  on  the  boy's  remarkably  intelligent  and  sensible  counte- 
nance, and  he,  though  clothed  in  coarse  apparel,  which  he  had 
outgrown  considerably,  with  his  noble  form  and  princely  features, 
looking  like  one  of  Nature's  own  nobility,  as  he  thus,  with  but 
little  hesitation  in  his  choice  of  phraseology,  commenced  the  nar- 
ration of  the  incidents  of  his  brief  existence. 


THE  MISER'S  SON.  159 


CHAPTER  IV. 


— —  Have  I  not  striven  in  vain 

To  bind  one  true  heart  unto  me  ? 

MRS. 


THE   CHILD  S   STORY. 

" 1  KNOW  not  where  I  was  born,  nor  did  I  ever,  as  far  as  I 
know,  see  my  father.  From  my  earliest  recollection  I  have  led 
the  life  of  a  vagrant,  going  here  and  there,  and  never  remaining 
in  one  place  for  any  length  of  time.  My  mother  followed  the 
calling  of  a  strolling  actress,  and  was  admired  both  for  her 
beauty  and  abilities  on  the  stage.  It  is  a  beautiful  art — that  of 
acting,  and  I  have  loved  it  for  its  own  sake,  though  1  was  com- 
pelled to  study  much  for  children's  parts,  in  which  it  was  said 
that  I  excelled. 

"  1  was  taught  to  read  by  a  kind  good  man,  who  often  acted 
in  the  plays  I  used  to  perform  in,  and  gave  me  instructions  in 
acting.  My  mother  hardly  ever  took  any  notice  of  me  at  all, 
except  to  scold  or  to  beat  me,  yet  for  all  that,  if  she  would  have 
let  me,  I  could  have  been  so  fond  of  her.  From  the  time  that  I 
could  make  out  the  meaning  of  books  by  myself  I  have  given  up 
nearly  every  other  pleasure  for  the  sake  of  them.  It  gave  me 
much  more  delight  to  sit  beneath  a  tree  with  a  book  in  my  hand, 
and  passing  hours  fancying  that  the  wonderful  scenes  in  it  were 
actually  occurring  before  me,  than  to  mingle  with  boys  of  my 
own  age,  and  play  with  them.  The  old  man  who  was  so  kind  in 
teaching  me  to  read  and  act,  was  the  only  real  friend  I  ever  had, 
and  he  told  me  things  I  should  never  have  heard  of,  but  for  him. 


160  THE  MISER'S  SON. 

"  When  I  was  wretched,  and  I  sometimes  was  most  miserable, 
when  I  was  very,  very  young,  because  my  mother  was  unkind,  I 
used  to  think  it  would  have  been  better  that  I  had  never  been 
born ;  but  that  good  old  man  taught  me  what  I  had  never  heard 
of  from  my  mother,  and  said  there  was  a  Good  Spirit  in  all  the 
world,  watching  over  its  creatures.  And  then  I  would  ask  him 
why,  if  that  Spirit  is  so  good,  there  should  be  such  dreadful 
misery  and  wretchedness  in  the  world,  and  he  would  answer  me, 

"  '  My  child,  God  creates  us  that  we  may  be  good,  and  raise 
ourselves  above  the  poor  nature  he  has  given  us ;  if  he  did  not 
suffer  evil  to  exist,  how  could  this  be  accomplished  ?  If  it  were 
not  possible  for  man  to  do  wrong,  what  merit  would  there  be  in 
his  doing  well  ?'  And  so,  after  thinking  on  the  subject,  I  was 
satisfied,  for  when  my  dear  friend  first  told  me  what  God  was — 
1  never  having  heard  his  name  unless  when  used  in  curses — I 
thought  to  myself,  *  Why  does  not  this  Great  Being  interfere  for 
our  good  ?  If  I  were  God,  I  should  wish  all  the  universe  to  be  as 
happy  as  myself.'  But  I  could  not  doubt,  when  I  came  to  reflect 
more  deeply,  that,  according  to  the  amount  of  temptation,  is  the 
virtue  of  resisting  it.  And  so  I  used  to  pray  to  this  eternal  and 
mysterious  power  to  make  me  a  better  child,  and  to  give  me 
purer  desires,  and  to  enlarge  my  mind,  that  I  might  understand 
what  is  wise  to  do ;  and  to  be  present  to  my  heart,  and  succour 
me ;  and  after  I  did  so,  I  was  at  peace  in  myself,  and  rejoiced 
that  I  lived,  though  unfortunate." 

The  boy  paused,  and  appeared  to  be  meditating.  "  I  think," 
he  continued,  "  that  the  most  wretched  have  cause  to  be  quite 
thankful  that  they  have  been  called  into  life,  since,  if  there  is  a 
God  (and  I  cannot  believe  that  any  one  who  has  heard  what  I 
have,  can  doubt  that  there  is),  He  must  have  created  them  that 
they  might  all  be  blest.  I  have  not  had  much  to  make  me  happy, 
as  other  children  have — no  dear  eyes  turned  fondly  upon  me,  no 
tender  lips  to  press  my  cheek,  no  words  of  affection  to  soothe  my 
sorrows — and  more  than  anything  have  felt  the  want  of  such 
sweet  things ;  yet  I  should  not  complain,  for  every  thing  in  nature 
delights  my  senses,  and  my  own  thoughts  are  often  most  pleasant 
to  me.  For  when  I  look  above  and  see  the  blue  sky,  and  hear 
mysterious  sounds  and  melancholy  music  in  the  distance — 
sounds  that  I  know  not  how  they  spring  into  existence — when  I 


THE  MISER'S  SON.  161 

behold  the  bright  stars  and  the  holy  moon,  and  the  great  earth 
seeming  to  sleep  quietly  and  deliriously  beneath  them,  I  have 
almost  imagined  that  pure  and  lovely  creatures,  with  eyes  more 
lustrous  and  ethereal  than  even  the  countless  lights  in  heaven, 
whispered  in  my  ear,  '  O  child,  not  only  shall  you  have  those 
things  when  you  die  and  live  with  us,  to.  gratify  you,  but  our 
songs  of  joy  and  our  looks  of  love,  and,  more  than  all,  the  melody 
and  the  radiance,  the  unbounded  affection  of  your  great  Father 
will  be  yours.'  And,  lady,  I  have  heard  strange  things — so  wild 
and  beautiful — seen  such  visions  of  glory  and  of  bliss,  that  my 
soul  has  been  transported,  and  with  tears,  instead  of  words,  I 
have  thanked  the  good  Being,  who  permits  me  to  enjoy  such  fair 
life.  I  love  very  often  to  sit  upon  some  quiet  grave,  when  the 
first  stars  come  trembling  sadly  yet  calmly,  like  glistening  tears, 
into  their  brief  but  glorious  splendour,  and  to  think,  when  the 
undying  soul  goes  forth,  to  what  sweet  world  among  them  it  may 
depart.  1  have  supposed  myself  permitted  to  enter  one  of  those 
bright  places,  and  see  vast  hills  and  rivers,  seas  and  forests.  I 
have  often  fancied  that  in  a  tiny  boat  I  have  entered  huge  caves, 
and  followed  their  windings  among  rivers  of  all  strange  hues,  and 
as  I  lay  plucked  flowers  that  do  not  grow  on  earth,  while  my  ear 
was  ravished  with  songs  more  delicious  and  sounds  more  exqui- 
site than  those  of  the  lonely  nightingale.  Oh,  1  love  solitude, 
almost  as  much  as  faces  which  are  as  gentle  and  kind  and  fair  to 
look  on  as  yours,  dear  lady ;  for  when  I  lie  beneath  the  dark 
vault  of  Night,  and  try  to  count  the  diamonds  (more  bright  than 
any  that  adorn  a  queenly  brow)  on  her  face,  I  feel  sensations  and 
thoughts  which  I  shall  never  be  able  to  describe — solemn,  infi- 
nite, and  shadowy  as  spectres,  but  arrayed  in  loveliness  and  light. 
And  being  able  to  read  my  favourite  authors,  some  of  which  my 
kind  old  friend  helped  me  to  understand,  1  have  traced  in  their 
beautiful  imaginations  and  ideas  the  same  feelings  which  have 
burned  so  deeply  within  my  own  breast,  and  that  was  most  plea- 
sant. But  this  is  not  the  only  delight  I  have  in  reading.  When 
a  noble  action  is  supposed  to  be  performed,  how  my  blood  dances 
and  thrills,  and  how  my  frame  becomes  animated  as  if  by  magic! 
I  think  1  stand  in  the  same  place  myself — I  think  by  my  own 
exertionsj  may  make  numbers  blest — relieving  the  wants  of  my 
fellow  creatures,  and  restoring  the  poor  and  starving  to  plenty 

Y 


162  THE  MISER'S  SON. 

and  peace.  Oh,  to  pour  comfort  into  the  hearts  of  the  afflicted, 
and  to  supply  the  necessities  of  all,  should  be  happiness  to  angels, 
and  to  do  these  things,  it  seems  to  me,  God  created  us. 

"  A  year  has  now  elapsed  since  I  met  with  a  terrible  misfor- 
tune. My  kind  and  good  old  friend  was  taken  from  me,  and 
since  then  I  have  had  no  one  to  care  for  my  affection,  or  to  say 
one  word  of  love  and  tenderness,  and  this  is  a  dreary  world 
without  them.  Strangers,  indeed,  have  looked  on  me  kindly  ; 
but  otherwise  I  have  boen  alone  in  the  wide  universe,  and  the 
sense  of  my  solitary  condition  has  only  been  relieved  by  indulging 
in  those  dreams  1  have  described. 

"  I  remember  it  was  just  such  a  mild  and  glorious  day  as  this, 
when  my  benefactor,  to  whom  I  owe  all  the  good  in  myself  that 
I  possess,  ceased  to  breathe.  I  was  sitting  by  his  bedside,  and 
praying  that  so  good  a  friend  might  not  be  taken  from  me,  when 
in  a  feeble  voice  he  called  me  yet  closer  to  him,  and  taking  my 
hand,  he  pressed  it  in  his  own,  and  after  a  pause  he  said, 

"  *  George,  I  am  going  from  you,  and  you  will  have  no  pro- 
tector but  Him  which  is  in  heaven.  You  will  be  exposed  to 
temptations  you  will  find  it  hard  to  resist,  but  if  you  will  only 
ask  God  fervently  to  help  you,  if  you  will  only  turn  your  thoughts 
to  heaven  when  you  are  sorely  tried,  you  will  triumph  over  your- 
self and  be  happy.'  How  I  have  treasured  up  those  last  words 
in  my  secret  soul !  Day  and  night  I  have  thought  over  them, 
and  tried  to  put  them  in  practice,  and  I  have  often  had  cause  to 
thank  God  that  I  was  induced  to  do  so.  Do  you  not  think  it  is 
a  glorious  thing  to  be  good.  Nature  gives  mind,  and  strength, 
and  beauty  ;  but  we  ourselves  raise  ourselves  above  the  low 
thoughts  and  base  wishes  which,  if  indulged  in,  make  us  no  bet- 
ter than  the  brutes.  So  my  old  friend  taught  me,  and  all  that  he 
ever  said  I  have  considered  over  and  over  again  ;  for  almost  all 
other  persons  I  met  with,  wherever  1  went  with  my  mother,  in- 
dulged in  riot  and  swearing,  and  vice  of  all  kinds.  My  benefac- 
tor, after  he  had  said  those  words  that  I  repeated  to  you,  drew  a 
long  breath,  and  then  added, 

"  '  My  dear  child,  I  have  a  conviction  that  you  will  one  day 
become  a  great  man,  and  there  is  a  degree  of  mystery  concerning 
your  birth,  which  I  cannot  fathom.  Time  will  perhaps  reveal 
what  is  now  hid  in  darkness,  and  I  hope,  meanwhile,  you  will  try 


THE  MISER'S  SON.  163 

and  fit  yourself  for  a  higher  station  in  life  than  that  you  now  fill. 
You  have  abilities,  which  from  your  peculiar  situation  have  been 
early  brought  forth,  and  you  have  only  to  study  and  think  to  do 
great  things.  Nevertheless,  be  humble-minded,  and  recollect  that 
1  only  conjecture  what  I  have  said  about  your  birth.  Continue  to 
read  those  books  I  have  put  in  your  hands*  strive  to  be  good,  and 
to  serve  all ;  so  you  will  employ  your  time  to  advantage,  and  be 
fit  to  mingle  with  virtuous  and  educated  men,  without  having 
cause  to  blush  for  your  own  inferiority.  I  have  begun  the  work, 
and  you  must  complete  it  yourself.  I  leave  my  little  library  to 
you.'  After  he  had  said  thus  much,  my  poor  friend  sunk  back 
on  his  pillow  exhausted  ;  but  after  a  time  he  revived  and  spoke 
again. 

"  '  Mine  has  been  a  strange  life,  George/  he  said,  '  and  I 
never  thought  to  end  it  as  a  strolling  player.  I  was  the  son  of  a 
gentleman,  and  being  left  an  orphan  when  a  very  young  man,  1 
plunged  into  dissipation,  and  soon  squandered  my  small  patri- 
mony. I  then  tried  to  write  for  the  stage,  but  I  was  not  success- 
ful, for  great  wits  were  then  dramatic  authors,  and  I  never  pos- 
sessed very  rare  abilities ;  so  finding  that  I  could  not  succeed  as 
an  author,  1  turned  actor,  but  was  not  much  more  fortunate  in 
that  capacity.  And  now  for  nearly  thirty  years  I  have  wandered 
about  like  a  vagabond,  but  I  have  thought  much,  and,  I  hope, 
improved  my  heart.  Yet  1  have  seen  so  much  wickedness  and 
depravity  among  the  low  fellows  with  whom  yon  and  I  have  been 
associated,  that  I  earnestly  hope  you  will  escape  all  danger  of 
the  contagion,  by  abandoning  the  calling  of  a  strolling  player  as 
soon  as  you  can.' 

"  My  dear  friend  was  again  obliged  to  be  silent,  from  fatigue, 
and  was  never  able  to  speak  much  more,  What  is  heard  from  one 
we  respect  on  the  bed  of  death  cannot  be  forgotten.  I  watched 
him  as  the  dark  shadows  came  across  his  face,  and  I  knew  that 
he  was  struggling  with  death.  Then  his  hand  which  grasped 
mine  became  icy  cold,  and  he  gasped  for  breath,  and  presently 
there  was  a  shudder  and  a  sigh,  and  a  noise  in  the  throat,  and 
after  that  rattling  noise,  which  was  so  dreadful  that  it  seemed  to 
thrill  through  every  part  of  me,  he  was  as  still  as  if  he  slept 
sweetly.  And  so  he  did !  I  saw  him  buried,  lady,  and  often 
walk  many  miles  to  sit  on  his  grave,  and  take  fresh  flowers  to 


164  THE  MISER'S  SON. 

strew  it  with,  and  if  I  am  mournful  his  spirit  seems  to  comfort 
me.  When  I  am  dead,  there  will  be  none  to  mourn  for  me,  per- 
haps." 

"  Dear  child,"  said  Ellen,  her  eyes  suffused  with  tears,  as  the 
boy  contemplated  the  earth,  as  if  to  measure  out  a  quiet  resting- 
place,  "  many  will  love  you  before  you  die." 

"  No,"  answered  George,  "  I  do  not  think  I  am  to  possess 
much  good  on  earth,  but  1  am  content." 

He  then  proceeded  to  detail  the  events  connected  with  the  cap- 
ture of  Danvers,  with  which  the  reader  is  already  acquainted, 
bringing  them  down  to  the  period  when  he  arrived  at  the  cottage, 
and  adding, 

"  Mrs.  Haines  told  me,  when  she  let  me  in,  not  to  say  any- 
thing about  the  affair  to  you,  till  she  came  back  herself;  but  as 
you  heard  that  your  father  is  in  peril,  I  thought  there  could  be 
no  harm  in  saying  what  I  knew.  And  if  I  can  be  of  any  use  to 
you,  dear  Miss  Danvers,  I  would  risk  my  life  for  your  sake. 
Though  I  have  not  known  you  many  hours,  it  seems  as  if  a  bro- 
ther's love  were  springing  up  in  my  heart  for  you.  I  could  not 
have  told  any  one  else  on  earth  what  I  have  told  you,  for  I  do 
not  like  to  display  my  feelings  to  those  who  are  indifferent." 

The  boy  ended  and  Ellen  lapsed  into  reverie. 

"  I  can  do  nothing  before  Elizabeth  returns,  or  I  know  some 
further  particulars,"  she  murmured  ;  "  my  little  friend,  do  you 
think  you  could  ascertain  the  fate  of  my  father,  and  let  me  know 
all  that  you  can  gather  by  nightfall  ?" 

"  That  I  will,"  said  George,  with  alacrity.  "  The  pony  is  re- 
freshed, and  so  am  I,  and  we  will  set  off  without  delay." 

The  matter  being  thus  settled,  and  Ellen  having  forced  some 
provisions  on  her  young  messenger,  he  mounted  his  steed,  and 
having  received  a  kiss  on  his  fair  forehead  from  the  velvet  lips 
of  Miss  Danvers,  immediately  departed.  Ellen  watched  him 
until  he  was  lost  in  the  distance,  and  then  returned  to  the  house 
in  order  to  minister  to  the  wants  of  Walsingham,  who  was  still 
too  weak  by  far  to  help  himself,  though  he  was  rapidly  regain- 
ing strength. 


THE  MISER'S  SON.  165 


CHAPTER  V. 


What,  Love  and  Danger  !  By'r  bright  lady,  they 
Are  themes  of  highest  interest,  without 
Whose  wild  enchantment  what  would  be  romance  ? 

Old  Play. 


YOUNG    LOVE — ELLEN— AN    ADVENTURE   OF    A    RATHER 
STARTLING    DESCRIPTION. 

I  AM  very  fond  of  day,  and  still  more  so  of  night,  and  if  ever 
there  is  anything  approaching  to  poetry  in  my  soul — if  ever  1  rise 
above  my  materiality  and  rejoice  in  the  glory  of  the  nature  which 
it  has  pleased  Heaven  to  bestow  on  its  terrestial  creatures,  it  is 
when  my  fancy  conjures  aerial  beings  full  of  light  and  life  and 
joy,  disporting  in  the  dewy  air,  and  weaves  wild  thoughts  together, 
while  the  bright  islands  in  the  sky  perform  their  mystic  evolu- 
tions, and  I  am  sad  and  happy  both  at  once, — sad  because  I 
know  that  all  this  solemn  and  majestic  pageantry,  this  grand  and 
beautiful  vision  we  call  the  Universe,  shall  be  as  nothing  to  me ; 
and  happy,  since  I  am  assured  there  are  worlds  more  pure  and 
capacities  more  vast,  and  feelings  more  exquisite  and  sublime 
than  man  has  ever  experienced.  I  marvel  what  we  shall  think  of 
this  life  and  this  earth,  when  we  have  shaken  hands  with  then), 
and  commence  our  real  rational  and  immortal  being  ?  How  we 
shall  smile  at  the  sordid  passions  and  the  abject  desires,  the  mean 
pursuits,  follies  and  ignorances,  some  of  which  men  deify  and 
deem  most  dazzling  and  august,  which  constitute  the  objects  of 
great  (?)  men's  aspirations,  energies,  ambition!  What  will  it 
matter  whether  we  have  been  kings  or  cobblers,  beggars  or  states- 


166  THE  MISER'S  SON. 

men,  famous  or  obscure,  yielding,  haughty,  dunces,  geniuses, 
Hottentots,  or  London  exclusives  ?— Well,  it  was  night,  and  there 
were  two  individuals,  engaged  in  the  contemplation  of  its  glories. 
Their  hearts  were  filled  with  pure  and  pleasant  thoughts,  and  if 
they  were  pensive,  they  were  not  depressed.  Those  two  persons, 
among  earth's  myriads,  were  Ellen  and  Walsingham.  They  were 
not  together,  but  they  had  only  just  separated,  the  maiden  hav- 
ing given  the  invalid  his  evening  draught  and  having  retired  to 
rest.  Let  us  look  into  their  breasts,  and  see  what  is  passing 
there.  It  may  be  observed,  en  passant,  that  the  privilege  of 
being  able  to  read  the  most  secret  thoughts  and  feelings  of  those 
in  whom  we  take  an  interest  is  one  of  the  principal  pleasures  of 
Novel-reading.  There  is  that  dear,  honest  heart  of  the  single- 
minded,  valiant  Charles,  beating  rather  faster  than  usual,  just 
because  it  has  got  a  figment  that  Ellen  is  clasped  to  it.  There 
she  is,  in  the  young  soldier's  imagination,  so  beautiful  that  she 
eclipses  light,  blushing  and  smiling  and  whispering  his  name,  and 
he  "  my  own  dear  wife  !"  he  exclaims,  "  my  gentle,  my  true,  my 
lovely  one !  For  thee,  my  Ellen,  how  joyfully  could  I  resign  the 
beloved  radiance  of  Heaven,  and  the  fragrant  air,  and  the  music 
of  great  Nature's  lips  to  press  thine  thus,  and  to  feel  thy  chaste 
kiss  trembling  and  thrilling,  and  making  thought  and  being 
cognizant  of  that  alone — bliss  so  intense,  transport  so  excessive 
— Elysium  here!" 

We  weep,  we  love,  we  laugh,  and  mourn,  joy  and  grief,  hope 
and  tears,  and  the  little  vision  is  dispersed,  and  there  is  silence 
— nothing  more  that  we  can  know  of!  Poor  enthusiastic  Wal- 
singham !  He  recked  not  of  the  "  to  come" — the  departure  of  the 
golden  splendors  of  youth  and  passion,  dispersed  like  vapours  as 
they  are,  and  the  chilling  breath  and  the  smileless  void — but 
some  of  my  readers  would  rail  at  me  were  I  to  anticipate  all. 
Without  uncertain  specks  and  shapes  in  the  dim  horizon,  where 
were  the  interest — the  melodramatic  and  vulgar  interest — of 
romance, — ay,  and  of  life  also  ?" 

"  I  know  not  how  it  is  !"  thought  the  soldier,  some  few  minutes 
after  the  delightful  scene  his  vivid  fancy  had  been  performing  in 
with  his  chosen.  "  I  know  not  how  it  is,  that  I  cannot  for  an 
instant  dismiss  the  thought  of  this  young  girl  from  my  brain.  I 
have  seen  others  more  brilliant,  polished  and  intellectual  ;  she  is 


THE  MISER'S  SON.  167 

the  child  of  nature  without  guile  or  art — a  wild  rose,  and  owing 
all  her  charms  to  native  freshness ;  but  I  love  her  ; — the  more  I 
see  of  her  the  more  my  spirit  clings  to  the  genuine  sweetness, 
tenderness  and  simplicity  of  her  beautiful  disposition.  I  have  not 
been  in  her  society,  altogether,  above  .half  a  dozen  hours — I  must 
not  be  too  precipitate — another  week,  of  another  day  before  I 
determine,  before  I  ought  to  determine — but  love  annihilates 
time— Pish  !  I  have  not  the  stability  of  a  child.  I  must  have  her, 
existence  would  be  an  utter  blank  if  not  passed  with  her.  Dear, 
dear  Ellen  !" 

It  has  been  observed  that  imagination  is  a  most  powerful  auxil- 
iary of  the  urchin  archer  we  make  so  much  of,  in  fact  a  duplicate 
of  himself,  and  while  the  chief  is  employed  in  gratefully  returning 
the  kindness  of  those  who  kiss  and  hug  him  by  sending  an  arrow 
to  their  hearts,  the  other  is  performing  his  operations  by  penetrat- 
ing with  a  subtile  fluid  to  the  very  centre  of  being.  It  may  safely 
be  asserted  that  there  never  was  love  without  fancy.  We  must  in 
solitude  strain  the  ideal  image  to  our  bosoms,  intensify  the  charms 
we  admire,  celestialize  the  virtues  we  know  but  little  of,  and  do 
a  thousand  other  wise  or  foolish  things,  quite  impossible  to  be 
named,  before  we  have  imagined  ourselves  into  being  unalterably 
"  fixed." 

Charles  Walsingham  had  a  good  deal  of  the  faculty  which 
Schelling  and  Coleridge  tried  to  write  a  theory  about,  and 
could  not,  although  he  did  not  possess  a  highly  imaginative  mind. 
Fancy  and  feeling,  closely  allied  and  coalesced, were  his  paramount 
characteristics,  but  in  that  alliance  and  coalition  his  sound  judg- 
ment had  to  contend  with  powerful  enemies,  on  the  principle  that 
union  is  strength  ;  for  if  he  had  had  to  fight  with  one  only  he  would 
perhaps  have  conquered.  Feeling,  he  was  accustomed  to  habit- 
ually subdue  in  the  presence  of  others,  but  it  consequently  exer- 
cised a  redoubled  force  when  he  was  alone.  Then  came  the  auxil- 
iary with  irresistible  hues  of  loveliness,  and  in  such  a  struggle  his 
clear-headedness  had  a  most  tremendous  hard  tussle  with  his 
predominating  nature.  That  he  did  make  a  fuiut  attempt  to  give 
free  play  to  reason  has  been  seen  ;  but  he  may  be  thought,  by  the 
calculating  and  prudent,  a  very  silly  fellow,  to  plunge  head  and 
ears  into  the  ocean  of  passion,  without  knowing  or  stopping  to 
examine  any  of  the  rocks  and  quicksands  which  environ  that 
changing  sea. 


168  THE  MISER'S  SON. 

Now  Ellen  Danvers,  being  but  sixteen,  did  not  think  at  all. 
She  let  her  feeling  and  her  fancy  perform  whatsoever  gyrations 
they  pleased,  and  not  knowing  anything  about  the  philosophy  of 
the  case,  she  blindly  permitted  herself  to  be  guided  by  the  hour 
and  the  circumstance.  A  woman  is  privileged  to  act  unadvisedly  ; 
and  a  young  girl  may  do  almost  as  she  likes.  A  young  girl,  Sir, 
makes  even  thought  itself  a  phase  of  feeling ;  her  head  and  heart, 
if  not  quite  identical,  do  not  admit  of  a  line  of  demarcation  be- 
twixt them.  Let  us  see  now  what  the  innocent  creature  is  dream- 
ing about. 

"  I  feel  things  that  never  entered  into  my  breast  before.  How 
very  handsome,  and  kind  and  candid  Captain  Walsingham  is!  I 
wish  that  I  might  be  equally  ingenuous  with  him,  and  tell  him  as 
much  of  my  history  as  he  has  told  me  of  his !  Ah,  me  !  His  is  a 
proud  destiny.  Famous  in  arms,  of  a  noble  family,  with  all  his 
mental  and  personal  advantages!  I  think  my  father  would  like 
him !" 

Now  can  any  one,  casuist,  or  poet,  learned,  or  simple,  tell  me 
why  Ellen  Danvers  enunciated  the  sentence  above  recorded  ? 
There  she  stood  in  her  neat,  pretty  apartment,  slowly  and 
abstractedly  proceeding  to  divest  herself  of  her  simple  apparel, 
and  revealing  beauties  to  the  enamoured  gaze  of  the  stars,  and 
the  beams  of 

"  The  yellow-orbed  maiden, 
With  white  fire  laden, 
Whom  mortals  call  the  Moon  j" 

which  might  well  have  excited  the  jealousy  of  Mrs.  Diana. 
There  was  indeed  a  chastity,  a  purity,  and  an  innocence  about 
the  young  girl,  which  encompassed  her  as  with  a  supernal  halo. 
There  might  exist  shapes  of  far  more  ethereal  symmetry — fairy- 
like  though  she  was — there  might  exist  shapes  of  far  more  gran- 
deur arid  command — bosoms  more  admirably  developed,  and  even 
complexions  of  more  snowy  whiteness  (for  in  the  last  two  par- 
ticulars women  improve  after  the  age  of  Ellen) ;  but  anything 
more  suggestive  of  the  lovely  Eve  whom  Milton  describes,  on 
the  point  of  waking  to  consciousness,  with  all  his  intense  beauty 
of  conception,  it  is  impossible  to  imagine.  There  could  hardly 


THE  MISER'S  SON.  169 

have  existed  a  sensualist  so  depraved  as  to  harbour  a  base  thought 
against  that  gentle,  child-like  being,  womanly  as  was  her  appear- 
ance. The  maturity  of  female  loveliness  is  more  voluptuous,  if 
not  less  pure  than  that  of  a  young  maiden.  We  feel  more  towards 
the  one  as  we  do  towards  an  infant,  because  we  suppose  her  as 
ignorant.  It  is  very  ridiculous  that  we  should  associate  aught 
impure  with  the  works  of  that  Great  Being,  whose  architecture 
sculpture  and  painting;,  as  developed  in  the  heavens  and  the  earth 
and  the  sea,  ate  all  surpassed  by  the  glory  of  the  human  form. 
But  our  own  grovelling  passions  deform  the  works  of  the  Creator, 
and  we  dare  to  think  that  gross  and  sensual  which  proceeds 
directly  from  His  divine  hand,  and  could  never  have  been  imagined 
so,  but  for  that  vile  stuff,  which  a  most  false  and  vain  absurdity 
of  feeling  has  generated,  and  a  pseudo  morality  maintained. 
Ignorance  !  It  is  argued  that  God  formed  man  ignorant.  He  did 
and  he  still  does  so  ;  but  where  is  the  superiority  of  man  over  the 
brutes  without  knowledge,  which  is  the  only  true  morality?  There 
can  be  no  virtue  in  ignorance  ;  wisdom  and  morality  are  the 
images  of  the  divine.  Nevertheless  I  am  not  going,  as  Lord  Byron 
and  Thomas  Moore  would  perhaps  have  done,  to  paint  the  modest 
charms  concealed  from  the  view  of  any  save  the  holy  planets  and 
the  pure  Spirits  that  hover  in  the  air,  as  they  were  covered  with 
the  snowy  night-gown  which  scarcely  rivalled  the  whiteness  of 
the  smooth  skin.  That  wild  and  exquisite  minstrel  who  sang  St. 
Agnes'  Eve,  from  the  delicacy  of  his  intense  fancy  could  alone 
adequately  portray  the  grace  and  holiness  of  such  beauty  under 
such  circumstances.  If  you  have  not  read  that  delicious  vision  of 
one  of  the  brightest  spirits  that  ever  adored  the  true,  the  unsullied, 
and  ideal,  you  have  a  rich  treat  to  come.  I  must  indulge  in  a 
little  quotation  from  it,  because  it  will  help  out  myself,  and  assist 
the  unimaginative  among  my  readers — those  who  caajeel  better 
than  they  can  fancy 

"  She  seemed  a  splendid  angel  newly  drest, 
Save  wings  for  heaven," 

as,  before  she  entered  her  bed  she  addressed  with  clasped  hands 
and  uplifted  eyes  the  Almighty — 

4<  She  knelt,  so  pure  a  thing,  so  free  from  taint  j" 

2 


170  THE  MISER'S  SON. 

when  a  noise  at  her  window  broke  the  spell  of  vision,  and  as  she 
was  in  expectation  of  the  return  of  George  and  of  Elizabeth,  who 
much  to  her  disappointment  and  anxiety  had  sent  no  intelligence 
to  her,  although  it  was  midnight,  when  overcome  with  fatigue 
she  lay  down  to  sleep,  she  immediately  arose. 

When  we  have  made  up  our  minds  not  to  slumber  very  soundly 
a  slight  noise  will  often  disturb  us,  and  although  the  noise  which 
had  aroused  Ellen  was  by  no  means  loud  it  was  sufficient  to  put 
her  on  the  alert.  Pity  that  she  thus  lost  as  pleasant  a  dream  of 
the  sick  soldier  as  Morpheus  ever  vouchsafed  to  maiden  or  to 
lover,  and  especially  as  the  interruption,  she  speedily  discovered, 
did  not  make  amends  for  the  loss  of  sleep,  or  indemnify  her  for 
the  imaginary  delights  of  being  with  Charles. 

Hastening  to  her  casement  she  was  about  to  throw  it  up,  when 
a  gruff  voice,  totally  unknown  to  her,  speaking  in  an  undertone, 
excited  no  small  alarm  in  her  breast.  A  projection  in  the  wall  of 
the  house  prevented  Ellen  from  descrying  who  it  was  that  stood 
below,  but  her  quick  ear  sharpened  by  apprehension  instantly  de- 
tected the  sounds  which  were  uttered  by  the  unseasonable  visitor. 
Nor  were  the  accents  uttered  calculated  to  allay  her  terrors,  for 
she  rapidly  gathered  the  intention  of  the  nocturnal  intruder  as  he 
spoke  thus — 

"  I  shall  not  need  the  crow-bar,  Bess  ;  the  door  is  only  locked  I 
think;  keep  a  sharp  look-out,  girl,  lest — Ah,  hist!  No,  I  mistook. 
I  thought  I  heard  something  then.  It  was  onlv  the  whistling  of 
the  wind  among  the  trees — I  am  not  used  to  this  sort  of  work, 
and  so  I'm  rather  sneaky.  Curse  these  skeleton  keys !  I  must 
either  use  the  crow  or  try  a  window."  And  having  said  thus 
much  the  man  was  silent. 

What  was  poor  Ellen  to  do  ?  She  could  not  doubt  but  that 
burglary  was  meditated,  and  she  had  no  means  of  raising  an 
alarm,  nor,  if  she  had,  was  there  any  one  near  to  aid  her.  No 
person  was  in  the  house  saveWalsiugham,  sick  and  ill,  and  unable 
to  leave  his  bed  ;  but  she  thought  at  all  events  it  was  better  to 
seek  him  and  as>k  his  advice.  But  then,  with  the  rapid  apprehen- 
siveness  of  growing  love,  she  reflected  that  by  exciting  the  invalid, 
he  might  be  seriously  deteriorated,  and  she  would  rather  have 
sacrificed  her  life  than  that  the  poor  fellow  who  had  been  a  good 
deal  better  for  the  last  few  hours,  should  be  thrown  back. 


THE  MISER'S  SON.  171 

Deliberating  thus  with  herself,  the  minutes  flew  by,  and  she  now 
imagined  that  an  entrance  had  been  effected  by  the  robbers,  and 
that  she  heard  a  footstep  on  the  stairs.  Actuated  by  terror,  and 
losing  all  self-command,  she  uttered  a  faint  scream  and  attempted 
to  fly  ;  but  she  was  as  if  in  a  dream,  and  she  could  not  move  a 
step.  Still  she  retained  sufficient  possession  of  mind  to  run  over 
the  accumulating  difficulties  of  her  position,  and  she  finally  came 
to  the  conclusion  that  as  Walsingham  in  all  probability  must  be 
disturbed  during  the  operations  of  the  housebreakers,  her  wisest 
mode  of  action  was  to  give  the  alarm  herself  with  caution.  Poor 
girl!  she  measured  the  strength  of  the  soldier's  nerves  by  her 
own,  and  did  not  calculate  that,  though  weakened  by  loss  of 
blood,  the  lion  heart  of  him  she  loved  could  not  quail  beneath 
the  presence  of  an  earthly  foe.  At  length,  by  a  kind  of  frantic 
effort,  Ellen  recovered  her  capacity  of  motion,  and  opening  her 
chamber  door,  with  flying  and  noiseless  feet  hurried  towards  the 
room  occupied  by  the  invalid.  She  was  necessitated  to  traverse  a 
considerable  space  before  she  could  reach  Walsingham,  as  their 
chambers  were  the  most  distant  in  the  house.  She  did  not  choose 
to  occupy  a  room  nearer  to  him,  from  motives  she  did  not  stop  to 
analyse,  but  she  now  regretted  that  she  had  not,  for  she  heard  a 
stealth}  step  approaching,  and  knew,  from  the  direction  of  the 
sound,  that  a  robber  interposed  between  her  and  Walsingham. 


17:2  THE  MISER'S  SON. 


CHAPTER  VI. 


« This  whole 

Of  suns,  and  worlds,  and  men,  and  beasts  and  flowers, 

With  all  the  silent  or  tempestuous  workings 

By  which  they  have  been,  are,  or  cease  to  be, 

Is  but  a  vision  ;  all  that  it  inherits 

Are  motes  of  a  sick  eye;  bubbles  and  dreams  ; 

Thought  is  its  cradle  and  its  grave,  nor  less 

The  future  and  the  past  are  idle  shadows 

Of  thought's  eternal  flight." 


THE   EPICUREAN    AND    OTHERS. 

WE  left  Walsingbam  the  Epicurean  pursuing  the  way  he  had 
determined  on  taking,  despite  the  perils  which  beset  it,  and  as 
he  was  a  Necessitarian,  and  had  made  up  his  mind  as  to  what  he 
should  do,  his  fatalism  led  him  on  regardless  of  consequences. 
The  distinction  betwixt  the  doctrines  of  necessity,  and  the  less 
intellectual  one  of  destiny,  is  so  subtile,  that  it  requires  a  far  abler 
philosopher  than  I  can  pretend  to  be,  I  confess,  to  draw  a  line 
of  demarcation  between  them.  The  one  indeed  arrogates  to  itself 
the  freedom  of  choice — abstractedly  considered,  and  pretends  to 
forethought,  though  it  most  positively  contravenes  the  first,  and 
nullifies  the  last,  when  reduced  to  first  principles  ;  while  the  other, 
carried  out  to  the  extreme  of  Hindooism,  blindly  follows  the  demon 
God  ;  but  as  a  celebrated  writer,  who  adopted  the  Necessitarian 
doctrines,  observes,  "  the  farther  we  see,  the  more  acutely  we  feel, 
and  the  more  deeply  we  understand,  the  less  reason  have  we  to 
be  attached  to  life — the  more  patient  are  we  of  hard  necessity 
and  inevitable  fate,  because  we  have  the  less  variety  to  gild  our 


THE  MISER'S  SON.  173 

chain."  And  the  noble  author  subsequently  adds,  "  Well  then, 
caution  avaiint!  Let  me  plunge  headlong  into  the  stream  of  life, 
reckless  of  the  consequences  ;  since  they  must  follow,  follow  what 
will."  Now  these  were  the  principles  of  William  Walsingham  ; 
they  actuated  the  whole  current  of  thoughts  and  actions  with  him, 
and  will  serve  to  illustrate  the  peculiarity  of  his  character. 

The  Epicurean  was  now  travelling  along  a  wide  undulating 
high-road,  for  the  most  part  covered  with  clumps  of  birch,  larch 
and  smaller  trees.  He  then  struck  into  a  more  secluded  path, 
the  underwood  of  which  occasionally  obstructed  his  progress, 
winding  along  in  the  shape  of  a  serpent.  Here  a  gorgeous  pheasant 
sprang  timidly  away,  and  here  he  disturbed  a  hare,  or  a  rabbit, 
of  which  there  were  great  numbers  in  that  part  of  the  country  ; 
and  now  and  then  a  lordly  deer,  bending  his  splendid  antlers, 
darted  away  among  the  luxuriant  foliage  at  the  imminent  risk  of 
striking  his  ornamental  head-gear  against  the  dense  branches  of 
the  low  trees.  The  ilex  and  the  chesnut  at  distant  intervals  spread 
their  broad  shade  over  the  velvet  turf,  and  tempted  the  indolent 
youth  to  repose  under  them  ;  but  for  once  he  restrained  his 
inclinations  (the  stronger  motive  predominating},  and  continued 
to  step  forwards  with  tolerable  briskness. 

"  I  like  this  walk,"  thought  the  Epicurean  to  himself,  "and 
to-day  it  is  more  pleasant  and  beautiful  than  usual.  How  delicious 
that  stream  looks  through  the  opening  there  among  the  thickly 
thronging  clusters  of  the  young  plantations,  the  air  so  serene,  and 
the  sky  so  gloriously  blue  and  overhanging  yonder  little  island, 
with  its  wild-flowers  and  verdure,  make  it  appear  a  fairy  place, 
suspended  in  an  Elysian  atmosphere.  The  mossy  slope  there 
above  the  quiet  dell,  and  embosomed  among  the  green  banks 
which  are  so  picturesquely  situated,  invites  the  weary  traveller  to 
repose.  But  no  ;  I  will  not  yield  to  the  temptation  ;  I  am  on 
Harriet's  business.  How  exquisite  would  be  the  enjoyment  could 
I  share  this  lovely  solitude  with  one  possessed  of  a  heart  and 
mind — some  fair  and  tender  being  whose  whole  existence  were 
wrapt  up  in  mine,  lying  together,  "  sub  tegmine  patulce  fagi," 
and  descanting  on  the  scene  around.  I  feel  that  I  am  under  a 
necessity  of  loving;  nothing  but  passion  can  fill  the  void  here; — 
the  vulgar  and  sensual  intercourse  in  which  I  have  hitherto  in- 
dulged is  insufficient  and  unworthy  ;  for  I  have,  I  think,  capaci- 


174  THE  MISER'S  SON. 

ties  of  enjoyment  more  refined  and  intense  than  brute  pleasure 
can  supply." 

The  youth  was  now  involved  in  a  dense  labyrinth  of  brushwood, 
through  the  centre  of  which  a  glassy  rivulet  slowly  trickled,  and 
among  the  plentiful  bushes  it  contained,  blackberries  and  other 
wild  fruits  grew  luxuriantly.  He  paused  to  gather  some  berries. 
A  magnificent  pine,  whose  head  appeared  to  pierce  into  the 
blue  heaven,  grew  in  the  midst  of  the  thicket,  which  was  strewn 
with  its  fallen  leaves  arid  branches.  "  That  tree  is  still  the  king 
of  this  domain,"  thought  the  Epicurean.  "  I  remember,  when  I 
was  a  young  child,  I  used  to  love  to  come  hither,  and  speculate, 
after  my  own  fashion,  on  the  mystery  of  things.  How  happy  I 
was  then  ;  they  called  me  a  melancholy  child  ;  and  I  was  devoted 
to  solitary  thoughts  ;  but  they  were  delightful  from  their  vague 
pensiveness.  I  was  ignorant  then  of  those  dark  enigmas,  good 
and  evil."  The  Atheist  smiled.  Did  you  ever  see  a  wild,  fantastic 
light  in  the  sky,  when  all  was  gloom  and  darkness  ?  such  was  his 
smile  then — most  transient,  undefinable,  and  adding  dreariness  to 
the  night  which  was  settled  upon  his  brow. 

"  Ay,  then,"  he  added,  "  I  saw  the  green  leaves  fall,  I  watched 
the  brown  foliage  of  rich  autumn  decline  into  the  nothingness  of 
winter.  I  saw  all  was  rottenness  and  corruption,  yet  I  believed 
that  I  myself  was  an  exception  to  the  general  order  of  nature.  I 
imagined  that  I  was  destined  for  some  incorruptible  inheritance 
among  the  everlasting  stars,  and  fancied  that  I  should  traverse 
the  ethereal  space,  hearing  soft  sounds  and  making  melody.  By 
Heaven  !  I  think  that  ignorance,  after  all,  is  the  very  best  privi- 
lege that  man  may  enjoy.  But  the  mischief  is,  it  is  impossible  to 
restrain  the  inborn  impulses  of  mind,  and  so,  with  infinitely 
loftier  susceptibility  to  happiness  than  the  brutes,  we  are  im- 
measurably less  content  than  they  are,  because  we  are  more 
liable  and  sensitive  to  pain  from  forecast  and  reflection." 

Thus  musing,  the  philosopher  cast  his  eyes  in  the  direction  of 
the  pine  tree,  and  they  were  instantly  arrested  by  what  they  saw. 
A  wild,  unshapely  creature,  whom  it  would  have  puzzled  a  Na- 
turalist whether  to  classify  as  belonging  to  the  genus  homo  or  not, 
was  kneeling  beside  an  ape  which  was  bleeding  profusely,  and 
endeavouring  to  Lind  up  some  wounds,  the  bandages  of  which 
had  been  torn  away  by  accident,  having  brought  some  water  in 


THE  MISER'S  SON.  175 

his  huge  hands,  which  were  so  monstrous  as  more  to  resemble 
paws,  and  having  previously  vainly  tried  to  tempt  it  with  fruit. 
With  all  his  errors,  sins,  and  vile  philosophy,  the  Materialist  was 
humane  to  and  universally  beloved  by  the  brute  creation.  He 
was  also  a  little  bit  of  a  doctor,  and  not  unskilled  in  the  use  of 
herbs.  Advancing  therefore  to  the  apt,  while  he  surveyed  the 
other  nameless  thing  with  much  curiosity,  he  discovered  that  the 
animal  was  almost  exhausted  from  the  loss  of  blood,  and  that  its 
face  was  terribly  mutilated.  The  nondescript  gazed  with  mistrust 
and  scowling  suspicion  on  him,  but  when  he  proceeded  to  tear 
his  handkerchief  in  half,  and  gathering  some  herbs,  to  apply  a 
remedy,  which  proved  efficient  to  the  hoemorihage  from  which 
the  ape  was  suffering,  his  gratitude  knew  no  bounds.  He  would 
have  actually  licked  the  hand  of  William  Walsingham,  if  he  had 
been  permitted  to  do  so  ;  but  raising  him  from  the  ground  on 
which  he  was  kneeling  to  him,  the  Epicurean  put  some  questions 
to  the  "  very  strange  beast,"  for  the  purpose  of  discovering 
whether  he  were  understood. 

The  nondescript  looked  up  to  him  with  eyes  half  bestial,  half 
human,  and  though  he  could  not,  it  was  manifest,  exactly  com- 
prehend the  meaning  of  what  Walsingham  said,  it  was  also  evi- 
dent that  he  had  some  glimmering  of  reason,  for  he  made  various 
gestures  not  devoid  of  intelligence,  which  informed  him  that  he 
was  unable  to  speak.  As  the  Materialist  was  at  last  about  to 
quit  this  singular  scene,  finding  that  noon  was  fast  declining,  a 
female  of  forbidding  aspect,  whom  he  remembered  to  have  seen 
before  on  several  occasions,  and  whose  name  he  knew  was  Stokes, 
appeared.  The  nondescript  on  beholding  the  woman  instantly 
bounded  up  to  her  and  performed  violent  gesticulations  apparently 
quite  intelligible  to  her,  and  which  were  in  fact  demonstrative  of 
the  gratitude  he  felt  toward  the  youth  for  his  timely  aid  to  the 
ape. 

"  Well,  Mistress  Stokes,"  said  the  philosopher,  "  can  you  tell 
me  what  this  wild  being  here  is?  I  think  1  have  heard  of  his 
existence,  but  was  not  prepared  to  behold  so  strange  a  thing." 

"  I  am  much  obliged  to  you  for  attending  to  my  ape,"  returned 
Mother  Stokes,  with  infinitely  more  graciousncss  in  her  manner 
than  was  usual  with  her,  though  it  approached  to  familiarity ; 


176  THE  MISER'S  SON. 

"  for  this  boy,  he  is  my  grandson,  and  lie  has  lived  with  me  ever 
since  he  was  born  in  my  cottage." 

"  Can  he  speak  in  any  manner,  then  ?" 

"  No,"  was  the  answer,  "  but  I  can  understand  what  he 
means,  and  that  is  quite  enough.  I  don't  want  to  be  annoyed 
with  the  gibbering  of  human  fools,  who  are  no  better  than  brutes 
— if  as  good." 

"  Ha,  ha,  ha,"  laughed  the  young  man,  "  so  you  are  a  misan- 
thrope, Mistress!  I  should  like  to  hear  some  particulars  about 
that  boy,  or  whatever  he  is,  if  you  can  spare  time  to  walk  this 
way  with  me." 

Mrs.  Stokes  seemed  irresolute.  "  Not  now,  not  now,"  she 
replied.  "  Sally  will  tell  you  how  to  find  my  dwelling,  and  I 
shall  be  glad  to  see  you — at  least  my  daughter  will  bring  you 
whenever  you  wish." 

"  Ah,  Sally  is  your  daughter,  though  she  does  not  like  to  own 
the  fact,"  observed  the  Epicurean. 

"  There  are  many  things  Sally  wouldn't  like  to  own,"  returned 
Mother  Stokes,  with  a  meaning  leer  at  the  young  man. 

The  blood  coloured  Walsingham's  sallow  cheek  for  a  moment, 
but  returning  no  answer  to  the  hag  he  passed  on,  while  she 
muttered,  as  his  proud  and  noble  form  vanished, 

*'  He  has  a  handsome  face,  and  I  don't  wonder  at  the  girl's 
taste.  I  can't  be  surprised  that  she  will  have  nothing  to  say  now 
to  her  crippled  cousin.  I  must  know  more  of  that  boy — he's  a 
deep  one." 

And  what  thought  William  Walsingham  ? 

"  How  the  devil,"  he  soliloquized,  "  did  that  old  hag  of  hell 
discover  my  secret?  Sally  must  have  told — and  if  so,  I  will 
break  off  all  connection  with  her.  The  wench  is  pretty  enough, 
but  1  will  not  degrade  myself  to  be  laughed  at  and  pointed  out 
as  the  admirer  of  a  servant.  Yet  what  an  ass  am  I  !  Sally  Stokes 
with  her  ruddy  cheeks,  and  coarse,  though  not  deficient  under- 
standing, may  be— is  just  as  good  as  the  painted  harlot  who 
moves  in  high  and  brilliant  circle?,  and  sells  herself  to  the  best 
bidder,  or  yields  to  the  most  adroit  seducer.  I  do  abhor  seduction. 
I  should  never  be  expert  indeed  in  the  arts  which  win  a  woman's 
favor.  I  could  never  flatter,  and  cringe  and  bow  to  a  meaningless, 
sordid  creature,  without  heart  or  imagination,  for  the  sake  of 


THE  MISER'S  SON.  177 

what  compensation  she  could  make  me.  I  am  sorry,  very  sorry 
that  I  have  been  thus  implicated  with  this  low  woman.  I  was 
extremely  young,  when  the  affair  first  commenced — that  is  my 
only  excuse ;  for,  without  love,  such  intercourse  is  utterly  brutal. 
Pshaw  J  I  am  always  yielding  my  mind,  to  this  old  world  nonsense. 
I  must  rise  superior  to  prejudice.  Love!  why  have  I  been 
thinking  so  much  about  it  latterly?  The  cause  for  the  effect. 
The  exigencies  of  my  nature  require  a  reciprocation  of  feeling  and 
passion  ;  but  there  must  be  some  more  potent  reason  than  this, 
for  the  consuming  principle  growing  up  in  my  mind  ;  because  my 
passions  for  a  long  time  past  have  beeYi  as  strong  as  they  are  now. 
Do  I — no,  I  cannot  be  what  is  called  in  the  cant  of  dissemblers, 
and  the  jargon  of  idiots,  "  in  love."  I  have  ever  considered  that 
the  confinement  of  feeling  and  sentiment  to  one  object  is  absurd, 
yet  now — Down,  demon,  down  !  It  shall  never  be  said  that 
William  Walsingham,  the  philosopher  of  eighteen — who,  for  four 
years,  has  been  firm  and  consistent  in  his  principles  and  opinions, 
despite  the  controversy,  the  bigotry,  prejudice,  and  reprehen- 
sion with  which  he  has  been  assailed,  is  enslaved  by  that  which 
he  knows  is  opposed  to  the  good  he  worships.  Harriet  Walsing- 
ham— my  father's  sister !  Yet  the  law  will  not  recognise  our 
relationship.  A  bastard  !  How  that  word  sticks  in  my  throat ! 
I  verily  believe  I  should  not  be  an  atheist,  if  I  were  not  what  I 
am  otherwise.  Weak  fool !  thou  boast  thyself  a  philosopher  ! 
The  minion  not  only  of  thyself,  but  the  insane  opinions  of  this 
idle,  crack-brained  world's  idolatry.  Tossed  upon  the  billows  of 
passion,  wrecked  on  the  quicksands  of  doubt  and  darkness — the 
worm  trodden  under  foot  by  those  not  worthy  to  stand  beside 
thee — ha,  ha  !"  and  he  laughed  bitterly. 

The  Epicurean,  quitting  the  wooded  country  through  which  he 
had  been  previously  walking,  struck  into  a  part  of  the  same  road 
where  Mr.  Smith  had  first  encountered  the  seeming  old  man, 
who  had  proved  so  disagreeable  a  personage.  Leaving  this  also, 
after  traversing  a  few  furlongs,  he  took  a  cross-path  extending 
for  about  a  mile,  and  at  the  end  of  which  might  be  seen  an  ex- 
tensive park,  in  which  herds  of  deer  were  grazing.  He  had  hardly 
quitted  the  high  road  ere  he  was  joined  by  a  handsome  young 
man  of  gentlemanly  exterior,  though  with  something  bold  and 
saucy  in  his  well  looking  face,  and  mounted  on  a  horse  of  high 

2  A 


178  THE  MISER'S  SON. 

blood.  He  was  of  tall  stature,  and  if  not  robust,  was  by  no  means 
a  stripling  in  figure.  Accosting  Walsingham  politely,  and  as  he 
took  off  his  hat,  displaying  a  profusion  of  dark  brown  ringlets, 
perfectly  feminine  in  their  length  and  fineness,  the  stranger  said, 
"  I  think,  sir,  I  shall  be  able  to  cross  by  yonder  park,  shall  I  not? 
By  so  doing  I  may  save  myself  a  considerable  circuit  ?" 

The  young  Materialist  was  struck  with  the  face,  the  manner, 
and  the  voice  of  the  unknown,  though  he  did  not  at  once  recal 
where  he  had  seen  and  heard  those  similar  to  them ;  for,  en- 
grossed  in  his  own  absorbing  thoughts,  he  had  totally  forgotten 
his  recent  adventure  with  the  footpad  ;  but  afterwards,  in  spite 
of  the  disguise  which  the  robber  had  worn,  he  recognised  a 
striking  resemblance  between  them,  and  except  that  his  new 
acquaintance  was  about  two  inches  shorter,  could  have  almost 
fancied  that  the  form  was  the  very  same.  Before  however  these 
thoughts  presented  themselves  to  his  mind,  he  replied,  "  That 
park  belongs  to  my  friend  Captain  Norton,  and  it  is  not  open'to 
the  public  ;  but  I  shall  be  happy  to  use  whatever  influence  I  have 
to  procure  a  passage  for  you." 

"  I  am  infinitely  indebted  to  you,"  replied  the  agreeable  stran- 
ger, with  a  fascinating  smile  of  thankfulness,  in  the  performance 
of  which,  he  displayed  a  row  of  white  teeth,  and  a  mouth  of  such 
dimpled  sweetness  as  would  have  been  irresistible  in  a  female.  In- 
deed, but  for  his  great  height  and  martial  figure,  there  was  some- 
thing which  might  have  been  deemed  effeminate  in  the  horseman, 
notwithstanding  the  boldness  and  freedom  of  his  address. 

The  Materialist  was  one  ever  ready  to  penetrate  into  character, 
and  remarking  a  brightness  about  the  eyes  of  the  unknown,  which 
promised  intelligence,  he  said,  for  the  sake  of  drawing  him  out — 

"  How  we  subjugate  the  brutes  to  our  imperious  will!  Is  it  not 
marvellous  that  so  strong  an  animal  as  the  horse,  should  be  so 
entirely  the  servant  of  weak,  impotent  man  ?" 

"  Upon  my  soul,  Sir,"  returned  the  other,  "  it  is  fortunate  that 
the  beasts  have  no  more  sense  than  they  have,  or  man  would  be 
in  but  a  poor  condition.  If  the  ox  took  it  into  his  head  to  turn 
restive,  how  should  we  get  on  with  the  plough  ?  and  as  for  the 
horse,  we  never  could  do  anything  with  him,  if  he  had  any  more 
brajns  than  he  has.  In  what  physical  particular  do  you  think  we 
surpass  brutes  ?" 


THE  MISER'S  SON.  179 

The  youth  held  up  his  hands. 

"  Without  these,"  he  answered,  "  where  were  the  supremacy 
of  man  ?  Could  we  build  houses,  or  fashion  implements,  or  till 
the  earth,  or  commit  thoughts  to  writing,  or  perform  any  one  of 
the  operations  by  which  alone  we  .are  distinguished  from  the 
beasts,  but  through  their  instrumentality?  It  is  only  a  superior 
physical  adaptation,  it  is  only  a  more  fortunate  combination  of 
the  materials  of  the  animal  structure  that  enables  man  to  con- 
summate the  glorious  schemes  of  his  ambition.  Therefore  it  is 
rational  to  conclude  that  the  intellectual  organization  is  only  the 
ultimatum  of  physical  perfection,  and  not  distinct  from  it." 

"  I  don't  pretend  to  be  a  philosopher,"  returned  the  stranger, 
"  and  therefore  shall  not  attempt  to  argue  with  you  upon  the 
difficult  point  you  were  giving  your  opinions  on.  It  seems  to 
me,  however,  that  mind  and  matter  differ  in  essentials,  and  so 
they  cannot  be  identical.  But  I  really  care  not  two  pins  whether 
my  intellectual  principle  be  like  the  earth  on  which  we  now  tread, 
or  of  a  totally  dissimilar  nature.  What  is  it  to  me?  Even  could 
I  obtain  the  knowledge  of  the  components  of  my  mind,  should  I 
be  at  all  the  happier  ?  Deuce  a  bit  on't.  So  I  make  up  my  mind 
to  be  satisfied  with  my  condition  and  the  extent  of  my  capabili- 
ties, moral  and  physical.  I  sleep  and  try  to  have  pleasant  dreams, 
of  love,  wealth,  and  all  that  constitutes  the  substantial  enjoyment 
of  existence; — I  drink  and  strive  to  get  good  society,  and  merry 
wits,  humorists  and  boon  fellows,  and  excellent  wine  to  promote 
the  flow  of  mirth ; — I  make  love  to  all  the  pretty  girls,  and  de- 
ceive as  many  as  are  silly  enough  to  let  me  deceive  them.  And 
so  I  let  life  slip  away,  and  like  it  as  much  as  I  can,  convinced  that 
that  is  the  only  wisdom." 

"A  pleasant,  amusing  fellow  this!"  thought  the  Materialist, 
an  ill-suppressed  sneer  curling  his  lip,  "  he  carries  out  my  senti- 
ments ad  extremum." 

"  You  are  quite  right,"  he  observed  ;  "  but  do  you  find  that 
you  are  ever  ready  for  pleasure  and  never  weary  of  it?" 

"  Oh,  I  feel  satiety  and  disgust  now  and  then,  like  others,  I 
suppose  ;  but  as  we  take  a  dose  of  medicine  and  are  then  all 
right  again,  I  swallow  the  blue  devils  as  best  I  may,  and  then, 
hey  for  a  lass  and  a  glass!  The  capacity  for  enjojment  is  not 


180  THE  MISER'S  SON. 

impaired  by  repetition  ;  only  we  suffer  a  little  bit  now  and  then, 
that  we  may  go  to  it  afresh  with  keener  relish." 

"  You  are  fortunate  in  being  endowed  with  a  nature  so  light 
and  buoyant;  and  I  congratulate  you  on  the  true  philosophy 
which  you  exhibit.  I  am  unhappily  of  a  more  sombre  disposi- 
tion, and  so  I  cannot  cope  with  the  corroding  thoughts  which 
will  oppress  my  brain." 

"  If  you  but  try  to  drown  thought  with  lots  of  good  wine  and 
jokes,  you'll  do  it  easy  enough." 

"  1  have  tried,  I  assure  you,"  answered  the  youth.  "  I  am 
perfectly  of  your  opinion  that  reflection  is  a  very  useless  and  ex- 
cessively troublesome  companion  :  but  you  know  some  things  will 
ever  adhere  to  others,  from  their  properties  having  a  power  of 
attraction  to  each  other.  If  thought  fix  on  my  mind,  and  mind- 
essentially  inactive — cannot  free  itself  from  the  force  of  circum- 
stance under  which  it  labours,  why  it  must  yield  to  the  pressure, 
and  be  obedient  to  the  laws  by  which  it  is  organized,  like  any 
other  principle  in  nature." 

"  Oh,  you  are  going  to  reason  !  What  the  deuce  should  we 
reason  for?  No  occasion  in  the  world  for  that.  I'll  give  you 
advice,  far  better  than  all  the — the — what-d'ye  call  'em  ? — the 
metaphysicians  have  left  in  their  musty,  unreadable  nonsense. 
You  say  you  must  yield  to  circumstances.  Very  well.  Plunge 
headlong  into  pleasure,  and  occupy  yourself  with  that — think  of 
nothing  else  as  much  as  possible,  and  very  soon  you'll  care  for 
nothing  else.  I  will  introduce  you  to  London  life.  I  shall  soon 
be  returning  to  town,  and  know  some  capital  fellows — actors, 
authors,  wits,  gamblers,  gentlemen  of  the  road — the  most  divert- 
ing of  them  all,  when  you  are  intimate  with  them — and  all  kinds 
of  people,  in  fact,  from  the  peer  to  the  prig.  I'll  put  you  up  to 
the  rigs  of  London — get  you  a  pretty  mistress — procure  you  the 

best  wine,  and  drink  it  with  you  ;  I  will,  upon  my reputation  ; 

and  as  you  appear  a  fine  sort  of  lad  in  your  way,  I'm  convinced 
you'll  be  a  first-rate  luminary  among  us — for  you  know  a  clever 
man  may  excel  in  whatever  he  chooses.  I  am  myself  a  smart  sort 
of  good-natured  man.  The  ladies  think  me  handsome — and  the 
men  agreeable.  I  play— the  devil  with  the  one,  and  cards  with 
the  other,  as  also  on  several  instruments,  and  having  a  tolerable 


THE  MISER'S  SON.  181 

voice,  sing  songs  amatory,  bacchanalian,  anacreontic,  sentimental, 
&c.  &c.  I  keep  the  best  company — entertain  myself  with  the 
most  beautiful  women,  am  universally  popular,  have  the  finest 
horses  and  table  of  any  man  I  know,  and  though  I've  no  real  for- 
tune to  lose  or  to  trouble  me,  thus  Mve  like  an  emperor — on  re- 
putation. My  dear  sir!  throw  away  yciur  books  and  thoughts. 
Let  care  fly  about,  and  seize  on  those  foolish  enough  to  humour 
the  grim  fiend.  You  have  as  good  a  face  as  I  have — probably 
more  brains  ;  the  ladies  like  young  men,  and  you  will  have — oh, 
here  we  are  at  the  park.  There's  my  address  in  London — 'Sir 
Hippolitus  Smithson,  at  the  Jolly  Fiddlers.' — I  may  always  be 
heard  of  there,  and  am  otherwise  always  changing  my  quarters, 
as  also  my  brother,  Captain  Valentine,  and  we  shall  be  delighted 
if  you'll  spend  an  evening  with  us." 

The  Epicurean  bowed  his  acknowledgements,  quite  overpowered 
by  the  volubility  of  his  gay  companion,  and  having  procured  for 
him  the  privilege  of  crossing  the  park,  inquired  for  Captain 
Norton. 

Thus  parted  the  man  of  pleasure  and  of  the  world,  and  the 
boy  of  the  peopled  universe  of  thought — soon  to  meet  again. 

In  answer  to  Walsingham's  interrogatories,  he  was  informed 
that  Captain  Norton  had  not  been  home  for  many  hours ;  but  the 
servant  who  gave  this  information,  added— 

"  I  suppose,  Sir,  that  you  have  heard  of  the  late  melancholy 
occurrence  ?  I  dare  say  that  my  master's  at  the  cottage  where 
poor  Master  Percy  lies." 

"  What !  I  hope  he  has  not  met  with  an  accident  ?" 

"  Accident !  O,  you  don't  know  then  that  the  poor  dear  boy  is 
killed." 

"  Gracious  Heavens !  My  old  playmate — the  constant  compa- 
nion of  my  childhood  !  Percy  Norton  killed !  Poor  Percy!  Young, 
brave,  generous,  light-hearted  and  enthusiastic  !  Dead,  dead  !  It 
is  indeed  very  sad,  very  awful" — and  William  could  not  speak 
for  unwonted  emotion. 

Turning  away  at  once  from  the  old  and  respectable  domestic 
who  had  communicated  this  melancholy  intelligence,  in  order  to 
give  vent  to  the  sincere  grief  he  felt  at  losing  one  of  his  dearest 
friends,  the  Epicurean  hastily  retraced  his  steps. 

"  An  early  plant,  indeed,  destroyed,"  half  sobbed  the  Mate- 


182  THE  MISER'S  SON. 

rialist,  tears  forcing  themselves  from  his  eyes  and  coursing  down 
his  cheeks  in  copious  streams.  "  What  power  is  it  that  blasts 
each  promising  flower,  and  leaves  us  but  the  thorns  and  weeds 
of  desolation.  Alas !  nothing  but  necessity  exists  to  carry  on  the 
system  of  the  universe.  O,  that  my  power  were  proportioned  to 
my  will !  how  unboundedly  happy  all  should  be  !  Poor,  weak, 
unintelligent  nature  !  Thou  didst  not,  couldst  not  know  the  agony 
thou  didst  inflict  upon  the  poor,  bereaved  parent's  heart,  when 
thou  didst  strike  this  deadly  and  irrevocable  blow  !  Accursed — 
thrice  accursed  passions  of  the  human  heart,  derived  from  this 
gross  nature  of  things.  Wherever  ye  are  there  is  ruin,  and  tem- 
pest and  destruction.  Why  do  we  exist  ?  Of  what  use  is  this 
goodly  structure  of  the  world,  these  pure  and  eternal  heavens, 
these  green  hills  and  purling  streams,  the  melody  of  happy  birds, 
the  rejoicing  of  the  bright  host  of  stars,  and  the  resplendent  sun, 
and  the  smiles  of  yon  Queen  of  Night  whom  I  now  see  trembling 
into  her  first  soft  evening  life — when  the  intelligent  and  rational 
Lord  of  Earth — who  measures  the  firmament,  and  describes  the 
evolutions  of  those  celestial  bodies,  notwithstanding  his  fine  capa- 
cities of  sense,  and  his  exquisite  organization  for  enjoyment,  is 
less  happy  than  the  veriest  reptile  that  crawls, — in  the  words  of 
the  old  Jewish  writer  '  cut  down  like  a  flower,  he  fleeth  as  it  were 
a  shadow,  and  never  continueth  in  one  way.'  Alas,  alas,  poor, 
poor  Percy !" 

Indulging  in  these  lamentations  and  regrets  over  the  untimely 
fate  of  his  young  friend,  and  hastening  his  pace,  as  if  to  smother 
his  own  feelings  in  the  rapidity  of  motion,  he  speedily  arrived  at 
the  cottage  where  the  body  of  the  hapless  boy  remained,  and  in- 
stantly supposing,  from  the  numbers  collected  about  the  place, 
that  it  was  there  that  the  corpse  lay,  he  merely  stopped  to  make 
a  brief  inquiry,  and  passed  into  the  cottage,  where  he  was  left 
alone  with  the  remains  of  the  young,  the  graceful,  and  admired 
of  all ;  and  gazing  fixedly  on  the  cold,  white  face,  formerly  so 
animated  and  rosy,  he  placed  his  hand  on  the  icy  brow,  sorrow- 
fully and  affectionately. 

It  was  the  first  dead  person  he  had  ever  seen.  A  shudder 
passed  over  the  strong  frame  of  the  Atheist  as  the  chill  of  death 
shot  to  his  heart ;  but  speedily  recovering  himself,  he  continued 
his  earnest  scrutiny.  Thus  he  remained  for  a  considerable  time, 


THE  MISER'S  SON.  183 

wrapt  in  feelings  and  thoughts  too  deep  for  utterance.  Eternity, 
the  charnel,  the  silent,  slow,  but  sure  corruption,  and  finally  the 
reproduction  of  new  existence  from  the  calm  and  shapely  form 
lying  there,  pressed  on  his  brain.  The  tender  moonbeams  threw 
a  silver  radiance  over  the  serene  and  faultless  features  of  the  dead, 
lighting  them  up  with  a  splendor  not  of  •••arth. 

"  And  this  is  death  ?"  soliloquized  the  Materialist.  "  It  is  a 
fearful  thing.  And  yet  how  still,  how  beautiful !  A  little  while, 
and  a  fleshless  skeleton  will  stare  with  ghastly  horror  from  the 
skin  !  And  that  will  fall  away,  and  loathsome  insects  sleep  in  the 
brain  where  subtile  thoughts  and  fine  fancies  were.  Earth's  mil- 
lions all  come  to  this  ! — Poor  Percy  ! — It  was  but  the  other  day 
he  was  so  proud,  because  he  found  he  was  taller  than  I  am. 
Now  that  five  feet  ten  of  clay  but  encumbers  the  ground.  I  wish 
I  might  have  perished  for  him  ! — 1  should  not  have  been  missed. 
He  was  better  than  myself — more  pure,  and  gentle  and  beloved  ; — 
with  a  mind  which  might  have  surpassed  mine,  and  a  heart  which 
makes  mine  seem  vile.  He  was  a  bastard,  too, — and  felt  the  de- 
gradation keenly  ; — one  reason  why  I  pitied  and  liked  him  so ! 
Farewell,  Percy,  I  shall  never  look  on  your  face  again  !  Our  dust 
may  mingle  in  the  vastness  of  matter ;  but  we  cannot  interchange 
bright  thoughts  again ;  we — O,  dreadful  Death — robber  and 
murderer  of  joy  ! — Curse  thee,  curse  thee  !" 

Uttering  this  malediction,  the  Atheist  left  the  place.  Bitter- 
ness and  desolation  were  in  his  heart,  and  from  that  hour  his 
gloomy  tenets  became  more  rooted  in  him  than  ever. 


184  THE  MISER'S  SON. 


CHAPTER  VII. 


O  Liberty,  so  dear !     For  thee 

The  meanest  slave  will  venture  life,  the  brute 

Itself  will  peril  life  and  limb.     Had  God 

So  framed  us  that  the  most  celestial  good 

Were  not  our  choice,  but  forced  upon  our  souls, 

The  spirit  would  rebel  and  evil  seek, 

That  it  might  be  its  own  Omnipotence. 

Ethereal  Being ! — beautiful !  sublime ! 

Lamp  of  the  world !  Stars,  Sun,  and  Heaven  combined ! 

Original  MS. 


WALTER   DANVERS — LITTLE   GEORGE — THE   SENTINEL. 

Too  long  have  we  been  necessitated  to  be  absent  from  Walter 
Danvers,  whose  fortunes  may  be  considered  as  the  nucleus  and 
active  principle  of  the  stirring  events  which  have  been  narrated 
in  our  Chronicle.  It  is  wonderful  to  contemplate  the  manner  in 
which  the  fate  of  individuals  and  of  communities  is  evolved. 
How  events  the  most  remote  and  seemingly  the  most  nugatory 
may  effect  the  most  extraordinary  changes  in  the  aspect  of  the 
affairs  of  families,  of  localities  and  of  nations.  It  may  well 
humiliate  the  proud  heart  of  the  statesman  involved  in  the  intri- 
cate ramifications  of  policy,  and  of  the  subtle  schemer  who  is 
working  his  way,  as  he  supposes,  to  place  and  power,  that  the 
most  trivial  and  inconsiderable  of  obstacles  may  overthrow  the 
long  and  deeply  considered  organization  of  his  systematic  opera- 
tions, and  with  one  fell  swoop  at  last  annihilate  influence,  party, 
honor;  and  it  may  level  the  pride  of  our  philosophy  and  intellect, 


THE  MISER'S  SON.  185 

to  behold  the  impossibility  of  calculating  the  action  of  causes 
and  effects,  beyond  the  passing  moment  which  is  our  own. 

It  seems  as  if  our  knowledge  directed  into  the  future  is  but  as 
a  point,  the  height  and  breadth  of  which  it  were  vain  to  predi- 
cate, because  no  one  single  link  in  the  mighty  chain  in  which  we 
are  all  of  us  connected,  but  is  inscrutable  until  it  is  absolutely  ri- 
veted for  all  eternity. 

Walter  Danvers  was  alone  and  in  prison.  The  long,  soft  twi- 
light of  early  August  was  just  commencing,  and  the  breeze, 
though  faint  and  indistinct,  sighed  mournfully  through  the  trees, 
and  blended  with  the  thrilling  strains  of  a  solitary  nightingale 
which  seemed  borne  on  the  wings  of  a  spirit,  as  it  fell  on  the 
captive's  ear.  He  was  heavily  manacled,  and  the  bars  of  his 
prison  window  were  thick  and  close ;  yet  it  had  been  considered 
expedient  to  place  a  sentinel  outside  his  door;  and  the  dull,  mo- 
notonous, and  measured  tread  of  the  ponderous  soldier  who  had 
been  selected  for  the  duty,  was  the  only  other  sound  distinguish- 
able far  or  near. 

There  was  no  change  in  the  marked  and  striking  lineaments  of 
the  prisoner.  He  had  just  awoken  from  an  uneasy  slumber  into 
which  he  had  fallen  from  pure  exhaustion,  in  spite  of  the  excite- 
ment under  which  he  laboured  ;  and  was  seated  on  a  stool  buried 
in  meditation.  It  was  not  in  the  power  of  fate  to  bind  that  stern 
and  unyielding  spirit  for  any  length  of  time,  and  surrounded  as  he 
was  by  apparently  inextricable  dangers,  his  own  peculiar  peril 
occupied  but  a  very  secondary  place  in  his  mind,  which  was  "all 
armed  in  proof"  against  personal  apprehension. 

Natures  like  those  of  Walter  Danvers  which,  if  not  very  rare, 
are  sufficiently  original  and  powerful  to  be  worth  some  study  and 
illustration,  possess  a  quality  of  endurance  proportionate  to  the 
more  active  and  energetic  principle  of  character  by  which  great 
deeds  and  glorious  achievements  are  evolved.  Though  not  a 
Napoleon  in  the  comprehensiveness  and  brilliancy  of  his  intellect, 
Danvers  was  eminently  endowed  with  a  gift  of  more  sterling 
value  and  utility  in  action  than  velocity  of  thought  and  largeness 
of  conception,  though  certainly  possessing  them.  He  had  much  of 
the  disposition,  as  has  been  already  said,  of  the  Scottish  Claver- 
house,  and  his  resources,  his  strength,  and  determination  in- 
creased rather  than  diminished  when  terrible  reverses  depressed 

2  B 


186  THE  MISER'S  SON. 

the  courage  and  destroyed  the  confidence  of  others.  If  not  so 
buoyant  and  sanguine  as  many,  with  his  colossal  strength  of 
frame  and  uninterrupted  health  he  was  not  so  subject  to  fits  of 
despondency  and  of  gloom  ;  but  firmly  and  consistently  pursuing 
the  course  of  action  he  marked  out  for  himself,  he  forecast  events 
in  his  mind  with  caution,  and  modified  his  plans  when  necessary 
by  circumstances. 

He  was  now  occupied  with  considerations  which  required  all 
his  sagacity  and  prudence ;  for  he  had  strong  grounds  for  fearing 
that  his  detention  might  overthrow  all  the  plans  which  he  thought 
were  maturing  so  favourably  hitherto  for  the  restoration  of  the 
exiled  royal  family  to  their  legitimate  rights ;  and  he  was  vainly 
attempting  to  conceive  some  practicable  method  by  which  to 
communicate  with  those  engaged  in  the  cause  in  which  his  whole 
heart  and  prospects  were  implicated. 

At  the  period  in  question  there  were  many  contending  factions 
and  interests  in  the  State,  and  it  was  hoped  that,  by  availing 
themselves  of  the  discontent  and  disunion  which  subsisted  between 
parties  and  denominations,  the  adherents  of  the  Pretender  might 
be  more  successful  in  their  exertions  than  in  the  ill-starred  insur- 
rection of  1715.  To  overturn  any  long-established  system  of 
polity  it  is  of  course  necessary  that  the  wealth  and  influence  of  a 
kingdom  should  in  some  measure  be  enlisted  on  the  side  of  rebel- 
lion ;  for,  although  there  have  been  instances  of  an  outraged  peo- 
ple rising  against  their  oppressors,  and  succeeding  in  liberating 
themselves  without  money  or  resources,  unless  there  be  some 
power  at  work  which  causes  the  indignation  and  universal  hatred 
of  a  nation,  it  is  vain  to  imagine  that  the  great  mass  will  plunge 
into  disturbance  and  revolution  without  they  can  obtain  some 
definite  advantage  by  doing  so.  It  is  a  mistake  to  suppose  that 
the  general  mind  is  eternally  operated  upon  by  the  love  of  change ; 
on  the  contrary  there  appears  to  be  a  common  dread  of  violent 
dissolution  of  the  entire  elements  by  which  we  are  surrounded, 
lest,  in  the  convulsion  of  the  moral  body,  personal  interests  should 
suffer,  however  fair  the  prospect  of  the  change,  and  connexions 
and  ties  should  be  severed  which  custom  has  made  dear  and 
valuable. 

Danvers  was  in  what  the  Americans  term  "  a  fix."     He  had 
papers  about  him,  which,  although  they  had  hitherto  escaped 


THE  MISER'S  SON.  187 

observation,  could  hardly  fail  of  being  detected ;  and  if  he 
destroyed  them,  which  was  no  easy  matter,  as  his  hands  were  in 
bondage,  he  must  give  up  the  hope  of  proceeding  with  his  pro- 
jected schemes  when  they  were  ripe  for  execution  ;  yet  if  he  chose 
to  run  the  risk,  and  to  preserve  them,  in  the  event  of  their  dis- 
covery many  of  his  own  personal  friends  would  be  ruined,  and 
the  eni?m\  be  in  possession  of  all  the  secrets  of  the  conspiracy. 
If  he  could  but  have  conveyed  the  important  documents  to  one 
in  whom  he  could  trust,  his  mind  would  have  been  at  ease ;  but 
unless  his  predicament  were  known,  and  some  ally  sent  to  him, 
the  case  was  almost  hopeless.  All  this  he  had  been  revolving 
previous  to  dropping  asleep,  and  he  had  been  unable  to  come  to 
any  satisfactory  mode  of  action,  in  spite  of  the  promptness  of  his 
judgment. 

It  was  probable  that  his  person  would  be  more  strictly  searched 
than  heretofore,  prior  to  his  examination  on  the  morrow,  and  the 
only  means  he  possessed  of  making  away  with  the  papers,  was  to 
bite  away  a  portion  of  his  dress  in  which  they  were  concealed,  and 
then  to  swallow  them.  He  had  no  appetite  for  such  a  quantity 
of  paper  as  he  must  thus  demolish,  though  he  doubted  not  but 
that  his  ostrich-like  powers  of  digestion  would  enable  him  to  do 
so  without  much  inconvenience,  and  he  did  not  think  it  safe  even 
if  he  could  tear  the  documents  into  the  smallest  possible  pieces, 
to  suffer  them  to  lie  on  the  ground.  He  had  made  up  his  mind, 
however,  to  the  measure  against  which  his  stomach  was  insur- 
rectionary, and  had  even  bitten  through  his  coat,  and  was  on  the 
point  of  masticating  the  most  important  of  the  papers  about 
him,  when  he  fancied  something  struck  the  pane  of  glass  through 
which  the  light  was  admitted  into  the  prison,  and  remembering 
the  way  in  which  little  George  had  warned  him  of  his  danger  at 
the  Britannia  Inn,  and  also  hoping  that  a  friend  had  learned  the 
exigency  of  his  position,  he  arose  and  walked  as  far  as  his  chains 
would  allow,  but  found  that  he  could  not  reach  the  window. 

Desirous  of  attracting  the  attention  of  the  individual  without, 
in  the  hope  that  he  might  be  a  confederate,  he  commenced  hum- 
ming an  air  which  was  a  favourite  with  the  adherents  of  the 
Stuarts,  which  he  thought  might  at  the  same  time  divert  the 
attention  of  his  guard  from  the  noise  he  now  again  distinguished, 
and  which  he  could  not  doubt  but  was  premeditated.  He  dared 


188  THE  MISER'S  SON. 

not  give  intimation  of  his  presence  by  calling  out,  lest  his  senti- 
nel's vigilance  should  be  aroused  ;  and  his  sole  resource  was  to 
whistle  a  tune  popular  only  among  the  Jacobites,  in  order  to 
attract  the  notice  of  the  person  outside.  This  measure  was  appa- 
rently successful  for  the  desired  object,  for  immediately  a  piece  of 
paper  was  thrown  in  at  the  grated  window,  which  alighted  within 
a  yard  of  him.  Picking  this  up  with  his  teeth,  Danvers  managed 
to  read  a  few  words  scrawled  in  a  childish  hand-writing,  the  pur- 
port of  which  was  simply — 

"  If  your  name  is  W.  D.,  find  some  means  to  let  me  know  it 
is  so.  I  am  come  from  your  daughter. 

"  GEORGE." 

"  If  I  could  but  get  this  boy — evidently  the  same  who  gave  me 
notice  of  the  machinations  of  my  foes  a  few  hours  ago — to  take 
these  papers  for  me  home,  all  would  be  well,"  thought  Danvers, 
with  his  usual  rapidity  of  judgment ;  "  but  these  accursed  bonds — 
stop,  let  me  see  !  The  sentinel  paces  from  the  cell,  and  cannot 
distinguish  words  to  a  song  through  that  thick  door  when  he  is 
not  close  to  it.  This  child  is  quick  of  apprehension  and  will  un- 
derstand my  dilemma.  I  am  certain  he  is  to  be  trusted — but 
how  he  has  found  me  out  here  I  cannot  conjecture.  There,  now 
the  guard  is  at  the  door  : — he  pauses ;  now  he  turns  !  I  will  hum 
an  air — confusion  !  he  is  coming  in." 

And  as  he  spoke,  the  sentinel — the  same  tall,  burly  soldier  he 
had  so  signally  defeated  in  the  late  pursuit — opened  the  door, 
and  in  a  surly  and  indeed  savage  tone,  said — 

"You'll  be  good  enough,  if  you  must  sing  and  whistle,  not  to 
make  such  a noise." 

And  closing  the  door,  he  continued  his  walk,  while  Danvers, 
heedless  of  the  interruption  and  the  insolence  of  the  man,  sang 
thus— 

"  In  prison  and  handcuffed,  poor  Walter  in  vain 

Strives  a  moment  of  freedom,  my  brave  boy,  to  gain — 
The  sentinel's  coming, — without  loss  of  time 
Try  up  to  the  high,  grated  window  to  climb." 

"  Curse  your  singing !"  vociferated   the  guard,   but  without 


THE  MISER'S  SON.  189 

entering  this  time.  "  If  you  ever  pray,  you'd  better  do  it  now 
than  bawl  those  d — d  Tory  songs  of  yours, — you'll  hang  soon, 
my  buck !" 

Regarding  not  this  brutal  impudence,  Danvers  eagerly  waited 
for  some  signal  from  his  little  friend-outside,  but  for  some  minutes 
he  waited  in  vain.  At  length  he  heard  a  noise  above  him,  and 
on  looking  up,  to  his  astonishment  he  saw  a  trap-door  open  at 
the  top  of  the  room,  which  was  of  considerable  height,  and  per- 
ceived the  figure  of  George  standing  in  the  aperture. 

"Thank  Heaven!"  exclaimed  Danvers,  mentally,  "now,  if 
the  discretion  of  this  child  be  equal  to  his  zeal  in  my  service — all 
my  present  anxieties  will  be  relieved.  But  I  cannot  write  with 
my  manacled  hands,  and  I  must  tell  my  little  ally  what  to  do.  I 
dare  not  raise  my  voice  again,  for  the  guard  is  near  the  door,  and 
indeed,  as  it  is,  if  he  should  come  in  a  second  time  ? — I'll  stand 
with  my  back  against  the  door — and  giant  as  he  is  in  stature  and 
bulk,  he  shall  not  open  it  singly.  Then  the  child  may  come  to 
me." 

This  last  thought  had  hardly  suggested  itself  however  to  the 
mind  of  the  prisoner,  before  it  was  dismissed,  for  he  perceived 
that  it  was  impracticable  for  George  to  descend  from  an  altitude 
of  above  a  dozen  feet,  and  even  if  he  could  have  done  so,  he  saw 
no  method  by  which  he  could  raise  himself  again.  But  he  had 
not  calculated  on  the  prudence  and  foresight  of  his  little  friend, 
who  having  soon  completed  a  survey  of  the  cell,  produced  a  coil 
of  rope  from  his  dress  and  noiselessly  effected  a  descent.  Danvers 
motioned  to  him  with  his  head  to  be  cautious,  and  advancing  to 
him  the  child  whispered — 

"I  have  brought  you  a  file,  and  will  soon,  release  you  from 
this  chain,  and  then  you  can  get  up  to  the  trap-door,  and  there 
is  nothing  to  prevent  your  escape." 

"  But  if  the  guard  should  enter,  my  boy,  and  you  are  disco- 
vered," answered  Danvers,  in  a  low  voice,  "  you  might  suffer  for 
your  generosity.  Here,  take  this  packet,  and  conceal  it  carefully 
from  all,  till  you  can  place  it  in  the  hands  of  my  daughter,  son, 
or  Mrs.  Haines,  who  I  suppose  you  have  seen,  though  I  know 
not  how  you  found  them.  Leave  me  to  do  what  I  can  for  my 
release.  I  think  with  this  file  I  can  free  my  hands." 


190  THE  MISEB'S  SON. 

"  No,  no,"  returned  the  boy,  "  don't  fear  for  me.  I  will  file 
through  your  handcuffs,"  and  he  commenced  his  operations. 

Danvers,  who  felt  that  he  could  not  have  done  this  but  in  a 
great  length  of  time,  as  he  must  have  held  the  file  in  his  mouth, 
unwillingly  permitted  George  to  proceed  ;  nor  did  he  prove  an 
unskilful  workman  ;  but  with  little  noise,  in  a  few  minutes  enabled 
Danvers  to  use  his  hands.  Seizing  the  file  then,  the  captive  pro- 
ceeded to  cut  through  the  chain  which  withheld  him ;  but  in 
his  eagerness  forgot  the  requisite  caution,  and  the  sentinel  in- 
stantly turned  the  key  of  the  door ;  but  the  Herculean  shoulders 
of  Walter  Danvers  sustained  the  powerful  impetus  of  the  soldier's 
hand.' 

"  Fly  !"  he  whispered  to  George — "  you  have  your  directions — 
God  speed  you !" 

George  hesitated — but  seeing  he  could  be  of  no  farther  use  to 
the  prisoner,  was  about  to  comply  with  his  injunctions ;  and  was 
swinging  his  light  weight  to  the  ceiling,  when  the  rope  unluckily 
broke,  near  to  the  beam  on  which  he  had  fastened  it,  and  he  fell 
violently  to  the  earth ;  but  alighting  on  some  straw,  which  was 
placed  there  for  Danvers  to  lie  on,  sustained  no  injury. 

Meanwhile,  the  guard,  exasperated  at  the  resistance  he  en- 
countered, and  then  hearing  the  noise  of  George's  fall,  shouted 
to  the  prisoner,  and  swore  he  would  kill  him  if  he  did  not  admit 
him  ;  and  throwing  his  huge  body  against  the  door  nearly  broke 
it  in,  but  did  not  displace  Danvers. 


THE  MISER'S  SON.  19] 


CHAPTER  VIII. 


It  was  a  piteous  spectacle  to  see 
His  grey  hairs  in  the  dust,  and  in  his  eyes 
Sorrow,  and  agony,  and  madness — Then 
The  vengeance  fit  swept  o'er  him  like  a  blast 
That  spends  its  violence  upon  itself, 
Howling  and  desolating ;  but  the  ruin  there 
Will  not  sweep  o'er  and  die. 

Old  Play. 


THE   BEREAVED   FATHER   AND  THE    DESTROYER — THE 
INTERRUPTED   ESCAPE. 

NOTHING  less  than  the  vast  strength  of  a  Walter  Danvers 
could  have  sustained  the  awful  shock  of  the  soldier's  gigantic 
form,  thrown  violently  against  the  panels ;  but,  although  he  had 
undergone  excessive  fatigue  both  of  mind  and  body  so  recently, 
the  emergency  of  the  occasion  seemed  almost  to  endow  him  with 
supernatural  power,  and  he  did  not  move  an  inch,  though  the 
stout  hinges  and  thick  oak  of  the  door  appeared  on  the  point  of 
being  demolished. 

"  Hide !"  whispered  Danvers  to  George,  who  in  an  instant 
caught  the  direction  of  his  eye,  and  recovering  from  the  effects  of 
the  concussion  he  had  undergone,  crept  beneath  the  straw  which 
had  previously  rendered  him  such  good  service ;  and,  covering 
himself  with:' it,  lay  completely  concealed  from  observation.  The 
captive  hastily  cast  in  his  mindjwhether  it  were  better  to  admit 
the  rude  sentinel  without  farther  obstruction,  or  to  endeavour  to 


192  THE  MISER'S  SON. 

exclude  him  from  the  cell.  If  he  did  the  latter,  others  might 
come  to  the  guard's  help,  and  resistance  on  his  part  must  inevi- 
tably be  overpowered ;  but  then  George  at  all  events  might  be 
saved,  if  he  could  manage  to  gain  the  trap-door,  which  standing 
open  would  discover  all,  if  observed. 

"  Blood  and  thunder,"  vociferated  the  soldier,  "  I  will  shoot 
vou  like  a  dog,  if  you  don't  let  me  come  in,"  and  again  dashing 
against  the  door  with  his  shoulders,  the  panels  gave  way,  and 
Danvers  had  given  himself  up  as  lost,  when  a  footstep  was  heard 
approaching,  and  immediately  the  sentinel,  recognising  an  officer, 
ceased  his  efforts  to  effect  an  entrance,  which  Danvers  felt  he 
could  not  long  have  withstood,  the  fellow  being  in  mere  animal 
strength  equal  to  himself. 

But  then  the  trap-door!  It  was  growing  rapidly  darker  and 
darker,  and  he  hoped,  in  the  dusky  twilight,  that  it  might  not  be 
discovered.  In  any  case  he  could  do  nothing  more,  and  standing 
away  from  the  door,  it  was  almost  instantaneously  thrown  wide 
open,  and  an  elderly  man,  with  wild,  haggard,  and  distorted 
lineaments  became  visible. 

"  Shut  the  door,"  said  the  officer,  whom  Danvers  did  not 
directly  recognise,  so  strangely  was  he  altered  in  the  course  of  a 
few  hours,  and  his  orders  having  been  obeyed  with  military 
promptitude,  yet  with  surly  obedience,  he  confronted  the  captive, 
who  had  placed  himself  in  such  a  manner  as  to  render  a  view  of 
the  open  trap-door  as  difficult  as  possible,  and  at  the  same  time 
to  prevent  the  officer  from  approaching  the  straw  under  which 
George  was  lying. 

The  unwelcome  visitor  gazed  with  a  wild  glare  on  the  haughty 
and  commanding  countenance  of  the  prisoner,  as  it  stood  out  in 
bold  relief  in  the  midst  of  the  apartment,  the  stature  appearing 
taller,  and  the  whole  form  more  grand  and  majestic  than  usual 
in  the  uncertain  light.  I  wish  I  were  a  painter,  that  I  might  con- 
vey to  the  eye  as  well  as  the  understanding  an  idea  of  the  singu- 
lar scene — The  dusky  and  swarthy  line  of  the  captive's  cheek 
and  brow  assumed  a  still  deeper  colour  in  the  light  in  which  he 
stood,  and  his  broad  chest  and  brawny  shoulders  contrasted 
strongly  with  the  thin,  shrivelled  figure  of  the  officer,  whose  pale, 
sunken  face,  whose  white  lips  and  starting  eye-balls  were  terribly 
distinct  in  the  gloom,  appearing  like  those  of  a  spectre  rather 


THE  MISER'S  SON.  193 

than  of  a  living  man,  while,  though  within  an  inch  of  the  other's 
height,  he  seemed  shrunken  into  a  pigmy,  as  he  bent  and  shook 
and  twisted  with  the  excess  of  terrible  and  convulsing  passions. 
But  there  is  no  Rembrandt  now  to  represent  the  strong  and  weird 
lights  and  shades,  no  inspired  hand  to  trace  the  awful  agonies 
and  emotions  on  the  spectral  lineamentvpf  the  officer. 

Long,  long  was  the  fierce,  the  terrible,  the  indescribable  gaze, 
in  which  the  hate  and  misery  of  ages  seemed  concentrated,  of 
that  desolate  being  on  the  man  who  had  deprived  him  of  his 
cherished -all-on-earth.  He  gnashed  his  teeth,  though  not  loudly, 
but  otherwise  was  almost  breathlessly  still  and  silent,  while  Dan- 
vers,  amazed  at  his  strange  and  ghastly  looks,  did  not  utter  a 
word,  but  waited  for  some  explanation — and  it  came  at  last,  like 
the  thunder  broken  loose  after  "  a  portentous  pause,"  deep,  in- 
tense, and  tremendous. 

"  Murderer  of  my  son  !"  said  the  officer,  in  a  voice  at  first 
preternaturally  low  but  distinct,  and  gradually  rising  into  passion 
and  violence  the  most  frantic  as  he  proceeded — "  Cold-blooded 
murderer!  To  butcher  one  who  had  but  just  passed  childhood  ! 
How  could  you  look  upon  his  young,  fair  face,  and  find  the  heart 
to  strike  him  with  your  powerful  hand  ?  O  devil !  Walter  Dan- 
vers  !  I  knew  your  father  and  your  mother,  and  have  held  you 
in  these  arms  when  you  were  as  helpless  as  the  poor  dust  of  my 
only  child — ay,  you  may  start,  he  was " 

"  Good  Heaven  !  Captain  Norton,  was  that  rash  boy " 

"Yes,  he  was  my  son!  1  do  not  disguise  it  now!  I  care 
not  for  the  world — 1  care  not  for  earth — for  life — for  rank  and 
riches !  That  boy  you  have  so  cruelly  destroyed  was  all  these, 
and  more — much  more  to  me.  O  man,  man  !  Have  you  known 
what  it  is  to  have  one  to  whom  you  gave  life  cling  to  you  fondly — 
clasp  you  in  his  little  arms — call  you  endearing  names,  weep 
when  you  suffered,  smile  when  you  were  glad — have  jou  known 
this — I  have  heard  you  are  a  father — and  yet — my  God  !  What 
demons  do  thy  creatures  become?— Yes,  let  my  reputation,  and 
all  I  have  held  most  dear  depart  from  me, — let  the  fools,  and 
knaves,  and  slaves  around  me  sneer  and  taunt,  and  laugh — let 
them  all  point  at  the  cold,  proud,  austere  man  whose  character 
for  morality  was  so  unblemished  !  I  have  nothing  left  me  to 
render  what  mankind  can  say  of  consequence !  O  misery  !" 

2c 


194  THE  MISER'S  SON. 

The  broken-hearted  old  man  ceased  his  broken  sentences,  and 
covering  his  grey  hairs  with  his  hands,  remained  fixed  like  a  sta- 
tue— the  very  image  of  despair;  while  Danvers,  not  a  little 
affected,  was  respectfully,  if  not  reverentially  silent,  and  struggled 
not  with  the  remorse  that  clung  gnawing  to  his  heart. 

The  mood  of  Captain  Norton  now  changed.  The  darker  and 
fiercer  passions  of  his  stern  nature  painted  themselves  on  his 
wasted  cheek  in  fell  gloom  and  shadow,  and,  his  parched  lips  at 
first  moving  inarticulately,  while  his  eyes  rolled  with  frenzy,  he 
exclaimed — 

•'  Monster  of  guilt !  I  did  not  come  here  to  expose  my  wretched- 
ness, but  to  bid  you  prepare  for  the  fate  awaiting  you.  A  jury 
of  your  country  has  long  since  condemned  you  to  a  well-merited 
death,  and  though  you  escaped  from  punishment  by  your  cunning, 
the  execution  of  the  law  shall  be  no  longer  delayed.  You  will 
be  taken  before  a  magistrate  to-morrow,  and  being  identified  as 
the  murderer  of  Mr.  Walsingham,  it  will  be  unnecessary  to  try 
you  again  as  the  destroyer  of  my  son.  You  will  be  conducted 
immediately  to  the  gallows,  and  there  expiate  your  dreadful 
crimes ;  and  if  you  can  murmur  a  prayer,  pray, — pray,  that  you 
may  not  be  sentenced  to  the  lowest  abyss  of  Hell  for  ever  and  for 
ever !" 

"  I  expected  to  hear  what  you  have  told  me,  Captain  Norton," 
answered  Danvers,  with  astonishing  calmness  and  composure ; 
"  and  though  I  most  indignantly  deny  the  justice  of  that  sentence 
which  pronounced  me  a  malefactor  of  the  deepest  dye,  I  will  en- 
deavour to  make  my  peace  with  Heaven,  for  I,  like  many  others, 
am  a  great  sinner.  Believe  me,  I  sympathize  most  sincerely  with 
you  under  your  great  affliction,  and  deplore  beyond  all  expression 
the  unhappy  accident  which  occasioned  it — blaming  myself  for 
want  of  temper,  but  asserting,  emphatically  and  solemnly,  that  my 
intention  was  not  to  have  destroyed  the  poor  fellow— — " 

"  Talk  not  of  pity,  ruthless  ruffian  !"  interrupted  Norton  in  a 
voice  hoarse  with  rage  and  hate.  "If  you  find  not  more,  when 
you  appear  before  the  tribunal  of  the  Eternal  Judge,  than  you 
have  shown — tremble,  tremble  !  You  will  not  live  to  be  what  I 
am,  alone  and  desperate  !  You  will  not  live  to  miss  the  smiles, 
the  kindness  and  affection  which  are  dear  as  the  drops  of  heaven 
to  the  consuming  plant— life,  love,  hope— all ;  but  your  punish- 


THE  MISER'S  SON.  195 

ment,  if  God  is  just,  will  be,  as  yon  wander  in  the  world  of  dreary 
shadows,  to  behold  a  spectre  haunting  you  with  looks  of  mourn- 
ing and  desolation, — ever,  ever,  ever  present,  and  groaning  for 
his  murdered  child.  Through  ages  and  ages  will  that  image  fol- 
low you,  and  never  more  shall  you  know  one  moment's  peace. 
In  the  grave  it  shall  sit  upon  your  heart  like  an  incubus,  in  time 
it  shall  make  your  last  moments  a  horrid  antepast  of  eternal  dam- 
nation, and  in  eternity  it  shall  overshadow  all  things  for  you — shut 
out  the  blue  air — the  bright  angels — the  songs — the  melody — 
the  splendour,  joy  and  effulgence  of  the  lost  heaven  !  It  shall 
darken  all  light,  cloud  with  blackness  the  sun,  glare  into  your 
soul,  obscure  the  hope  of  pardon,  and  obstruct  the  mercy  of  the 
Omnipotent!" 

Uttering  these  words  of  imprecation  with  maniac  vehemence, 
the  unhappy  man  rushed  away,  like  some  whirlwind  which  had 
previously  been  scattering  death  and  destruction  around.  Such 
a  curse  pronounced  with  such  fearful  energy,  might  well  have 
struck  some  terror  into  the  boldest  breast,  and  it  was  not  without 
its  effect  on  .Danvers,  though  he  pitied  the  bereaved  father  more 
than  he  quailed  beneath  the  vindictive  foe.  It  had  been  fortunate 
that  Captain  Norton  in  his  frenzy  thought  of  nothing  but  his  own 
woes,  and  vengeance  against  the  destroyer  of  his  son,  so  that  he 
had  not  removed  his  eyes  for  an  instant  from  the  face  of  the  cap- 
tive, or  he  must  have  detected  the  trap- door  which  opened  to 
the  top  of  the  house. 

It  was  now  perfectly  dark,  and  even  the  moon  had  withdrawn, 
so  that  when  the  surly  guard  opened  the  door  again,  he  did  not 
discover  either  that  Danvers  had  his  hands  free,  or  that  there 
was  anything  remarkable  in  the  appearance  of  the  place. 

"  You  won't  have  any  light,  my  man,"  said  the  amiable  sen- 
tinel, "  and  so  you  had  better  go  to  sleep,  or  say  your  prayers^; 
and  I'll  tell  you  what,  if  you  dare  to  prevent  my  coming  in  again, 
I'll  knock  your  brains  out,  and  save  the  hangman  a  job  !"  And 
having  uttered  this  polite  intimation  the  soldier  vanished. 

Danvers  now  recurred  to  his  own  predicament,  the  difficulty 
of  which  was  increased  from  the  circumstance  of  the  panels  of 
the  door  being  broken  in,  so  that  the  slightest  noise  might  arouse 
the  suspicion  of  his  guard,  and  frustrate  the  possibility  of  escape. 
If  he  could  but  reach  the  trap-door,  all  impediment  to  his  depar- 


196  THE  MISER'S  SOK. 

ture,  would,  he  doubted  not,  be  removed  ;  but  the  rope  having 
broken,  and  the  loftiness  of  the  room  being  more  than  usually 
great,  he  did  not  see  how  he  could  effect  this  desirable  object, 
He  was  again  assisted  by  the  ingenuity  of  little  George,  who 
rising  from  beneath  the  straw  which  had  concealed  him  as  soou 
as  the  sentinel  had  retired,  whispered — 

"  I  can  climb  up  to  the  ceiling  with  your  help  and  fix  the  rope 
again  ;  but  I  am  afraid  it  will  not  bear  such  a  weight  as  yours. 
Isn't  there  a  blanket  or  something  of  the  kind  about  the  room  ?" 

"  No  ;"  answered  Danvers,  "  but  by  tying  some  of  my  clothes 
together,  and  by  the  help  of  this  short  chain,  the  difficulty  may 
be  got  over  if  you  can  reach  the  trap-door.  But  how  can  you 
climb  such  a  height  ?" 

"  You  shall  see,"  cried  the  child,  "  and  hark !  the  guard 
ceases  walking — he  is  going  to  sleep,  perhaps.  Now,  then,  raise 
me  on  your  shoulders — oh  !  that  is  not  high  enough  !  You  are 
sufficiently  strong  to  lift  me  by  the  feet.  Now  1  can  very  nearly 
reach  the  ceiling.  You  can  see  a  beam  which  runs  across  the 
room  with  large  nails  in  it;  they  will  bear  me,  and  so  I  can  get 
across  to  the  other  side,  and  reach  the  trap-door." 

"  But  you  may  fall  again,  my  little  fellow,  and  hurt  yourself.'* 

"  Don't  fear  for  me — a  mountebank  taught  me  these  things." 
So  saying,  George  grasped  a  huge  nail  which  projected  from  the 
beam  he  had  mentioned,  and  a  row  of  which,  of  singular  size  and 
strength,  as  we  said,  extended  across  the  apartment,  about  a  foot 
apart.  With  astonishing  agility  the  boy  grasped  nail  after  nail, 
swinging  lightly  in  the  air,  and  arrived  in  safety  at  the  trap-door. 
Meanwhile  Danvers  with  his  liberated  hands  immediately  com- 
menced filing  the  remaining  chain ;  and  soon  after  George  had 
reached  his  destination,  was  entirely  free  from  it.  By  means  of 
the  two  yards  of  rusty  iron  which  this  chain  afforded,  Danvers 
principally  relied  on  being  able  to  reach  the  ceiling,  and  George 
letting  down  the  rope  which  had  proved  so  rotten,  cautiously 
drew  up  the  chain,  which  Danvers  tied  to  it,  and  fixed  it  to  a  sta- 
ple in  the  beam.  Removing  the  stool,  which  was  the  sole  article 
of  furniture  the  cell  afforded,  to  beneath  the  trap-door,  the  pri- 
soner stood  upon  it  and  found  that  by  so  doing  he  could  grasp 
the  chain.  But  not  having  been  accustomed  to  the  gymnastics 
in  which  the  boy  was  so  adroit,  he  experienced  considerable  diffi- 


THE  MISER'S  SON.  197 

culty  in  raising  himself,  having  nothing  to  keep  his  feet ;  and  it 
was  only,  the  extreme  exigency  of  the  case  which  enabled  him  to 
accomplish  the  ascent. 

"  Now,"  said  George,  "  I  think  we  shall  soon  be  safe ;  but 
first  I  will  remove  the  chain  and  close  the  trap-door." 

Having  performed  this  business,  the  clever  little  fellow  motioned 
to  Danvers  to  follow  him,  and  walked  across  the  roof  until  he 
came  opposite  to  a  tree. 

"  You  can  leap,  I  suppose;"  said  George,  "if  not,  that  thin 
bough  will  bear  me,  and  I  will  go  and  fix  the  chain  for  you  to 
that  thick  branch  yonder." 

"  1  think  the  lust  plan  will  be  the  best,"  returned  Danvers, 
"for  I  am  unaccustomed  to  jump,  and  should  I  fall  and  disable 
myself,  all  is  lost." 

The  child  accordingly  clutched  a  bough  which  was  within  a 
yard  of  the  roof,  and  speedily  reached  the  thicker  branch  which 
was  not  by  any  means  too  strong  to  bear  Danvers. 

Fortune  had  hitherto  favoured  them  ;  but  the  fickle  dame  now 
veered  round,  for  as  the  child  sheltered  himself  in  the  tree  a 
sound  of  voices  approached. 

"  Lie  down,"  said  George  to  Danvers,  the  quick  ear  of  the 
former  having  detected  the  unwelcome  person's  approach  before 
the  duller  sense  of  his  companion. 

Perceiving  that  something  was  amiss,  and  having  good  cause 
for  confidence  in  the  sagacity  of  the  boy,  Walter  Danvers  obeyed 
the  directions  given  him  without  question ;  and  it  was  well  that 
he  did  so  ;  for  the  bright  moon  now  burst  forth  in  all  her  summer 
radiance,  and  revealed  every  object  with  the  distinctness  of  noon- 
day. He  now  distinguished  voices  and  footsteps,  and  presently 
could  discern  a  party  of  soldiers,  some  of  whom  he  femembered 
to  have  seen  among  those  by  whose  exertions  he  had  been  taken. 
George  was  perfectly  concealed  from  view  by  the  thickness  of 
the  foliage  of  the  tree,  but  the  roof  of  the  house  on  which  Dan- 
vers lay  being  nearly  flat,  he  was  unavoidably  exposed  in  some 
degree  to  observation,  nor  did  he  choose  to  risk  discovery  by 
creeping  back  to  the  trap-door.  His  only  hope  was  that  the 
soldiers  would  not  be  star-gazing,  and  by  lying  perfectly  still 
he  trusted  he  should  escape  notice.  They  were  now  within  a 
few  yards  of  the  tree  where  George  was  lurking,  and  Danvers 


198  THE  MISER'S  SON.- 

perceived  that  several,  if  not  all  of  the  party  were  the  worse  for 
liquor.  The  soldiers  on  a  sudden  came  to  a  halt,  and  one  of 
them  proposed  "  for  a  lark"  to  climb  the  tree,  and  look  for  birds- 
nests. 

It  was  an  awful  moment  to  Danvers  and  George,  especially 
when  a  two-thirds  intoxicated  man  began  to  ascend.  The  boy, 
active  as  a  squirrel,  finding  that  he  must  inevitably  be  detected 
if  he  remained  where  he  was,  at  once  with  the  utmost  caution 
crept  along  the  bough  ;  but  not  so  noiselessly  as  quite  to  escape 
notice. 

"  Is  that  an  owl  ?"  exclaimed  one  of  the  soldiers  below. 
"  Catch  him,  Tom,  and  we  will  have  some  fun  with  him." 

Tom,  however,  could  not  preserve  his  equilibrium  so  perfectly 
as  to  be  sufficiently  expeditious  to  catch  the  supposed  bird  ;  for 
when  he  reached  the  top  of  the  tree  he  had  disappeared. 

"  I  think  the  creetur's  gone  down  the  hollow  trunk  somehow," 
remarked  the  climber,  "  and  it's  too  small  for  me  to  follow — I'm 
fat !" 

"Throw  some  stones  at  him  then,  lad,"  returned  another 
fuddled  fellow,  "  I  warrant  you'll  soon  bring  him  out,  if  he's  there!" 

"  Good  God !  they  will  kill  the  child  !"  thought  Danvers, 
"  what  shall  I  do?  Better  sacrifice  my  own  life  than  let  his  be 
destroyed !" 

He  was  not  allowed  much  time  for  deliberation,  for  the  soldier 
who  had  ascended  the  tree,  having  been  furnished  with  some  large 
pebbles  again  climbed  upwards;  and  Danvers  was  just  about  to 
discover  himself  in  order  to  save  the  noble  little  boy,  when  his 
generous  intention  was  unexpectedly  diverted. 


THE  MISER'S  SON.  199 


CHAPTER  IX. 


To  have  an  open  ear,  a  quick  eye,  and  a  nimble  hand  is  necessary  for  a  cut- 
purse.  A  good  nose  is  requisite  also  to  smell  out  work  for  the  other  senses.  What 
an  exchange  had  this  been  without  boot  ?  What  a  boot  is  here  with  this  exchange? 

SHAKSPEARE'S  Winter's  Tale. 


Why  what  a  world  of  pain  and  care  do  we  incur 
Who  thus  in  plots  and  in  conspiracies 
Do  peril  all  that  wisdom  holds  most  dear  ? 
Indeed,  my  lord,  you  act  but  Folly's  part 
lu  risking  life  and  fortune  on  this  chance. 

Old  Play. 


THE    MISER — THE    ROBBERS — THE     HIGHWAYMAN'S    ADVEN- 
TURE— THE   ALARM    AN  i>   THE   PURSUIT. 

THOUGH  unwilling  to  tantalize  the  reader  by  leaving  Walter 
Danvers  and  George  in  their  critical  position,  it  is  of  imperative 
necessity,  as  will  hereafter  be  discovered,  that  this  true  narrative 
do  proceed  to  recount  particulars  which  are  of  vital  importance 
to  it,  inasmuch  as  they  develope  adventures  which,  if  less  exciting 
than  those  recorded  in  the  last  chapter,  may  not  be  pretermitted 
without  sacrificing  the  perspicuity  of  the  whole.  And  here  it  is 
proper  to  observe,  that,  if  the  Author's  integrity  be  but  implicitly 
credited,  and  his  kind  and  indulgent  friends  will  but  yield  them- 
selves up  to  his  humour,  he  will  be  careful  to  refrain  from  tres- 
passing too  largely  on  their  goodness,  and  while  he  may  appa- 
rently shake  off  the  crises  of  his  principal  characters'  fortunes  un- 


200  THE  MISER'S  SON. 

necessarily,  he  is  only  preparing  materials  which  shall  evolve 
events  of  loftier  interest,  and  further  the  progression  of  the  story 
— rather  than  obstruct  it.  Only  don't  abuse  the  "  trickery"  of 
melodramatic  uncertainty. 

It  may  be  remembered  that  there  was  a  certain  mysterious  man 
who  dropped  a  packet  in  a  churchyard  where  the  excellent  Mr. 
Smith  had  repaired,  and  which  he  also  picked  up.  That  person 
is  now  the  one  who  must  occupy  some  portion  of  our  attention. 
After  his  abrupt  disappearance  from  the  ex-schoolmaster,  he  lost 
no  time  in  striking  into  the  most  sequestered  and  unfrequented 
path,  the  multitudinous  windings  of  which,  almost  all  forming 
acute  angles,  ultimately  conducted  him  to  a  fair  and  pleasant  spot 
where  the  waters  of  the  chief  river  of  the  county,  fed  by  many 
tributary  streams,  had  collected  themselves  into  a  basin,  in  the 
centre  of  which  grew  a  lovely  island,  where  stood  a  pretty  little 
half-ruined  building,  in  which  a  hermit,  it  was  the  tradition,  had 
passed  his  life  in  days  of  yore.  The  hermitage  was  sometimes 
visited  by  small  parties  who  loved  to  explore  its  mysteries,  but 
ordinarily  was  as  still  and  undisturbed,  save  by  a  few  swallows 
and  other  birds  who  luxuriated  in  the  shady  retreats  of  the  pic- 
turesque spot,  as  the  mountains  inaccessible  to  human  feet.  The 
stranger,  apparently  insensible  to  the  beauty  of  the  place,  and 
utterly  indifferent  to  everything  but  its  extreme  loneliness,  sank 
down  beneath  a  venerable  oak  and  groaned.  That  stifled  sound 
was  the  only  one  distinguishable  in  the  seclusion  ;  for  the  very 
air  and  stream  had  ceased  to  whisper  and  to  ripple — 

"  It  was  a  beauteous  evening,  calm  and  free, 
And  quiet  as  the  bosom  of  a  nun 
Breathless  with  adoration,  the  broad  sun 
Was  sinking  down  in  its  tranquillity " 

But  look  through  earth,  and  where  is  there  not  some  blighting 
touch  of  human  woe,  of  misery  and  guilt  ? 

The  solitary  abandoned  himself  to  dark  and  painful  thoughts, 
the  nature  of  which  it  was  only  possible  to  gather  from  the  con- 
traption of  his  brow  and  the  quivering  of  his  lips  ;  for  he  had  shut 
his  restless  grey  eyes  and  subdued  every  other  external  emotion, 
but  the  entire  expression  of  his  still  fine  and  handsome  though 
distorted  face,  was  remorse  in  the  utmost  intensity  of  its  charac- 


THE  MISER'S  SON.  201 

teristics.  How  strangely  passion  does  modify  the  materiality  of 
man  ?  How  suddenly  will  it  metamorphose  the  appearance  of  the 
face?  It  is  hardly  possible  to  recognise  the  same  individual  some- 
times when  under  the  influence  of  highly-excited  feelings  and  in 
the  more  common  routine  of  existence.-  The  miserable  man  at 
length  sunk  into  a  doze.  The  slanting  beams  of  the  declining 
orb  of  day  gradually  quitted  his  pale,  thin  countenance,  and  he 
dreamed.  Still  bethought  the  green  batiks  and  the  silvery  river, 
the  verdant  trees,  the  grass  and  the  wild-flowers,  with  the  quiet 
and  peace  of  the  solitude  and  gentle  evening,  were  present;  but 
there  gathered  portentous  and  tremendous  appearances  in  the  sky, 
some  of  which  assumed  the  shape  of  men  and  seemed  to  look  an- 
grily on  him.  The  blue  heaven  became  of  a  leaden  hue,  and  the 
entire  arch  was  spangled  with  stars,  all  red»and  fierce  and  unna- 
tural ;  and  then  a  vast  gulf  yawned  beneath  him,  and  sights 
and  sounds  of  horror  and  dismay  proceeded  from  the  bowels  of 
the  earth.  Having  been  tormented  for  some  time  by  this  hideous 
phantasm,  which  all  the  vivid  power  of  reality  could  scarcely  have 
surpassed,  a  scene  even  more  fraught  with  fear  and  agony  to  him 
flashed  upon  his  brain — a  scene  which  had  recurred  too  often  to 
bis  visions  to  startle  him  from  them,  but  yet  terribly  distinct,  real 
and  sensible. 

He  imagined  he  was  walking  with  an  old  associate  among  pop- 
lars and  other  large  trees,  which  entirely  concealed  all  other  ob- 
jects from  view.  They  sat  down  together  and  conversed  fami- 
liarly ;  when  a  wild  frenzy  seized  upon  him,  and  he  thought  he 
was  possessed  by  a  demon  which  urged  him  to  commit  murder 
on  his  companion.  And  with  a  knife  in  his  hand,  which  was 
furnished  by  the  fiend,  he  stabbed  his  unarmed  friend,  from 
whose  breast  the  blood  began  to  flow.  Then  came  the  desperate 
struggle — the  cries,  the  groans,  the  prayers  and  the  curses  horri- 
bly intermixed.  The  hand  of  the  dying  man  clutched  his  throat 
with  a  convulsive  energy,  and  he  gasped,  and  panted,  and  thought 
he  should  be  choked  himself.  Then  came  the  death-groan — the 
groan  of  despair  and  pain  and  misery — and  the  gurgling  noise  in 
the  throat,  and  the  reproaching  eyes  turned  upon  him  with  a  gaze 
which  petrified  his  soul — O,  the  agony,  the  wretchedness,  the 
hell  of  that  imaginary  scene.  Surely  even  here  the  bad  man  pays 
a  deadly  penalty  for  crime.  It  is  not  only  in  reviewing  the  past 

2  D 


202  THE  MISER'S  SON. 

he  is  accursed  ;  it  is  not  only  that  the  present  has  no  substantial 
joy,  that  the  future  has  no  hope,  no  brightness ;  but  all  singly 
and  collectively  in  sleep  arise  to  torture  and  drag  him  down  to 
perdition  ;  while  on  the  contrary  the  virtuous  and  innocent  enjoy 
feelings  of  rapture  and  delight,  while  locked  in  the  embraces  of 
that  angel  of  mortality,  which  mercy  has  given,  as  one  of  its  best 
boons  to  its  suffering  creatures,  when  sin  has  not  stamped  its 
leprosy  on  the  heart. 

Awaking  with  an  oppression  on  every  sense,  as  if  death  were 
struggling  with  him,  the  stranger— in  whom  some  sagacious  reader 
may,  or  may  not  have  detected  Walsingham,  the  Miser — endea- 
roured  to  start  to  his  feet ;  but  the  effort  he  made  to  do  so  proved 
ineffectual,  for  all  his  members  seemed  growing  into  stone,  and 
his  muscles  would  not  obey  his  will.  While  he  was  thus  contend- 
ing with  the  effects  of  the  nightmare,  which  had  paralysed  all  his 
body  in  the  space  of  little  more  than  an  hour,  he  beheld  at  the 
distance  of  half  a  dozen  yards  two  figures,  and  near  them  as  many 
horses  which  they  had  quitted,  in  order  to  regale  themselves  with 
some  provisions  which  they  were  demolishing.  They  were  both 
of  great  stature,  and  of  not  ungentlemanly  exterior ;  but  yet  there 
was  something  about  them  which  excited  the  darkest  suspicions 
in  the  Miser's  breast. 

He  was  in  such  a  position  as  to  be  able  to  descry  all  their  mo- 
tions, and  to  have  a  perfect  view  of  their  faces,  which  were  rather 
handsome  than  otherwise,  while  he  remained  unseen  behind  the 
trunk  of  the  oak.  They  spoke  in  a  low  tone;  but  the  hearing 
of  the  Miser  was  sharpened  by  a  sort  of  anxiety,  which  he  could 
not  define,  and  by  listening  attentively  he  was  able  to  distinguish 
all  that  they  said,  with  the  exception  of  a  few  monosyllables. 

"  Well,  Bess,  1  suppose  you  haven't  been  doing  anything  to- 
day ?"  observed  the  taller  of  the  strangers  to  his  companion, 
whose  elegant  figure  was  dressed  in  a  suit  of  new  and  fashionable 
clothes,  which  could  not  have  been  worn  half  a  dozen  times. 

"  O  yes,  but  I  have !  How  d'ye  think  I  came  by  these  togs, 
my  good  Peter  ?" 

"  I  thought  you  were  given  them  by  the  young  Lancashire 
squire  who  had  a  fancy  for  you,  and  from  whom  you,  by  way  of 
joke,  begged  his  best  finery.  Ha,  ha !  Bess !  sister  Bess  !  you 
are  a  rum  one,  upon  my  soul — a  regular  devil !" 


THE  MISER'S  SON.  203 

"  No  such  thing !  the  squire's  clothes  were  not  large  enough 
for  me,  and  so  I  swapped  them  for  a  bag  and  sword.  I  will  tell 
you  how  I  got  the  togs.  You  must  know  that  as  I  was  riding 
along,  just  after  I  left  you  alone  with  the  little  fat  man,  I  came  up 
with  a  lanky  coxcomb,  mounted  on  a  vile  horse  which  1  would 
not  give  three  shillings  for  in  any  case, 'fend  perceiving  he  was  a 
spoony  sort  of  a  fellow,  I  accosted  him,  determined  that  I  would 
profit  by  his  softness  in  some  way,  fair  or  foul.  Putting  on  my 
very  best  manners  I  addressed  him  thus — 

"  Good  day,  sir !  I  think  that  I  have  seen  you  in  London  at 
a  friend's  of  mine — the  Duchess  of  Mountcastlebury's?  Your 
name,  if  I  am  not  mistaken  is " 

" '  O  sir,  I  believe  you  are  in  error,'  responded  my  gentleman 
with  a  simper.  '  Gad's  my  life !'  he  added,  *  the  Duchess  of 
a — a — the  Duchess  is  a  charming  woman.  I  do  know  her  inti- 
mately.' 

"  '  Yes,  she  has  a  great  admiration  for  tall  and  strapping  fellows 
like  you  and  I,'  was  my  answer.  '  Sir  Hippolitus,'  (that's  the 
name  I  generally  give  myself,  you  know,  Peter,  when  I  want  to 
come  it  flash,)  '  My  dear  Sir  Hip/  said  the  lovely  Duchess  to  me 
one  night  at  a  grand  masquerade  given  by  the  king  in  our  honour, 
'  do  you  know  that  elegant  young  spark  there,  almost  as  tall  as 
yourself,  whom  the  Marquis  of  Rattleton  brought  to  my  rout  ?' 
So  recognising  you,  sir,  by  your  distinguished  air  and  stature,  I 
replied  that  I  did  not,  but  must  try  to  make  your  acquaintance. 
I  could  not  get  an  introduction  to  you  then,  and  was  detained  by 
some  of  the  royal  family  in  conversation,  and  you  know  the  bore 
of  court  etiquette  does  not  permit  us  to  quit  the  blood  royal  at 
pleasure.  But  I  hope  that  now  we  are  so  happily  met  you  will 
waive  ceremony,  and  admit  me  to  your  friendship.  My  name  is 
Sir  Hippolitus  Smithson  ;  I  was  at  one  time  a  Colonel  in  the 
army,  and  the  Duke  of  Cumberland  having  taken  a  fancy  to  me 
I  was  knighted,  and  now  hold  a  place  at  Court.'  My  spark  brushed 
up  at  this  address,  and  cried — 

"  '  Gad's  my  life!  some  mistake;  but  shall  be  most  happy,  Sir 
Hippolitus,  of  your  acquaintance/  And  producing  a  kerchief, 
highly  scented,  he  wiped  his  nose  with  an  air.  '  I  am  just  going 
to — ahem  ! — to  propose  for  a  lady — an  heiress  from  London  ;  and 
so  you  see — Gad's  nay  life  !  damme — I  should  be  most  happy  to 


204  THE  MISER'S  SON. 

stay  with  you,  and  treat  you  to  a  bottle  of  wine  at  the  next  house 
of  entertainment ;  but  the  urgency  of  the  case,  you  know — 
damme ! — r 

"  *  Ob,  my  dear  sir !  don't  use  any  ceremony  with  me,'  I  re- 
plied. '  But  where,  may  I  ask,  did  you  get  these  clothes? — 
Your  tailor  has  made  a  damnable  bungle.  Did  you  have  them 
from  London  or  not  Y 

"  *  Why,  'pon  my  life  ! — hem  ! — Sir  Hippolitus,  I  thought  they 
were  pretty  tolerable.  I  went  to  town — ahem  ! — for  them  ;  and — 
and — the  tailor  assured  me  I  should  have  them  first-rate.  I  paid 
him  twenty  guineas  for  the  suit.  I  did,  damme  !  I'm  sorry  you 
don't  like  them  ; — a — a — for  the  lady  I'm  going  to — a — propose 
to  give  up  my  liberty  to — ahem  ! — being  an  heiress  from  town — 
a You  see,  she's  particular  about  the  mode ;  and  you — a—- 
Gad's my  life  ! — eh  V 

*'  *  I  would  advise  you  strongly  to  change  your  clothes  ere  you 
enter  into  the  lady's  presence,'  I  answered,  gravely ;  though  I 
had  no  little  difficulty  in  restraining  my  mirth  at  the  ass's  folly  ; 
'  for  though  your  appearance  is  naturally  elegant,  dress,  you 
know — damme! — '  And  1  imitated  his  own  manner. 

"•'  I'm  glad  to  find,  by  your  air,  that  I  have  modelled  mine 
aright,  Sir  Hippolitus,'  returned  the  fop.  '  Of  course  I  know — 
hem ! — what's  right — a — but  you,  just  being  Come  from  court, 
you  know — a — hem  ! — damme  !  But,  Gad's  my  life !  I'm  sorry 
to  find  I'm  wrong  about  the  clothes.  I  am,  stap  my  vitals,  cursed 
sorry  !  There's  no  remedy  for  it,  either ;  for  it  will  take  a  week 
to  have  them  from  London,  and  by  that  time  my  heiress  may  be 
flown.  This  is  a  cursed  bore,  isn't  it — eh? — Oh,  damme  !' 

'*  '  I  can  suggest  but  one  alternative,'  I  cried.  *  I  will  lend  you 
the  clothes  I  wear,  which  were  made  by  the  Court  tailor  two  or 
three  days  ago,  (they  were  as  old  as  the  hills,  Peter,  you  know,) 
and  will  wear  yours  for  an  hour  or  two,  as  no  one  will  see  me. 
You  can  then  return  them  to  me,  having  gained  your  suit ;  and 
I  shall  be  happy  to  have  you,  if  you  will  do  me  the  honour  of 
remaining  with  me,  to  dinner  at  my  hunting-lodge,  which  is  about 
a  league  hence.' 

'  My  dear  sir,'  answered  the  would-be  coxcomb,  eagerly,  '  I'm 
infinitely  obliged  to  you,  Gad's  my  life,  stap  my  vitals,  damme-  P 
and  almost  immediately  proceeded  to  undress.  But  you  know, 


THE  MISER'S  SON.  205 

Peter,  I'm  particular ;  and  so  I  would  not  divestjuyself  of  my 
apparel  before  him,  though  1  don't  know  that  such  a  donkey 
would  have  made  discoveries.  So  I  said  :— 

" '  When  you've  taken  off  your  clothes,  I  would  advise  you  to 
have  a  bathe  in  the  river,  there ;  it  will  wonderfully  improve  your 
looks,  for  you  are  pale,  and  it  is  the  fa&hion  at  this  time  to  have 
a  colour.  Some  men  paint,  indeed.  I  always  remain  half  an  hour 
in  a  bath  myself,  before  I  dress.  1  do,  damme !  I  would  advise 
you  to  keep  in  the  water  for  the  same  length  of  time ;  and  as  I 
take  very  long  to  undress,  my  clothes  will  not  till  then  be  ready 
for  you.'  So  the  addle-pated  fellow  obeyed  my  directions,  and 
plunged  into  the  water.  I  had  a  good  mind  to  have  taken  his  togs, 
and  run,  but  I  had  compassion  on  him  ;  and  as  my  old  things  were 
of  no  use  to  me,  I  took  them  off,  retiring  behind  a  hedge  to  do  so; 
and  having  re-dressed,  mounted  my  horse,  and  called  out  to  the 
fop,  who  was  still  in  the  water,  I  would  return  to  that  place  in 
an  hour,  and  wait  for  him  ;  and  then  we  would  repair  to  my  lodge, 
and  drink  his  mistress's  health.  1  took  with  me  a  purse,  a  watch, 
a  gold  chain,  and  diamond  buckles — the  first  of  those  articles  con- 
taining ten  guineas,  and  the  three  last  being  worth  twenty  more — 
and  cantered  coolly  away,  regardless  of  my  spark,  who  called  out 
to  me  that  he  had  left  his  purse  in  his  breeches." 

This  adventure  was  narrated  with  so  much  humour,  spirit,  and 
vivacity,  that  the  other  tall  individual  indulged  in  many  hearty 
bursts  of  merriment,  in  which  the  Miser,  however,  did  not  feel  at 
all  inclined  to  participate.  He  recollected  that  he  had  money  about 
him,  to  a  large  amount,  and  if  he  should  be  discovered  by  the 
robbers, — for  he  could  not  doubt  that  such  they  were, — he  had 
nothing  but  a  slight  rapier  to  defend  himself  with ;  and  he  re- 
marked, that  the  objects  of  his  well-grounded  suspicions  were 
armed  with  pistols  and  broadswords,  besides  being  two  of  the 
most  formidable-looking  fellows  he  had  ever  beheld.  In  his  own 
house,  the  Miser  kept  weapons  of  all  descriptions ;  but  not  being 
personally  timid,  he  was  not  in  the  habit  of  carrying  any  arms 
about  him,  beyond  those  usually  worn  by  the  gentry  of  his  day. 
But  if  he  attempted  to  depart,  lie  would  in  all  probability  be  des- 
cried, and,  being  caught  eaves-dropping,  attacked.  That  they 
were  robbers,  he  had  determined  in  his  own  mind  almost  from  the 
first,  and  what  he  had  overhead  confirmed  him  into  certainty  on 


206  THE  MISER'S  SON. 

that  point ;  and  in  that  lonely  place,  no  outcry  that  lie  could 
raise  was  likely  to  be  heard  by  any  one.  Under  these  circum- 
stances, he  thought  it  most  prudent  to  be  perfectly  still,  and  he 
did  not  move  a  finger,  lest  he  should  alarm  the  gentlemen  of  the 
road. 

"  Immediately  after  I  was  out  of  sight  of  the  fop,"  continued 
the  person  who  had  been  recounting  the  above  adventure,  and 
who  had  spoken  in  so  lively  and  amusing  a  manner,  "  I  encoun- 
tered his  antipodes.  A  young  man  of  handsome  appearance, 
with  a  large,  dark,  splendid  eye,  and  haughty  brow,  *  like  Mars', 
to  threaten  and  command,'  met  me.  He  was  not  tall ;  there 
was  nothing,  perhaps,  particularly  remarkable  in  his  shape,  and 
yet  a  grander  or  a  more  imposing  form  I  never  beheld ;  and 
when  I  heard  him  speak,  the  deep  distinct  tones  of  his  manly 
voice,  and  the  expression  of  his  mournful,  contemptuous,  and  in- 
tellectual face,  convinced  me  that  I  should  not  be  able  to  play  a 
trick  off  on  him.  The  young  man  was  amused  with  my  nonsense, 
as  I  rattled  on  to  him,  and  he  procured  me,  very  politely,  a 
passage  through  Captain  Norton's  park." 

"  I  should  not  wonder,  Bess,"  returned  the  other,  suddenly, 
"  if  you  were  talking  with  the  lad  who  stuck  so  hard  to  me,  up 
yonder.  There  could  hardly  be  two  such,  and  you  met  him  in 
the  very  direction  he  took,  for  I  watched  him  as  I  hid  myself  in 
the  thicket,  after  taking  to  my  heels.  I  should  have  attacked 
him,  1  think,  but  that  I  saw  he  had  a  pistol,  and  I  thought  that 
the  report  of  that  would  have  brought  others  to  his  aid.  I  did 
not  make  much  of  that  business,  certainly — but  the  papers  I  have 
got  may  prove  valuable.  They  reveal  names  in  the  conspiracy  I 
told  you  is  organizing,  which  are  among  the  highest  in  the  county. 
The  lives  of  hundreds  are  at  my  mercy." 

A  thought  here  struck  the  mind  of  the  Miser,  which  filled  him 
with  dismay.  He  felt  in  his  bosom,  and  with  difficulty  suppressed 
a  cry.  Visions  of  ruin  and  destruction  arose  in  ghastly  array 
before  his  excited  imagination.  He  heard  the  hooting  of  the 
multitude,  he  saw  the  fatal  tree,  he  felt  the  hangman  adjust  the 
rope  around  his  neck  ;  and,  unable  any  longer  to  restrain  his  des- 
peration, he  was  on  the  point  of  rushing  on  the  tall  man,  and 
endeavouring  to  wrest  from  him  the  papers,  which  he  did  not 
doubt  were  those  he  had  lost,  when  abruptly  springing  on  their 


THE  MISER'S  SON.  207 

horses,  almost  before  the  Miser  anticipated  their  intention,  they 
struck  spurs  into  their  horses,  and  were  off  like  the  wind,  though 
he  shouted  to  them,  with  all  the  might  of  his  lungs,  to  stop. 

Pursuing,  and  continuing  to  halloo,  in  the.  vain  hope  of  staying 
the  velocity  of  the  robbers'  movements,  his  attention,  which  had 
hitherto  been  so  pre-occupied  as  to  preclude  his  noticing  all  other 
sights  and  sounds,  except  those  which  immediately  interested 
him,  was  on  a  sudden  arrested  by  the  sound  of  the  hoofs  of 
many  horses,  and  presently  he  could  distinguish  a  body  of  troops 
advancing  upon  him  at  a  rapid  rate ;  and  his  excited  terrors 
taking  a  new  turn,  he  instantly  dashed  into  the  midst  of  a  thicket, 
losing  his  hat  in  the  precipitation  of  his  flight,  and  with  his  grey 
hair  streaming  about  his  head,  franticly  exerting  all  his  speed, 
and  fancying  that  he  was  closely  followed  by  the  cavalry.  Nor 
were  his  fears  altogether  unfounded,  although  he  did  not  stop  to 
reason  or  reconnoitre  ;  for  observing  that  a  man  was  flving  with 
all  his  might  and  main  to  avoid  coming  in  contact  with  the 
horse,  and  the  suspicions  of  the  local  authorities  having  recently 
been  excited  by  some  vague  information  received  through  indi- 
rect channels,  the  officer  in  command,  complying  with  the  request 
of  the  magistracy,  at  once  made  an  attempt  to  apprehend  one 
who  was  so  manifestly  anxious  to  elude  the  cognizance  of  the 
military,  and  despatched  some  of  the  dragoons  with  orders  to 
detain  the  fugitive. 

But  the  Miser,  winged  with  desperation,  by  long  and  pro- 
digious efforts  succeeded  in  baffling  his  pursuers,  who  had  cut 
off  his  retreat  in  one  direction  ;  but  had  neglected  to  guard  a 
pass  at  the  extremity  of  the  thicket,  which  led  into  a  dangerous 
and  rocky  district,  inaccessible  to  cavalry,  and  through  which,  at 
the  imminent  risk  of  his  life,  the  Miser  continued  his  headlong 
flight,  until  utterly  spent  and  breathless.  Fortunately  for  him, 
he  had  taken  a  measure  which  the  coolest  sagacity  and  presence 
of  mind  could  not  have  surpassed  for  policy,  though  he  had  not 
calculated  its  results. 

As  soon  as  the  dragoons  perceived  that  they  had  made  a  mis- 
take in  allowing  the  fugitive  to  escape  from  the  thicket  where  he 
must  necessarily  have  been  hemmed  in  and  detected  by  so  large  a 
body  of  troops,  they  dismounted  and  pursued  on  foot ;  but  not 
being  remarkably  agile,  and  having  no  particular  motive  to  cap- 


208  THE  MISER'S  SONV 

ture  him,  they  did  not  gain  ground  ;  but  dispersing  in  various 
directions,  they  contrived  to  cut  off  all  visible  retreat  and  pro- 
gress from  him  by  a  short  cut  which  he  had  not  observed,  and  if 
he  had  continued  his  wild  career  it  must  have  proved  the  means 
of  his  arrest. 

But  happily,  as  has  been  observed,  Fortune  favored  the  Miser 
better  than  foresight  would  have  done,  for  he  had,  entirely 
through  its  instrumentality,  come  to  a  stop  among  the  rocks, 
where  they,  arising  to  a  great  height,  and  in  almost  a  pyramidal 
form,  excluded  him  from  sight,  while  he  had  time  to  recover  from 
his  exhaustion  ;  and  when  the  shouts  of  his  enemies,  who  were 
evidently  at  fault,  again  urged  him  to  flight,  he  perceived  that 
there  was  an  excavation  in  the  rock,  which  promised  a  secure 
place  of  concealment,  and  instantly  descending,  he  found  that 
there  was  a  subterraneous  passage,  the  greater  part  of  which 
was  hewn  out  of  the  solid  granite  that  principally  composed  the 
rock,  and  winding  onwards  conducted  him,  though  nearly  in 
utter  darkness,  into  the  open  air,  far  from  the  range  of  the  sol- 
diers' vision,  they  imagining  that  the  object  of  pursuit  was  yet 
lurking  in  the  immediate  vicinity  of  the  place  where  he  had  dis- 
appeared. But  as  the  distant  echoes  of  the  sounds  he  so  much 
dreaded  died  away,  and  finally  became  quite  inaudible  in  the 
distance,  he  saw  two  horsemen,  about  half  a  mile  before  him  in 
the  high-road,  relaxing  not  in  their  speed,  and  thought  he  recog- 
nised in  them  the  gigantic  robbers  who  had  first  given  rise  to  his 
fears. 


KND   OF    BOOK    IV. 


BOOK   V. 


Wisdom  hath  no  celestial  panoply, 

But  whilst  she  thinks  she  lies  at  closest  ward 

Opens  herself  to  unsuspected  danger.  *'' 

G.  STEPHENS. 

Amid  two  seas,  on  one  small  point  of  land, 
Wearied,  uncertain,  and  amazed  we  stand  ; 
On  either  side  our  thoughts  incessant  turn, 
Forward  we  dread,  and  looking  hack  we  mourn. 

PnioR. 

Of  most  disastrous  chances, 

Of  moving  accidents  by  flood  and  field  ; 

Of  hair-breadth  'scapes.  SHAKSVEAUE. 

Nay,  these  are  creatures  of  the  air,  and  soon  will  disappear, 
All  phantoms  of  the  passions  which  wither'd  grow  and  sere. 
From  an  unpublithed  Poem, 


2  E 


CHAPTER  I. 

To  fear— to  love !  What  will  not  love  and  Fear,  those  tyrants 

Of  the  spirit?    To  dark  Death  they  urge,  and  yet  Fear 

Is  ever  flying  Death,  and  Love  is  seeking  everlasting  LIFE. — MS. 

THE   MISER'S   FLIGHT — THE   ROBBERS    IN    THE    DEN   OF   THE 
ABSENT    LION — WALS1NGHAM    AND   ELLEN. 

T  was  within  an  hour  of  midnight,  and  the 
brightness  of  the  empurpled  heaven,  with  its 
stars  and  stillness,  was  softly  and  clearly 
glassed  in  the  lake-like  waters  of  the  river, 
which  extended  through  the  middle  of  a 
clover  field,  into  which  the  Miser  had  steal- 
thily crept  from  the  subterraneous  passage, 
which  had  formerly  been  in  frequent  use,  as  it  formed  the  road 
through  a  mine,  which  having  been  exhausted  by  long-continued 
operations,  was  now  deserted,  and  its  very  existence  nearly  for- 
gotten. 

The  smell  of  the  newly-mown  clover  was  fragrant  and  refresh- 
ing, and  the  song  of  the  nightingale  was  borne  on  the  breeze  that 
scarcely  stirred  the  leaves  upon  the  willows  which  grew  on  the 
river's  banks,  and  appeared  to  hang  with  melancholy  fondness 
over  their  favourite  stream.  The  Miser,  however,  was  in  no 
mood  to  contemplate  the  tranquil  loveliness  of  the  scene,  nor  to 
use  his  eyes  for  any  purpose  but  the  perception  of  peril  to  him- 
self, and  the  figures  of  the  horsemen,  who  being  on  high  ground, 


214  THE  MISER'S  SON. 

figure  for  one  moment ;  but  at  the  distance  which  it  was  from 
him,  it  was  impossible  to  discern  which  of  the  two  rascals  it  was, 
as  they  were  so  similar  in  shape. 

But  it  was  no  time  for  delay ;  and  accordingly  regaining  his 
horse,  he  hastened  to  the  lower  part  of  the  wall,  which  it  was 
just  possible  for  a  good-leaping  horse  to  clear.  Could  the  little 
animal  he  bestrode  accomplish  such  a  feat?  At  all  events,  he 
would  try  his  mettle ;  and  bestowing  a  severe  smack  on  the  crea- 
ture's hinder  parts,  he  urged  him  over ;  and  to  his  astonishment 
in  one  moment  found  himself  where  he  wished  to  be,— as  if  he 
was  on  as  fine  a  hunter  as  ever  followed  hounds — and  very  soon 
a  little  farther.  For  the  spirited  beast,  indignant  at  treatment  to 
which  he  was  unaccustomed,  and  smarting  from  the  effects  of  the 
smack  he  had  received,  fairly  ran  away  with  his  rider.  Useless 
were  the  efforts  of  the  Miser,  excellent  horseman  as  he  was,  to 
obtain  the  mastery  over  the  refractory  animal,  and  he  was  carried 
along,  infinitely  disconcerted,  and  ignorant  of  whither,  over  a  level 
country  for  the  space  of  half  an  hour  and  of  ten  miles.  The  intel- 
lects of  the  Miser  had  by  this  time  a  little  recovered  themselves, 
and  he  could  judge  with  a  little  more  discrimination  than  he  had 
hitherto  displayed,  the  best  mode  of  procedure. 

The  speed  of  the  courser  gradually  abated,  and  when  at  last  he 
arrived  before  a  neat,  pretty  cottage  embowered  among  trees,  he 
came  to  a  pause,  and  then  halted  altogether,  sniffing  the  air  with 
apparent  satisfaction,  and  neighing  with  good -will." 

Immediately  another  horse  made  a  response  from  some  little 
distance,  and  looking  round,  Everard  Walsingham  descried  two 
steeds  tied  to  an  elm  about  a  hundred  yards  from  him,  and 
which,  he  could  not  help  thinking,  were  those  of  the  robbers. 

On  nearer  inspection  suspicion  became  converted  into  convic- 
tion ;  and  then  he  was  about  to  hurry  into  the  house  in  which — 
by  a  singular  fortuity — he  doubted  not  the  scoundrels  were,  when 
he  bethought  himself  whether  it  were  not  insanity  to  rush  into  the 
den  of  ruffians  who  might  not  scruple  to  cut  his  throat.  But  the 
papers ;— they  must  be  recovered.  If  Walter  Danvers  found  he 
had  lost  them — at  that  idea  the  Miser  trembled  violently,  and 
clammy  and  bead-like  drops  of  perspiration  stood  on  his  brow. 
He  was  not  by  any  means  a  coward,  as  far  as  his  own  personal 
safety  was  implicated,  as  his  pursuit  of  the  highwaymen  evinced, 


THE  MISER'S  SON.  215 

and  at  once  summoning  resolution,  he  strode  rapidly  to  the  house. 
He  must  have  been  carried  a  considerable  way,  at  the  pace  he 
went,  out  of  his  direct  road,  as  the  robbers  were  before  him  ;  but 
he  did  not  consider  this  matter. 

There  was  not  a  sound  in  the  cottage  that  the  Miser  could  per- 
ceive; and  at  first  he  almost  imagined  {hat,  after  all,  the  rascals 
had  not  entered  ;  but  presently  he  found  that  they  had  effected 
an  entrance,  in  a  manner  by  no  means  usual  with  those  who  go 
into  their  own  residences  ;  and  then  it  struck  him,  that  a  burglary 
was  taking  place,  in  which  those  individuals  he  had  so  strangely 
and  ignorantly  followed  were  principals.  What  was  to  be  done  ? 
Should  he  alarm  the  inmates  ?  By  so  acting  he  must  exasperate 
the  robbers  against  him,  and  it  had  been  his  object,  all  along,  to 
conciliate  them,  if  possible,  for  they— or  at  all  events,  one  of  them 
— possessed  knowledge,  which  would  destroy  him,  and  many 
others  also,  if  revealed.  He  had  permitted  the  animal  which  had 
borne  him  so  bravely  to  use  its  own  discretion,  when  he  quitted 
its  back,  and  to  his  no  little  amazement  he  found  that  the  saga- 
cious brute  had  trotted  round  to  a  stable  in  the  vicinity  of  the 
abode,  and  was  endeavouring  to  open  the  door  with  its  foot,  as 
if  satisfied  he  was  at  home.  A  sudden  and  startling  thought 
darted  on  his  brain.  The  horse  he  had  been  riding  was  remark- 
ably like  one  he  had  seen  Walter  Danvers  on  a  short  time  ante- 
cedently,— the  place  in  which  he  was,  tallied  exactly  with  the 
description  he  had  been  given  of  that  dreaded  person's  dwelling, 
at  which  he  had  an  appointment  the  day  following.  The  horse 
of  Danvers !  Probably  then  he  was  there  ;  and  he  would  re- 
possess himself  of  the  papers  held  by  the  gigantic  robber,  if  mor- 
tal could. 

The  Miser's  heart  beat  quickly.  More  and  more  convinced  of 
the  validity  of  his  supposition,  and  anxious  at  once  to  assure  him- 
self of  it,  he  entered  the  abode  in  the  same  way  as  the  house- 
breakers had ;  and  then  stopped  for  a  minute  to  consider  the 
best  means  of  getting  to  Danvers.  They  might  kill  him,  (Dan- 
vers,) and  then — the  flood  of  confused  ideas  that  followed  that 
possibility  was  such  as  to  blind  and  confuse  the  Miser's  mind  ; 
but  dismissing  them  hastily,  he  continued  the  train  of  rapid  re- 
flection which  they  had  interrupted.  There  might  be  many  bur* 
glare  in  the  cottage,  and  it  was  possible  that  if  resistance  were 


216  THE  MISERS'  SON. 

offered,  it  would  prove  unavailing  against  numbers  ;  but  such  re- 
liance did  the  Miser  repose  in  the  great  strength,  courage,  and 
capacity  of  his  ancient  friend,  that  he  did  not  suppose  but  that  he 
would  find  some  means  to  possess  himself  of  the  important  docu- 
ments, to  recover  which  was  the  only  care  of  his  soul.  But  if  he 
himself  were  discovered,  all  might  be  lost,  and  he  knew  not  in 
what  direction  to  seek  Danvers,  nor  how  to  turn  in  order  to  avoid 
coming  into  contact  with  the  housebreakers. 

With  a  cat-like  step  he  stole  fearfully  along,  and  presently  he 
thought  he  could  distinguish  voices.  Yes,  now  he  was  certain — 
the  voice  of  the  taller  robber  whispered — 

"  No  fear,  Bess.  I  saw  him,  I  tell  you,  in  the  clutches  of  my 
old  regiment,  and  he  was  the  only  male  in  the  house — the  lad  his 
son  is  out.  You  can  stand  guard  over  the  women — I  never  trust 
myself  to  do  that,  you  know,  because  with  my  ardent  tempera- 
ment, when  I  see  a  pretty  girl  in  bed  I  should  play  the  very — 
who  the  deuce  coughed  then,  behind  ?" 

The  Miser  had  overheard  this  speech,  and  collecting  from  it 
that  it  was  probable  the  redoubtable  Walter  Danvers  was  cap- 
tured, he  forgot  his  caution  in  the  terror  and  anxiety  which  seized 
upon  him,  and  did  not  try  to  stifle  a  cough  which  unseasonably 
attacked  his  lungs.  He  hastily  retreated,  and  would  very  wil- 
lingly have  quitted  the  cottage  on  the  instant,  but  perceived  a 
figure  approaching  him  from  the  other  side. 

The  robbers  were  on  the  alert,  and  one  of  them  swore  with  a 
terrific  oath,  that  he  would  kill  the  person  who  was  lurking  about. 
Drawing  his  sword,  the  Miser  was  about  to  retreat  into  a  room, 
the  door  of  which  was  just  ajar,  when  it  was  on  a  sudden  thrown 
open,  and  a  towering  form  with  a  flaming  weapon  and  cocked 
pistol  advanced  from  it. 

Thus  surrounded  on  every  side,  he  could  only  stand  on  the  de- 
fensive ;  and  now  he  saw  the  housebreakers  descending  some 
stairs,  and  making  towards  him.  Whether  all  that  he  had  beheld 
were  robbers  or  not  he  could  not  determine ;  but  certainly  he 
would  be  considered  in  the  light  of  an  enemy,  in  any  case,  by 
both  parties,  and  his  line  of  policy  was  not  to  offend  either.  In 
this  most  unpleasant "  fix,"  with  the  probability  of  being  mistaken 
for  an  inmate  of  the  house  by  the  burglars,  and  for  a  burglar  by 
the  inmates  of  the  house,  he  could  not  make  up  his  mind  what 


THE  MISER'S  SON.  217 

course  of  conduct  to  pursue ;  for  he  was  naturally  wavering  and 
undecided,  and  the  events  of  the  last  few  hours  had  not  been  of  a 
description  to  endow  him  with  the  faculty  he  wanted. 

But  the  crisis  of  the  affair  was  at  hand. 

"  What  want  you  here  ?"  exclaimed  a  tall,  pale  man  in  a  night- 
gown, pointing  a  pistol  at  him  ;  and  ignorant  who  this  person 
might  be,  the  Miser  was  anxious  not  to  provoke  his  hostility, 
either  by  silence  or  indiscretion.  The  gigantic  robber  who  was 
in  possession  of  the  papers  was  now  also  within  an  arm's  length, 
and  pointing  his  sword  at  him,  threatened  to  be  his  destruction 
if  he  uttered  a  word.  A  scream,  evidently  proceeding  from  a  fe- 
male, also  assailed  Everard  Walsingham's  ear,  and  a  fair  form 
rushed  forwards  like  a  ghost,  and  was  presently  clasped  in  the 
embrace  of  the  pale  personage  in  the  nightgown.  It  was  ludi- 
crously terrible.  None  of  the  parties  appeared  to  know  in  what 
way  to  act,  for  the  presence  of  the  Miser  puzzled  both,  as  he 
made  no  demonstrations  of  enmity  either  for  or  against  either. 

Let  us  retrograde  a  few  minutes,  and  see  what  had  been  pass- 
ing in  the  chamber  of  the  individual  in  the  nightgown,  whose 
white  cheek  and  lips,  and  indeed  whose  whole  appearance,  did 
not  tend  to  make  him  formidable,  from  the  idea  they  gave  that 
he  was  suffering  under  severe  illness.  As  may  have  been  con- 
cluded, he  was  no  other  than  Captain  Walsingham,  who  having 
been  disturbed  out  of  a  sweet  vision  of  Ellen  Danvers,  by  hearing 
an  unusual  noise,  started  up,  and  instantly  heard  an  oath  in  a 
strange  voice,  accompanied  with  threats.  Danger  to  the  beloved 
of  his  heart  was  the  first  notion  of  Charles,  and  seizing  his  sword, 
and  a  brace  of  pistols,  which  lay  beside  his  bed,  weak  as  he  was, 
arose  and  hurried  to  the  door.  Although,  even  in  that  short  dis- 
tance, he  staggered,  as  the  blood  mounted  to  his  head,  and  his 
feeble  limbs  almost  refused  to  carry  him,  yet  the  image  of  Ellen 
used  brutally  by  midnight  ruffians  so  nerved  and  excited  him, 
that  each  instant  he  acquired  a  factitious  power,  and  when  he 
perceived  the  Miser,  and  immediately  afterwards  the  maiden,  (for 
it  was  no  other  than  her  he  loved  who  flung  herself  into  his  arms,) 
the  proud  spirit  subdued  the  weakness  of  the  clay,  and  the  sol- 
dier stood  with  flashing  face  and  hand  grasping  his  faithful  wea- 
pon as  firmly  and  as  formidably  as  ever  in  the  battle  field. 

The  first  impulse  of  the  gallant  Captain  was  to  kill  Everard 

*2  F 


218  THE  MISER'S  SON. 

Walsingham  ;  and  so  true  was  his  aim  and  so  excellent  the  work- 
manship of  his  pistol,  that  at  so  short  a  distance,  the  destruction 
of  that  man  would  have  been  inevitable  ;  but  to  his  surprise,  he 
found  that  the  stranger  was  an  object  of  more  than  suspicion  to 
other  persons,  and  that  he  did  not  seem  in  any  way  unfriendly 
to  him. 

"  Do  not  tremble,  dearest,"  whispered  Charles  to  Ellen,  clasp- 
ing her  fondly  to  his  breast,  while  she,  terrified  beyond  the  pre- 
servation of  decorum,  clung  to  the  being  in  whom  her  young 
afflictions  were  beginning  to  centre,  as  if  for  protection  to  herself, 
and  safety  to  him. 

"  I  did  not  expect  this,  Bess,"  muttered  the  gigantic  robber 
to  his  colleague,  who  seemed  at  least  equally  indecisive.  "  What 
shall  I  do,  Bess? — Shoot  that  long  one  there,  at  any  rate  ?" 

"  No,  no,"  was  the  reply,  "  don't  be  rash,"  adding — "  My 
friends !  you  must  know  that  this  tall  gentleman  and  myself  are 
in  search  of  gold,  silver,  diamonds,  or  any  other  valuable  sub- 
stances, whether  in  rubies,  emeralds,  carbuncles,  or  even  pearls. 
So,  whatever  articles  may  be  in  your  possession  of  such  a  des- 
cription, we  shall  be  infinitely  indebted  to  you  if  you  will  deliver 
up  to  us,  without  any  fuss,  and  I  promise  on  the  word  of  a  man 
of  honour  that  no  harm  shall  come  to  you.  If,  on  the  contrary, 
you  oppose  us,  we  have  pistols  and  must  use  them,  by  sending  a 
bullet  with  our  compliments  to  those  empty  heads  which  have  not 
wit  enough  to  keep  such  brains  as  are  in  them  safe  and  sound . 
There  is  something  in  the  business  we  don't  exactly  understand  ; 
but  as  our  only  object  is  to  possess  ourselves " 

"  Curse  your  insolence  !"  here  interrupted  Charles  Walsing- 
ham, and  levelling  his  pistol  at  the  last  speaker,  that  facetious 
gentleman  prudently  retired  a  pace  or  two.  The  soldier  con- 
tinued— "  If  you  do  not  instantly  retire  I  shall  discharge  this 
pistol." 

While  he  was  yet  speaking,  the  gigantic  housebreaker,  imagin- 
ing perhaps  he  should  intimidate  the  invalid,  fiercely  advanced, 
and  threatened  to  blow  out  his  brains, — a  menace  which  was 
practically  returned  by  Charles,  who  fired  at  the  head  of  the  giant, 
who  was  only  saved  from  death,  by  stumbling  and  falling  down. 

He  was  on  his  legs  again  in  an  instant,  and  returned  the  fire ; 
but  to  his  indignation  and  surprise  his  own  companion,  as  he  did 


THE  MISER'S  SON.  219 

so,  knocked  up  his  arm,  and  the  ball  pierced  the  ceiling  above 
the  head  of  his  assailant,  whose  faintness  was  now  returning  over 
him,  in  spite  of  all  the  desperate  energies  he  had  summoned  to 
his  assistance. 

"No  murder,  Peter!"  exclaimed  the  individual  who  had  pre- 
vented the  effectual  transmission  of  the«j>ullet ;  "  we  shall  have 
it  all  our  own  way,  directly.  See !  the  pale  man  is  reeling  now  ; 
he  is  a  brave  fellow  at  any  rate." 

Sense  had  by  this  time  deserted  the  sick  soldier,  and  sinking 
against  the  wall,  his  sword  fell  from  his  hand.  Simultaneously 
with  the  insensibility  of  Charles,  the  Miser,  who  thought  that  his 
time  had  arrived,  sprang  forwards,  and  seizing  the  arm  of  the 
giant,  cried — 

"  Those  papers !  Give  them  to  me,  and  I  will  reward  you 
handsomely." 

But  the  ruffian  hurled  him  violently  away,  and  said  to  his  com- 
panion— 

"  You  are  right,  Bess.  Go  and  secure  those  valuables,  and 
then  we'll  be  off  at  once.  I'll  keep  guard  here.  All  that  we 
care  for  is  the  swag.  I  don't  understand  that  queer  chap  I've 
just  sent  sprawling  there,  and  if  he  has  any  more  of  his  impudence, 
I'll  give  him  cold  lead  for  his  supper." 

But  the  Miser  was  not  so  easily  to  be  shaken  off,  and  renewing 
his  importunity,  he  said — 

"  What  will  you  take  for  the  papers  you  have  got  ?  They  can 
be  of  no  use  to  you,  and — and  I  will  give  you  anything  in  reason 
for  them." 

"  Who  the  devil  are  you  ?"  inquired  the  robber  curiously.  "  I 
think  I've  seen  you  before  somewhere.  I  suppose  you  are  one  of 
the  chaps  in  the  plot ;  but  how  do  you  know  I  have  got  the  pa- 
pers ?  Let  me  see — hum !  What's  your  name,  old  boy  ?" 

"  That  can  be  of  no  consequence  to  you,"  returned  the  Miser. 
"  I  only  want  the  papers,  for  which  I  will  give  you  £300 ;  or  if 
that  is  not  sufficient,  I  will  undertake — to  double  it  to-morrow." 

"  O,  you've  got  £300  about  you  in  hard  cash,  eh  ?  Give  the 
blunt  to  me,  and  you  shall  have  the  papers — when  I've  done  with 
them  ;  I  will  not  take  £3000  now — nor  even  six." 

"  My  excellent  fellow  !  just  calmly  consider  !  Who  will  believe 
any  statements  that  you  may  make  ?  Who  but  will  believe  those 


220  THE  MISER'S  SON. 

papers  are  forged  documents,  if  they  proceed  directly,  or  even  in- 
directly through  channels  which  cannot  be  relied  on.  On  the 
other  hand,  honour,  wealth,  the  station  you  have  lost — for  I  see 
that  you  are  no  vulgar  robber — you  may  obtain  if " 

"  O,  you  bed — d,  with  your  gammon  and  humbug;"  responded 
the  housebreaker.  "  Come  out  with  the  £300,  I've  got  plenty  to 
do,  and  little  time  before  morning  to  do  it  in  ;  if  you  don't  in- 
stantly fork  out,  I'll  run  you  through  your  lean  carcase  by " 

"  No,"  answered  the  Miser,  firmly  ;  "  not  unless  the  documents 
in  your  possession  are  delivered." 

"  We  shall  see  about  that,"  returned  the  fellow,  suddenly  rush- 
ing upon  him,  and  before  he  could  make  any  resistance,  whirling 
him  round  and  throwing  him  to  the  ground,  when  kneeling  on  his 
chest,  despite  his  menaces,  he  ransacked  his  pockets. 

By  this  time  the  other  robber,  who  had  vanished  before  the 
Miser  had  made  the  vain  attempt  to  regain  the  documents,  had 
returned,  bearing  various  articles  of  value,  and  gazing  at  the  still 
insensible  soldier  and  Ellen,  who,  with  quivering  hands  and  trem- 
bling frame  was  attempting,  but  fruitlessly,  to  restore  him  to  life, 
said  compassionately— 

"We've  got  enough  here,  Peter ;  don't  touch  the  poor  girl, 
who,  I  dare  say,  has  nothing  about  her." 

"  Very  well,"  answered  the  gigantic  rascal,  bestowing  a  kick 
on  the  prostrate  Miser,  and  springing  away  ;  "  have  you  secured 
what  I  told  you  ?" 

"  Yes,  it's  all  right.  Let  us  be  off  at  once."  And  with  these 
words,  the  burglars  took  their  departure. 

The  Miser,  however,  persevered  in  his  endeavour  to  recover 
the  documents  which  implicated  the  safety  of  so  many,  and  even 
when  the  tall  robber  had  foot  in  stirrup  seized  him  by  the  arm  ; 
but  he  was  rewarded  for  his  temerity  by  a  blow  dealt  with  the 
butt-end  of  a  heavy  horse-pistol,  which  bereft  him  of  life  and 
motion  for  some  time ;  and  when  he  recovered,  no  trace  of  the 
burglars  was  left,  and  he  found  a  pool  of  blood  issuing  from  a 
deep,  if  not  dangerous  wound,  in  his  head.  Dispirited  and  de- 
jected by  the  result  of  his  great  and  useless  exertions,  as  well  as  by 
the  money  he  had  lost,  and  the  injury  his  cranium  had  sustained, 
Everard  Walsingham  crawled  away,  and  having  with  much  diffi- 
culty reached  a  hay-stack  at  the  distance  of  about  half  a  mile 


THE  MISER'S  SON.  221 

from  the  cottage,  he  ensconced  himself  in  it,  and  was  soon  in  a 
sleep  which  lasted  till  morning.  Meanwhile  Ellen  Danvers  was 
unremitting  in  her  devoted  attentions  to  the  poor  soldier,  who  was 
only  insensible  from  excessive  over-exertion  in  his  debilitated  state. 
If  he  could  but  have  seen  how  the  maiden  wept  over  him — how 
she  clasped  his  cold  fingers  in  her  little  hand,  pressing  them  to 
her  lips  and  calling  him  kind  names — friend,  brother,  protector. 
She  thought  him  dead  at  one  time,  and  then  despair  and  agony 
were  painted  on  her  young  forehead,  and  she  called  upon  Heaven 
to  restore  him  to  life,  and  her  own  soul  seemed  ready  to  depart 
with  anguish.  Those  few  brief,  yet  long  and  lingering  moments 
of  suspense,  dread,  grief,  terror  and  anxiety,  did  more  for  the  love 
of  the  soldier  than  weeks  spent  in  the  common  prosecution  of  a 
suit  in  ordinary  circumstances.  From  that  hour  Ellen  was  all  his 
own. 

When  he  opened  his  eyes,  she  uttered  a  joyous  cry,  and  mur- 
mured a  prayer  of  gratitude.  "  Thank  God  !"  she  exclaimed, 
"  you  are  saved  !"  And  she  burst  into  a  violent  and  irrestrainable 
passion  of  tears. 

"  And  you  are  safe  !"  whispered  Charles,  faintly.  "  Ellen, 
my  own  Ellen  !  First,  last,  best  beloved  !" 


222  THE  MISER'S  SON. 


CHAPTER  II. 


Juan  yet  quickly  understood  their  gesture, 

And  being  somewhat  choleric  and  sudden, 
Drew  forth  a  pocket  pistol  from  his  vesture, 

And  fired  it  into  one  assailant's  pudding. 

Don  Jttan,  Canto  XI, 

Here  is  a  woman  now  I  warrant  you, 
Would  sup  with  Satan,  and  her  face  by»his — 
Lit  by  the  fires  of  Pandemonium — would 
Look  darker  than  the  Arch-Fiend's  !     She  is  all 
Blackness  and  wickedness,  mind,  heart  and  shape. 

Old  Play. 


ELIZABETH  HAINES  AND  HER  ADVENTURE — MOTHER  STOKES 
AND  THE  ATTEMPTED  ASSASSINATION—THE  MONSTER. 

THE  dignified  Mistress  Elizabeth  Haines,  after  quitting  the 
house  of  Danvers,  half  repented  her  of  having  left  the  gallant 
warrior,  and  the  tender,  innocent,  and  confiding  Ellen  alone  to- 
gether ;  but  as  she  hoped  to  be  able  to  return  in  the  course  of  a 
few  hours,  she  banished  all  misgivings  from  her  mind,  and  when 
she  reached  the  nearest  village,  inquired  for  some  one  to  officiate 
as  attendant  on  Captain  Walsingham  in  her  absence ;  but  an 
epidemic  was  raging  in  the  place,  and  she  could  not  induce  any 
person  to  leave  the  friends  and  relatives  who  were  stretched  on 
the  bed  of  sickness.  As  she  dared  not  delay  any  longer,  she 
hired  a  vehicle  to  take  her  a  few  miles  on  her  journey  ;  but  she 
had  not  proceeded  very  far,  when  the  miserable  horse  attached 


THE  MISER'S  SON.  223 

to  the  cart  in  which  she  was  sitting  struck  his  foot  against  a  large 
stone  that  lay  in  the  road,  and  was  lamed  so  badly,  that  there 
was  not  the  slightest  chance  of  his  being  able  to  render  any  ser- 
vice for  many  days. 

Under  these  circumstances,  Elizabeth,  who  though  not  a 
young,  was  an  extremely  active  woma*»  and  accustomed  to  use 
her  legs,  thought  that  she  might  make  as  good  speed  with  them, 
as  if  she  waited  until  another  horse  could  be  procured,  and  quit- 
ting the  crazy  machine  to  which  she  had  somewhat  recklessly 
entrusted  her  limbs,  it  being  an  excellent  match  to  the  disabled 
brute,  and  as  ancient  as  the  date  of  such  vehicles'  introduction 
into  England,  she  stepped  briskly  forwards  at  the  rate  of  four 
miles  an  hour ;  and  nothing  occurred  to  impede  her  progress, 
until  she  arrived  at  a  sequestered  spot,  where  the  wild  plants  and 
ugly  and  misshapen  trees  were  thickly  interwoven,  and  the  bushes 
and  brambles  were  so  dense  as  to  prevent  a  passage  through  them. 
As  she  was  about  to  leave  the  rectangular  road  which  she  had 
hitherto  pursued,  and  strike  into  a  circuitous  path,  which  was  so 
very  precipitous  and  rocky,  that  it  would  have  been  difficult  for 
a  horse  to  ascend  it,  she  happened  to  cast  her  eyes  in  the  direc- 
tion of  some  underwood  which  grew  to  her  right,  and  was  startled 
by  perceiving  an  object  with  which  she  was  familiar.  She  has- 
tened to  the  spot,  and  examining  that  which  had  attracted  her 
attention  more  closely,  was  certain  that  it  had  formed  a  portion 
of  the  dress  of  Harry  Danvers.  There  were  marks  of  strife  and 
violence,  and  some  blood  on  the  ground  and  among  the  bushes, 
as  if  a  person  bad  been  dragged  along  in  a  wounded  condition  ; 
but  these  abruptly  ceased,  nor  could  Elizabeth  discover  any  far- 
ther trace  to  aid  her  in  her  search.  "  Good  God  !"  she  exclaimed, 
"  some  dire  misfortune  has  befallen  Harry — perhaps  they  have 
killed  him!  O,  he  has  been  recognised  by  some  of  the  minions 
of  the  detested  Elector  of  Hanover,  and  on  his  resisting,  they  have 
murdered  him  !  It  must  be  so — Ah  !  what  is  this  ?"  (picking  up 
something  which  lay  on  the  ground) — "  A  heavy  stick,  with  blood 
and  hair  on  it — that  fair  brown  hair !  it  must  be  his  !  My  poor 
Harry  !  And  yet  he  would  not  have  received  a  blow  from  such  a 
weapon,  if  he  was  attacked  by  such  as  I  was  inclined  to  suspect. 
Some  darker  agency  is  at  work.  I  feel  assured,  that  the  malig- 
nity of  personal  spite  pursues  Walter  and  those  that  belong  to 


224  THE  MISER'S  SON. 

him.  He  has  many  enemies  ; — but  who  knows  him  ?  Who 
could  have  done  this  ?"  Cogitating  thus,  the  ears  of  Elizabeth 
were  assailed  by  the  neighing  of  a  horse,  and  presently  an  animal, 
in  which  she  instantly  recognised  that  which  Harry  usually  rode, 
cantered  up  to  her  and  peered  with  friendliness  into  her  face. 

"  This  may  possibly  afford  a  clue,"  thought  Mistress  Haines, 
as  she  patted  the  creature's  neck.  "  This  is  a  sagacious  animal, 
and  attached  to  his  master — Heaven  grant  he  is  yet  alive  !"  But 
the  horse  could  not  render  any  assistance  to  Elizabeth,  further, 
than  on  a  gesture  from  her,  he  walked  up  to  a  spot  where  there 
was  a  quantity  of  grass,  and  where  he  had  been  tied  to  a  tree, 
but  having  broken  away,  had  been  wandering  disconsolately  about, 
until  he  perceived  an  old  acquaintance. 

"I  am  afraid  I  am  only  losing  time,"  muttered  Mrs*  Haines  to 
herself.  "I  will  mount  this  animal  and  hasten  to  ascertain  the 
fate  of  Walter,  and  then  I  shall  soon  learn  whether  Harry  is  in 
the  power  of  the  lawful  authorities,  or  not.  It' he  have  fallen — 
vengeance  alone  remains.  O,  how  I  pant  for  the  hour  when  rny 
deep  and  irremediable  injuries  shall  be  wiped  away  in  the  blood 
of  the  false  king  and  his  slaves.  My  husband — my  son — both 
slaughtered  !  Widowed  and  childless,  my  whole  lile  shall  be  con- 
secrated to  the  one  great  object  for  which  1  suffer  on — the  resto- 
ration of  that  family  to  their  legitimate  rights,  from  which  I  am 
myself  sprung.  Alas  !  I  am  a  lone  and  withered  thing !  My 
green  hopes  have  perished  ;  the  verdant  boughs  which  grew  up 
around  me,  and  gave  me  back  my  blithe  and  radiant  youth,  in 
hope,  and  promise,  and  beauty — all  gone — all  broken,  and  de- 
cayed !"  And  the  stern  woman's  eyes  tilled  with  tears,  as  the 
sense  of  the  extreme  desolation  of  her  condition  entered  her  heart; 
but  she  dashed  them  hastily  away,  apparently  almost  with  shame, 
and  with  ma&culine  agility  mounting  the  horse  of  Harry  Danvers, 
hastened  to  repair  to  the  village  in  which  the  Britannia  Inn  was 
situated. 

As  she  entered  a  narrow  lane,  however,  extending  from  a  de- 
solate common  to  the  place  she  was  going  to,  a  female  of  low 
stature  and  swarthy  face,  the  expression  of  which  \vas  not  the 
most  attractive  in  the  world,  suddenly  met  her,  and  cried, 

"  What  are  you  doing  with  that   horse?"     Then,   seeming  to 


THE  MISER'S  SON.  225 

think  she  had  said  both  too  much  and  too  little,  added,  "  I  saw 
a  gentleman  tie  that  beast  to  a  tree,  a  short  time  ago." 

"  Ha  !"  exclaimed  Elizabeth,  watching  the  changes  depicted 
on  the  countenance  of  the  hag,  "  do  3  ou  know  aught  of  the 
owner  ?" 

The  female  was  evidently  disconcerted  at  the  directness  of  this 
interrogatory,  but  replied,  after  a  minute,  with  excessive  effron- 
tery, "  Whether  I  know  him  or  not  is  nothing  to  you.  The  law 
won't  allow  you  to  seize  on  every  horse  you  may  find." 

"  I  am  perfectly  aware  of  that  fact,"  rejoined  Mistress  Haines 
with  composure;  "  but  I  do  know  the  owner,  and  if  he  is  not 
speedily  forthcoming,  1  shall  take  measures  for  your  apprehen- 
sion. It  is  evident  you  are  acquainted  with  something  relative  to 

the  young  gentleman  I  refer  to "  Before  she  concluded 

this  sentence  Elizabeth  perceived  that  the  woman  was  fumbling 
for  something  in  her  dress,  and  anticipating  her  intention  she 
produced  a  pistol  which  she  carried,  and  said,  "I  arn  accus- 
tomed to  use  fire-arms,  and  if  you  dare  to  raise  a  finger  against 
me,  I  will  shoot  you  instantly."  f 

The  hag  had  indeed  intended  to  act  on  the  offensive  against 
Mrs.  Haines;  but  finding  that  she  had  so  resolute  a  person  to 
deal  with,  dissembled,  and  exclaimed,  "  I  am  a  poor,  decrepid 
old  creature,  and  can  do  no  harm  to  you.  I  know  nothing  of  the 
owner  of  this  horse,  I  have  told  you  already ;  so  I  wish  you  a 
good  day  ;"  and  thus  saying,  was  hobbling  away,  but  Elizabeth 
prevented  her  by  levelling  her  pistol,  and  exclaiming, 

"  Move  one  step,  until  I  permit  you  so  to  do,  and  I  will  kill 
you.  I  am  persuaded  you  are  fully  aware  of  the  fate  of  the  gen- 
tleman 1  am  seeking,  and  I  see  that  your  gown  is  stained  with 
blood  !  You  may  well  start !" 

Here  the  suspected  individual  applied  her  fingers  to  her  mouth, 
and  produced  a  shrill  whistle,  the  design  of  which  was  not  im- 
mediately perceptible;  but  Elizabeth  was  on  her  guard,  and 
fearing  lest  the  female  might  have  allies  at  hand,  she  thought  it 
most  prudent  to  bring  the  affair  to  an  end,  and  in  a  calm,  com- 
manding tone,  said, 

"  I  am  not  to  be  intimidated  by  anything  you  can  do.  Tell 
me  without  delay  what  has  become  of  the  youth  to  whom  this 
horse  belongs,  or,  by  heaven  !"  and  she  menaced  the  woman  with 


226  THE  MISERS'  SON. 

the  pistol  she  held.  But  a  sound  of  swift  feet  approaching  now 
alarmed  the  Amazonian  lady,  and  dreading  lest  she  should,  be 
destroyed,  and  all  knowledge  of  the  fate  of  Harry  thus  oblite- 
rated, she  forced  the  beast  she  rode  to  gallop  off. 

"  No,  no,"  exclaimed  the  swarthy  hag,  ferociously,  "  it's  my 
turn  now.  I've  got  a  pistol  here  ;  and  you  shall  find  I  can  use 
it,  if  you  don't  stop,  my  stately  dame!" 

This  threat  was  disregarded  by  Elizabeth,  who  with  the  nerves 
of  a  man  combined  the  long  and  practical  experience  to  be  ac- 
quired in  camps  and  with  those  whose  trade  is  war. 

Not  ignorant  of  the  advantage  of  being  mounted,  she  charged 
her  adversary,  who  had  thrown  herself  in  her  way,  and  who  fled 
as  she  did  so  :  but  instantly  turning  round,  fired,  and  succeeded 
in  wounding  her  terribly,  though  not  dangerously,  in  the  body. 
But  the  pain  of  the  wound  did  not  retard  the  dauntless  Elizabeth, 
who,  as  the  lane  was  only  just  wide  enough  to  admit  her  horse  to 
thread  it,  without  pains  and  caution,  knocked  down  the  other  and 
trampled  on  her  as  she  went. 

"  Pursue  her,  boy  !"  vociferated  the  hag,  hoarsely,  and  breath- 
ing with  difficulty  from  the  effect  of  the  injuries  she  had  sustained 
from  the  horse  :  "  she  reels  in  the  saddle,  look  !  After  her  quick, 
and  knock  her  brains  out  if  she  should  fall !" 

But  though  sick  from  pain  and  the  bleeding  at  her  side,  which 
the  ball  had  penetrated,  Elizabeth  maintained  her  seat :  and  it 
was  most  fortunate  that  she  could  do  so,  and  that  her  steed  was 
swift  of  foot ;  for  a  strange  form  was  chasing  her  with  the  nim- 
bleness  of  a  forest  beast  in  pursuit  of  prey.  But  she  was  sensible 
that  she  could  not  long  retain  her  faculties ;  for  her  head  swam 
and  ice  seemed  gathering  around  her  heart,  while  the  muscles 
almost  refused  to  do  their  office  ;  and  it  was  only  by  a  fixed  and 
desperate  exertion  of  mind,  that  she  prevented  herself  from  falling. 
Another  minute,  and  all  would  have  been  over  with  her,  for  her 
pursuer  was  armed  with  a  club,  and  appeared  bent  on  destroying 
her;  when  a  figure  which  wanted  a  large  portion  of  ils  proper 
stature,  from  the  absence  of  legs,  entered  the  lane  through  a  hedge 
which  shut  out  a  corn-field,  and  as  he  did  so,  Mrs.  Haines  dropped 
from  the  horse — which  with  true  military  training  directly  stood 
still — and  was  caught  in  his  arms.  The  wild  creature,  in  whom 
an  old  acquaintance  will  possibly  be  detected,  did  not  hesitate 


THE  MISER'S  SON.  227 

long  how  to  act ;  but  uttering  a  savage  yell  of  exultation,  sprang 
forwards,  and  aimed  a  blow  with  his  club  at  the  head  of  the  life- 
less woman.  The  cripple  perceived  the  savage's  intention  before 
it  could  be  executed,  and  raising  a  thick  cudgel  which  he  carried, 
dextrously  parried  the  blow,  and  with,  right  good- will  in  his  turn 
aimed  another  at  the  monster.  He  wa*  immediately  attacked 
with  tiger-like  rage  and  fierceness,  and  was  compelled  to  deposit 
his  inanimate  burthen  on  the  earth,  and  to  defend  himself  against 
the  miscreant.  Though  deprived  of  a  considerable  portion  of  his 
materiality,  the  cripple  was  not  in  the  least  weakened  by  his  mis- 
fortune, and  with  a  powerful  arm,  and  excellent  skill  in  the  use  of 
his  cudgel,  bestowed  a  severe  drubbing  on  his  wild  foe.  Still  the 
monster,  with  the  pertinacious  courage  of  a  bull-dog,  refused  to 
retreat,  and  the  cripple  was  preparing  to  deal  him  a  blow  on  the 
skull,  which  would  probably  have  determined  the  contest  by 
breaking  that  indispensable  appurtenance,  when  a  harsh  voice 
screamed — 

"  What,  Samuel  Stokes,  would  you  kill  your  own  son  ?"  and 
continued,  while  the  cripple  stood  irresolute,  "  would  you  kill  the 
poor  child  of  Sally  ?" 

"  Whew !"  whistled  Sam,  greatly  disconcerted,  as  the  hag,  of 
whom  the  reader  has  peradventure  formed  his  conjectures  and 
identified  with  a  most  amiable  being  who  has  heretofore  acted  a 
highly  conspicuous  part  in  our  drama  on  manifold  occasions,  spe- 
cification of  which  were  supererogatory.  "  Why,  aunt,  where 
the  devil  did  ye  come  from,  and  what  the  deuce  d'ye  mean  by 
that  there  ?" 

"  I  mean  what  I  say,  you  graceless,  unfeeling,  unnatural  dog !" 
returned  the  reputed  witch,  breathless  with  the  speed  she  had 
made,  as  well  as  the  previous  impression  made  on  her  by  the  horse. 
"  This  boy  you  have  been  so  cruelly  beating  is  yours  !  O,  I  could 
tear  your  eyes  out — you  wretch,  you  villain  !  The  poor  lad  is 
almost  dead  from  your  treatment.  How  he  is  bleeding !  Be 
assured  for  this  I'll  have  revenge  on  you  !  You  shall  hang  on  a 
gallows  and  be  drawn  and  quartered,  hang  you !  My  threats 
and  curses  are  never  in  vain.  Don't  stand  gaping  there,  but  go 
about  your  business,  and  never  let  me  see  your  ugly  face  again, 
or  I'll  scratch  it  till  no  one  shall  know  it — I  will !" 

"  But  d'ye  really  mean  to  tell  me,  that  there  brute  is  mine  and 


228  THE  MISER'S  SON. 

Sally 's  ?  O,  don't  go  for  to  gammon  mei  I  know  your  old  tricks, 
Mother  Stokes ! — Ah,  this  poor  creelur  here,  who  seems  badly 
hurt,  will  soon  rekiver.  I  wonder  who  fired  that  there  pistol 
which  brought  me  here  to  see  what  it  was  !" 

"/fired  it!"  exclaimed  Mother  Stokes,  vehemently ;  "go, 
and  blab  that ;  do,  you  villain  !  You  want  to  have  my  daughter 
for  a  wife,  I  hear  !  I  would  rather  give  her  to  Satan  and  his  imps 
for  a  strumpet ! — Off  with  you,  or  I'll  call  them  !" 

"  No,  indeed,  you  black-hearted  old  wretch  !"  responded 
Stokes,  indignantly.  "If  I  don't  blab  I  shan't  do  my  duty — you 
fired  at  her,  did  ye  ? — Fired  at  her,  did  ye  ? — Shiver  my  tim- 
bers, if  you  wasn't  Sally's  mother,  I'd  kick  you  from  here  to  h — ! 
There,  I've  said  it!  Be  off  with  ye,  at  once,  or — "  (another  oath, 
which  for  the  sake  of  our  lady-readers  shall  be  omitted,  honest 
Sam  making  use  of  expletives  a  dozen  times  in  a  sentence  when 
in  a  passion)  "  you'll  see  what  I  shall  do  to  ye !  I'm  ashamed  to 
belong  to  your  blood,  I  am !  The  poor  creetur's  a-opening  her 
eyes  !  Don't  be  alarmed,  my  good  lady  !  If  that  old  daughter 
of  a  dog  there  dares  to  come  nigher,  she'll  repent  it,  she  will ! — 
How  she  bleeds,  poor  soul ! — I'd  better  put  her  on  the  horse  and 
take  her  to  the  doctor's !" 

"  On  your  peril,  do  it !"  exclaimed  Mother  Stokes,  in  a  voice 
almost  suffocated  with  rage.  "  I  have  another  loaded  pistol  here  ; 
and  I  swear  I  will  shoot  you,  if  you  were  fifty  times  my  nephew, 
if  you  don't  leave  this  woman  to  me,  and  promise  never  to  divulge 
the  secret  that  I  wounded  her.  You  know  me,  Samuel !  I'm  a 
desperate  person,  and  now  have  gone  too  far  to  retreat." 

"  A  fig  for  your  ball  and  gunpowder,"  responded  Sam,  con- 
temptuously. "  I've  been  in  twenty  actions  with  cannon-balls 
a-flying  about  my  head  by  dozens  and  hundreds,  and^d'ye  think 
I  care  a  d — n  for  a  pistol  in  the  hand  of  such  a — "  (a  complimentary 
epithet  not  in  the  'Elegant  Extracts,')  "as  you?  Think  you're 
lucky  I  don't  take  you  afore  a  justice.  It  ain't  because  you're 
my  aunt,  as  I  doesn't  do  so,  I  promise  ye !" 

The  hag  found  it  was  necessary  to  change  her  note,  and  with  a 
violent  effort  of  mind  swallowing  the  abuse  which  she  longed  to 
retort,  said  in  a  wheedling,  fawning  tone— 

"  Nay,  Sam,  now,  I  was  only  in  joke.  You  know  I  am  your 
own  aunt,  and  the  mother  of  your  cousin  Sally.  It  wasn't  I  that 


THE  MISER'S  SON.  229 

wounded  the  female.  Come,  my  dear  boy,  go  along  with  you  ; 
and  if  you  won't  say  a  word  of  this  business,  Til  promise  to  make 
Sally  your's  again." 

"  O,  you  wicked  old  devil !"  exclaimed  Sam,  whose  incorrup- 
tible integrity  was  perfectly  proof  against  the  temptation  with 
which  he  was  assailed.  "  D'ye  think  I'd  have  Sal,  much  as  I 
love  her,  if  so  be  she  wasn't  willing  herself?  I  don't  think  as  I 
could  take  even  Heaven  itself  as  a  gift  from  you.  Go  off.  I 
shall  take  this  poor,  wounded  person  to  have  her  hurts  seen  to, 
and  you  may  think  yourself  precious  well  off,  if  I  don't  tell  who 
did  them." 

"But  Sam — but  Sam!"  said  Mother  Stokes,  beseechingly, 
"  hear  me " 

"  Don't  Sam  me,"  interrupted  the  sailor,  as  he  raised  Elizabeth, 
who  was  now  in  some  measure  recovered,  in  his  sturdy  arms,  and 
was  going  to  place  her  on  the  horse  again. 

"  Nay  then,"  exclaimed  the  hag,  losing  all  command  over  her- 
self, and  firing  at  her  nephew,  but  only  grazing  his  head  with 
the  bullet.  Scarcely  had  the  report  of  the  pistol  subsided,  when 
another  person  appeared  on  the  scene  of  action,  and  the  atrocious 
Mother  Stokes  no  sooner  saw  him,  than  she  fled,  and  was  accom- 
panied by  the  sorely-beaten  savage. 

"  O,  Master  Francis,  is  it  you,  sir?"  said  Sam,  who  scarcely 
turned  away  as  the  pistol  was  discharged  at  him  ;  "  I'm  a-going 
to  the  doctor's  with  this  poor  creetur,  who's  badly  hurt.  She's 
a-coming  to  her  senses  now.  How  d'ye  feel,  mum  ?  You're  safe 
and  with  friends." 

As  he  spoke  Mrs.  Haines  regained  her  faculties,  and  casting 
her  eyes  on  the  new  comer,  she  cried — 

"That  must  be  a  Walsingham  !  Young  gentleman,  I  claim 
your  assistance.  Where  is  that  woman?" 

"O,  she's  off!  don't  be  alarmed,"  said  Samuel.  "We'd  better 
go,  and  get  your  hurts  seen  to  at  once,  for  them  pistol  balls  some- 
times play  old  gooseberry  in  the  body.  D'ye  feel  well  enough  to 
ride  on,  mum  ?" 

The  young  man  Mrs.  Haines  addressed  now  spoke— 

"  I  am  in  ignorance  of  all  that  has  previously  passed,  madam, 
but  whatever  help  I  can  render,  is  yours." 

"  I  fear  that  some  foul  deed  has  been  recently  perpetrated," 


123Q  THE  MISER'S  SON. 

returned  Elizabeth,  speaking  with  difficulty  from  the  pain  of  the 
wound,  "  and  I  would  ask  you  to  inquire  into  it.  I  fear  that  I 
shall  not  be  able  to  act  now,  with  the  requisite  promptitude.  If 
you  are  the  person  I  take  you  to  be,  young  sir,  I  knew  your  father 
well ;  and  if  you  are  as  like  one  of  the  bravest  men  that  ever  lived, 
in  nature  as  in  person,  you  will  not  refuse  to  grant  a  boon  to  a 
helpless  woman." 

"  I  am  Francis  Walsingham,"  returned  the  youth,  who  was  the 
same  mentioned  in  a  former  chapter  as  unexpectedly  making  his 
appearance  before  Mr.  Stokes,  and  with  a  heightened  colour,  as 
he  uttered  his  name,  "  and  whatever  service,  consistent  with  the 
honour  of  a  gentleman,  I  can  do  you,  I  repeat,  1  will." 

"  Many  thanks !  Proceed  to  the  nearest  magistrate,  and  pro- 
cure a  warrant  to  seize  on  the  person  of  that  woman  who  wounded 
me.  I  accuse  her  of  some  vile  practice  against  the  life  or  safety 
of  one  Harry  Danvers.  Lose  no  time  in  doing  this,  while  I  get 
my  wound  dressed,  when  I  will  make  a  deposition.  Pray,  come 
to  me,  when  you  have  been  to  the  magistrate's ;  and  Heaven  re- 
ward you." 

Exhausted  with  giving  utterance  to  so  many  words,  Mrs. 
Haines  suffered  Samuel  to  place  her  on  the  horse,  and  he  having 
mounted  behind,  in  order  to  support  her,  they  repaired  to  the 
nearest  apothecary's,  after  Sam  in  an  under-tone  to  young  Fran- 
cis Walsingham  had  pronounced,  "  The  woman  is  Mother 
Stokes."  Meanwhile,  that  estimable  lady,  stricken  with  terror, 
without  waiting  to  form  any  plan  of  procedure,  attended  by  the 
savage,  who  was  surly  and  sore  with  bruises,  left  the  lane,  and 
crawled  into  the  corn-field,  which  she  hastily  crossed,  and  followed 
a  path  that  took  her  away  from  her  own  home.  Abating  not  her 
speed,  she  sought  the  most  unfrequented  roads,  and  carefully 
avoided  every  human  being,  until  the  shades  of  night  began  to 
descend.  Dire  were  the  passions  raging  in  her  heart;  but  fear 
was  that  which  now  urged  her  on,  and  made  even  revenge  subor- 
dinate. But  when  on  coming  to  a  part  of  the  country  with  which 
she  was  acquainted,  she  found  she  was  many  miles  from  the  locality 
where  the  rencontre  with  Elizabeth  had  taken  place,  she  ven- 
tured to  seek  the  repose  which  her  weary  limbs  needed,  and  to 
deliberate  on  the  best  line  of  policy  for  the  future. 

"  I  must  not  return  to  my  hut,"   she  thought,  "  for  they  will 


THE  MISER'S  SON.  231 

IH;  sure  to  seek  me  there ;  but  they  will  not  find  the  lad — ha,  ha !" 
And  she  laughed  devilishly.  "  No  one  knows  where  to  find  him, 
and  he  will  starve  to  death.  O,  Master  Walter !  good  news  for 
you."  Having  chuckled  over  this  pleasant  picture,  she  added  to 
herself — "  And  that  woman  and  my  nephew  !  I  must  wreak  a  full 
revenge  on  them  !  O,  that  I  had  all  my  foes  in  my  power!  The 
tortures  I  have  heard  of  in  foreign  countries  should  be  nothing  to 
the  agonies  I  would  devise  for  my  victims.  They  should  drag  on 
years  of  insufferable  misery  of  mind  and  body,  and  eat  the  most 
loathsome  things  that  crawl  the  earth." 

She  finished  with  a  mental  oath,  and  was  looking  round  to  see 
if  there  were  any  water  near  to  assuage  the  thirst  she  felt,  when 
the  savage  uttered  a  cry,  which  she  knew  was  of  alarm.  She 
started  up  and  listened.  Yes,  there  were  shouts  of  pursuit. 
They  had  tracked  her.  She  heard  the  galloping  of  horses ;  and 
renewing  her  flight,  still  followed  by  the  monster,  hastened  into 
a  thicket,  in  order  to  seek  concealment. 

Having  gained  the  shelter  where  she  hoped  to  remain  undis- 
covered, Mother  Stokes  rapidly  glanced  round  her,  in  order  to 
form  a  correct  judgment  of  her  exact  position,  and  the  amount 
of  difficulty  there  must  be,  in  eluding  the  vigilance  of  pursuit. 
It  never  for  an  instant  struck  her  that  she  might  have  been  mis- 
taken in  her  supposition  with  regard  to  her  peril  from  those  who 
were  on  the  alert  to  detect  and  apprehend  some  person,  and  thus, 
like  many  other  guilty  people,  from  precipitation  and  terror,  took 
the  very  means  for  exciting  suspicion,  by  the  timidity  which  she 
displayed.  The  trees,  though  they  did  not  grow  to  any  extraor- 
dinary height,  in  her  lurking-place,  were  of  adequate  density  for 
all  purposes  of  concealment;  but  she  did  not  calculate  on  any 
other  than  the  common  and  usual  means  of  pursuing  fugitives 
from  those  she  was  in  dread  of,  and  so  she  couched  down,  together 
with  the  savage,  hoping  the  enemy  would  soon  abandon  the 
search.  On  a  sudden,  after  the  lapse  of  a  few  minutes,  her 
wild  companion  arose,  and  running  a  few  paces  from  the  spot, 
picked  up  something  which'  he  brought  to  his  mistress,  who,  on 
inspection,  found  that  it  was  a  hat  of  antique  construction,  and 
not  at  all  beautified  by  wear;  and,  indeed,  It  was  so  altogether 
remarkable,  that  she  was  certain  it  was  one  she  had  before  seen 
on  the  head  of  a  person  with  whom  she  was  acquainted.  An 


232  THE  MISER'S  SON. 

idea  flashed  upon  her,  produced  by  an  association  connected 
with  this  object;  and  she  thought  "  If  I  am  taken  I  will  betray 
the  Miser,  and  so  procure  my  own  pardon.  That  woman  whom 
I  wounded  must  be  a  friend  of  Danvers.  He  is  implicated  in 
the  treason  which  I  intended  should  turn  out  profitably  for  me, 
and  so  the  government  will  not  care  for  her,  should  she  die ; 
and  I  have  nothing  to  fear,  unless  they  should  discover  the  cave 
and  search  it ;  and,  even  then,  there  is  no  positive  proof  against 
me.  But  still  I  would  much  rather  no  inquiry  should  be  made  ; 
I  would  not  willingly  be  examined  before  a  magistrate — " 

Even  as  she  was  thus  cogitating,  she  perceived  the  glittering 
of  steel  through  the  trees,  as  the  moon  shed  more  than  common 
lustre  on  the  earth,  and  suppressing  a  cry  of  alarm,  was  about 
to  fly  in  the  opposite  direction,  when  the  savage  prevented  her, 
and  with  his  finger  pointed  out  a  similar  cause  for  apprehension 
in  the  point  whither  she  was  about  to  repair.  The  noise  of  arms 
became  more  and  more  distinct,  and  at  length  the  hag  perceived 
she  was  gradually  being  hemmed  in  by  soldiers,  and  that  there 
was  no  possibility  of  escape. 

All  her  terrors  returned  upon  her  with  aggravated  intensity, 
and  creeping  into  a  hollow  tree  she  hid  herself  there,  the  wild 
boy  still  accompanying  her.  What  dreadful  moments  of  sus- 
pense are  those  which  are  passed  in  such  a  manner !  The  ago- 
nized doubts,  the  hopes  and  fears  alternating,  and  minutes  ap- 
pearing to  grow  into  hours.  It  is  possible  that  anticipation  may 
be  more  terrible  than  reality.  And  now  the  circle  which  the 
military  had  made  was  circumscribed  to  a  few  dozen  yards,  and 
she  heard  them  beating  the  bushes  with  their  swords. 

"He  is  not  here,  that  I  can  see,"  observed  an  officer.  "  I 
think  he  must  have  found  some  means  of  eluding  us — though 
how  I  cannot  guess,  without  there  be  some  other  subterraneous 
passage.  I  suppose  we  may  as  well  conclude  the  search.  After 
all,  we  know  not  whether  we  were  correct  in  our  conjectures 
concerning  the  man.  He  is  a  rascal,  I  make  no  doubt,  but  per- 
haps not  the  sort  of  one  we  want." 

"  Please  your  honour,"  exclaimed  a  non-commissioned  officer, 
as  the  last  speaker  was  just  issuing  the  word  of  command  to  the 
dragoons  to  return  to  their  horses,  "  here's  a  woman's  shoe  I've 
found.' 


THE  MISER'S  SON.  233 

"A  woman's  shoe,  you  blockhead.     And  what  the  devil  is 
that  to  me?" 

"  Why,  sir,  you  see — hem — that  though  it's  a  man  we  are 
looking  after — " 

"  Tut,  tut,  you  stupid  fellow,  do  you  think  he'd  wear  wo- 
men's shoes?"  ^ 

This  dialogue  had  greatly  relieved  the  mind  of  Mother  Stokes, 
who  had  been  listening  intently  to  all  that  was  passing.  From 
the  first  moment  when  it  was  mentioned  that  a  man  was  the 
object  of  pursuit,  she  knew  that  she  could  not  be  the  person 
sought  for ;  and  she  now  recovered  from  the  consternation  into 
which  she  had  been  thrown,  and  began  to  devise  the  best  method 
of  acting.  If  she  could  have  invented  any  plausible  tale  to  ac- 
count for  her  being  where  she  was,  she  would  have  instantly  left 
her  hiding-place,  lest  she  might  still  be  discovered  ;  but  when 
she  considered  how  suspicious  were  the  circumstances  of  Im- 
position, and  how  probable  it  was  she  might  be  subjected  to  a 
further  examination  were  she  to  make  her  appearance,  after 
having  palpably  endeavoured  to  avoid  observation,  she  resolved 
on  remaining  quiet  and  waiting  the  issue  of  events.  But  she  was 
not  allowed  to  exercise  free  will  in  the  matter;  for  one  of  the 
soldiers  thrust  his  sword,  happily  in  the  scabbard,  into  the  hol- 
low of  the  tree  in  which  she  was  lurking,  and  struck  the  mouth 
of  the  savage  with  such  force  as  to  knock  out  two  or  three  of 
his  huge  teeth,  upon  which,  with  a  howl  of  rage  and  pain,  he 
rushed  out  and  retaliated  on  his  unintentional  assailant,  by 
striking  him  with  his  club  ferociously,  and  causing  him  to  mea- 
sure his  length  on  the  earth.  But  a  dozen  powerful  hands  were 
instantly  laid  upon  him,  and  he  was  dragged  into  the  midst  of 
the  soldiery  amid  jeers  and  cries  of  wonderment  at  his  uncouth 
and  strange  appearance.  Mother  Stokes,  convinced  that  she 
should  be  detected  if  she  remained  in  the  tree,  now  emerged  from 
it,  and  made  an  attempt  at  an  obeisance  to  the  officer  who  had 
first  spoken.  In  her  hurry  she  had  left  behind  her  shoe,  and  as 
she  had  consequently  but  one,  it  seemed  certain  that  she  was 
the  owner  of  that  which  had  been  just  found. 

"  Well,  we  have  a  queer  pair  here,  by  Jove !"  cried  the  chief 
of  the  party,  no  other  than  Norton's  second  in  command, 
•'  Beauty  and  the  beast — ha,  ha  ?" 

»2  H 


234  THE  MISER'S  SON. 

"  An  it  please  your  honour,"  returned  Mother  Stokes,  to 
whom  this  question  was  directed,  '«  I  am  a  poor,  lone,  widow 
woman,  and  this  unhappy  boy  you  have  here — " 

"  Boy  !  I  thought  he  was  a  brute.  Do  you  mean  to  say  he  is 
really  human,  then  ?" 

"  Yes,  sir,  he  is  a  human  being,  and  without  the  gift  of 
speech.  But  he  has  been  my  faithful  companion  all  his  life,  and 
1  hope  you  won't  do  him  any  harm.  We  had  just  laid  ourselves 
down  to  rest  in  that  tree,  and  were  fast  asleep,  when  he  had  his 
teeth  knocked  out.  We  are  homeless,  and  without  money,  and 
so  we  were  going,  as  we  often  do,  to  pass  the  night  where  we 
were." 

But  the  officer  was  by  no  means  satisfied  with  this  account. 

"  I  must  take  you  before  a  magistrate,"  he  said,  "  your  story, 
it  is  plain,  is  false.  The  noise  which  we  have  been  recently 
making  must  have  aroused  you  from  any  sleep,  and  the  fact  of 
your  having  left  your  shoe,  as  if  in  haste,  looks  bad.  So  you  must 
both  of  youjump  up  behind  two  dragoons." 

Mother  Stokes  finding  that  expostulation  would  be  vain,  sul- 
lenly yielded  to  necessity,  and  was  taken  up,  not  without 
grumbling,  by  a  soldier,  as  soon  as  the  troop  was  re-mounted. 
The  savage  likewise  shared  a  similar  fate,  and  having  been  de- 
prived of  his  club,  and  his  long  arms  pinioned,  the  troop  pro- 
ceeded at  a  brisk  pace  towards  the  county  town  for  which  it  was 
destined.  Mother  Stokes  deliberated  whether  it  might  not  be  her 
best  plan  without  delay  to  reveal  what  she  knew  of  the  plot  in 
which  the  Miser  was  involved  to  the  commanding  officer,  espe- 
cially as,  from  having  found  his  hat,  and  the  soldiers  being  in 
pursuit  of  some  suspected  person,  it  was  probable  her  intelli- 
gence might  be  forestalled — and  dreaded  lest  such  should  have 
been  the  case.  But  she  was  unacquainted  with  the  officer's  rank, 
and  knew  not  if  he  had  the  power  of  giving  any  pledge  for  her 
safety,  if  she  communicated  her  knowledge,  which  he  could 
redeem  ;  and  although  she  endeavoured  to  extract  information 
from  the  soldier  she  rode  with,  the  fellow  was  so  surly  at  being 
obliged  to  have  such  an  ugly  old  witch  in  his  immediate  proxi- 
mity, that  he  only  answered  with  oaths.  The  march  was  thus 
continued  till  midnight ;  and  the  troop  had  nearly  reached  its 
destination,  when  a  horseman  rode  up  to  the  commander,  and 


THE  MISER'S  SON.  235 

spoke  to  him  in  a  hurried  tone.     The  officer  uttered  an  exclama- 
tion of  surprise,  and  then  shouted, 

"  Right  about  face  !  We  shall  have  some  bloody  work  to-night, 
lads !  The  Jacobites  are  up  in  arms,  and  now  within  ten  miles  of 
us,  in  some  force;  but  if  they  want  to  fight,  we  are  the  men  to 
give  them  a  bellyfull  of  hard  blows!" 


CHAPTER  III. 


This  smooth  discourse  and  mild  behaviour  oft 
Conceal  a  traitor — something  whispers  me 
All  is  not  right.     Beware  of  Lucius. — Cato. 

Right  loyal  heart !     This  is  a  friend  indeed— 

A  friend  to  feel  for  and  remove  the  evil. 

He  who  will  sit  contentedly  to  meat, 

And  reason  calmly  on  a  friend's  distress, 

Who  dares  not  speak  his  thoughts  with  boldness  out, 

May  give  you  wise  advice,  but  nothing  more. 

Old  Play. 

THE    MEETING    OF  THE   JACOBITES  —  THE    EMISSARY — JOHN 
NORTON — THE    FLIGHT. 

IN  a  large  and  dreary  apartment,  the  walls  of  which  were 
covered  with  dust-begrimed  portraits  of  grim  old  warriors  and 
stately  dames  of  the  16th  and  17th  centuries,  and  also  with 
arms  of  various  descriptions,  such  as  the  lance,  the  battle-axe, 
and  the  unwieldy  two-handed  sword,  which  had  done  service 
possibly  in  the  wars  of  Palestine,  together  with  the  mace,  the 
bow,  the  shield,  and  others,  the  use  of  which  had  long  been  ex- 
ploded, with  some  rusty  suits  of  armour  and  banners,  which  were 
victorious  trophies,  and  were  now  dropping  to  pieces  with  age, 
were  assembled  a  number  of  men,  exceeding  perhaps  a  score,  in 
deep  and  earnest  council.  They  were  of  all  ages  and  of  divers 
conditions,  though  very  few  were  not  entitled  to  rank  among 
gentlemen.  There  was  the  proud  and  venerable  nobleman,  with 


236  THE  MISER'S  SON. 

his  white  hair  and  regular  features,  his  tall  stature,  and  his  erect 
carriage,  all  demonstrative  of  his  ancient  lineage,  and  the  innate 
and  hereditary  haughtiness  of  his  nature.  There  was  the  stal- 
wart 'Squire,  with  his  sunburnt  cheek  and  ruddy  complexion, 
his  broad  and  open  chest  and  firm  step,  good  nature,  strength 
and  manhood  being  impressed  on  his  whole  looks,  countenance, 
and  bearing.  Of  this  latter  description  by  far  the  greater  num- 
ber of  the  meeting  was  composed  ;  but  here  and  there  a  sturdy 
yeoman,  with  the  same  general  outward  characteristics  as  the 
burly  squire,  but  yet  with  more  vulgarity  of  feature  and  figure, 
might  be  seen,  while  one  common  interest  and  one  common  dan- 
ger levelled  for  a  time  the  distinctions  of  rank  ;  and  in  their  zeal 
for  the  cause  they  were  met  to  support,  the  prejudices  of  class 
and  station  were  forgotten.  It  need  hardly  be  added,  that  this 
was  an  assemblage  of  Jacobites,  convened  for  the  purpose  of 
carrying  on  some  systematic  operations  for  the  restoration  of  the 
house  of  Stuart  to  the  monarchy. 

At  the  period  in  question,  like  almost  every  other  period  in  the 
history  of  the  world,  there  were  numerous  discontented  spirits, 
ever  ready  to  catch  at  change,  for  the  mere  sake  of  novelty,  re- 
gardless of  the  consequences  of  revolution;  and  in  the  efforts 
which  were  making  in  the  cause  of  the  royal  exiles,  the  sincerity, 
and  the  heartfelt  attachment  and  loyalty  of  their  adherents  was 
limited  to  a  very  small  number.  Nevertheless  there  was  a  suf- 
ficiency of  general  murmuring  and  sedition  in  the  country  to  war- 
rant the  hope,  that  in  any  disorganization  of  the  existing  order  of 
things,  the  conspiracy  would  become  a  popular  movement ;  and 
the  subtle  machinations  of  the  Jesuits,  and  of  the  Roman  Catho- 
lic denomination,  almost  universally,  were  unremittingly  at  work, 
for  the  destruction  of  the  Hanoverian  succession  ;  and  while  they 
fomented  discontent  among  the  masses,  and  secretly  introduced 
dissension  into  the  counsels  of  the  deliberative  assemblage  of  the 
nation — those  representatives  numbering  among  them  members 
favourable  to  the  ancient  line  of  kings — the  animosity  of  party 
spirit,  and  the  rancour  of  religious  bigotry,  together  with  the  envy 
and  jealousy  excited  by  the  partiality  of  the  reigning  sovereign  for 
foreign  satellites,  envenomed  the  minds  of  many  of  the  higher 
orders,  who  by  the  persuasions  of  foreign  emissaries  became  so 
disaffected,  and  so  allured  by  the  promises  held  out  to  them,  that 


THE  MISER'S  SON.  237 

they  only  awaited  a  favourable  opportunity  for  throwing  oft* 
allegiance  to  George  the  First,  and  declaring  for  the  Pretender. 

Having  thus  cursorily  remarked  on  the  state  of  feeling  that 
subsisted  in  the  country,  and  the  elements  in  activity  for  rebel- 
lion, it  may  be  as  well  to  particularise  the  motive  of  the  council 
which  had  been  assembling  in  the  hous^  of  a  fervent  Jacobite  on 
the  evening  specified.  The  failure  of  the  rising  in  1715,  in  fa- 
vour of  the  Stuarts,  having  damped  the  ardour,  and  depressed 
the  spirits  and  energies  of  those  who  were  desirous  that  the  di- 
rect line  of  the  ancient  monarchs  should  be  rectified  ;  it  was  a 
matter  of  no  very  easy  practicability  to  reanimate  that  high-pres- 
sure enthusiasm,  which  the  fate  of  the  disastrous  insurrection  had 
annihilated  in  the  least  sanguine,  and  diminished  in  others  ; 
and  although  a  numerous  body  of  agents,  foreign  and  otherwise, 
had  been  employed  for  this  purpose,  the  want  of  money  and  ex- 
tensive influence  of  the  great  body  of  fervent  Jacobites  paralysed 
the  effect  of  the  eloquence  of  the  subtle  and  artful  men  selected 
to  accomplish  the  work  in  the  hearts  of  those  it  was  wished  should 
join  the  combination  re-organizing  against  the  house  of  Hanover. 
A  number  of  these  foreign  emissaries  in  England  had  suggested 
the  expediency  of  converting  those  not  unfavourable  to  their 
cause  into  available  partisans,  in  order  to  collect  as  much  money 
as  possible, — monetary  resources,  as  affording  the  means  of 
bribery  and  corruption,  being  the  chief  means  on  which  they  re- 
lied,— for  the  carrying  on  and  the  better  regulation  of  the  move- 
ment;  and  several  of  these,  sly,  dark,  keen-eyed  individuals,  for 
the  most  part  of  foreign  aspect,  were  collected  in  the  chamber  in 
a  little  knot,  which  as  soon  as  it  dispersed,  cunningly,  and  no 
doubt  by  preconcertion,  contrived  that  each  member  should 
monopolise  the  attention  of  two  or  three  of  the  most  influential 
persons  present ;  and  proceeded  with  caution  to  break  to  them 
the  necessity  for  au  immediate  outlay  of  their  pecuniary  assist- 
ance, to  be  repaid  them,  with  a  high  rate  of  interest,  as  soon  as 
the  restoration  of  the  exiled  family  could  be  effected. 

Perfectly  aware,  however,  of  the  necessity  for  extreme  circum- 
spection in  their  exertions,  where  they  tended  to  deprive  their 
partisans  of  the  wealth  which  they  so  dearly  prized,  and  anxious 
in  no  way  to  damp  the  zeal  of  those  adherents,  and  of  others 
less  ardent  in  the  cause,  by  a  display  of  the  narrowness  of  the 


238  THE  MISER'S  SON. 

finances  they  possessed  for  the  effectuation  of  so  mighty  an  ob- 
ject as  their  ulterior  purpose,  they  proceeded  to  break  the  ice 
with  a  sophistry  and  oiliness  of  tongue  which  deceived  the  well- 
natured  country  gentlemen  to  whom  they  were  appealing,  by  re- 
presenting that  the  resources  of  James  Stuart  were  ample,  and 
that  it  was  a  mere  momentary  pressure  of  urgent  necessity,  which 
rendered  this  application  to  them  for  money  expedient.  Nothing, 
however,  so  sharpens  the  wits  and  opens  the  eyes  of  the  gene- 
rality of  mankind  as  a  demand  on  their  purse-strings  ;  and  the 
agents  of  the  Pretender  speedily  perceived  that  the  looks  of 
many  of  their  supporters  were  not  at  all  indicative  of  satisfaction 
at  the  turn  which  affairs  seemed  taking  against  their  own  private 
pockets. 

"  What  was  the  exigency,"  they  murmured  to  each  other, 
"  which  so  imperatively  called  for  this  demand  ;  and  why  was  it 
not  forseen  and  obviated  before  ?  They  had  no  funds  among 
them  to  be  hazarded  on  some  dark  and  mysterious  scheme, 
which  might,  it  was  likely,  be  frustrated,  before  it  could  be 
ripened." 

It  was  at  this  juncture  that  a  man  of  rather  diminutive  appear- 
ance, and  of  about  nine-and-twenty  summers,  entered  the  room, 
and  was  immediately  greeted  with  a  cordial  welcome  by  the 
emissaries  and  others  who  were  most  zealous  in  their  Toryism, 
who  addressed  him  by  the  name  of  "  Hugh  Freestone." 

*•' Where  is  Walter  Danvers  ?"  was  the  general  interrogation, 
addressed  to  this  personage  as  he  proceeded  to  the  centre  of  the 
apartment,  and  helped  himself  to  a  glass  of  wine  from  a  huge 
bottle  which  stood  upon  the  table.  A  physiognomist,  by  careful 
perusal  of  that  somewhat  sinister  countenance,  might  have  de- 
tected a  lurking  shade  of  displeasure  darkening  it,  as  such  im- 
portance seemed  attached  to  the  appearance  of  the  person  in- 
quired for:  but  disguising  every  outward  emotion  with  a  skill 
which  has  ever  been  carried  to  perfection  in  the  subtle  school  to 
which  he  belonged,  Freestone  replied, 

"  He  is  unavoidably  absent,  and  upon  business  which  is  of 
importance  to  us  all.  I  should  have  been  with  you  sooner,  but 
that  I  have  been  delayed  by  two  or  three  persons  wavering  in 
their  allegiance  to  his  Majesty,  King  James ;  and  I  was  anxious 
to  confirm  them  in  their  loyalty.  Gentlemen,  I  have  gratifying 


THE  MISER'S  SON.  239 

intelligence  to  communicate  to  you  collectively — to  many,  indi- 
vidually. I  am  commissioned  to  bear  letters — which  I  will  de- 
liver presently — all  promising  the  highest  honors  and  emoluments 
from  our  gracious  Sovereign  to  such  of  his  faithful  subjects  as 
peril  themselves  for — " 

"  Ay,  promises !  Fine  words  butter  no  parsnips,"  observed 
a  coarse  yeoman,  who  had  been  indulging  in  liquor,  and  grumb- 
ling, at  the  attempt  on  his  purse. 

Freestone  appeared  dubious  whether  to  notice  this  interrup- 
tion, and  cast  rapid  and  furtive  glances  to  his  coadjutors,  to 
gather  their  opinion  ;  but  his  glance  wandering  to  others,  and 
observing  that  it  did  not  fall  without  weight  on  the  majority  of 
the  meeting,  and  seemed  to  represent  their  sentiments  on  the  sub- 
ject, he  said, 

"  A  friend  has  been  pleased  to  tell  you  that  promises  are  all 
which  our  Royal  Master  gives.  I  would  ask  the  gentleman  whe- 
ther he  is  so  unreasonable  as  to  suppose  that  before  he  is  re- 
seated on  his  ancestral  throne,  our  gracious  monarch  would 
choose  to  make  any  large  disbursement,  save  for  the  general  good 
of  the  cause  ?  But,  indeed,  a  very  considerable  sum  is  actually 
in  the  hands  of  Captain  Danvers,  and  jewels  to  the  value  of 
£3000,  which  have  been  sent  by  ladies  of  distinction  to  evince 
their  attachment,  will  be  added  to  the  treasury  without  delay. 
Yet  surely  it  behoves  us  to  do  something  more  than  talk  of  our 
willingness  to  serve  his  Majesty  !  Let  us  unite  heart  and  hand, 
and  endeavour  to  extend  the  influence  of  our  party  through  all 
the  land.  The  measures  proper  to  be  adopted  must  be  on  so 
large  a  scale  as  to  require  a  supply  of  money  commensurate  with 
the  greatness " 

"  No  humbug!"  here  again  interrupted  the  sturdy  fellow  who 
had  before,  under  the  stirring  power  of  drink,  so  freely  expressed 
his  feelings.  "  Be  more  explicit,  Master  Freestone — we  won't 
grope  in  the  dark." 

"  Our  friend  has  evidently  been  quaffing  of  the  best  country 
ale,"  remarked  Freestone,  annoyed  at  the  bluff  yeoman's  bold 
speaking,  particularly  as  he  found  it  more  powerful  than  an 
appeal  of  greater  eloquence  and  less  genuineness  would  have 
been,  while  the  pertinacity  of  the  man's  nature,  he  felt,  was  not 
to  be  subdued  by — what  is  expressively  termed,  now-a-days, 


240  THE  MISER'S  SON. 

"  flummery,"  or  bullying.  "  I  request  him,  for  the  sake  of  cour- 
tesy, and  if  he  be  indeed  sincere  in  his  devotion  to  the  interests 
of  our  lawful  King,  to  hear  me  with  patience,  and  to  be  '  silent 
that  you  mav  hear.'  I  will  now  proceed  to  peruse  to  you  a 
general  letter  from  his  Majesty,  signed  and  sealed  by  himself,  in 
which  he  thanks  you  for  all  your  noble  and  disinterested  loyalty, 
and  when,  by  the  grace  of  God,  he  again  occupies  the  place 
which  Heaven  and  the  laws  of  England  entitle  him  to  demand, 
he  will  amply  recompense  you  singly,  and " 

While  the  speaker  was  yet  in  the  middle  of  his  sentence, 
having  produced  a  rather  favourable  impression  on  his  audience, 
more  perhaps  by  the  speciousness  of  his  manner  than  the  good- 
ness of  his  matter,  or  any  overpowering  eloquence  he  possessed, 
a  person  suddenly  entered  the  apartment,  and  casting  his  eyes 
around,  exclaimed, 

"  Gentlemen,  a  pressing  occasion  must  excuse  ceremony  on 
my  part.  Your  able  and  trust-worthy  agent,  Captain  Walter 
Danvers,  in  bis  untiring  endeavours  to  serve  the  good  cause,  has 
involved  himself  in  peril ;  and  it  becomes  us  all  as  men,  as 
friends,  and  brethren  joined  in  one  common  fraternity,  to  extri- 
cate him  from  the  dangerous  predicament  in  which  he  stands. 
I  need  say  no  more,  I  am  sure.  You  have  swords  and  hands, 
and  hearts  ever  ready  to  throb  for  those  that  endanger  life  for 
right  against  might!'' 

The  new  comer  was  a  man  of  middle  age,  a  trifle  below  the 
ordinary  height,  and  had  been  perceptibly  riding  fast  and  long, 
his  spurs  being  incarnadine  with  the  blood  of  his  horse.  There 
was  an  instant  silence  through  all  the  meeting,  and  some  who 
were  timorous  turned  pale  with  apprehension,  and  others  who 
were  bold  knit  their  brows  and  compressed  their  lips  ;  but  many 
who  composed  the  assembly  were  personal  friends  of  Danvers, 
and  the  appeal  which  had  been  made  to  their  courage  and  gal- 
lantry was  soon  visible  in  their  actions.  All  appeals  are  effec- 
tive where  vanity  enlists  the  sympathies. 

"  Walter  Danvers !"  ejaculated  the  emissary  Freestone,  "  this 
is  indeed  unexpected  intelligence !  You  are  certain,  Mr.  John 
Norton,  that  the  news  you  bring  is  correct  ?" 

"  There  can  be  no  doubt  on  the  subject,"  answered  Norton, 
confidently.  "  I  learned  as  1  came  hither  to  inform  von  that  he 


THE  MISER'S  SON.  241 

was  in  danger,  that  he  has  been  made  prisoner  by  a  party  of 
dragoons,  who  are  now  probably  within  a  few  miles  of  this  place. 
I  am  sorry  to  add,  that  my  own  brother,  who  has  lately  resumed 
his  military  functions,  after  having  abandoned  them  for  so  many 
years,  is  in  all  likelihood  the  chief  instrument  pf  Danvers'  capture." 

"  We  will  rescue  him  or  die,"  exclaimed  several  individuals 
warmly. 

"Yes,  Walter  Danvers  must  be  rescued,"  said  Freestone. 
"  But,  gentlemen,  we  must  not  be  either  rash,  or  timorous.  The 
chances  of  success  and  failure  must  be  carefully  balanced,  before 
we  engage  in  any  measure  which  might  inextricably  involve  the 
safety  of  all  here  present — some  of  whom  have  not  pledged  them- 
selves as  yet  to  support  our  cause,  and  whose  names  must  be 
kept  secret.  Captain  Danvers  is  one,  whose  own  personal 
resources  are  so  great,  that  it  is  highly  probable  he  may  devise 
some  means  of  escape  from  the  clutches  of  the  enemy  ;  and  even 
if  he  should  not  be  able  to  do  so,  do  you  think  we  are  justified 
in  endangering  our  own,  our  familv's,  and  our  king's  well-being 
for  his  sake?" 

This  last  reference  to  the  selfish  interests  of  the  heart,  threw  a 
wet  blanket  on  the  ardour  of  the  friends  of  Danvers :  and  many 
moved  by  their  own  fears  and  indecision,  sneaked  away  towards 
the  door,  that  they  might  quit  the  room  with  all  speed  on  an 
emergency;  yet  still,  with  a  lingering  feeling  of  shame  at  the 
cowardice  which  prompted  their  desertion  of  a  friend  in  the  hour 
of  need,  remained  at  the  entrance. 

But  John  Norton,  who  was  cordially  attached  to  Walter,  deter- 
mined that  a  cold-blooded  calculation  should  not  sacrifice  one 
whose  great  and  extraordinary  energies  had  been  of  such  essen- 
tial service  to  the  Jacobite  party,  although  he  had  no  confidence 
in  his  own  oratorical  powers — his  capacities  of  rhetoric  and  per- 
suasion never  having  been  called  into  action — urged  by  the  exi- 
gency of  the  case,  and  endued  by  it  with  words  and  ideas,  ex- 
claimed— 

"My  friends!  What  you  have  just  heard  from  Master  Hugh 
Freestone,  I  own  1  was  totally  unprepared  for.  He  said,  when 
he  first  began  to  speak,  that  '  Walter  Danvers  must  be  rescued  !' 
I  reiterate  those  words  again  and  again  !  I  saw  the  generous 
enthusiasm  expressed  by  your  looks  and  gestures  before  it  was 

2  i 


!242  THE  MISER'S  SON. 

damped  by  cold  and  grovelling  thoughts,  and  I  am  certain  that 
where  it  exists  in  the  bosom,  an  occasion  like  this  must  call  it 
forth.  You  are  all  well  aware  of  the  unremitting  efforts  of  that 
gallant  warrior — the  best  and  bravest,  I  do  not  hesitate  to  assert, 
among  the  good  and  brave,  who  adhere  to  his  majesty  King 
James — to  serve  us  at  desperate  risk  ;  and  I  call  upon  you,  as 
men  of  honour,  of  feeling,  and  of  courage,  not  to  permit  any  mere 
selfish  considerations  to  interfere  with  your  efforts  in  his  behalf. 
Who  that  is  here  present  has  made  such  exertions,  and  whose 
exertions  have  been  so  eminently  successful  as  those  of  our 
absent  friend  ?  Remember,  if  you  lose  Walter  Danvers,  you  lose 
the  right  hand  of  our  power  in  this  country.  He  is  acquainted 
with  all  the  movements  of  friends  and  enemies.  He  has  possessed 
himself  of  important  information,  of  which  he  is  the  sole  reposi- 
tory ;  and  I  am  convinced,  that  were  his  majesty  to  know  the 
peril  of  this  faithful  servant,  he  would  not  for  an  instant  allow 
ulterior  con " 

"  1  cannot  allow  you  to  proceed,  Mr.  Norton!"  here  broke  in 
Hugh  Freestone.  "  The  good  of  one,  can  never  for  an  instant 
be  put  in  competition  with  the  good  of  many.  And  even  were 
his  majesty  generous  enough  to  wish  us  to  emperil  the  success  of 
his  cause,  in  order  to  rescue  a  single  instrument  of  it,  however 
excellent,  should  we,  his  councillors  and  friends,  be  justified  in 
allowing  such  a  procedure,  without  remonstrance  ?  No.  I  pledge 
my  sacred  word  that  whatever  can  be  done  to  serve  Captain 
Danvers,  with  any  regard  to  the  interests  of  King  James,  shall 
not  be  omitted  :  but  in  the  prosecution  of  our  great  scheme,  all 
collateral  points  of  regard  and  feeling  must  be  sacrificed." 

This  truly  Jesuitical  speech,  which  like  that  of  a  certain  great 
living  statesman  promised  "  an  infinite  deal  of  nothing"  not  being 
satisfactory  to  honest,  straightforward  John  Norton,  he  said — 

"  I  must  ask  you  explicitly  to  state  what  you  will  do?" 

"  I  must  ask  a  few  moments  for  thought,"  replied  the  emis- 
sary, confused  at  the  blunt  directness  of  the  question,  which  did 
not  allow  him  a  loophole  for  the  exercise  of  his  inventive,  two- 
meaning  faculties.  "  We  must  remember  the  inconceivable  im- 
portance of  every  trifling  deed  at  this  juncture." 

"  No,"  replied  Norton,  resolutely.  "  Caution  at  such  a  time 
as  this  is  but  another  name  for  dastardly  treachery.  Gentlemen, 


THE  MISER'S  SON.  243 

I  stand  fortli  to  demand  your  assistance  for  our  friend  Walter 
Danvers.  That  hireling  there,  who  is  utterly  regardless  of  the 
lives  of  our  best  and  bravest,  I  am  persuaded,  will  not  sway  the 
actions  of  the  majority  of  those  here  present— of  owe  honest  heart 
which  has  a  throb  for  friendship,  and  a  drop  of  English,  unpol- 
luted blood,  to  shed  in  the  cause  of  manhood.  Let  those  who 
prefer  their  own  safety  to  honour,  justice,  principle  and  bravery, 
remain  behind  with  Hugh  Freestone — the  paid  agent  of  the 
Jesuits — a  coward  of  mongrel  breed,  with  all  the  worst  qualities 
of  the  French  and  English  character  united — I  am  a  plain,  blunt 
man  that  loves  my  friend,  and  for  that  friend  speak  boldly  out — 
he,  who  is  afraid  to  venture  anything  for  him  who  has  ventured 
all  for  us — he,  who  would  behold  a  hero  sacrificed  for  a  few 
scratches  and  bruises — he,  who  would  dare  to  tell  you  that  we 
owe  nothing  to  gallantry,  that  we  owe  nothing  to  our  noblest  bene- 
factors : — but  let  the  true  men  who  can  feel  and  dare,  let  all  but 
slaves,  traitors  and  dastards  follow  me." 

"  Do  you  dare  to  call  me  dastard,  John  Norton  ?"  cried  Free- 
stone, fiercely.  "  By  heaven,  sir !  you  shall  live  to  repent  such 
words!"  And  his  sallow  cheek  became  flushed  with  crimson ; 
but  he  mastered  his  passion  with  wonderful  self-control,  and  was 
to  all  appearance  perfectly  cool ;  though  there  was  a  storm  be- 
neath, the  existence  of  which  might  only  be  surmised  by  a  slight 
quivering  of  the  thin  and  bloodless  lip. 

"  1  am  quite  ready  to  meet  you  hand  to  hand,  Sir  Agent !" 
was  the  rejoinder  of  John  Norton  ;  *'  but  now  the  cause  of  Walter 
Danvers  will  not  allow  me  to  tarry.  My  friends,  which  of  you 
declares  for  me  ?" 

Half-a-dozen  individuals  pressed  round  him  and  volunteered 
their  services,  animated  by  that  strong  and  fiery  appeal  to  their 
generosity  which  simple  earnestness  had  furnished  Norton  with, 
but  the  remainder,  who  could  not  probably  have  been  moved  by 
the  genius  of  Demosthenes,  where  their  own  interests  militated 
against  what  they  knew  became  them  to  do,  were  moveless. 

"  'Tis  well !"  said  Norton,  "  with  these  brave  men,  I  shall  be 
able  to  effect  more  for  Danvers,  than  if  encumbered  with  those 
who  have  neither  a  heart  to  feel,  nor  a  hand  to  stir  for  honour's 
sake.  Freestone  !  We  shall  meet  again  !" 

And  with  these  words  he  was  departing ;  but  as  his  adherents 
prepared  to  follow  him,  the  emissary  exclaimed — 


244  THE  MISERS'  SON. 

"  Ye  are  hastening  to  your  own  destruction,  rash  men  !  What 
are  ye  about  to  do  ?  The  disciplined  soldiers  of  the  Elector  of 
Hanover  must  inevitably  put  you  to  flight  or  destroy  you,  even 
if  you  were  equally  matched  in  numbers.  Hear  me,  and  do  not 
blindly  yield  yourselves  to  the  guidance  of  that  madman,  whose 
only  excuse  for  his  extravagant  conduct  is  hot-headed  and  undis- 
tinguishing  regard  for  Captain  Danvers.  Were  there  the  most 
remote  probability  that  the  efforts  you  meditate  making  for  his 
rescue  could  be  crowned  with  success,  Hugh  Freestone  would  be 
the  first  man  to  put  foot  in  stirrup  and  accompany  you.  But  if 
you  will  consider  the  matter  dispassionately,  you  must  perceive 
that  the  chances  are  immeasurably  against  you  in  every  point  of 
view ;  while  ruin  and  destruction  to  the  common  cause  must  un- 
avoidably ensue,  if  you  persist  in  this  wild  and  Quixotic  enter- 
prise, which  I  am  convinced  your  cooler  judgment  must  disap- 
prove. Good  friends  !  Noble  supporters  of  a  noble  king! 
Return,  I  beseech  you,  and  do  not  introduce  division  into  the 
counsels,  which  with  common  care  and  discretion,  will  assuredly, 
sooner  or  later,  triumph.  There  are  many  ways  of  serving 
Walter  Danvers,  without  having  vain  recourse  to  arms ;  and  those 
who  are  truly  anxious  to  be  of  service  to  him  will  think  discretion 
may  now  avail  him  better  than  zeal.  Think,  fathers  and  hus- 
bands, brothers  and  lovers,  of  your  children,  wives,  sisters  and 
mistresses — think,  if  you  are  taken,  as  in  all  human  calculation 
you  will  be,  the  agonizing  pangs  you  will  inflict — " 

"  Hear  him  not,"  interrupted  Norton,  who  saw  tokens  of  re- 
turning indecision  among  two  or  three  of  those  who  had  been 
about  to  follow  him.  "  Or  if  you  do  hear  him,  recollect  that 
your  gallant  friend  Danvers  is  a  father,  and  the  tyrants  of  the 
land  will  not  permit  him  to  live,  if  they  retain  him  in  their  grasp. 
We  will  not  be  rash,  nor  imprudent ;  but  every  feeling  of  honesty, 
of  manhood  and  of  chivalry  must  speak  '  like  angels  trumpet- 
tongued,'  peremptorily  requiring  us  to  render  him  all  the  assist- 
ance in  our  power." 

Norton  finished  speaking,  and  was  for  a  second  time  moving 
away,  perceiving  that  his  last  outburst  had  been  responded  to  in 
the  hearts  of  his  followers,  when  a  man,  pale  and  breathless, 
rushed  into  the  council-chamber,  and  ejaculated — 

"They  come — the  horse — we  are  discovered — betrayed,  and 
the  enemy  in  strong  force  are  now  at  hand  !" 


THE  MISER'S  SON.  245 

Having  managed  to  speak  thus  much,  the  affrighted  messenger, 
who  like  a  bird  of  ill-omen  among  superstitious  men,  had  scattered 
dismay  through  the  assemblage,  paused  to  recover  himself.  All 
was  instantaneously  confusion  and  uproar.  Swords  and  fire-arms 
were  grasped  ;  and  some  proposed  resistance  to  the  death  ;  while 
others  less  daring  were  for  yielding  without  a  blow  ;  and  fruitless 
were  all  the  attempts  on  the  part  of  the  leaders  to  restore  order ; 
for  the  panic  seemed  to  have  closed  the  ears  of  the  greater  number 
present ;  and  in  spite  of  vociferation  and  remonstrance,  they  ran 
hither  and  thither,  now  preparing  for  flight,  and  now  for  conceal- 
ment in  dismayed  and  wavering  fear  and  pusillanimity. 

What  a  study  for  the  close  observer  of  human  nature  is  a  scene 
like  that  I  have  tried  to  sketch !  How  base,  how  lofty,  how  vary- 
ing, are  its  phases.  In  some  you  can  observe  the  high  resolve, 
and  undaunted  purpose,  in  some  the  clinging  timidity,  the  shrink- 
ing terror ;  and  in  others  the  gross  selfishness,  which  is  the  vilest 
cowardice  of  all.  And  thus  is  man  in  every  age,  great,  mean,  and 
unsteady  of  purpose;  now  he  shall  seem  a  worm,  and  now  soar 
into  a  God.  Hamlet's  sublime  panegyric  is  half  hyperbole. 

In  the  midst  of  all  this  hubbub,  John  Norton  maintained  the 
utmost  coolness  and  composure.  His  was  a  nature,  which  with- 
out partaking  of  singular  exaltation,  was  bold,  firm,  and  energetic  ; 
and  his  nerves  were  as  unshaken  in  storm  as  in  calm. 

"  Brave  men !  on  you  again  I  call !"  he  cried,  unconsciously 
adopting  a  measured  vehicle  for  his  thoughts,  as  many  others  will 
do,  when  the  bosom  swells  with  strong  emotions  of  heroism  and 
determination.  "  Follow  me !"  and  added,  as  he  hastened  out 
of  the  apartment,  "  Delay  at  all  events  is  the  most  dangerous 
path." 

"Here  they  are  !'*  was  the  exclamation,  as  a  number  of  horse- 
men were  seen  approaching,  as  soon  as  those  (who  were  consi- 
derably in  the  minority)  who  had  listened  to  and  approved  the 
promptitude  of  Norton  were  in  the  court-yard  where  their  horses 
stood. 

"  These  are  not  regular  soldiers,"  observed  Norton,  casting  a 
rapid  gaze  at  the  advancing  enemy — "  ah !  they  are  pursued, 
surely.  See  how  they  look  behind  them  !  Vault  into  your  saddles, 
my  men,  and  let  us  be  prepared  to  act !" 

A  distant  shout  was  now  heard,  and  the  approaching  party 
accelerated  their  speed. 


246  THE  MISER'S  SON. 

"  Throw  open  the  gates,"  cried  John  Norton,  "  these  are 
friends,  at  all  events.  I  know  them  now.  They  are  a  few  who 
composed  a  meeting  to  be  held  in  the  open  air  this  night,  at  the 
distance  of  a  few  miles.  Let  us  be  off  at  once.  Our  horses  have 
had  a  rest,  and  these  dragoons  you  may  now  see  in  pursuit,  have, 
I  doubt  not,  ridden  far  and  hard.  The  moon  is  behind  a  cloud, 
and  we  shall  not  be  seen  in  the  darkness." 

The  flying  party  which  had  been  mistaken  for  the  foe,  had  now 
arrived  ;  but  when  Norton  exclaimed,  "  I  would  not  advise  you 
to  stay,  my  friends,  you  will  assuredly  be  attacked  by  the  military 
if  you  remain  here,"  they  joined  him  ;  and  in  the  course  of  a  few 
minutes  gained  the  shelter  of  a  wood,  just  as  the  planet  which 
had  favoured  their  flight  glanced  brightly  forth,  and  the  dragoons, 
to  the  amount  of  thirty,  became  perfectly  apparent. 

"  They  are  certain  to  attack  the  house ;  but  those  who  are  in 
it  are  sufficiently  numerous  to  defend  it,  if  they  do  not  yield  ;  and 
they  have  proved  themselves  so  lukewarm  and  cowardly  for  their 
friends,  that  we  are  not  bound  to  join  issue  with  them." 

As  John  Norton  was  yet  speaking,  the  military  drew  up  in  a 
square  before  the  house  he  and  his  followers  had  quitted  ;  and 
he,  not  being  interested  in  the  fate  of  those  so  cold  in  their  attach- 
ment to  one  whom  he  admired  beyond  almost  any  other  of  his 
acquaintance,  and  whose  services  he  rightly  considered  had  been 
of  inestimable  benefit  to  the  conspiracy,  put  spurs  to  his  horse  ; 
and  with  his  more  faithful  train,  now  swelled  to  double  the  origi- 
nal number,  lost  no  time  in  threading  the  intricacies  of  the 
wood. 


THE  MISER'S  SON.  247 


CHAPTER 


A  perfect  transformation  here  displayed.— Don  Juan. 

By  Jove,  he  was  a  noble  fellow  Johnson, 

And  though  his  name  than  Ajax  or  Achilles 
Sounds  less  harmonious,  underneath  the  sun  soon 

We  shall  not  see  his  likeness ;  he  could  kill  his 
Man  quite  as  quietly  as  blows  the  monsoon 

Her  steady  breath  (which  some  months  the  same  still  is). 
Seldom  he  varied  feature,  tone,  or  muscle, 
And  could  be  very  busy  without  bustle. — Ibid. 

WALTER   PANVERS   AND   GEORGE — PERILOUS   SITUATION — 
THE   ESCAPE. 

THE  readers  of  this  Chronicle  may  conceive  it  high  time  that 
they  should  no  longer  be  kept  in  suspense  with  regard  to  the  fate 
of  Walter  Danvers  and  George.  As  the  former  was  on  the  verge 
of  discovering  himself,  that  he  might  rescue  the  child  from  the 
peril  he  was  in  from  the  soldier,  who  was  about  to  hurl  stones 
down  the  hollow  tree,  the  trampling  of  horses  was  heard,  and 
several  dragoons,  with  a  serjeant  at  their  head,  dashed  among  the 
drunken  soldiers,  and  knocking  down  one  or  two  in  their  head- 
long speed,  cried  vociferously, 

"  Arm,  arm !     The  Jacobites  have  risen  !" 

Simultaneously  with  this,  there  arose  a  cry  from  the  guard- 
house (for  such  was  the  nature  of  the  building  in  which  Danvers 
had  been  incarcerated)  of — 

"  The  prisoner  has  escaped  !" 

The  fugitive  cast  one  look  at  the  tree  which  the  soldier  had 
climbed,  and  found  that  he  was  descending  with  all  expedition. 
So  having  only  to  provide  for  his  own  safety,  he  glanced  quickly 
round,  to  determine  the  best  means  of  flight  or  concealment.  But 
he  was  at  the  height  of  thirty  feet  from  the  ground,  and  even 
could  he  have  descended,  it  was  hardly  possible  to  escape  obser- 


248  THE  MISER'S  SON. 

vation  ;  while,  if  he  remained  where  he  was,  his  recapture  was 
inevitable.  He  was  startled  by  a  whisper  close  to  his  ear,  and 
to  his  no  little  astonishment  perceived  George  at  his  side. 

"  It  is  very  dark  now,"  said  the  boy,  "  and  in  all  this  confu- 
sion you  will  not  be  noticed,  if  you  do  as  we  proposed  at  first,  or 
— but  trust  to  me.  Hark  !  They  have  found  out  the  way  you 
have  escaped,  and  are  breaking  through  the  trap-door!" 

George  with  all  celerity  jumped  on  the  nearest  branch  of  the 
tree  close  to  the  building,  and  fixing  the  rope  to  a  stronger 
bough,  threw  it  to  Danvers,  who  instantly  caught  it. 

"  This  will  bear  you,"  said  George,  in  a  low  but  distinct  tone 
of  ventriloquism.  Danvers  perceived  that  the  rope  he  held  in  his 
hand  was  not  the  old,  crazy  one,  which  had  previously  broken  ; 
and  hearing  the  trap-door  yield  with  a  crash  to  a  tremendous 
blow  from  some  heavy  instrument,  favoured  by  the  darkness, 
— although  several  soldiers  were  still  standing  immediately  be- 
low,— reached  the  bough  with  a  jump,  and  the  boy  instantly  re- 
moving the  cord,  bade  him  make  for  the  hollow,  from  which,  he 
added,  escape  was  easy. 

Scarcely  had  the  fugitive  reached  the  trunk  of  the  tree — the 
crash  of  the  boughs  having  fortunately  been  unnoticed  by  the 
soldiers  below,who  were  absorbed  in  conversation — and  discovered 
the  hole  through  which  it  was  necessary  for  him  to  pass,  when 
he  saw  many  persons  gain  the  top  of  the  house  he  had  just 
quitted,  evidently  expecting  to  find  him  there.  "  He  is  clean 
off !"  exclaimed  one  of  the  pursuers,  while  the  drum  beat  to  arms, 
and  the  noise,  the  hubbub  and  the  bustle  distracted  the  keenness 
of  their  wits. 

They  shouted  to  those  below,  whose  senses  were  stupefied  by 
the  libations  they  had  been  indulging  in,  aggravated  by  the  un- 
usual tumult,  to  close  each  avenue  of  escape ;  while  George, 
creeping  among  the  branches,  was  soon  again  beside  his  friend, 
and  whispered,  "  Descend  at  once  ;  and  I  will  follow  ;"  just  as 
one  of  those  at  the  top  of  the  house  suggested  that  the  fugitive 
might  be  lurking  in  the  hollow  of  the  tree,  where  they  actually 
were.  Danvers,  therefore,  hastily  descended,  while  the  soldiers 
on  the  housetop,  finding  that  they  could  not  get  to  the  tree, 
shouted  to  those  below  to  climb  it. 

"  But  I've  just  been   up  there,  and  no  one's  in  it,"  remarked 


THE  MISER'S  SON.  249 

the  same  fellow  who  had  been  going  to  throw  stones  down  the 
hollow  trunk,  "  unless — "  an  idea  striking  him,  and  instantly 
beginning  lo  ascend,  "  unless  I  made  a  mistake  about  that  there 
thingurny  being  a  owl." 

The  fugitive  by  this  time  was  at  the  bottom  of  the  tree,  and 

discovered  that  there  was  a  hole  of  about  the  size  of  a  fox's  in  a 

*•» 
transverse  direction  there.     George  had  now   joined   him,  and 

said,  "  Creep  along,  all's  right ;"  and  still  trusting  lo  the  little 
fellow's  sagacity,  he  began  to  crawl  quickly  away,  the  boy  at  his 
heels,  exactly  as  the  soldier  had  reached  the  hollow,  and  was 
hurling  stones  down  it,  which  fell  innocuous  behind  the  child. 

"  There's  a  hole,  I  think,  at  the  bottom  of  the  tree,"  cried  one 
on  the  house-top,  "  go  down  and  see  if  the  rascal's  there."  The 
soldier  being  pot-valiant,  descended,  although  he  might  have 
hesitated  to  have  so  acted  under  ordinary  circumstances,  as  he 
was  one  who  had  witnessed  the  terrific  power  of  Danvers.  But 
when  he  came  to  the  hole,  his  heart  failed  him,  and  he  did  not 
choose  to  enter  it.  As  it  was  perfectly  dark,  too,  he  could  see 
nothing ;  but  he  threw  some  stones  into  it,  which  fell  within  a 
trifling  distance  of  George,  who  had  not  been  able  to  make  much 
progress,  Danvers  finding  some  difficulty  in  getting  on.  But  they 
had  not  to  proceed  much  farther,  and  Danvers  having  crept  as 
far  as  the  limits  of  the  hole  would  permit,  and  finding  that  he  had 
come  in  contact  with  the  earthen  walls,  whispered, 

"  Now,  what  are  we  to  do?" 

"  You  are  at  the  bottom  of  another  tree  now,"  returned 
George,  "  and  must  climb  up  with  your  back  and  legs;  you  can 
stand  upright  and  will  find  you  can  see  a  ray  of  light.  There — 
that's  well ;  now  clamber  up.  You  see  I  came  along  here  the 
moment  the  soldier  got  up  the  tree  we've  left  behind,  and  then  I 
got  down,  and  managed  to  climb  up  to  you  again,  by  the  side  of 
the  guard-house.  Ah  !  they  are  crawling  down  the  passage  to 
us  ;  don't  you  hear  their  voices  ?" 

"  There  is  a  quantity  of  hay  lying  below,"  exclaimed  Danvers, 
who  was  now  outside  the  other  tree,  "  we  had  better  hide  there." 

"  Just  what  I  was  thinking  of,"  replied  the  boy,  "  make 
haste ;  the  darkness  will  soon  be  over,  and  then  they  would  see 
us  directly." 

Danvers  accordingly  dropped  to  the  ground,  and  hastened  to  a 

2  K 


250  THE  MISER'S  SON. 

quantity  of  new  hay,  which  was  at  the  distance  of  two  or  three 
paces  from  him  ;  but  some  person  acquainted  with  the  secret  of 
the  hole  now  rushed  to  the  second  tree,  before  little  George,  who 
had  become  entangled  with  the  rope  he  carried  with  him,  could 
imitate  the  example  of  his  companion.  The  elder  fugitive  had 
concealed  himself  beneath  the  hay,  but  left  a  small  hole  for  his 
eyes ;  so  that  he  could  perfectly  discern  all  that  followed  ;  but 
where  the  boy  was  hiding  he  could  not  conjecture. 

The  darkness,  as  George  had  prognosticated  would  be  the  case, 
had  now  indeed  vanished,  and  all  was  as  bright  as  noonday,  be- 
neath the  unusual  splendour  of  the  full  moon.  The  pursuers,  who 
had  been  crawling  through  the  subterraneous  passage,  by  this 
time  were  ascending  the  tree;  and  no  sooner  emerged  from  the 
hollow  than  they  commenced  a  scrutiny  among  ail  tjje  dense 
branches  for  the  fugitive.  They  would  very  soon  probably  have 
discovered  him ;  but  a  circumstance  intervened  which  diverted 
their  attention. 

"  He  is  not  here  !  But  what  is  that  I  see  creeping  by  the  side 
of  that  pile  of  stones  ?"  cried  one. 

"  It  is  a  human  being,"  exclaimed  another,  and  in  an  instant 
every  individual  was  chasing  the  object  of  suspicion.  Now  or 
never  was  the  time  for  Danvers  to  escape,  and  quitting  the  shel- 
ter of  the  hay,  he  was  making  the  best  use  of  his  legs,  when  he 
perceived  an  intoxicated  soldier  lying  on  the  ground  not  three 
yards  before  him.  A  stratagem  of  war  immediately  suggested 
itself  to  the  brain  of  the  fugitive,  ever  fertile  in  such  expedients, 
and  stripping  the  drunken  wretch  with  marvellous  celerity — and 
he  fortunately  being  a  fat  large-made  man,  so  that  his  clothes 
were  fully  capacious  enough  to  cover  the  broad  chest  and  muscu- 
lar frame  which  he  owned  himself — an  exchange  was  in  two  or 
three  minutes  effected,  and  he  instantly  decamped  in  his  meta- 
morphosis. Meanwhile,  the  others  had  been  giving  chase  to  the 
person  whom  they  saw  creeping  behind  the  pile  of  stones,  who 
fled  at  their  approach ;  and  plunging  into  a  broad  river,  which 
ran  within  a  few  furlongs  of  the  guard-house,  disappeared  below 
the  surface. 

"  That  could  not  have  been  a  man,"  observed  a  soldier,  "  he 
looked  to  my  eyes  quite  a  child." 

A  head  was  seen  above  the  water   for   a   second,   and  then 


THE  MISER'S  SON.  251 

vanished,  just  as  a  musket-ball  was  flying  in  the  air  towards  it, 
and  those  of  the  military  who  could  swim  prepared  to  jump  into 
the  river.  Presently  the  head  was  seen  again,  but  beyond  gun- 
shot; and  in  the  course  of  another  minute,  a  young  boy  was  ob- 
served to  quit  the  stream,  gain  the  ppposite  banks ;  and  mount- 
ing a  pony  which  had  been  tied  to  a  ga,te  within  a  few  paces  of 
the  place  where  he  landed,  dash  away  with  a  shout  of  exultation 
and  defiance.  That  boy  was  George.  Perceiving  the  man  who 
was  acquainted  with  the  secret  communication  between  the  trees, 
as  Danvers  reached  the  shelter  of  the  hay,  fearing  lest  by  follow- 
ing he  might  betray  him  to  the  pursuers,  he  dropped  on  the  other 
side  of  the  huge  elm  in  which  he  was,  and  several  smaller  trees 
growing  in  one  direction  in  a  straight  line,  he  managed,  by  dart- 
ing from  one  to  another,  to  escape  unobserved,  until  he  arrived 
at  the  pile  of  stones,  where,  perhaps,  he  purposely  exposed  him- 
self, in  order  to  favour  the  escape  of  Danvers,  and  where  he  was 
first  seen.  Having  swam  the  river,  and  mounted  the  pony  which 
he  had  left  on  U*at  side,  he  felt  that  he  was  safe  from  capture ; 
for  the  soldiers  finding  at  once  that  it  had  not  been  the  principal 
object  of  pursuit  they  had  chased,  and  that  the  child  at  most  had 
but  assisted  his  escape,  while  such  an  accomplice  could  not  be  of 
great  importance,  and  the  drums  still  beating  to  arms,  in  addition 
to  which  a  distant  sound  of  musketry  was  distinguishable,  aban- 
doned the  pursuit ;  and  returning,  fell  into  their  ranks  without 
further  delay.  A  scout  presently  arrived  with  information,  that 
it  having  been  discovered  a  meeting  for  the  purpose  of  sedition 
was  to  be  held  that  night,  a  detachment  of  dragoons  had  attacked 
the  rebels  and  put  them  to  flight.  The  men  who  had  before  ar- 
rived, while  Danvers  was  on  the  house-top,  had  intimated  that 
they  had  been  dispatched  by  their  commanding  officer  from  an 
adjacent  town,  to  bring  whatever  force  they  could  from  the  guard- 
house, where  a  company  was  stationed  in  addition  to  the  dra- 
goons who  had  been  quartered  there  for  a  few  hours,  but  who 
did  not  amount  to  above  a  dozen.  It  was  said  that  the  insur- 
gents meditated  an  attack  on  that  town,  and  the  soldiery  in  it 
were  inadequate  to  its  protection.  Rumour  added  that  the  whole 
country  round  about  was  ripe  for  revolt.  The  news  of  an  insur- 
rection had  spread  like  wildfire  among  the  country  people,  who 
all  flocked  to  the  guard-house  ;  but  none  of  them  were  permitted 


252  THE  MISER'S  SON. 

to  enter  the  gates,  at  which  sentinels  were  placed  :  and  just  as 
the  drum  ceased  beating  to  arms,  Captain  Norton,  who  had  been 
sent  for  with  all  speed,  arrived  and  assumed  the  command  of  the 
troops  as  senior  officer.  He  was  immediately  informed  of  the 
escape  of  the  prisoner  Walter  Danvers,  by  his  second  in  command, 
who  had  ordered  every  precaution  to  be  taken  in  order  to  prevent 
the  fugitive's  quitting  the  precincts  of  the  guard-house,  if  he  were 
still  lurking  there. 

"  Escaped !"  ejaculated  Captain  Norton,  the  intelligence 
seeming  to  fall  on  him  so  unexpectedly  and  fearfully  as  to  stun 
his  brain  for  the  space  of  a  minute.  "  A  thousand  guineas  for 
his  person,  dead  or  alive !"  he  exclaimed  vehemently.  "  How 
could  he  escape?  Wherewas  the  guard  I  ordered  to  be  placed 
outside  the  door  of  his  cell  ?" 

"  The  prisoner  managed  to  pass  through  a  trap-door  which 
we  knew  not  of." 

"  Death  !"  interrupted  Norton,  "  I  chose  the  sentinel  I  placed 
over  him,  because  I  considered  him  trustworthy ;  but  he  must 
have  been  treacherous  or  sleepy !  Accursed  chance !  Let  a  cor- 
poral and  four  men  be  sent  to  patrole  in  every  possible  direction. 
I  repeat,  I  will  myself  give  a  thousand  guineas  for  his  capture." 

The  position  of  Danvers  meanwhile  was  anything  rather  than 
an  enviable  one.  At  first  he  thought  of  making  for  the  river,  and 
swimming  across :  but  he  found  that  there  were  many  persons 
now  on  the  other  side,  who  must  have  detected  him  in  the  broad 
moonlight;  and  having  no  confidence  in  his  speed  of  foot,  he  did 
not  think  it  prudent  to  venture  anything  on  that  alone.  Foes 
were  around  him,  and  dangers  threatened  each  instant ;  but  his 
coolness  remained  undisturbed  ;  and  he  watched  every  opportu- 
nity which  might  befriend  him,  as  he  stood  behind  a  wall,  con- 
cealed from  observation.  The  muster-roll  was  now  being  called 
over,  within  pistol-shot  of  him ;  and  the  intoxicated  soldier  re- 
mained totally  insensible  where  he  had  left  him  under  the  shade 
of  the  tree  ;  and  it  occurred  to  the  mind  of  the  fugitive,  that  he 
would  be  missed,  and  inquiry  instituted,  which  would  probably 
lead  to  his  discovery.  It  was  difficult  to  decide  how  to  act.  To 
escape  by  the  high  wall  which  surrounded  the  guard-house  was 
utterly  impracticable,  without  detection  ;  or  otherwise,  mingling 
with  the  crowd  outside,  he  might  have  made  his  escape  easily : 


THE  MISER'S  SON.  253 

and  when  he  heard  the  large  reward  offered  by  Captain  Norton 
for  his  re-capture,  (well  aware  of  the  efficacy  of  money  in  sharp- 
ening the  wits),  and  that  a  party  was  about  to  be  sent  to  endea- 
vour to  take  him,  lie  almost  gave  himself  up  for  lost.  But  he 
had  contrived  to  elude  the  vigilance  of  his  foes,  even  in  more 
desperate  cases,  and  his  iron  nerves  were  immoveably  firm,  so 
that  he  did  not  betray  himself,  as  many  others  might  have  done, 
by  hastiness  or  want  of  self-possession,  for  an  instant.  He  had 
observed  that  the  drunken  soldier  in  whose  accoutrements  he  was 
dressed,  resembled  him  in  age  and  face,  though  he  was  more 
obese,  and  taller  by  two  inches.  Was  it  possible  to  pass  for  him 
with  his  comrades  ?  The  difference  of  height  and  deficiency  in  a 
few  pounds  of  fat  might  be  supplied  without  any  very  great  diffi- 
culty, to  appearance.  Acting  on  the  impulse  of  the  moment,  and 
while  he  proceeded  with  his  operations,  thinking  the  matter  over, 
he  seized  some  loose  hay,  and  stuffed  it  into  his  inexpressibles  for 
a  paunch.  He  placed  some  more  in  his  shoes  to  give  him  stature, 
and  then  stepping  from  behind  the  tree  where  he  had  performed 
these  things,  he  boldly  advanced,  and  "  fell  in,"  assuming  the  air 
of  a  man  who  is  rendered  merry  by  strong  drink,  although  not 
fuddled  by  it,  and  distorting  his  face  into  a  broad  grin,  such  as 
he  conceived  it  probable  the  fellow's  he  represented  often  wore. 

"Ah!  Jack  Timmins,"  exclaimed  a  private  to  Danvers,  as  he 
placed  himself  beside  him,  "  what  a  rum  dog  you  are,  to  be  sure  ! 
I  \vas  afraid  you  would  be  found  in  your  old  way  when  the  drum 
beat,  and  that  you  would  get  the  cat  horrible  for't." 

"  O,  Jack  Timmins  is  my  name,"  thought  Walter,  "  I  must 
remember  that.  It  is  well  I  heard  it."  He  got  up  another  con- 
tortion of  the  face,  and  when  "  John  Timmins"  was  bawled  out 
from  the  muster-roll,  he  stoutly  answered  "  Here." 

"  How  precious  jolly  you  got  at  the  '  Cat  and  Fiddle,' "  re- 
marked the  private  who  had  before  addressed  Danvers,  again 
turning  to  him,  as  he  shouldered  his  bayonet  in  first-rate  military 
style,  and  drew  himself  up  to  his  extreme  height,  that  his  want 
of  it  might  escape  observation  among  the  strapping  six  feet 
fellows  who  surrounded  him. 

"  O,  yes  !"  responded  the  pretended  Timmins,  "  that  I  always 
does,  you  know  !"  and  as  soon  as  the  accents  had  escaped  his  lips 
the  word  of  command  was  given,  "Quick  march!"  and  the  dra- 


254  THE  MISER'S  SON. 

goons  preceding  the  infantry  among  whose  ranks  the  fugitive  had 
introduced  himself  so  audaciously,  he  speedily  found  himself 
without  the  gates  of  the  guard-house.  So  good  a  soldier  as 
Danvers  was,  of  course  felt  at  no  loss  to  perform  all  the  functions 
of  a  private  of  foot,  though  he  had  always  been  accustomed  to 
serve  with  cavalry,  and  still  holding  himself  as  erect  as  possible 
he  marched  along  with  the  rest  gallantly.  But  he  was  aware  that 
there  is  something  in  the  bearing  of  every  individual,  which,  even 
when  known,  is  hardly  to  be  exactly  imitated  ;  and  he  was  upon 
thorns  every  minute  lest  he  should  commit  himself  by  some  inad- 
vertent and  inappropriate  action.  The  soldier,  who  had  twice 
accosted  him,  occasionally  eyed  him  curiously,  but  whenever  he 
observed  him  doing  so,  he  gave  a  comical  twist  to  his  counte- 
nance, which  completely  answered  the  purpose  for  which  it  was 
intended ;  and  if  a  momentary  suspicion  as  to  his  identity,  crossed 
the  mind  of  his  comrade,  it  was  soon  dissipated  in  the  hurry  and 
excitement  of  the  hour. 

It  was  generally  expected  that  an  engagement  would  ensue  on 
their  march ;  for  report  had  magnified  the  numbers  of  the  insur- 
gents into  thousands  where  there  were  but  hundreds,  and  it 
appeared  probable  that  they  would  make  an  attempt  to  intercept 
such  a  force  as  was  now  hastening  to  the  small  garrison  town  of 

G ,  which  including  the  dragoons  and  a  handful  of  militia 

who  had  joined  them  on  the  way,  did  not  amount  to  above  a  hun- 
dred men. 

Danvers,  in  addition  to  other  anxieties,  experienced  no  little 
solicitude  as  to  the  fate  of  the  fine  little  fellow  who  had  rendered 
him  such  very  important  services  ;  but  he  was  certain  that  George 
would  not  suffer  himself  to  be  taken,  if  he  could  escape  the  clutches 
of  his  foes,  and  as  he  appeared  tolerably  well  acquainted  with  the 
locality  of  the  guard-house,  and  his  sagacity,  adroitness,  and 
cleverness,  had  been  so  conspicuously  manifest  in  perils  which 
severely  tested  them,  and  his  stability  of  purpose  and  courage 
also,  he  felt,  that  had  he  remained  with  him,  he  could  have  ren- 
dered him  no  aid  :  and  was  compelled  to  trust  to  fortune  for  his 
deliverance,  hoping,  in  case  of  the  worst,  that  the  enemy  would 
not  deal  hardly  with  so  young  a  boy  ;  but  determined  rather  than 
that  he  should  suffer  anything  on  his  account,  to  rescue  him  at 
the  expeuce  of  life  and  liberty. 


THE  MISER'S  SON.  255 

The  troops  had  now  entered  a  narrow  pass  betwixt  two  rows 
of  trees,  planted  at  right  angles  on  either  side,  and  were  descend- 
ing into  a  valley,  the  approach  to  which  was  between  green 
banks,  where  creeping  plants  and  lichens  and  brambles  were 
growing  profusely  below  the  lordlier  trees,  while  a  cascade,  whose 
waters  glittered  in  the  soft  and  yellow  iribonlight  fell  with  a  plea- 
sant-sounding dash  into  the  bosom  of  the  quiet  spot.  The  song 
of  the  tuneful  bird  of  night  and  silence  could  be  distinctly  heard, 
as  the  heavy  and  measured  tramp  of  the  infantry,  accompanied 
by  the  noisier,  yet  no  less  regular  sound  of  the  horse,  disturbed 
and  contrasted  strangely  with  that  sweet  song  and  the  rustling  of 
the  verdant  boughs. 

What  a  melancholy  thing  it  does  seem  to  contemplate  a  num- 
ber of  our  fellow-beings  proceeding  through  so  fair  a  spot  to  spill 
the  blood  of  their  countrymen,  without  feeling  animosity  against 
them,  many  in  all  the  glorious  flush  and  pride  of  strength,  of 
manhood,  and  animated  spirits,  in  a  few  brief  hours  to  be  as  the 
clods  of  earth  on  which  they  tread  !  How  wretched  and  contemp- 
tible is  the  barbarous  delight  in  honours  thus  acquired,  at  the  ex- 
pense of  existence,  at  the  desolation  of  pure,  kind  hearts,  of  affec- 
tion, friendship,  and  the  ties  of  consanguinity !  Surely  a  time 
will  arrive,  when  the  extension  of  the  lofty  intelligence,  and  the 
development  of  the  sublime  ratiocinatory  powers  of  mankind, 
will  deem  the  soldier's  trade  but  fit  for  butchers  and  for  savages, 
and  the  universal  world  will  glory  more  in  a'single  disinterested, 
noble,  and  generous  action,  though  performed  by  the  lowliest  of 
its  sons,  than  in  all  the  conquests  of  a  Caesar  or  a  Napoleon  ac- 
quired at  the  price  of  justice,  humanity,  science,  virtue  and  reli- 
gion, which  must  all  be  sacrificed  as  encumbrances  by  that  igno- 
rant demoralizer  of  himself,  who  imagines  in  his  vanity  that  in 
reigning  paramount  for  a  few  brief  years  over  the  earth,  he  is 
acting  in  conformity  with  the  dictates  of  wisdom,  and  securing 
for  himself  happiness  in  life,  and  immortality  of  fame  in  death. 
Poor  wretch ! 


Behold  the  child,  by  Nature's  kindly  law, 
Pleased  with  a  rattle,  tickled  with  a  straw, 
Some  livelier  plaything  gives  his  youth  delight, 
A  little  louder,  but  as  empty  quite, 


256  THE  MISER'S  SON. 

Scarfs,  garters,  gold,  amuse  his  riper  age, 
And  beads  and  pray'r  books  are  the  toys  of  age  ; 
Pleased  with  this  bauble  still,  as  that  before, 
Till  tired  he  sleeps  and  life's  poor  play  is  o'er. 

But  no,  that  is  bad  philosophy,  though  it  is  very  fine  poetry, 
(the  most  Shakspearian  in  diction  and  in  power  that  Pope  ever 
penned.)  Ambition  is  a  toy,  and  vanity  is  a  play-thing,  and 
wealth,  and  rank,  and  the  external  forms  of  religion  are  vain  and 
hollow  ;  but  there  are  joys  too  pure,  there  is  happiness  too  divine, 
to  be  classified  in  one  common  category  with  these  poor,  worth- 
less earthly  things.  All  pursuits  which  have  but  personal  aggran- 
dizement for  their  goal,  are  indeed  beneath  the  notice  of  a  good 
and  wise  man ;  unless  they  also  conduce  to  objects  which  may 
promote  the  good  of  others,  they  only  tend  to  deteriorate  his  con- 
dition ;  but  surely  love,  and  truth  and  purity  of  feeling  and  fancy, 
can  afford  sacred  transports  and  enjoyments  here, — surely  they 
must  outlast  the  grave  ;  and  from  the  depths  of  the  charnel-house, 
and  of  certain  though  slow  corruption,  send  forth  bright  and 
perennial  flowers,  which  like  the  fabulous  asphodels  are  of  ever- 
lasting odour. 

Every  pursuit  which  tends  to  enlarge  the  scope  of  our  charities, 
and  expand  the  sphere  of  our  humanization,  refinement,  and  phi- 
lanthropy— the  love  of  nature,  of  art  and  of  philosophy — and 
above  all  the  love  of  the  creature,  which  leads  to  the  adoration 
of  the  Creator — though  developed  among  the  humblest  and  least 
aspiring  of  the  plants  of  the  garden  of  the  great  moral  world — 
while  they  evince  the  existence  of  a  principle  in  the  human  mind 
distinct  from  the  utterly  animal  and  sensual,  dignify  the  work  of 
heaven,  and  yield  an  unfailing  proof  of  the  indestructibility  and 
eternity  of  the  meek  and  gentle  nature,  which  displays  itself  in 
cherishing  and  fostering  even — what  may  be  termed — the  daisies 
and  buttercups  of  the  heart. 

What  folly  to  go  out  to  subdue  the  world,  and  to  neglect  the 
vast  and  immortal  universe  within  !  Surely  the  man  who  conceives 
he  is  greater  by  conquering  others  than  himself,  who  finds  more 
pleasure  in  external  marks  of  homage  than  his  own  self-approba- 
tion, cannot  think  very  highly  of  the  mind  he  owns !  But  it  is 
great  and  glorious  to  subdue  the  strong  enemies  that  fight  with 
us  in  the  spirit's  ocean,  and  plucking  out  the  rank  weeds  of  evil, 


THE  MISER'S  SON.  257 

encourage  with  care  and  tenderness  the  household  and  smiling 
virtues,  which  will  make  an  oasis,  if  not  an  Eden,  in  the  dreariest 
deserts  of  this  sad  and  stormy  life.  To  return  from  this  digres- 
sion of  ethics. 

It  was  the  intention  of  Danvers,  as  soon  as  he  was  able  to  es- 
cape from  the  ranks  which  he  had  been,  constrained  to  join,  to 
quit  them  unceremoniously ;  but  he  found,  much  to  his  annoy- 
ance, and  a  little  to  his  confusion,  as  they  entered  the  defile  to 
the  valley,  that  attention  was  gradually  being  directed  to  him  on 
all  sides,  the  noise  and  confusion  of  the  previous  portion  of  the 
march  having  now  subsided,  and  whispers  of  "  Who  is  he  ?" 
"  That  can't  be  Jack  Timmins,"  reached  him.  But  he  saw  that 
it  would  have  been  vain  to  attempt  leaving  the  enemy  now,  for 
he  was  placed  in  the  very  centre  of  the  company,  and,  as  general 
suspicion  was  aroused  against  him,  the  least  movement  on  his 
part,  which  might  increase  it,  must  prove  fatal  to  him. 

But  perceiving  that  the  feeling  of  mistrust  was  increasing,  and 
convinced  that  he  should  not  long  remain  undetected,  when  the 
road  enlarging  admitted  of  a  greater  number  marching  abreast, 
he  prepared  himself  for  a  struggle,  while  he  swaggered  impudently 
forward,  his  cool  effrontery  for  the  present  serving  to  keep  those 
who  suspected  him  in  uncertainty.  What  to  do,  however,  he 
knew  not ;  but  he  was  determined  not  to  be  taken  alive,  with  the 
certainty  of  an  ignominious  death  before  him,  if  he  could  elude 
it  by  the  most  desperate  risk  and  exertion,  deeming  it  infinitely 
preferable  to  die  a  soldier's  death  by  the  bullets  of  his  foes,  than 
to  expiate  his  misdeeds  like  a  felon  on  the  gibbet. 

At  one  moment  he  was  half-inclined  to  spring  up  the  precipi- 
tous bank  by  which  he  was  passing  into  the  valley,  and  could  he 
have  seen  a  horse  anywhere  to  accelerate  his  flight,  he  would 
assuredly  have  attempted  it ;  but  he  was  no  longer  a  boy,  and 
his  legs,  though  muscular,  were  far  from  being  agile ;  and  more- 
over he  was  ignorant  of  the  country  he  was  traversing.  Every 
moment  the  danger  of  his  predicament  increased ;  but  still  he 
remained  undecided  what  definite  course  to  pursue,  as  he  must 
necessarily  act  upon  the  spur  of  the  moment,  and  the  appearance 
of  a  favourable  opportunity — when  he  fancied  he  heard  a  voice 
with  which  he  was  acquainted,  if  not  familiar,  singing  above ; 
and  lifting  up  his  eyes,  was  persuaded  he  beheld  little  George 

2  L 


258  THE  MISER'S  SON. 

seated  like  a  bird  on  the  topmost  branch  of  a  cedar,  and  making 
significant  gestures  to  him.  One  minute  more,  and  the  infantry 
would  march  in  the  same  manner  as  previously  to  their  entering 
the  defile,  and  he  would  be  entirely  open  to  observation.  Suspicion 
would  be  converted  into  certainty,  and  he  must  be  arrested.  He 
took  his  resolution,  and  quitting  the  ranks  in  an  instant,  rushed 
up  the  banks,  just  as  the  officer  in  command  cried  "  Halt !"  and 
simultaneously  those  in  the  first  rank  exclaimed,  "The  enemy." 

There  was  a  clang  of  arms  and  a  flash  of  light  from  a  musket, 
and  all  was  excitement  and  eagerness.  Danvers  was  instantly 
missed  of  course,  but  he  had  fortunately  chosen  the  most  propi- 
tious moment  for  escape ;  and  dashing  into  the  thickest  growth 
of  trees,  was  uninjured  by  the  balls  sent  after  him,  while  the 
greater  number  of  the  military  were  too  much  occupied  with  the 
expectation  of  immediate  action  to  notice  the  desertion  of  a  soli- 
tary soldier. 

Scarcely  had  he  accomplished  what  he  desired  thus  far,  when 
Danvers  was  met  by  George,  who  bade  him  follow  him  down  a 
precipitous  road,  among  rocks  and  fallen  trees ;  and  it  was  well 
that  he  did  not  delay  doing  so,  for  an  exclamation  arose  that 
"  It  was  Walter  Danvers  who  had  just  fled,"  and  the  tempting 
reward  offered  for  his  recovery  was  fresh  in  every  mind.  By  com- 
mand of  an  officer  several  privates  instantly  pursued  him,  while 
a  discharge  of  fire-arms,  in  the  van  of  the  troops,  announced  that 
a  brisk  skirmish  had  commenced. 


THE  MISER'S  SON.  259 


CHAPTER  V. 


Yes,  Love  indeed  is  light  from  Heaven, 

A  spark  of  that  immortal  fire, 
With  angels  shared,  by  Alia  given, 

To  lift  from  earth  our  low  desire. — BYRON. 

A  something  fixed  on  earth,  yet  not  in  Time ! 

Nay  as  'tis  purified  by  grief  it  soars 
Through  the  immensity  of  space,  sublime, 

And  in  Eternity  and  Heaven  adores. — MS. 


"  'TIS  LOVE  THAT  MAKES  THE   WORLD   GO    ROUND!" — ELLEN 
LEAVES   CHARLES. 

GENTLE  maiden  !  whose  smile  and  kindness  I  endeavoured  to 
propitiate  in  the  early  part  of  this  history  by  a  promise  which  I 
have  not  by  any  means  forgotten,  do  not  think  that  I  am  unwil- 
ling to  redeem  the  pledge  which  I  gave  you  relative  to  the  deli- 
neation of  the  softer  passions  which  reign  more  especially  para- 
mount within  the  female  bosom,  to  the  exclusion  of  that  restless 
fever  which  men  call  ambition,  of  avarice,  of  pride,  and  all  '  that 
perilous  stuff'  which  degrades  the  grosser  nature  of  the  Lords 
of  the  Creation,  and  makes  them  impassive  to  the  poetry  and  ro- 
mance of  being. 

How  true  is  the  aphorism  of  that  very  clever  and  beautiful 
novelist,  Paul  de  Kock,  whose  occasional  immorality  is  more  than 
counterbalanced  by  the  kindliness,  nature  and  simplicity  of  his 
genuinely  pathetic  writing  :  "  With  man  the  principle  of  love  is 
but  an  episode  in  his  existence ;  with  woman  it  is  the  history  of 
her  life."  Those  that  despise  this  silly  sentimentality,  which 


260  THE  MISERS'  SON. 

only  boys  and  girls — and  but  a  few  of  them — for  an  instant  che- 
rish in  this  highly  rational,  utilitarian  and  enlightened  nineteenth 
century,  may  skip  two  or  three  pages  of  this  present  chapter,  and 
then  they  will  peradventure  find  substance  more  pleasant  to  their 
Ainsworthian,  excitement-loving  appetites;  for  we  must  not  for- 
get that  what  is  delectable  to  one  is  an  antepast  of  purgatory  to 
another  ;  and  that  the  milk  or  pure  water  which  I,  a  Teetotaler, 
prefer  to  port  and  potent  beer,  will  cause  that  red-faced  gentle- 
man who  breakfasts  on  Barclay  and  Perkins's  composition  to 
make  such  wry  faces,  if  set  before  him,  as  might  well  turn  his 
beloved  beverage  into  vinegar,  if  in  the  same  proportion  as  phy- 
sical sensations  are  operated  upon  by  moral  affections,  they 
could  change  the  state  of  decomposition  in  which  so  many  are  in 
the  habit  of  swallowing  their  liquids.  But  you  need  not  fear  that 
I  am  about  to  bore  you  with  a  Lecture  on  Teetotalism.  Cytherea's 
son,  and  not  Father  Mathew,  now  demands  notice. 

It  must  be  remembered  that  Charles  Walsingham  and  Ellen 
Danvers  were  not  like  the  young  men  and  girls  of  this  day,  and 
that  they  had  been  unaccustomed  to  the  chilling  convention  of 
great  cities  and  great  people.  They  were  Nature's  children,  and 
the  position  into  which  Fate  had  thrown  them  was  peculiarly 
favourable  to  the  growth  of  that  passion  which  Childe  Harold 
says,  "  overpowers  the  pencil  and  the  pen,"  or  some  such 
thing ;  and  though  they  might  otherwise  have  lingered  weeks  and 
months  without  knowing  the  state  of  each  other's  minds,  a  few 
hours  had  extracted  a  declaration  from  the  lips  of  the  lover ;  and 
something  very  like  a  confession  of  a  reciprocity  of  feeling 
ecstatified  the  soldier  into  the  third  heaven,  as  the  pure,  sweet 
girl  hid  her  fair  face,  and  wept — how  deliciously  !  But  all  this 
was  imminently  dangerous  to  the  material  part  of  the  sick  man, 
however  much  it  might  conduce  to  the  beatification  and  exalta- 
tion of  his  intellectual,  moral  [Come,  purist  I  find  me  some  word 
more  appropriate  !]  and  spiritual  being. 

I  must  say  a  few  words  in  defence  of  the  reason  of  Charles, 
whom  some  cold-hearted  persons  may  think  little  better  than  a 
lunatic  for  making  desperate  love  to  a  woman  whose  face  he  had 
not  seen,  save  in  his  dreams,  a  day  and  night ;  and  of  whose 
connexions,  history,  rank,  fortune,  family,  &c.,  which  are  of  such 
inestimable  importance  to  the  "  oi  polloi,"  he  was  in  utter  igno- 


THE  MISER'S  SON.  261 

ranee.     Anil  I  am  the  more  anxious  to  offer  an  extenuation,  as 
I  wish  to  draw  him  with  a  great  deal  of  common  sense  as  well  as 
lofty  romance  of  character.     Now  suppose  that  something  be 
conceded  to  the  weakness  of  body — which  must  always  affect  the 
mind — superinduced  by  all  he  had  Undergone,  suppose  that  the 
soldier  was  more  likely  to  yield  to  the  impulses  of  his  heart  in  his 
feeble  frame  of  body  than  when  enjoying  the  robustness,  strength 
and  energy  of  his  usual  uninterrupted   health,  there  can  be  no 
doubt  that  a  man  may  know  more  of  a  female  under  some  circum- 
stances in  ten  minutes — though  talking  and  being  talked  to  with- 
out disturbance — than  in  some  cases  he  could  in  ten  hours.  That 
postulate  being  granted,  the  whole  argument  is  as  clear  and  in- 
controvertible as  any  of  the  reasonings  of  the  mathematicians. 
Suppose  that  a  person  were  with  the  object  of  his  admiration  for 
three  hours  a  day — a  pretty  good  spell,  surely — in  one  month 
that  would  amount  to  84  hours ;  and  no  prudent,  cautious,  indi- 
vidual in  the  world  would  assert  that  a  man  might  not  see  suffi- 
cient of  a  lady  in  that  period  to  justify  his  offering  to  tie  himself 
to  her  for  a  life-time.     By  another  simple  rule  of  arithmetic, 
supposing  that  Ellen  and  Charles  had  been  in  each  other's  society 
for  ten  hours  only  actually,  and  the  minutes  therein  were  equiva- 
lent to  the  others'  hours,  they  might  have  been  in  fact,  in  the  same 
ratio  as  the  other  parties,  about  two  thirds  of  a  year  making  love, 
or  in  othe$  words  getting  into  trouble.     According  to  Cocker, 
then,  the  time  they  had  been  together  was  equivalent  to  eight  times 
as  much  as  that  allowed  by  custom  to  be  the  orthodox  period  for 
a  declaration  :  so  that  there  can  be  no  doubt  that  they  were  vastly 
better  acquainted  with  each  other's  hearts  than  the  conventional 
lady  and  her  suitor :  and  when  we  take  into  consideration  also 
the  enormous  balance  in  favour  of  the  son  and  daughter  of  nature 
against  those  of  art  and  disguise,  when  we  look  into  the  state  of 
their  feelings  and  sentiments,  the  result  was  not  only  probable, 
but  certain.     I  believe  that  this  is  the  first  calculation  in  which 
multiplication  has  been  applied  to  the  business  of  god  Cupid's 
house  of  exchange;  but  I  have  no  hesitation  in  predicating  that 
romance  writers  may  better  combat  the  prejudices  of  society  by  a 
little  demonstration  of  the  kind,  than  by  all  the  logic  of  Aristotle 
and   the  dialecticians.     And   now   to  consider,  though    not   in 
detail,  the  nature  of  that  intercourse  which  led  to  such  a  consum- 


262  THE  MISER'S  SON. 

mation.  It  has  been  observed  that  Charles  and  Ellen  had  ex- 
changed but  few  opinions ;  but  then  what  they  did  say  had  freer 
scope  in  their  hearts,  and  made  a  deeper  impression  than  if  they 
had  talked  much.  Pity  was  the  predominating  feeling  from  the 
first  in  the  bosom  of  the  maiden  towards  Walsingham.  She  had 
watched  him  when  he  was  asleep  ;  and  his  noble  face,  so  eloquent 
of  the  dreams  in  which  he  was  enveloped,  pleaded  potently  in  his 
cause.  INow  in  a  fashionable  drawing-room  "  with  all  appliances 
and  means  to  boot"  for  the  carrying  on  of  what  is  termed  a  flir- 
tation ;  with  ottomans,  easy  and  lounging  chairs  and  sofas,  where 
the  lady  and  her  suitor  "  look  marriage  settlements,  and  wedding 
dresses,"  of  course  compassion  towards  the  suitor  is  not  aroused 
in  the  object  of  his  love.  She  thinks  him,  for  the  most  part,  a 
very  pleasant,  polite,  and  well-looking  man,  if  he  be  tolerably  so, 
and  nothing  more.  Neither  is  it  usual  for  a  man  to  doze  in  the 
presence  of  his  adored,  so  that  she  cannot  contemplate  him  unob- 
served, while  he  is  dreaming  of  her.  Again,  she  does  not  know 
how  patiently  he  can  endure  pain,  while  his  soul  is  brightened  by 
her  presence ;  she  cannot  see  the  smile  quivering  on  his  pale  lip, 
when  noticing  that  she  looks  pitifully  upon  him.  Nor  is  there 
an  opportunity  for  the  display  of  that  victory  of  mind  over  matter, 
which  the  soldier  had  just  given  an  instance  of  in  leaving  his  sick 
bed  at  the  imminent  risk  of  his  life  in  his  anxiety  for  her  he  loved. 
And  now  to  discuss  the  opposite  side.  A  young  lady  of  sixteen 
is  not  in  the  habit  of  attending  a  tine  fellow  of  six-and-twenty 
and  ministering  medicine  to  him.  The  sentiment  of  gratitude 
therefore  is  not  awakened  in  common  life  by  benefits  conferred. 
A  girl  is  not  at  liberty  to  look  the  least  interest  for  him  she  likes, 
until  he  has  formally  declared  himself,  and  been  accepted.  But 
innocent,  simple,  gentle,  loving  Ellen  disguised  not  that  she  was 
anxious  about  the  poor  fellow,  and  she  gave  him  his  nasty  physic 
with  such  commiserating  softness  that — by  Jove  !  it  was  irresis- 
tible !  Then  although  the  accommodating,  well-natured  person, 
who  performs  propriety  by  a  third  presence  in  a  London  drawing- 
room,  considerately  retires  to  the  most  remote  corner  of  it,  every 
person  who  has  felt  the  annoyance  of  such  a  necessary  "  bore'* 
must  acknowledge  that  it  throws  an  awful  dampen  the  impetuous 
fire  of  passion,  &c.  A  man  doesn't  like  to  outpour  the  secret 
things  of  his  deepest  spirit,  if  it  can  be  possibly  overheard  by  an 


THE  MISER'S  SON.  263 

old  fubsy,  matter  of  fact,  worsted- working  aunt,  who  probably 
never  had  a  tender  thing  addressed  to  her,  (poor  old  soul,  she 
was  always  so  desperately  dull  and  ugly !)  in  her  monotonous 
existence.  But  why  multiply  examples  and  antitheses  ?  The 
case  is  so  very  palpable  and  self-evident  that  illustration  is  supe- 
rerogatory. Ellen  and  Charles  were  formed  for  each  other,  and 
it  would  have  been  the  worst  frigid  stoicism  on  the  part  of  the 
latter  if  he  had  not  declared  his  conviction  of  the  fact  to  her,  and 
it  would  have  argued  an  equal  degree  of  frost  in  the  area  of  the 
other's  affections,  if  she  had  returned  a  chilling  answer  to  the 
ardent  breathing  of  it.  With  some  difficulty,  by  the  assistance  of 
Ellen,  who  insisted  on  his  leaning  on  her  shoulder,  when  she  found 
that  the  invalid  tottered  as  he  attempted  to  walk,  he  regained  his 
bed. 

"  O  that  I  should  be  in  such  a  state  as  to  be  totally  incapable 
of  rendering  the  succour,  I  would  almost  peril  my  soul  to  afford 
you !"  exclaimed  Charles,  his  head  once  more  resting  on  his  pil- 
low, and  the  unresisting  hand  of  Ellen  clasped  feebly  in  his : 
presently  conveying  it  to  his  faint  lips,  and  pressing  it  as  fervently 
as  his  weakness  would  allow. 

"  Do  not  talk,  I  entreat  you,"  returned  the  trembling  maiden, 
withdrawing  her  hand,  but  so  gently,  that  Charles,  presuming  on 
his  condition,  again  took  it.  "  I  dread  lest  this  excitement  should 
make  you  worse  than  ever. — May  heaven  avert  such  an  evil! 
Now  try  and  compose  yourself  to  sleep  again." 

"  My  ministering  angel !"  cried  Walsingham,  passionately,  "  I 
could  not  sleep.  My  heart,  brain,  soul,  and  being  are  alive  with 
the  spirit  of  burning  joy.  Oh,  Ellen,  you  will  be  mine?  Do  not 
turn  away  your  eyes,  dearest !  They  are  to  me  like  the  light  of 
heaven,  and  restore  the  fainting  life  within  my  bosom.  That  is 
kind  of  you,  to  look  at  me  thus.  Sweet  one !  For  long,  long 
years,  a  something  most  exquisite  and  lovely  has  visited  me  in 
my  day-dreams — something  full  of  passion,  splendour,  softness — 
a  blending  of  every  joy — a  harmony  of  every  sweet  sound  :  but 
never  anything  like  the  realization  of  this  Elysian  hour.  You 
smile  upon  me,  you  tremble,  you  blush !  Dear  smiles,  and 
tremblings,  and  biushings,  brighter  and  more  beautiful  than  the 
Morning's,  when  she  rises  from  the  sleep  of  love,  and  her  rosy 
tints  appear  instinct  with  immortal  light.  If  I  were  a  poet, 


!264  THE  MISER'S  SON. 

Ellen,  how  your  face  would  inspire  my  genius !  Its  tenderness 
and  grace  would  sink  into  my  soul,  and  open  the  well-springs  of 
its  fancy,  until  they  should  pour  out  like  silver  water  from  a  foun- 
tain with  music  and  swiftness  :  but  though  1  have  no  imagination, 
though  I  am  unable  to  immortalize  you  and  myself  also,  like 
Petrarch  and  Tasso  their  adored  ones,  I  can  feel  all  the  purity 
of  your  loveliness  as  acutely.  It  shines  with  such  calm  and 
seraphic  radiance,  that  it  etherealises  all  my  spirit,  and  leaves  not 
a  taint  of  earth  or  dust  behind,  in  the  worship  it  offers  to  you. 
I  spring  buoyant  into  the  blue  air,  and  breathe  the  atmosphere 
of  blessedness.  There  is  nothing  of  the  mortal  in  me  now.  I 
could  look  into  our  Great  Father's  face,  and  adore  its  efful- 
gence, without  being  blinded :  for  were  there  nothing  but  love 
like  mine  for  you,  it  must  raise  us  to  be  only  less  than  angels." 

There  was  something  approaching  to  delirium  in  this  rhapsody 
of  the  soldier's :  but  who  can  describe  the  emotions  of  Ellen,  as 
in  a  voice  scarcely  higher  than  a  whisper,  but  distinct  beyond  the 
thunders  of  a  Cicero's  eloquence,  he  poured  forth  the  pent-up 
feelings  of  his  soul — earnest — intense,  though  wild  in  its  enthu- 
siasm, into  her  ear.  He  had  passed  his  arm  around  her  slender 
waist,  as  she  stood  beside  him — he  looked  imploringly  in  her 
lovely  face,  and  raising  himself  in  -his  bed,  he  imprinted  the  kiss 
of  passion  on  that  sweet  mouth,  and  inhaled  fragrance  from  it 
more  dear  to  him  than  the  airs  of  Eden. 

There  are  indeed  moments  so  thrilling,  so  absorbing  every 
faculty  of  the  mind,  and  every  portion  of  the  sentient  being,  so 
divine  in  their  unutterable  bliss,  so  free  from  the  corruption  of 
this  dark  charnel  where  we  rot  into  nothingness,  that  it  would 
require  a  seraph's  spirit  in  a  human  mind  to  communicate  them 
as  they  should  be  communicated.  The  humblest,  the  poorest,  the 
most  wretched  of  earth's  creatures  have  felt  such  a  foretaste  of 
eternity,  and  forgotten  for  a  few  brief  moments  that  we  do  not 
exist  in  the  everlasting  spheres — that  hope  must  wither,  and 
love  must  die,  and  passion,  and  truth  and  beauty  consume  away 
like  the  summer  flowers  which  look  as  if  they  did  not  bloom  to 
fade,  but  are  so  odorous  and  beautiful  that  when,  as  autumn 
comes,  we  see  their  withered  leaves  and  wasted  glories,  we  could 
almost  weep,  as  if  some  portion  of  our  own  joy  and  happiness 
were  crumbling  to  dust.  Alas !  these  glad  things  are  frailer  than 


THE  MISER'S  SON.  265 

the  lilies;  they  are  scattered,  never  to  be  regained  on  this  side 
Heaven,  and  like  those  snowy  flowers,  as  they  float  down  the 
stream  of  Time  uprooted  by  the  storm — poor,  faint,  dying  splen- 
dors, beneath  the  holy  stars  that  mock  them  with  their  rays — 
they  quiver,  they  droop  but  too  surely,  and  sink  with  weeds  and 
viler  things  into  the  gloomy  and  all-ingulfing  ocean  —  the 
nothing — to  be  remembered,  wept — and  forgotten. 

The  transports  and  delirious  raptures  of  Charles  Walsingham, 
and  the  milder,- but  hardly  less  impassioned  feelings  of  Ellen  Dan- 
vers,  had  subsided  ;  and  as  the  morning  sun  burst  into  majestic 
radiance,  their  ecstacy  glided  into  a  hardly  less  delightful  tran- 
quillity of  bliss,  and  the  soldier  painted  their  future  prospects 
with  a  glowing  and  yet  subdued  brightness;  colours  of  the  heart, 
soft,  fine,  and  ethereal — expatiating  upon  the  pure  and  unalloyed 
pleasures  of  domestic  life,  contrasting  them  with  the  aims  and 
ends  of  avarice,  ambition,  and  those  wild  and  frenzied  excite- 
ments which  the  votaries  of  dissipation  love — of  that  unrest 
which  men  miscall  delight :  but  the  recollection  of  the  critical 
position  of  her  father  caused  Ellen's  fair  young  face  to  become 
overshadowed  and  sad  ;  and  the  soldier  contemplating  it,  and 
finding  that  there  was  something  in  the  mind  of  the  maiden 
which  weighed  heavily  upon  it,  gradually  became  less  energetic, 
and  with  a  sigh  he  relapsed  into  the  silence  which  extreme  exci- 
tation alone  had  enabled  him  for  so  long  a  time  to  break.  Yet 
he  had  not  spoken  much,  though  he  had  said  a  great  deal.  His 
tones,  his  looks  were  eloquent  with  a  deep  burthen  of  meaning, 
till  the  evident  uneasiness  and  despondency  in  Ellen's  counte- 
nance put  a  stop  to  his  tender  speeches.  Had  Ellen  dared,  she 
would  have  imparted  her  anxieties  to  her  lover ;  but  fearful  lest 
by  so  doing  she  might  unintentionally  commit  some  fatal  indis- 
cretion, she  with  some  difficulty  restrained  herself. 

There  is  no  portion  of  our  existence  here  whose  radiance  is  hot 
palled  by  some  remote  terror,  some  fearful  apprehension,  which 
although  it  may  possibly  render  the  fleeting  moments  of  actual 
fruition  more  precious,  serves  like  the  needle  ever  to  the  pole,  to 
point  to  that  better  and  more  enduring  state,  where  life  and  im- 
mortality are  the  being  we  trust  to  possess.  Go  where  you  will, 
examine  how  you  may,  trace  the  course  of  events  from  the  remo- 
test period  of  time,  and  the  most  barbarous  states  of  society,  to 

2M 


266  THE  MISER'S  SON. 

our  present  most  artificial  civilization,  the  same  eternal  cycle  has 
been  evolving,  and  it  is  vain  for  the  best,  and  greatest,  and  most 
fortunate,  to  hope  to  escape  the  common  lot.  If  a  God  exist,  is 
it  possible  that  He  could  suffer  man  alone  of  all  created  beings, 
to  perceive  in  the  perspective  years  of  sorrow  and  lamentation, 
how  often  to  be  so  darkly  realized  !  to  drag  the  dreary  chain  of 
defeated  projects,  annihilated  schemes,  and  all  the  sad  category 
of  evils,  "  which  patient  merit  of  th'  unworthy  takes,"  and 
give  the  lie  to  that  aspiration  after  the  immortal/  the  verification 
of  which  must  attest  to  us  the  goodness  of  that  Power  we  adore. 
If  any  one  be  insane  enough  to  predicate  such  blasphemy  as  this, 
which  would  reduce  Omnipotence  into  a  fiend  more  inhuman 
than  any  that  breathes  in  Hell,  better  far  to  adopt  the  Atheist's 
dreary  and  most  wretched  negation,  and  live,  and  weep,  and 
perish,  totally  regardless  of  all  things  but  the  present,  leading  the 
life  of  a  brute,  but  never  being  so  happy.  Those  who  laugh  at 
the  idea  of  a  divine  revelation  might  reasonably  ask  themselves 
the  question,  "  Why  has  the  Supreme  Being  left  us  in  uncertainty 
with  respect  to  what  shall  become  of  us  hereafter  ?  Surely,  He 
was  bound  to  lend  us  some  staff  better  than  mere  conjecture  on 
the  most  momentous  of  all  subjects,  and  to  help  us  with  a  sup- 
port more  sure  than  fallible  reason  can  supply,  when  we  are 
afflicted  with  such  dire  calamities,  and  earth  becomes  nothing  to 
our  souls."  For  it  is  a  fact  altogether  incontrovertible  that  there 
is  nothing  to  justify  the  idea  of  a  God  and  a  hereafter,  analogical 
or  otherwise,  in  the  universe,  except  such  inductions  of  reason—- 
which are  in  the  mind,  but  must  be  developed — as  the  philoso- 
pher alone  is  capable  of  deeply  investigating. 

Sweet  Ellen  Danvers !  Pity  that  so  kind  and  bright  a  nature 
should  have  to  buffet  with  adversity,  and  struggle  with  the  cold 
and  boisterous  winds  against  which  such  fragile  plants  are  so  ill 
calculated  to  contend  !  Yet  frequently  we  may  behold  that  stern 
old  rascal  Boreas  expending  his  violence  against  such  gentle  and 
weakly  things,  and  permitting  the  steadier  and  older  trees  to  re- 
main unscathed  by  his  blasts. 

Long  and  wearisome  appeared  the  hours  of  that  day  to  the 
lovers  ;  for  Ellen,  unskilled  to  disguise  her  feelings,  absented  her- 
self as  much  as  possible  from  the  chamber  of  the  invalid,  and 
wandered  about  the  garden,  anxiously  awaiting  some  communi- 


THE  MISER'S  SON.  267 

cation  from  Elizabeth,  or  the  return  of  her  little  messenger. 
Suspense  at  length  became  almost  insupportable,  and  she  would 
herself  have  quitted  the  cottage  in  the  hope  of  obtaining  some  in- 
telligence of  her  father,  if  Walsingham  had  been  in  a  fit  state  to 
be  left  alone.  But,  as  might  have  been  expected,  the  soldier  was 
more  feverish  than  he'was  the  day  before,  after  the  extraordinary 
excitement  and  exertions  he  had  undergone,  and  the  accession  of 
fever  had  been  attended  with  a  momentary  aberration  of  mind, 
during  which  he  said  something  about  the  mystery  of  Ellen's 
appearance  and  behaviour,  inexpressibly  distressing  to  her;  for 
it  implied  a  doubt  on  her  candour  and  ingenuousness,  which  she 
felt  must  lower  her  in  the  opinion  of  the  frank  and  open  Charles. 

"  My  father  may  be  dying  even  now,"  thought  the  maiden, 
after  allowing  her  imagination  to  lead  her  reason  as  it  seemed 
proper  to  that  important  functionary  from  which  half  our  woes 
and  joys  are  derived,  "and  by  delaying  I  may  be  prevented 
from  receiving  his  dying  benison.  Ought  any  consideration  to 
weigh  for  a  single  instant  in  the  balance  with  me,  when  a  fond 
parent,  who  has  cherished  me  in  his  bosom  for  so  many  years,  is 
perhaps  longing  to  bestow  his  last  caress  upon  his  child  ?  I  love 
him — I  ought  to  love  him  infinitely  better  than  all  the  rest  of  the 
world  united  ;  for  he  has  been  both  father  and  mother  to  me, 
although  he  has  such  a  stern  spirit,  and  such  unbending  pride 
and  inflexibility.  I  am  certain  that  1  do  not  feel  towards  this 
acquaintance  of  an  hour,  anything  in  comparison  with  that  I  do 
for  him !" 

Oh,  no ;  what  is  there  like  the  love  of  a  child  for  the  being 
from  whom  she  derives  her  existence  ?  And  yet  Ellen,  if  truth 
must  be  spoken,  was  not  absolutely  convinced,  in  the  sanctuary 
of  her  secret  heart,  of  what  she  had  just  said.  She  felt  herself 
colour,  as  her  intellect  turned  inwards,  and  was  angry  that  her 
feelings  were  for  an  instant  rebellious  against  the  dictates  of  duty 
and  rectitude.  She  could  not  tolerate  the  idea  of  being  so  un- 
grateful to  an  affectionate  parent. 

It  seems  most  strange  that  love  has  the  power,  in  so  short  a 
time,  of  overpowering  the  strength  of  old  ties  and  friendships, 
and  if  not  uprooting  entirely  amity  most  dear,  and  connexions 
most  close,  at  all  events  of  making  them  as  nothing  when  put  in 
competition  with  its  all-penetrating  influence.  But  such  is  the 


268  THE  MISER'S  SON. 

law  of  nature  ;  and  those  who  love  at  all  must  acknowledge  the 
supremacy  of  the  sentiment  over  all  other  things  that  are  sweetest, 
brightest,  and  most  sacred  on  earth. 

Ellen  was  in  some  measure  relieved  from  her  embarrassment 
(as  the  event  gave  her  liberty  over  her  own  actions)  by  the  ap- 
pearance of  a  withered  crone,  whom  she  knew  she  could  trust, 
and  who  had  come  from  the  adjacent  village,  having  just  lost  the 
only  friend  and  relative  she  had  in  the  world,  understanding  she 
would  be  paid  for  attending  on  a  sick  person.  Ellen  had  pre- 
viously seen  and  conversed  with  the  aged  woman,  and  as  her 
character  was  good,  considering  that  she  might  be  entrusted  with 
the  care  of  the  invalid  who  had  just  fallen  into  a  quiet  sleep, 
which  augured  favourably  for  the  renovation  of  his  strength,  she 
determined,  though  not  without  many  a  reluctant  pang,  to  quit 
him  :  and  acting  on  this  resolution,  she  stole  softly  into  her  lover's 
chamber,  and  in  the  perfect  innocence  and  guilelessness  of  her 
warm  young  heart,  she  kissed  the  wan  hand  which  lay  on  the 
coverlet.  "  If  I  should  never  see  him  again !"  thought  Ellen. 
"  Oh,  Heaven,  watch  over  him,  guard  him,  love  him,  even  as  I 
would ;  and  if  it  be  thy  decree  that  we  meet  no  more  in  this  life 
— and  such  a  foreboding  now  dwells  within  my  breast — do  thou, 
O  Father  of  Mercy — "  The  poor  girl  here  felt  sobs  choaking 
her  utterance  at  such  a  gloomy  anticipation,  and  fearful  lest  she 
should  disturb  the  invalid,  she  hastily  quitted  the  apartment. 

"  Let  me  see,"  meditated  Ellen,  as  soon  as  she  was  sufficiently 
composed  to  collect  her  thoughts ;  "  if  I  go  at  this  time  of  night 
in  search  of  my  father  in  female  apparel,  I  may  be  exposed  to 
great  danger.  What  had  I  better  do  ?  It  is  past  eight  o'clock  ; 
but  I  will  delay  no  longer.  There  is  an  old  suit  of  Harry's  which 
he  has  much  outgrown,  and  will  just  fit  me.  I  will  dress  myself 
in  his  clothes,  and  then  I  shall  be  safer."  A  feeling  of  modest  re- 
pugnance at  this  plan  for  an  instant  occurred  to  the  girl ;  but 
speedily  conquering  the  natural  delicacy  and  sensitiveness  of  her 
age  and  sex,  the  exigency  of  the  case  supplying  her  with  an  ani- 
mus which  she  could  never  otherwise  have  gained,  she  proceeded 
to  put  on  her  brother's  dress,  and  to  sally  forth. 

"  I  must  tell  the  old  woman  to  inform  Walsingham  that  I  hope 
to  return  in  a  few  hours,"  muttered  Ellen  to  herself,  "  and — 
and — yes  ;  he  was  asking  me  to  bestow  on  him  a  ringlet  of  my 


THE  MISER'S  SON.  269 

hair.  I  will  leave  that  for  him,  for  fear  we  should  never  meet 
more ;"  and  resolutely  battling  against  the  shrinking  timidity 
which  oppressed  her  as  she  thought  of  her  beloved,  she  cut  off  a 
sunny  curl  and  enclosed  it  for  him  in  paper,  simply  writing — 
"C.  W.  FROM  ELLEN." 

She  little  recked  of  the  misery,  the  separation,  and  protracted 
grief  which  were  to  pursue  her  for  many  years!  She  little  recked 
as  she  delivered  her  parting  gift  to  the  crone  to  give  to  Walsing- 
ham  when  he  awoke,  that  for  long  and  desolate  years  of  solitude, 
and  pain  and  isolation,  it  would  be  cherished,  kissed,  and  almost 
idolized  as  his  chief  solace  by  the  being  to  whom  she  had  rendered 
the  inestimable  gift,  the  treasure  of  faith  and  unchanging  truth 
which  emanated  from  the  fountain  of  her  first,  pure  love. 


CHAPTER  VI. 


Snuff. — This  disguise  is  for  security  sake,  wench.  I  will  try  how  I  can  kiss  in 
this  beard.  O  fie,  fie !  I  will  put  it  off,  and  then  kiss. 

The  Atheist's  Tragedy. 

Dio. — By  Jove  !  I'll  play  the  hunter  for  thy  life. 

With  all  my  force,  pursuit  and  policy. 
JEne. — And  thou  shalt  hunt  a  lion  that  will  fly 
With  his  face  backward. 

Troilus  and  Cressida. 

ELLEN'S  ADVENTURES — THE  DISGUISED  PURITAN — THE 

FLIGHT  AND  THE  PURSUIT — THE  COMBAT. 

IT  may  well  be  supposed  by  every  one  acquainted  with  the 
timid  wavering  heart  of  "  the  maiden  of  youthful  sixteen"  that 
Ellen  Danvers  did  not  contemplate  the  dangers  to  which  she  was 
about  to  expose  her  inexperience,  without  feelings  of  the  liveliest 
alarm  and  apprehension  ;  and  nothing  but  her  anxiety  and  doubt, 
which  as  every  hour  passed  away,  became  more  and  more  insup- 
portable, could  have  enabled  her  to  maintain  her  resolution  of 


270  THE  MISER'S  SON. 

going  forth.  Thus  may  strength  be  derived  from  weakness,  para- 
doxical as  the  fact  may  appear.     She  had  persuaded  herself  that 
her  trusty  little  messenger  would  have  returned  long  before,  and 
she  could  not  help  dreading  that  some  new  and  unexpected  cala- 
mity having  occurred  to  her  father,  George  was  unwilling  to  be 
the  bearer  of  bad  news.     Ignorant  of  the  peculiar  situation  of  her 
beloved  parent,  and  aware  that  none  but  those  he  could  implicitly 
trust  could  be  of  any  service  to  him,  she  was  determined  on  seek- 
ing him  perfectly  alone ;  and  avoiding  the  village  near  which  her 
home  was  situate,  she  gained  the  road  by  which  the  child  had 
told  her  he  was  going  to  travel,  without  molestation,  and  indeed 
without  being  noticed.     Her  bosom  had  been  palpitating  with 
fear  for  the  first  few  minutes  of  her  journey,  especially  when  a 
winding  of  the  path  she  had  taken  quite  hid  from  view  her  home. 
Presently,  however,  she  was  again  able  to  perceive  the  picturesque 
little  abode  which  contained  one  grown  so  dear  to  her,  and  mounted 
a  slight  eminence  to  behold  that  beloved  being's  window.     She 
lingered  for  a  minute  straining  her  eyes  toward  the  vine-adorned 
casement  "  to  breathe  a  prayer  for  him,"  and  then  hastily  des- 
cending, continued  her  walk.     The  evening  was  far  advanced, 
but  it  was  one  by  no  means  calculated  to  add  to  the  terrors  of 
the  young  girl.    Peace  and  silence  unbroken  wrapt  the  scene,  and 
the  declining  twilight  possessed  a  mysterious  charm  for  Ellen,  for 
she  was  habituated  to  think  that  good  spirits  then  visited  the 
earth,  to  protect  the  pure  and  virtuous,  and  naturally  religious, 
she  was  most  inclined  to  be  so  at  so  holy  and  sublime  an  hour. 
The  last  faint  rays  of  the  dying  day,  as  they  melt  into  darkness 
and  night,  appear  also  to  leave  within  the  human  breast  deep  and 
secret  feelings  chastened  by  a  melancholy  and  dreaminess,  such  as 
are  seldom  felt  in  the  brightness  of  morning,  and  Ellen  indulged 
them  with  more  than  ordinary  abstraction  from  the  world  ;  she 
mingled  devout  aspirations  and  pious  thoughts  with  the  poetry 
of  feeling  and  passion,  fancy  and  sentiment.     Although  she  pos- 
sessed but  little  imagination,  and  even  her  fancy  could  not  be  said 
to  be  either  of  a  powerful  or  intense  description,  her  nature  was 
such  that  it  could  not  be  devoid  of  the  great  first  principle  within 
the  soul  of  every  fine  and  sensitive  being,  the  feeling  for  beauty, 
moral  and  material ;  and  she  had  now  reached  a  locality  which 
she  had  never  before  visited,  and  whose  wild  and  shadowy  graii- 


THE  MISER'S  SON.  271 

deur  struck  her  with  admiration,  despite  her  own  fears  and  sus- 
pense. At  her  feet  there  was  a  mimic  cascade,  which  falling  over 
green  banks  in  a  sloping  and  gradual  descent,  mingled  with  a 
dark  and  silent  stream,  overgrown  with  weeds  and  rushes.  Above 
there  ascended  to  a  height  of  nearly  seventy  feet,  a  mass  of  granite 
with  pointed  heads,  and  nearly  all  thfc  rock  was  covered  with 
shapes,  some  grotesque,  some  graceful,  and  some  hideous — the 
fossil  remains  of  animals,  reptiles  and  trees,  which  had  become  by 
this  time  apparently  a  portion  of  the  solid  stone.  But  it  was  not 
these  which  attracted  the  attention  of  Ellen.  A  mist  ascending 
from  the  valley  below,  clothed  every  object  with  its  silvery  exha- 
lations, and  reaching  the  gigantic  trees  which  flanked  the  high 
road  seemed  to  embrace  them  with  undulations  of  life  and  motion. 
This  vapour  sweeping  lightly  through  the  dusky  air,  was  now 
tinged  with  the  trembling  moonlight,  and  now  left  to  trace  its  way 
through  the  pathless  space  in  gloom — 

"  More  dark 

And  dark  the  shades  accumulate ;  the  oak 
Expanding  its  immeasurable  arms 
Embraces  the  light  beech, — the  pyramids 
Of  the  tall  cedar,  overarching,  frame 
Most  solemn  domes  within ;  an.d  far  below, 
Like  clouds  suspended  in  an  emerald  sky, 
The  ash  and  the  acacia  floating  hang, 
Tremulous  and  pale." 

She  recollected  a  short  hymn  which  she  had  been  taught  in  her 
childhood, — and  while  she  lingered  in  the  quiet  place — hoping 
that  she  might  meet  George  before  she  turned  into  another  path — 
the  sensations  excited  by  the  time  and  scenery  found  vent  in  these 
words,  which  she  sang  with  extreme  pathos  and  sweetness,  if  not 
with  science. 

*'  Thou  who  hast  spread  the  hills  above 

And  robed  them  with  such  green, 
Father  of  mercy  and  of  love ! 

Unknown,  yet  not  unseen. 

"  Thou  who  dost  make  the  very  air 

So  exquisite  and  pure, 
If  Nature  be  so  bright  and  fair, 

It  makes  the  spirit  sure. 


272  THE  MISER'S  SON, 

"  A  world  there  is  remov'd  from  sight — - 

A  world  of  light  and  bliss — 
Thy  goodness  Father  for  the  light 

Which  gives  us  hope  in  this  !" 

"  A  godly  song,  well  and  piously  sung !"  exclaimed  a  voice 
close  by  Ellen,  as  she  concluded  the  third  stanza  of  the  hymn, 
and  a  large  hand  was  placed  on  her  shoulder  simultaneously  with 
the  articulation  of  the  first  accents  she  heard.  "It  rejoices  my 
soul  to  hear  a  youth  of  thy  years  so  religiously  disposed.  Verily 
in  these  days  there  is  a  lack  of  wisdom,  and  when  we  behold  the 
young  saplings  bending  the  right  way,  we  should  be  glad  and  give 
praise  to  the  Lord  for  disposing  His  babes  to  the  faith." 

These  words,  delivered  in  a  nasal  twang  resonant  of  the  con- 
venticle, did  not  at  all  communicate  the  happiness  they  were  in- 
tended to  convey  to  Ellen,  who  on  looking  at  the  individual  from 
whom  they  proceeded  perceived  that  he  was  an  enormously  tall 
man,  but  stooped  and  was  extremely  awkward  in  his  gait,  and 
his  face  did  not  indicate  in  any  degree  the  benevolence  and  kind- 
ness which  would  have  re-assured  her  at  such  a  time  and  place. 
He  was  of  middle  age  to  appearance,  with  long  lank  hair  mingled 
with  gray,  combed  straight  over  his  shoulders,  and  his  complexion 
was  cadaverous,  his  figure  thin,  and  his  dress  puritanical.  "  I 
see  that  thou  art  about  to  travel  the  road  that  1  am  going,  worthy 
youth,"  said  the  stranger,  finding  that  his  new  acquaintance, 
muttering  "  a  good  evening"  was  about  to  quit  him,  "  and  with 
thy  leave  I  will  bear  thee  company  ;  for  there  are  evil  men  abroad, 
who  go  about  like  a  roaring  lion  waylaying  godly  and  peaceable 
persons  and  robbing  them  ;  but  I  place  not  my  faith  in  the  carnal 
weapon  ;  but  in  the  shield  and  buckler  of  the  Lord,  and  my  sword 
and  spear  in  the  hand  of  His  angel !  Verily  the  darkness  accu- 
mulateth,  and  the  loneliness  of  the  road  even  increaseth  ;  yet  will 
I  not  be  afraid,  for  in  Him  I  put  my  trust,  and  the  robber  and 
assassin  shall  not  prevail  against  me." 

"  I  have  heard  there  are  many  such  villains  as  you  describe 
abroad,"  replied  the  disguised  maiden,  hastening  onwards  as  fast 
as  possible. 

"  Yea,  multitudes,  fair  youth !  I  am  journeying  to  a  far  town 
to  preach  the  word  to  the  congregation  of  my  brother  Hezekiah 
Showthefaith  ;  you  may  have  heard  of  me — Gideon  Killthedevil!" 


THE  MISER'S  SON.  2?3 

Ellen  opened  her  large  eyes  to  their  fullest  extent.  "  Is  that 
your  name?"  she  inquired,  innocently. 

"  Not  my  name  in  the  flesh  you  shall  understand.  I  am  called 
John  Timkins  out  of  my  holy  vocation.  I  have  turned  from  the 
wrath  to  come  and  joined  the  Anabaptists.  How  happy  should  I 
be,  if  thou,  who  art  so  promising  a  youth,  wouldst  renounce  the 
world,  the  flesh  and  the  devil,  and  adopt  the  calling  of  a  preacher 
of  the  truth." 

The  disguised  girl  was  becoming  a  prey  to  unspeakable  terrors 
as  she  hurried  along,  the  fanatic  close  at  her  side,  for  the  ear- 
nestness with  which  he  gazed  into  her  face,  and  the  singular  ex- 
pression of  his  countenance  went  far  to  persuade  her  that  she 
was  detected — though  she  did  not  pause  to  ask  herself  how  that 
was  possible,  when  her  companion  was  a  perfect  stranger — and 
the  solitariness  of  the  road  at  every  step  became  more  awful. 
Still  he  did  not  offer  any  violence  to  her,  but  continued/  to  talk, 
although  gradually  he  suffered  his  puritanical  phraseology  to 
drop,  and  he  spoke  with  less  of  that  nasal  twang  she  so  much  dis- 
liked. There  was  something  in  the  voice  not  quite  unfamiliar  to 
her,  but  she  was  certain  she  had  never  seen  the  man  before.  How 
odious  was  the  cant  with  which  he  assailed  her,  when  she  was 
convinced  that  he  was  a  hypocrite  at  heart ! 

"  You  are  young  to  be  walking  so  late,  my  pretty  boy,"  ob- 
served the  disagreeable  object  of  Ellen's  alarm  ;  "  but  I  will  pro- 
tect you  at  any  peril  to  myself — even  wield  the  carnal  weapon," 
he  added  with  a  half-laugh.  "  Ah,  I  see  we  shall  have  to  cross 
a  broad  and  deep  river  there  ;  for  the  bridge,  which  was  thrown 
across  it  this  morning,  has  been  broken  down.  There  is  no  occa- 
sion, however,  for  more  than  one  to  get  wet." 

"  I  thank  you,"  hastily  interrupted  Ellen,  "  but  I  think  I  had 
better  go  round.  I  wish  you  a  good  evening,"  and  with  these 
words  she  was  pacing  away,  when  the  puritan  detained  her, 
saying, 

"  Nay,  there  is  no  cause  for  fear.  You  cannot  go  into  the 
road  which  lies  across  the  water  without  walking  for  a  mile  and 
a  half;  and  you  willobe  obliged  to  pass  through  a  thicket  where 
there  have  been  frequent  robberies  of  late.  Come  along,  and 
trust  to  me."  Having  thus  spoken,  the  tall  man  took  the  dis- 
guised girl  on  his  back,  regardless  of  her  entreaties  to  the  con- 

'2  N 


274  THE  MISER'S  SON. 

trary,  and  when  in  the  very  centre  of  the  stream  he  suddenly 
threw  his  arms  about  her  and  exclaimed,  "  So,  you  thought  I 
was  a  methodist  preacher,  and  that  you  could  gammon  me  you 
were  a  boy,  my  beauty  !  I  know  who  you  are.  Give  me  a  kiss, 
and  upon  my  soul  I  won't  do  you  any  harm." 

Vainly  did  Ellen  scream  and  struggle.  The  water  was  up  to 
the  chest  of  the  gigantic  man  in  whose  embrace  she  was,  and  he 
held  her  just  as  he  would  have  dandled  a  baby,  so  that  resistance 
was  impossible. 

"  What's  the  use  now  of  kicking  up  such  a  row,  when  there's 
no  one  to  hear  you  ?"  remarked  the  fellow.  "  You  see,  I  was  as 
much  in  disguise  as  yourself.  There,"  taking  off  the  ugly  wig 
he  wore,  and  exposing  a  fine  head  of  hair,  "  as  you  seem  to 
have  an  invincible  objection  to  kiss  such  a  cursed,  humbugging- 

looking  rascal  as  I  was Whew  !  come  along,"  he  added,  on 

a  sudden,  looking  round,  and  instantly  carrying  the  almost  insen- 
sible Ellen  to  the  other  side,  and  then  taking  to  his  heels,  as  if 
a  legion  of  fiends  were  behind  him. 

The  girl,  on  sufficiently  recovering  to  observe  the  cause  of  this 
precipitate  flight  on  the  part  of  the  pretended  preacher,  dis- 
covered that  a  body  of  horse  soldiers  was  within  pistol-shot  of 
the  stream  which  she  had  just  been  carried  over,  and  the  van- 
guard, consisting  of  two  or  three  men,  were  on  the  point  of 
firing  at  the  fugitive,  while  an  officer  spurring  up  to  them  ejacu- 
lated, "  That  is  the  long  devil  who  robbed  me  so  politely  the 
other  day,  in  conjunction  with  an  accomplice.  Ten  guineas  for 
the  man  that  takes  or  shoots  the  scoundrel." 

The  tall  fellow  meanwhile  had  made  the  best  use  of  his  legs, 
and  as  a  bullet  from  a  carabine  fell  a  few  feet  behind  him,  he 
plunged  into  another  part  of  the  winding  river,  and  dived  down 
to  a  considerable  depth.  All  was  bustle  among  the  cavalry,  and 
the  word  of  command  having  been  given,  several  dragoons 
plunged  into  the  water,  and  when  the  deserter  (for  such  he  was) 
arose  to  the  surface,  they  being  mounted  discharged  their  fire- 
arms at  him,  but  it  would  seem  without  effect,  for  he  instantly 
dived  again,  and  did  not  show  his  head  for  a  considerable  time. 

"  There  he  is !"  at  length  exclaimed  one  of  the  troopers,  as 
the  robber  rose  at  a  considerable  distance  from  the  place  where 
he  had  vanished.  The  firing  was  incessantly  continued,  while  the 


THE  MISER'S  SON.  275 

fugitive  was  in  sight ;  and  some  of  the  shots  flying  within  a  little 
of  his  head,  he  thought  it  prudent  again  to  disappear.  "  Where 
the  deuce  is  he  now  ?"  cried  several  voices,  not  the  slightest 
symptom  of  the  deserter  occurring  after  an  interval  of  several 
minutes,  "  he  must  be  drowned,  surely."  "  No,  no,  see !  that  is 
he,  hanging  on  the  bough  of  the  willow  yonder.  We  shall  have 
him  in  a  minute."  And,  indeed,  the  fellow  appeared  to  take  the 
matter  coolly  enough ;  for  there  he  sat,  protected  by  the  boughs 
only  from  the  bullets  directed  against  him,  swallowing  some 
liquor  from  a  stone  bottle  which  he  carried  in  an  enormous 
pocket. 

"  I've  swallowed  so  much  water,  I  must  take  a  dram  to  qua- 
lify it,"  he  muttered  to  himself;  "  ah,  fire  away !  That  ball  was 
a  d — d  good  shot ;  it  came  within  an  inch  of  my  nose  !  Why, 
that's  my  brother  who  fired  that — the  precious  scoundrel !  Tom, 
you  rascal,  what  the  devil  are  you  at  ?"  he  roared  to  a  huge  fel- 
low within  an  inch  of  his  own  stature,  and  vastly  bulkier  in 
form,  who  having  deliberately  aimed  at  him,  was  now  swimming 
his  horse  towards  the  tree.  "  I  suppose  it's  time  for  me  to  be 
off  now,"  added  the  deserter,  suiting  the  deed  to  the  word,  as  the 
Herculean  soldier  he  had  addressed  approached  to  within  a  dozen 
yards ;  and  dashing  into  the  stream,  with  renewed  vigour,  he 
made  for  the  distant  bank. 

"  Cross  over  and  intercept  him !"  cried  an  officer,  who  had 
just  taken  to  the  water,  to  those  who  were  nearest  to  the  other 
side — the  willow  being  in  the  middle  of  the  river — and  his  orders 
were  instantly  obeyed,  two  or  three  having  gained  the  bank,  and 
spurring  forward  to  seize  the  deserter. 

"  It's  always  best  to  send  one's  nerves  on  a  visit  to  the  lower 
regions  in  these  cases,"  thought  the  pursued  to  himself.  "  You 
won't  catch  me,  my  lads."  Altering  his  course,  and  striking  out 
for  some  green  banks  which  were  defended  from  the  approach  by 
land,  by  a  little  forest  of  underwood,  which  extended  for  two  or 
three  furlongs  in  a  quadrangular  form,  and  an  opening  in  which 
on  the  river  side  afforded  a  retreat,  he  exerted  all  his  powers. 
This  manoeuvre  greatly  delayed  the  dragoons  sent  round  to  take 
him,  for  they  were  obliged  to  dismount,  and  having  done  so,  ex- 
perienced no  little  difficulty  in  making  their  way  through  the 


276  THE  MISER'S  SON. 

intricate  trees,  and  when  they  had  done  so  they  discovered  that 
the  deserter  had  effected  a  landing,  and  was  scampering  away 
with  might  and  main,  but  closely  followed  by  the  Hercules  who 
had  nearly  wounded  him  while  he  was  in  the  willow.  The  path 
which  extended  through  the  trees  in  that  direction  being  broad 
enough  to  admit  of  a  horseman  passing,  the  pursued  manifested 
no  intention  of  dashing  into  the  more  labyrinthine  portion  of  the 
wood,  a  fact  which  surprised  them  all  at  first;  but  the  mystery 
was  soon  cleared  up,  for  they  perceived  their  comrades  riding  in 
all  directions,  in  order  to  surround  the  thicket. 

"  What  legs  the  scamp  has  !"  exclaimed  a  soldier,  as  he  saw 
the  fugitive  emerge  from  the  shelter  of  the  trees ;  and  mounting 
himself  the  tallest  sapling  at  hand,  perceived  that  he  had  just 
eluded  a  party  detached  to  intercept  his  egress  from  the  place, 
and  escaped  many  shots  which  were  aimed  at  him.  The  huge 
dragoon,  who  from  the  circumstance  of  his  great  size  the  reader 
may  recognize  as  one  with  whom  he  has  already  some  acquaint- 
ance, was  close  at  the  fugitive's  heels  ;  and  a  desperate  chase  it 
was,  the  robber  putting  forth  all  his  speed,  and  emulating  a  stag 
or  greyhound  in  celerity,  while  his  pursuer  buried  his  spurs  in 
his  horse's  flanks,  and  cheered  the  animal  on,  now  with  vehement 
now  with  angry  exclamations. 

"  Tom  Jennings  has  been  flogged  to-day,"  remarked  a  private 
to  another,  **  and  his  blood  is  like  hell-fire  ! — Whew  !  he  is  stri- 
king at  his  brother  with  his  sabre  !  he'll  kill  him,  if  he  can." 

The  deserter  and  his  inveterate  hunter  soon  left  all  behind 
them,  the  road  being  favourable  for  the  former,  as  it  was  ex- 
tremely rugged ;  and  gradually  the  sound  of  the  voices  of  the 
soldiery  became  indistinct,  and  finally  undistinguishable.  Still 
neither  party  relaxed  in  his  velocity,  and  the  breath  of  the  horse 
and  .  the  human  being  endeavouring  to  outstrip  him  came  thick 
and  fast.  They  had  now  entered  a  pleasant  little  valley,  and  all 
traces  of  man  and  man's  habitations  had  disappeared.  It  was 
stillest  night,  and  the  faint  plashing  of  a  fountain  placed  in  the 
centre  of  the  quiet  spot  was  the  loudest  noise  that  disturbed  it 
until  invaded  by  the  robber  and  the  trooper.  On  a  sudden  the 
fugitive  turned  round,  threw  himself  on  the  green  earth,  and 
ejaculated  composedly,  though  with  some  difficulty, 

"  I'll  run  no  more,  stap  my  vitals !  Tom,  you  blackguard,  how 


THE  MISER'S  SON.  277 

can  you  be  such  an  unnatural  villain  as  to  attempt  to  take  the 
life  of  your  own  brother !" 

"  Yield  yourself,  then,  my  boy,  and  quickly,"  responded  the 
dragoon,  in  a  hoarse  voice,  as  he  reined  up  his  panting  steed, 
"  what  cursed  long  sticks  you  have!-' 

"  Pshaw,  Tom,  I'll  make  up  the  difference  to  you,  as  far  as 
the  reward  offered  for  me  goes — chance  if  you  ever  get  it  from 
that  chap.  Come  and  have  a  draught  from  this  bottle ;  you  must 
be  thirsty  with  your  hard  ride." 

"  Don't  gammon  me,"  returned  Tom,  surlily.  "  You're  a  nice 
young  gentleman  you  are,  I  must  say  for  you, you." 

"  Very,  Tom.  I'm  going  to  have  some  spirits  and  water,  I'm 
so  dry.  You  really  won't  take  a  drop  of  this  stuff,  eh  ?" 

"  I  shan't  allow  you  any  such  liberty,  you  vagabond  !  Give 
me  the  bottle,  and  surrender  yourself  at  once,  or  else  if  I  don't 
put  this  cold  steel  into  your  belly,  I'll  be " 

"  Keep  a  civil  tongue  in  your  head,  though  you  are  my  elder 
brother,  Mister  Tom,"  rejoined  the  other.  Remember  that  you 
haven't  a  dozen  comrades  here  to  back  you." 

"  If  I  have  not,"  answered  the  dragoon,  fiercely,  "  I  have 
often  made  you  bite  the  dust,  and  will  do  it  again." 

"  Well,  if  you  will  have  a  few  hard  blows  to  whet  your  appe- 
tite for  supper,  you  know  you  are  pretty  equally  matched  with 
me  at  the  broadsword.  I  prefer  passes  with  a  rapier — it's  more 
gentlemanly — by  way  of  amusement ;  but  this  is  a  trusty  blade 
I've  got  here,  and  so  come  on,  my  worthy  Thomas." 

"  Since  you  will  have  it,"  returned  the  dragoon,  who  dis- 
played some  surprise  at  finding  that  his  foe  was  as  well  armed  as 
himself,  a  long  sword  having  been  concealed  beneath  his  large 
puritanically  cut  coat.  And  to  it  they  went  in  earnest.  They 
were  excellent  swordsmen,  and  perfectly  matched.  In  mere 
brute  strength,  the  bones  and  muscles  of  the  dragoon  were 
stronger  than  those  of  his  adversary,  but  the  temper  and  activity 
of  the  latter  amply  counterbalanced  this  advantage,  as  he  very 
soon  proved.  The  soldier  had  been  necessitated  to  alight,  in 
order  to  attack  the  deserter,  or  he  must  otherwise  have  ventured 
his  horse  among  some  huge  fragments  of  rock  and  stumps  of 
trees  which  were  extremely  dangerous.  Thus  being  on  equal 
terms,  at  all  events  in  one  respect,  the  fugitive  took  every  advan- 


278  THE  MISER'S  SON. 

tage  of  his  superior  agility  against  "  Tom,"  and  the  foot  of  that 
redoubtable  personage  stumbling  among  the  stones  and  trees,  he 
rushed  upon  him  and  threw  him  to  the  earth  while  he  was 
striving  to  regain  his  centre  of  gravity,  and  pointed  his  sword  to 
his  chest. 

"  Strike,  and  be to  you !"  cried  the  fallen  one,  with  a 

horrible  oath,  and  with  vain  rage  and  hatred  in  his  accents. 
"  This  has  been  a  cursed  day  !" 

"  No,  master  Thomas,  I've  an  idea  you're  not  fit  to  die  yet," 
responded  the  robber,  feeling  in  his  pocket  with  one  hand  ;  "  but 
if  you  attempt  to  stir,  my  noble  brother,  I  shall  certainly  make 
you  crows'  meat.  Keep  your  overgrown  carcase  still — you  won't, 
eh  ?''  Suddenly,  with  the  dexterous  sleight  of  hand  of  a  conjuror, 
the  deserter  passed  some  strong  cords  round  the  arms  of  his  ad- 
versary, and  in  the  course  of  two  minutes  succeeded  in  binding 
him  hand  and  foot.  "  Good  night,  dear  Tom,"  he  added,  in  a 
jeering  tone,  "  when  I  see  you  again,  I  hope  you'll  be  in  better 
humour." 

In  reply,  the  immense  fellow  vented  awful  imprecations  on  the 
other's  head,  who  lightly  springing  on  the  back  of  the  war-horse 
his  relation  had  been  obliged  to  desert,  and  blithely  caroling  an 
old  Cavalier  song,  cantered  briskly  away,  turning  a  deaf  ear  to 
the  menaces  and  imprecatory  expressions  of  his  vanquished  enemy. 


THE  MISER'S  SON.  279 


CHAPTER  VII. 


Here's  a  brave  fellow  now  j  his  tongue,  his  hand, 

His  legs,  and  all  his  faculties  combined, 

He  makes  subservient  to  his  roguish  tricks ! 

He  lies,  fights,  runs,  and  plays  the  hypocrite 

With  any  man  in  England,  I'll  be  sworn.— Old  Play. 

There  is  a  holy  fount  in  every  breast, 
Which,  tho'  defiled,  the  work  of  Heaven  displays ; 
Its  waters  gush,  and  make  the  worst  the  best, 
And  fill  the  soul  with  Love's  supernal  rays. — MS. 


MOTHER   STOKES   AND    FIGGINS — THE    ROBBER — RENEWED 
PURSUIT — THE    CAVERN. 

NOT  unobserved  had  passed  the  combat  between  the  two  tall 
men  in  the  sequestered  valley  ;  for,  concealed  by  the  thickness  of 
the  intervening  boughs,  there  sat  three  figures  in  a  plantation  of 
young  trees — a  large,  powerful  man  in  a  half-military  dress,  a 
short,  ill-featured  woman,  and  a  monstrous  being,  whom  it  would 
have  been  a  matter  of  some  difficulty  for  a  naturalist  to  classify, 
though  he  had  certainly  two  mis-shapen  legs,  and  something 
resembling  a  human  head. 

Previous  to  the  contest,  the  man  and  woman  had  been  speaking 
together,  and  it  may  be  as  well  to  record  the  substance  of  their 
conversation. 

"  Well,  mother  Stokes,"  said  the  military-looking  man,  who 
had  a  quid  of  tobacco  in  his  cheek,  "  you  were  telling  me  how 

you  escaped.  By  Jove,  you  had  a  narrow Ha !  I  thought  I 

heard  a  distant  firing  then  !  there  are  parties  of  soldiers  scouring 
the  country  in  every  direction,  searching  for  rebels." 


280  THE  MISER'S  SON. 

"  Yes,  Figgins,"  answered  the  woman,  in  reply  to  the  first 
part  of  his  sentence,  "  you  see,  when  I  heard  the  word  of  com- 
mand given  to  '  right  about  face,'  and  that  there  was  a  rising  of 
the  Jacobites,  I  thought  I  might  yet  have  a  chance  of  getting  out 
of  their  hands.  I  was  very  much  in  the  way,  as  you  may  sup- 
pose, and  it  was  proposed  to  send  two  privates  on  with  me  and 
the  boy  to  the  town  ;  but  every  man  was  of  consequence,  and  so 
I  was  carried  back.  I  had  recovered  my  wits,  and  taking  from 
my  pocket  a  bottle  of  spirits  which  I  had  with  me,  I  secretly 
dropped  some  powder  into  it,  the  effects  of  which  I  knew  well. 
I  was  pretending  to  be  about  to  take  some  of  the  liquor,  when 
the  soldier  I  was  behind,  as  I  had  thought  he  would,  caught 
hold  of  it,  and  drank  off  half  the  contents  of  the  bottle  at  once. 
Calling  me  a  polite  name,  he  thanked  me  for  the  draught,  and 
handed  the  rest  to  the  man  with  whom  the  boy  rode,  who  drank 
it ;  and  in  the  course  of  a  few  minutes  they  both  grew  sleepy. 
Small  parties  were  now  detached  to  scour  the  country,  and  I  and 
the  boy  went  with  one  of  them,  together  with  a  corporal  and]  two 
or  three  privates.  Most  luckily,  we  fell  in  with  some  suspicious- 
looking  men,  who  on  being  questioned  did  not  answer  satisfac- 
torily, and,  such  being  the  orders,  the  Corporal  proceeded  to 
arrest  them ;  but  they  resisted,  and  produced  concealed  arms. 
Finding  that  the  dragoon  I  rode  behind  was  quite  overcome  with 
drowsiness,  1  gave  him  a  push,  and  looking  at  the  boy  as  the 
sleepy  soldier  fell  gently  to  the  ground,  I  rode  off.  The  horse  I 
was  on  being  as  good  as  any  in  the  troop,  I  had  a  fair  chance  of 
not  being  overtaken,  the  others  being  busy  with  the  rebels ;  and 
the  boy  having  thrown  himself  from  behind  the  other  trooper, 
soon  joined  me.  But  chase  was  given,  and  so  I  abandoned  the 
horse,  and  concealed  myself  here,  where  you  found  me." 

"  Yes,"  returned  Figgins,  "  the  dragoons  encountered  me,  and 
asked  me  about  you,  but  I  put  them  on  a  wrong  scent — What's 
this  ?  Keep  close,  old  girl !  There'll  be  fighting  yonder,  directly, 
I  see." 

It  was  at  this  time  that  the  soldier  and  the  deserter  made  their 
appearance,  and  soon  proceeded  to  the  exchanging  of  blows,  and 
Figgins,  having  nothing  of  the  knight-errant  in  his  composition, 
calmly  looked  on  without  interfering,  although,  when  he  recognised 
the  combatants,  he  muttered,  and  seemed  undecided  how  to  act. 


THE  MISER'S  SON.  281 

"  I  don't  wish  it  to  be  known  that  I'm  here,"  thought  the 
Corporal.  "  In  the  first  place,  that  old  woman  and  the  monster, 
if  seen,  would  betray  the  fact  that  I  deceived  the  soldiers  ;  and 
—Ah,  ha !  I  thought  so — Tom  is  down  ;  but  I  don't  think  his 
brother  will  do  him  harm  !  A  good  joke,  upon  my  soul !  He  is 
tying  the  huge  fellow's  arms  with  cord.  It's  nothing  to  me.  I'm 
not  in  the  King's  service  now — that  is,  I'm  not  on  active  duty.  I 
shall  leave  Tom  where  he  is,  and  go  my  way.  The  long  one  is  off 
now ;  the  impudent  rascal,  he  has  taken  the  horse.  1  would  not 
advise  you,  mother  Stokes,"  he  added,  in  alow  voice,  "  to  remain 
here.  I.  must  go  and  see  after  your  niece  Soph.  By  the  bye,  I 
hope  you  put  some  food  and  water  into  the  cave  with  that 
stripling." 

Mother  Stokes  grinned  savagely,  and  shook  her  head. 

"  Good  God  !  what  a  devil  you  are  !"  exclaimed  Figgins, 
"  the  lad  must  be  starved  to  death  by  this  time  ;"  and  thus  saying, 
not  without  something  like  horror,  the  Corporal  hastily  quitted 
his  depraved  companion,  and  walked  away  with  rapid  strides, 
while  she  gave  some  spirits  to  the  savage  and  then  drank  a  por- 
tion herself. 

Meanwhile  "  the  long  one,"  having  gained  the  victory,  and 
seized  on  the  horse,  lost  no  time  in  getting  over  the  ground  ;  but 
he  discovered  that  the  animal  was  injured  in  the  pastern,  and 
having  been  tremendously  worked  for  the  last  few  hours,  in  carry- 
ing such  a  burthen  as  his  late  rider,  over  hills  and  precipices  at 
so  great  a  pace  as  he  had  been  urged  to,  it  was  not  possible  for 
him  to  maintain  the  pace  at  which  his  new  master  wished  him  to 
proceed. 

"  I  must  try  and  rejoin  Bess,"  said  the  robber  to  himself, 
"  and  then  we  will  be  off  to  London.  I  don't  like  to  lose  this 
horse.  I  could  sell  him  for  £50.  in  town,  and  I  owe  my  troop  a 
grudge,  so  I  should  like  to  take  one  of  their  best  chargers  from 
it.  The  devil !  I  had  quite  forgotten  the  accoutrements  of  the 
beast.  I  see  some  men  standing  there  at  that  little  public  house, 
at  the  entrance  to  yonder  village,  which  is  still  open,  and  where  I 
wanted  to  have  had  some  ale  after  my  hard  run,  and  they  are 
inspecting  me  curiously.  I'll  speak  to  them  ;  curse  me,  I  must 
have  my  ale.  Good  evening,  masters,"  he  said  courteously  to  the 
persons  in  question,  "  I  am  thirsty,  and  would  thank  any  one  to 

2  O 


282  THE  MISERS'  SON. 

tell  the  landlord  to  bring  me  a  pint  of  his  best  home-brewed. 
I'm  much  obliged  to  you,  Sir  !  You  are  open  later  than  usual 
here." 

"  Yes,  Sir  Methodist,"  replied  a  jolly-looking  fellow,  "  there 
are  plenty  of  hard  blows  to-night  going  on,  and  they  are  apt  to 
produce  thirst." 

"  You  conclude  I  am  a  methodist  from  my  dress,  eh  ?"  returned 
the  tall  man.  "I  am  a  medical  man,  and  attached  to  the 
dragoons,  as  you  may  perceive  by  the  trappings  of  the  horse.  Oh, 
here  is  the  ale  !  Your  healths,  gentlemen.  Host,  bring  me  some 
bread  and  cheese,  and  meat,  with  wherewithal  to  replenish  my 
flask  of  brandy,  and  change  for  a  guinea." 

"  There  are  some  of  your  regiment,  the  — th,  coming  up  now," 
observed  the  merry-seeming  individual  who  had  before  spoken. 

"  I  see,"  returned  the  deserter,  with  wonderful  composure. 
"  This  is  likely  to  prove  an  awkward  affair,"  he  thought.  "  I 
am  quite  tired  of  running,  and  the  ground  is  entirely  open  here. 
Luckily  my  clothes  are  nearly  dry  with  the  violent  exercise  I've 

taken.     D — n  it,  I  will  brazen  it  out,  by !" 

Although  he  did  not  trust  to  his  disguise,  which  his  remarkable 
stature  indeed  would  have  rendered  unavailing,  he  yet  hoped  to 
escape,  convinced  that  those  now  approaching  did  not  belong  to 
the  party  which  had  just  pursued  him,  and  that  they  could  not 
know  much  about  his  appearance ;  but  the  unfortunate  horse 
was  certain  to  attract  their  notice.  It  was  not  a  little,  however, 
that  could  daunt  his  resolution,  and  as  the  dragoons  approached 
to  within  a  few  feet  of  him,  he  exclaimed, 

"  Ah,  my  men,  poor  Tom  Jennings !  he's  gone  !  all  my  efforts 
and  skill  were  unavailing.  The  Doctor  was  present  at  his  death, 
and  said  I  had  done  all  human  ingenuity  could  effect  to  save 
him." 

"  Who  the  deuce  are  you  ?"  inquired  a  Corporal  in  command 
of  the  little  detachment,  gazing  with  bewildered  eyes  at  the  tall 
person  in  black. 

"  Don't  you  recollect  me.  I  have  seen  you  before,  I  think.  I 
am  the  Doctor's — Doctor  Pillwell's  assistant.  I  think  I  once  pre- 
scribed for  you,  when  you  were -ill." 

"  Never  saw  you  in  my  life  !  What's  become  of  Tom  Jennings  ? 
Do  you  mean  to  say  that  big  Tom's  dead  ?" 


THE  MISER'S  SON.  283 

"  I  have  told  you  he  is  no  more.  There  has  been  a  terrible 
affray  with  the  Jacobites,  at  which  I  suppose  you  were  not  pre- 
sent. Tom  was  the  only  man  killed,  but  others  are  wounded." 

"  But  you  can't  be  Doctor  Pillwell's  assistant,  unless  you  are 
newly  appointed.  I  saw  the  assistant  a  week  ago,  and  quite 
well." 

"  Little  Jeffery,  you  mean?  I  am  sorry  to  say  he  has  been 
taken  ill ;  and  as  I  once  officiated  for  him  before,  when  he  was 
sick,  I've  got  his  place ;  and  I  don't  think  that  he  can  ever  re- 
cover." 

"  This  is  a  curious  business !  How  d'ye  come  by  Jennings's 
horse  ?" 

The  question  thus  put  to  *  the  long  one'  was  at  first  a  poser  ; 
but  straining  his  ingenuity  to  reply,  he  said,  "  Why,  you  see,  the 
horse  has  been  injured — you  can  examine  the  leg,  if  you  like — 
and  as  I  have  considerable  skill  in  horse  surgery,  and  this  is 
rather  beyond  the  science  of  the  superannuated  old  veterinarian 
of  the  regiment,  1  have  taken  it  in  hand.  Well,  landlord,  you've 
brought  change  ?  Let  these  good  fellows  each  have  a  draught  of 
your  ale — there's  half  a  crown  to  pay  for  it.  Good  night  to  you 
all." 

"  But  I  really  don't  understand,"  said  the  non-commissioned 
officer,  whose  wit  was  not  of  the  brightest. 

"  I  hope  we  shall  be  better  acquainted,  Corporal,"  added  the 
tall  fellow,  without  heeding  the  interruption.  "  I  am  obliged  now 

to  go  on  to  R ,  where  some  of  the  wounded  have  been  sent, 

and  where  Dr.  Pillwell  waits  for  me.  You  know  the  Doctor's  a 
particular  man,  and  would  kick  up  a  deuce  of  a  rumpus  if  I  were 
not  punctual,  or  I  should  have  been  happy  to  drink  a  pot  with 
you." 

Thus  saying,  the  modern  Goliath  slowly  walked  his  horse  away, 
and  almost  simultaneously  he  heard  a  trumpet  which  he  knew 
signified  troops  were  at  hand.  The  danger  was  still  imminent, 
and  fearing  lest  he  should  be  recognised  by  the  party  now  so  near, 
our  fugitive  put  his  steed  into  a  trot,  then  into  a  canter,  and  finally 
into  a  full  gallop. 

"  I  think  that  fellow's  a  humbug,"  observed  the  jolly-looking 
man  to  the  Corporal,  "  if  you  don't  know  him,  depend  on't  he's 
trying  to  put  a  trick  off  on  you." 


284  THE  MISER'S  SON. 

"  I  think  so,  too,"  returned  the  person  addressed,  who  all 
along  had  his  misgivings  ;  and  when  the  tall  man  changed  his 
brisk  trot  into  a  canter,  at  the  second  bray  of  the  trumpet,  was 
quite  certain  all  was  not  right.  "  We  must  take  that  rogue,"  he 
said  to  his  party,  who  were  quaffing  the  strong  ale  which  had 
been  given  them,  "  we  shall  soon  see  if  he  spoke  truth."  But 
though  he  belowed  to  the  long  gentleman  to  stop,  his  commands 
were  disregarded,  and  the  full  gallop  commenced  ;  and  ordering 
the  soldiers  under  him  to  follow,  the  Corporal  hastened  after  the 
fugitive. 

To  the  chagrin  of  the  robber,  he  found  that  the  lameness  of 
bis  steed  increased  so  rapidly,  that  it  was  impossible  he  could 
bear  him  another  mile  at  any  pace  ;  and  as  he  stumbled  and  re- 
fused to  obey  the  bit,  his  rider  dismounted  without  loss  of  time, 
and  once  more  trusted  all  to  the  length  and  speed  of  his  legs. 
But  an  unexpected  disaster  now  happened  to  him  ;  and  he  dis- 
covered that  in  avoiding  Scylla,  he  had  been  running  on  Charybis. 
Another  small  party  of  dragoons  as  he  was  turning  an  angle  of 
the  road  at  great  speed,  presented  an  appalling  spectacle  to  his 
eyes  ;  but  he  hoped  that  he  .had  not  been  noticed,  as  an  old  oak 
in  the  centre  of  the  road  nearly  hid  him  from  view ;  and  taking 
his  determination  at  once,  he  crept  into  an  enclosed  common, 
and  ran  across  it,  when  he  perceived  that  he  was  in  a  rocky  and 
almost  impassable  place,  flanking  the  whole  extent  of  the  common, 
and  in  which  there  had  been  numerous  excavations  formerly,  for 
mining  purposes.  But  he  had  not  been  unnoticed  while  crossing 
the  heath,  and  the  Corporal  who  had  pursued  him  having  joined 
the  rest,  the  sounds  of  his  hunter's  shouts  soon  reached  him.  The 
fugitive  was  aware  that  many  of  the  excavations  around  him  were 
exceedingly  dangerous,  but  relying  on  himself,  and  perceiving 
that  if  he  strove  to  renew  his  flight  he  must  be  seen  and  fired  at, 
he  determined  on  cautiously  descending  into  one  of  the  deserted 
hollows,  which  seemed  to  extend  far  into  the  earth.  Slowly  com- 
mencing his  descent,  he  found  that  the  excavation  continued  for 
the  length  of  nearly  a  hundred  feet,  and  then  abruptly  terminated  in 
a  semi-circle  ;  but,  when  accustomed  to  the  darkness  of  the  cavern, 
he  had  sufficient  light  from  above  to  show  that  there  were  several 
windings  in  the  opposite  direction,  which  probably  communicated 
with  other  caves  of  smaller  dimensions. 


THE  MISER'S  SON.  285 

"  He  went  this  way,"  said  a  voice,  which  sounded  so  distinctly, 
as  it  awoke  the  loud  echoes  of  the  cavern,  that  it  caused  the  rob- 
ber to  start. 

"  I  have  been  seen  then,"  he  thought.  "  Ah  !  they  are  coming 
after  me — neck  or  nothing !  I  will  try  this  way,"  and  he  fled 
hastily,  as  several  lights  were  kindled  at  the  mouth  of  the 
excavation. 

A  stream  passed  through  that  part  of  the  cavern  which  the 
fugitive  had  chosen  to  pursue,  and  following  its  sinuosities  he  for 
a  short  time  left  his  pursuers  far  in  the  rear ;  but  they  speedily 
followed  in  the  same  direction  as  he  had  taken,  and  theirjshouts 
again  became  more  and  more  distinct. 

"  They'll  catch  me  at  last,  I  shouldn't  wonder,"  said  the 
deserter  to  himself,  in  a  gloomy  tone.  "  But  I  won't  be  taken 
easily  yet : — ah  !  what  noise  is  that  I  hear  ? — Blows  as  if  from  a 
pickaxe,  and  groans  !  What  fearful  cries  !" 

Proceeding  a  little  farther,  the  robber  discovered  a  low  passage 
in  which  he  could  not  nearly  stand  upright,  and  stooping  several 
inches,  he  entered  it  and  found  that  the  sounds  which  had  just 
met  his  ear  became  more  audible  for  a  minute,  and  then  ceased 
altogether.  The  fugitive  stood  still ;  and  now  he  heard  his  pur- 
suers closer  than  ever.  He  could  not  advance  above  a  dozen 
paces  farther,  and  retreat  by  this  time  was  cut  off. 

"  There  must  be  some  place  within,"  he  thought,  "  whence 
those  awful  sounds  came.  I  don't  believe  in  ghosts,  and  if  I  could 
find  that,  I  might  yet  baffle  them  : — but  they  are  coming  down 
the  passage  ;  what  shall  I  do  ?" 

He  looked  around  him,  but  saw  nothing  to  facilitate  his  escape, 
and  was  preparing  for  the  last  desperate  struggle  for  liberty, 
when  a  most  fortunate  and  unexpected  interposition  in  his  favor 
occurred  ;  for  while  he  was  in  despair  of  eluding  capture,  a  huge 
mass  of  earth  and  rock,  sufficient  to  have  buried  a  hundred  men 
under  it,  fell,  with  the  noise  of  an  avalanche,  on  a  sudden,  without 
any  visible  cause,  having  been  detached  from  the  heavy  and 
rocky  soil  above,  and  closed  up  the  passage  which  the  military 
were  on  the  point  of  entering,  extending  nearly  to  the  spot  where 
the  fugitive  stood.  It  would  have  required  at  least  a  week's 
labour  from  those  without  to  have  cleared  the  way  again,  as  the 
passage  was  so  narrow  that  it  only  admitted  of  the  entrance  of 


286  THE  MISER'S  SON. 

one  at  a  time,  and  both  sides  were  of  hard  stone  and  gra- 
nite. 

"  If  I  were  worth  the  notice  of  Heaven,  I  should  call  this  a 
providential  interference,"  thought  the  tall  man,  almost  blinded 
and  suffocated  by  the  dust  and  rubbish  near  him.  "  Well,  I'm 
the  favourite  of  fortune,  I  suppose ;  but  this  is  too  much  of  a 
good  thing.  I  am  safe  from  capture,  but  by  no  means  from 
death.  I  may,  perhaps,  die  comfortably  of  starvation  here." 

While  thus  cogitating,  again  the  robber  heard  a  repetition  of 
the  groans  from  within.  "  Have  we  spectres  here,  or  goblins,  or 
devils,  or  what  ?"  asked  the  robber,  of  himself.  "  I  wish  the 
respectable  individuals  would  not  take  it  into  their  heads  to 
make  such  dismal  sounds.  Upon  my  soul,  they  freeze  my  blood, 
though  it  is  warmed  with  running  and  hot  liquor."  He  listened, 
and  again  hearing  the  sound,  and  marking  the  direction  it  pro- 
ceeded from,  he  sounded  the  walls  with  a  stone,  and  was  con- 
vinced that  in  one  part  they  were  hollow.  "  I'll  pay  a  visit  to 
this  ghost — or  whatsoever  the  gentleman  in  distress  may  be," 
said  the  robber,  after  some  deliberation.  "  It  seems  that  I  cannot 
get  out  of  this  place  by  any  outlet  I  can  discover';  and  the  locality 
— wedged  up  here  as  I  am — is  not  so  enchanting  as  to  induce  a 
fellow  to  make  a  long  stay  unnecessarily." 

Taking  up  a  vast  stone,  which  it  was  not  easy  for  him  to 
lift,  he  dashed  it  against  the  part  whence  a  hollow  sound  had 
come,  and  the  wall  fell  with  a  tremendous  crash  like  that  of  de- 
tonation— though  nothing  to  what  had  preceded  it.  Drawing 
back  to  avoid  the  second  blinding  which  the  effects  of  this  mea- 
sure produced,  as  soon  as  the  dust  had  subsided,  he  again 
stepped  forwards,  and  perceived  a  sort  of  cell  seemingly  unoccu- 
pied :  but  on  closer  inspection  he  found  a  fair-haired  youth 
lying  in  a  senseless  condition  on  the  ground,  evidently  exhausted 
from  long  want  of  food. 

"  Poor  boy,  poor  boy  !"  exclaimed  the  gigantic  fellow,  pour- 
ing some  spirits  down  the  throat  of  the  solitary  tenant  of  that 
gloomy  abode,  a  tear  gathering  in  his  eye,  and  his  strong  hand 
shaking  as  he  performed  the  friendly  office. 

What  a  mystery  is  the  human  heart !  The  robber  would  not 
have  hesitated  to  have  taken  a  dozen  lives  in  the  prosecution  of 
his  nefarious  profession,  where  his  feelings  were  uninterested,  for 


THE  MISER'S  SON.  287 

the  sake  of  a  few  wretched  coins  to  spend  in  idleness  and  dissi- 
pation, and  yet  there  was  something  in  the  forlorn  condition  of 
the  young  and  emaciated  stranger,  which,  for  the  time,  filled  him 
with  as  much  of  '  the  milk  of  human  kindness '  as  ever  glowed 
in  the  bosom  of  a  Howard  or  a  Fry.  Compassion  is  usually 
most  powerfully  excited  by  an  unexpected  appeal  to  the  heart, 
and  in  proportion  as  the  feeling  of  pity  becomes  developed,  a 
thousand  kinder  and  gentler  thoughts  and  sentiments  enter  into 
it.  Yes,  for  the  time,  that  man  of  blood  and  guilt  (whom  no 
remorse  nor  compunctious  visitings  of  nature  deterred  from  his 
iniquitous  vocation),  as  he  recalled  the  old  familiar  faces  of  his 
childhood,  and  a  thousand  almost  forgotten  dreams  and  hopes 
and  aspirations  returned  upon  him — who  shall  say  by  what 
associations  ? — forgot  the  past  of  crime — the  broken  faith — the 
stained  and  dreaded  hand — the  degraded  majesty  of  self-com- 
mendation— the  hatred,  the  shame  and  obloquy  of  the  world — 
and  a  future  of  useless  regrets,  accumulated  ignominy,  imprison- 
ment, revilings,  curses,  and  finally  a  felon's  death — those  awful 
shadows  of  the  spirit  which  ever  drag  down  the  wicked  man's 
soul  to  hell,  vanished,  and  a  new  spring  of  tenderness  and  huma- 
nity, and  all  good  and  gentle  feelings,  gushed  through  his  inmost 
heart.  For  an  appeal  so  tacit  yet  so  omnipotent,  as  the  forlorn 
condition  of  the  insensible  youth  must  present  to  any  one  not 
utterly  devoid  of  that  humanizing  principle,  which  is  an  instinct 
in  every  nature  not  totally  brutalized  by  vice  and  sin,  to  act  like 
demons  in  the  face  of  God — breaking  down  the  structures  the 
fiend  has  raised,  and  dividing  the  links  of  that  chain  upheld  by 
stormy  passions,  so  destroying  the  bridge  over  which  the  spectres 
of  the  departed  hurry  to  and  fro  (though  these  are  all  too  soon 
repaired  by  recurrence  to  the  same  evil  practices),  like  the  balmy 
spell  of  a  holy  angel  breathes  a  serene  repose,  redolent  of  the 
lost  Eden  of  Peace  and  Virtue. 

Oh,  if  we  could  but  operate  upon  the  heart  of  the  malefactor, 
by  setting  in  array  before  him  the  bright  scenes  of  his  innocent 
childhood — of  his  happy  boyhood,  and  joyous  youth — his  mo- 
ther's sacred  kiss,  his  sister's  endearing  smile — the  kind  words  of 
his  youthful  friends,  the  harmless  pleasures  he  deserted  for  cri- 
minal delights,  and  forbidden  joys — we  should  effect  more  than 
by  all  the  eloquence  of  the  preacher  launching  forth  into  elegant 


288  THE  MISER'S  SON. 

rhetorical  periods  on  the  shortness  of  life,  the  sin  of  the  world, 
and  the  vanity  of  human  pursuits — for  we  should  open  the  ave- 
nues of  the  better  nature — more  than  the  philosophic  sentences  of 
the  moralist,  painting  luminously  the  miseries  of  vice  in  its  every 
phase,  and  the  beauty  of  ethics  and  wisdom.  Where  is  the  great 
poet — he  must  be  somewhere — who  shall  apply  the  principles  of 
Christianity  to  the  feelings  and  affections  with  a  Shakspeare's 
power,  delineate  the  light  and  radiance  of  the  former  seraph 
changed  into  the  haunting  ghost  of  mourning  and  of  desolation 
— the  pure  heart  made  foul  and  corrupt,  and  the  abode  of  un- 
sightly shapes,  instead  of  God  and  Love,  and  only  to  be  restored 
to  its  pristine  tranquillity  by  the  mercy  of  that  heaven  that  loves 
the  penitent,  that  pities  the  contrite,  and  pours  forth  ebullient 
joy  in  the  empyrean,  over  one  sinner  that  returneth  to  the  bosom 
of  his  Father,  who  forgives  and  rewards ! 


THE  MISER'S  SON.  289 


CHAPTER  VIII. 


Chaos  of  Thought  and  Passion  all  confused ; — 
Sole  judge  of  Truth,  in  endless  error  hurl'd, 
The  glory,  jest,  and  riddle  of  the  world. 

ESSAY  ON  MAN. 

CaL — O  ho,  0  ho  !  would  it  had  been  done  ! 

Thou  didst  prevent  me :  I  had  peopled  else 
This  isle  with  Calibans. 

The  Tempest, 


ELLEN    AGAIN — THE   EPICUREAN'S  PSYCHOMACHY — THE 
SAVAGE    IN    LOVE — THE    RESCUE. 

AND  what  has  become  of  poor  Ellen  Danvers  all  this  time? 
The  tall  robber  having  deposited  her  in  safety  on  the  other  side 
of  the  stream,  she  sank  trembling  and  terrified,  and  almost  un- 
conscious of  what  was  passing  around,  to  the  earth ;  and  the 
bullets  which  came  whizzing  within  a  few  yards  of  her,  after  her 
late  companion,  did  not  tend  to  allay  her  apprehensions,  or 
restore  her  to  the  possession  of  her  senses.  On  seeing  the 
natural  head  of  hair  of  the  rascal  who  had  offered  such  rudeness 
to  her,  she  was  persuaded  that  she  had  seen  him  before :  and  at 
last  she  entertained  no  doubt  of  the  fact  that  he  was  one  of  the 
burglars  who  had  broken  into  her  father's  house  a  few  hours 
before. 

"  Well,  and  what  are  you,  youngster?"  inquired  a  rough  voice 
of  Ellen,  in  an  accent  such  as  she  had  never  heard  addressed  to 
her  before,  "  do  you  know  anything  of  that  long  scoundrel  there  ?" 

Finding  that  it  was  an  officer  who  addressed  her,  the  disguised 
girl  mustered  courage  to  answer — 

2  P 


290  THE  MISER'S  SON. 

"No,  sir;  IjAo  not  know  aught  of  him,  except  that  he  is  a 
ruffian.  He  accosted  me  a  short  time  since,  and  insisted  on 
\valking  by  my  side,  and — and " 

The  rising  blushes  on  Ellen's  fair  face  would  have  betrayed  her 
sex  to  any  one  skilled  in  human  nature ;  but  the  officer  was  ob- 
tuse. "  And  what  made  you  set  up  that  scream,  my  boy,  when 
you  were  in  the  river,  eh  ?" 

The  maiden  knew  not  how  to  frame  a  reply ;  for  she  had  an 
invincible  repugnance  to  telling  a  falsehood,  and  if  she  betrayed 
the  truth,  she  knew  not  what  might  be  the  consequence. 

"  Did  he  offer  any  violence  ?  Did  he  try  to  rob  you  ?"  asked 
the  officer. 

"  Yes,  sir,"  replied  Ellen,  readily  ;  for  it  was  strictly  true  that 
the  fellow  wanted  to  steal — a  kiss.  "  1  arn  very  thankful,"  she 
added,  "  that  your  troops  arrived  so  seasonably  ;  and  I  hope  the 
villain  will  be  taken  ?" 

"  A  very  likely  tale  the  lad  tells  us,"  observed  a  pert  young 
subaltern,  who  wanted  to  show  his  sagacity,  having  overheard 
the  greater  part  of  this  dialogue.  "  In  my  humble  opinion,"  the 
subaltern  continued,  "  the  tale  he  tells  us  bears  its  own  contra- 
diction on  the  face  of  it.  For  you  will  notice,  sir,  that  the  tall 
scoundrel  met  with  no  opposition  from  this  boy  till  we  were  at 
hand." 

"  What  would  have  been  the  use?"  returned  Ellen,  with  more 
spirit  than  she  gave  herself  credit  for,  "  when  there  was  not  a 
soul  at  hand  to  help  me  ?  Besides,  in  the  disguise  he  wears,  I 
did  not  recognise  the  wretch  who — "  she  hesitated  again,  doubt- 
ful whether  it  would  be  then  prudent  to  mention  the  circumstance 
of  the  previous  night's  robbery. 

"In  my  judgment,"  remarked  the  subaltern,  pragmatically, 
"  this  boy  should  betaken  before  a  magistrate  and  examined. 
You  perceive,  now,  he  stammers  and  colours  up.  Depend  upon 
it,  sir,  he  is  in  league  with  that  rascal  we  are  now  hunting." 

"  It  is  false !"  exclaimed  Ellen,  indignantly,  and  with  some  of 
her  father's  haughty  and  commanding  air  ;  and  her  slight  figure 
erect,  and  with  flashing  eye  and  dilated  nostril,  she  would  hardly 
have  been  known  for  the  timid  girl  she  really  was,  by  any  student 
of  human  nature ;  but  circumstances  evoke  a  strength  of  character 
and  exaltation  of  mind  which  impart  new  features  to  the  external 
appearance. 


THE  MISER'S  SON.  291 

"  Gentlemen,"  she  continued,  with  calm  firmness,  "  I  am  en- 
tirely at  your  mercy  ;  but  I  am  now  proceeding  to  inquire  after 
a  father  whom  I  dearly  love,  and  I  hope  as  Christians  and  as 
soldiers  bound  by  every  humane  and  honourable  sentiment — as 
parents — as  children,  if  you  be  such—not  to  delay  me." 

As  she  appealed  to  the  gentler  feelings  of  those  she  addressed 
her  voice  lost  its  strength,  and  her  eyes  were  suffused  with  tears. 
The  elder  man  with  a  rugged  exterior  was  not  devoid  of  kindness, 
and  replied — 

*'  Go  along,  then,  my  lad.  I  am  a  father,  and  have  a  boy  of 
your  age ;  God  speed  you." 

With  these  words  the  veteran  rode  away,  but  the  subaltern  ex- 
claimed— 

"  What  an  old  fool  that  is,  to  be  hoaxed  by  fine  words.  This 
lad  is  evidently  an  impostor — Ah  !  he  has  availed  himself  of  the 
permission  given  him  already  ;  but  I'll  ride  up  and  put  a  few 
more  cross-questions  to  him  which  will  elicit  the  truth." 

Fortunately  for  Ellen,  the  young  man  was  here  called  upon  to 
take  the  command  of  a  party  of  dragoons,  and  she  was  suffered 
to  pursue  her  way  uninterrupted,  though  she  was  so  overcome 
with  the  excitement  and  terror  she  had  undergone,  that  she  could 
hardly  use  her  limbs.  Arriving  at  a  blacksmith's  shop  she  made 
inquiries  about  Elizabeth,  and  learned  the  particulars  of  the  first 
accident  she  had  encountered,  the  smith  being  engaged  in  repair- 
ing the  vehicle  which  had  broken  down  with  her.  Ellen  on  re- 
ceiving this  intelligence,  asked  if  there  were  any  sort  of  convey- 
ance at  hand, .desirous  of  accelerating  her  journey,  but  being 
answered  in  the  negative,  renewed  her  walk,  and  with  "  fainting 
steps  and  slow"  contrived  in  the  course  of  two  more  hours  to 
progress  a  league.  It  was  now  growing  very  late,  and  the  poor 
girl  felt  she  must  rest  ere  she  could  proceed  farther.  Sitting  down 
beneath  a  sheltering  ilex,  she  leant  her  head  on  her  little  hand, 
and  gradually  the  effects  of  extreme  weariness — for  she  had 
walked  six  miles — and  the  lateness  of  the  hour,  which  was  past 
that  when  she  usually  retired  to  rest,  combined  to  frustrate  her 
intention  of  not  sleeping,  and  she  soon  slumbered  the  repose  of 
health  and  iunocente. 

She  had  remained  in  this  state  of  oblivion  for  about  an  hour, 
when  the  form  of  a  man  approached,  and  presently  stood  within 


292  THE  MISER'S  SON. 

a  few  feet  of  her.  He  was  young — apparently  not  beyond  earliest 
manhood — but  there  was  something  in  his  thoughtful  face,  and 
dark,  large,  luminous  eye,  which  gave  an  expression,  but  seldom 
to  be  remarked  in  those  of  his  age. 

"  Now,"  said  the  youth,  after  a  silence  of  some  minutes,  dur- 
ing which  it  was  clear  his  brain  had  not  been  idle,  "  now  is  '  the 
one  half  world'  buried  in  sleep.  Dreams !  dreams !  If  we  could 
see  them  all !  Their  fantastic  meanness  and  folly — how  vilely 
should  we  think  of  the  intellectual  beings  around  us  !  The  desires 
which  during  the  day  had  been  distracted  by  the  cares  and  busi- 
ness of  life,  occupy  the  heart  and  imagination.  The  proud  man 
is  dreaming— of  what?  of  toys  and  baubles.  Now  some  title  is 
conferred  upon  him — which  he  affects  to  scorn — and  how  the 
poor  wretch's  heart  does  leap !  The  counterpane  of  his  bed  is 
set  in  motion  by  it !  The  wise  man  is  dreaming.  Is  it  of  the 
delights  of  virtue  ?  Pshaw  !  he  hears  the  plaudits  of  fools  and 
knaves,  yet  while  he  affects  to  curl  his  lip,  he  is  happy.  O, 
wonderful !  He  wise  ! — The  lover  sees  his  bright  mistress — her 
he  adores ;  but  there  is  a  brighter  form  just  now  before  his  mind's 
eye.  A  more  tempting  lip  now  courts  his  kiss — a  more  lustrous 
eye  expresses  desire.  Go  to — go  to  !  If  the  vast  curtain  drawn 
over  the  secrets  of  the  Life  of  Sleep  were  removed — in  the  sickly 
brain  we  should  perceive  a  fever — typifying  existence !  restless, 
vain,  perturbed.  Disappointment,  shadows,  chimaeras,  death 
and  annihilation.  Ay,  it  is  in  the  oblivion  we  sometimes  gain  in 
sleep,  the  happiest  of  all  states  of  being  is  realized.  Our  nature 
is  a  corrupt,  a  vile  one.  But  we  made  it  not.  There  is  no  truth, 
no  faith,  no  radiance,  no  purity  in  man.  Best  to  be  nothing. 
Look  where  you  will,  'tis  ever  the  same.  In  the  savage,  and  the 
genius,  advanced  in  civilization — the  man  of  mind — the  weak, 
vain  woman — the  boy — the  child — all  weeds — falsehood,  misery !" 

Again  the  disciple  of  Hegesias  lapsed  into  silence  ;  but  in  a. 
few  minutes  broke  it  once  more. 

"  Our  nature  being  thus  depraved  by  the  almighty  fiends  we 
call  circumstances,  it  is  folly  to  talk  of  sin  :  for  who  or  what  or- 
ganized those  circumstances!  who  called  them  into  existence? 
A  good  or  evil  principle  ?  Neither ;  a  blind  one ;  for  supposing 
the  existence  of  an  extra-mundane  God,  he  must  either  be  neces- 
sity, or  else  necessitated,  and  so  only  a  secondary  cause.  For 


THE  MISER'S  SON.  293 

nothing  can  violate  its  own  laws.  A  God  could  not  be  a  brute, 
any  more  than  a  brute  could  be  a  God.  Well,  then,  he  is  neces- 
sitated to  be  what  he  is,  and  so  subject  to  a  superior  principle  ; 
and  if  so,  the  attribute  of  omnipotence  is  reduced  to  non-entity. 
It  is  impossible  such  should  be  the  case.  In  the  chain  of  being* 
mind  forms  the  nucleus  into  which  the  finest  portions  of  matter 
enter  ; — without  them  it  is  empty.  How  far  does  this  chain  ex- 
tend ?  Into  Eternity  ?  Has  being  limits  ?  That  is  inconceivable. 
The  vast  Whole  is  Infinite.  WTe  are  all  a  portion  of  that  Whole." 

Again  he  paused. 

"What  is  the  most  perfect  thing  in  nature?"  he  pursued. 
"  Man  !  But  he  is  also  the  most  imperfect.  Paradox  of  paradoxes! 
Irreconcilable  anomaly  !  He  can  alone  conceive  the  perfect ; 
then  why  is  he  not  so  ?  What  are  the  elements  necessary  for 
perfection  ?  If  we  can  conceive  a  thing,  cannot  we  execute  it? 
No,  in  proportion  as  the  intellect  of  man  is  great,  his  passions 
appear  powerful  and  overwhelming.  He  can  never  be  aught  but 
what  he  is." 

Thus  saying,  the  soliloquist  was  about  to  depart,  when  the 
recumbent  form  of  Ellen  caught  his  eye.  The  silvery  moonbeams 
played  upon  her  pure,  calm  face,  and  gave  it  an  angel's  beauty. 

"  Poor  boy  !"  exclaimed  the  youth,  compassionately,  "is  he 
then  houseless?  And  so  young,  so  innocent : — he  must  be  inno- 
cent, to  sleep  like  this.  1  cannot  hear  him  breathe,  and  could 
almost  believe  him  dead,  but  for  that  rosy  glow  on  his  cheek. 
He  cannot  be  dreaming — and  yet — hark  !  he  speaks — what  says 
he?" 

Ellen  murmured  the  name  of  Walsingham  in  her  sleep. 

"  This  is  singular !"  exclaimed  the  young  man,  "  who  can  he 
be  ?"  He  continued  to  gaze  on  the  sleeper,  fixedly  ;  but  on  a 
sudden  the  expression  of  his  face  altered.  He  examined  the  ob- 
ject of  his  notice  more  closely ;  he  stooped  down,  and — yes, 
there  could  be  no  doubt  of  the  fact.  A  bush  which  grew  close 
to  the  spot  where  Ellen  lay  had  disarranged  her  dress,  and  suffi- 
cient of  her  white  bosom  was  exposed  to  proclaim  her  sex. 

"  A  lovely  creature  !"  cried  the  youth,  breathless  with  surprise. 
He  paced  up  and  down  with  uncertain  steps.  Again  he  ap- 
proached her.  There  was  an  inward  struggle  with  him — being 
as  he  was  of  awful  passions  ; — night,  solitude,  and  his  own  nature 


294  THE  MISER'S  SON. 

contending  against  the  young  girl.  What  protection  had  she  under 
such  circumstances  from  an  Atheist  or  a  libertine  ?  Yet  when  he 
gazed  upon  her  modest  charms — her  serene  young  brow— her 
child-like  look  of  purity,  her  sweet  soft  smile,  and  saw  a  tear 
trembling  on  her  veined  eyelid,  the  generous  feelings  of  manhood 
prevailed  :  and  fearful  of  trusting  himself  any  longer  in  her  pre- 
sence he  hastened  away.  Need  it  be  added  he  was  William  Wal- 
singham? 

Those  only  of  a  similar  temperament  and  opinions  can  exactly 
estimate  the  difficulty  he  found  in  leaving  unpolluted  and  un- 
touched the  defenceless  being  who  had  so  imprudently  exposed 
herself  to  such  peril.  The  passions  of  such  a  man  are  more  in~ 
flamed  by  the  unexpected  appearance  of  loveliness  in  such  a  situa- 
tion, than  by  the  arts  employed  to  raise  the  fancy  and  stimulate 
the  blood  of  the  sensualist.  But  at  eighteen  there  may  be  a  spark 
of  humanity  left  even  in  the  bosom  of  the  fiercest  libertine ;  and 
though  the  Materialist  was  one  who  had  left  behind  him  entirely 
the  youth  of  feeling,  the  poetry  which  supplies  the  absence  of  re- 
ligion and  morality  in  such  a  disposition  had  not  quite  evaporated. 
1  fear  that  my  feeble  hand  is  incompetent  to  delineate  the  subtile 
lines  and  shadows  in  such  a  character — one  most  "  antithetically 
mixed" —  now  violently  struggling  to  be  good,  and  again  dragged 
down  to  evil.  It  is  infinitely  less  difficult  to  pour  tray  an  individual 
whose  opinions  and  actions  are  decidedly  enlisted  on  the  side  of 
Vice  or  Virtue,  than  one  continually  wavering  between  the  two- 
one  aiming  at  the  loftiest  objects  this  minute,  and  submitting  him- 
self to  the  grossest  and  meanest  desires  the  next.  I  almost  des- 
pair sometimes  of  developing  anything  original  in  the  consumma- 
tion of  ideal  individual  mind,  when  I  discover  the  difficulties  atten- 
dant on  doing  so.  Yet  all  have  experienced  similar  passions— all 
wavered  between  and  battled  with  the  Powers  of  Light  and  Dark- 
ness, and  by  searching  the  depths  of  our  own  hearts  something 
may  be  done.  Shall  the  Epicurean  live  when  his  painter's  feeble 
hand  is  mouldering  below  ? 

Poor  Ellen  had  only  escaped  one  danger  to  he  assailed  by 
another.  A  few  minutes  after  the  Materialist  had  disappeared, 
a  hideous  creature  emerged  from  a  clump  of  trees  at  the  distance 
of  a  hundred  yards  from  the  spot  where  she  lay,  dreaming  of  her 
Walsinghara  ;  and  advancing  to  her,  scrutinized  her  appearance 


THE  MISER'S  SON.  295 

with  curious  eyes.  Presently  he  uttered  a  suppressed  sound  of 
delight,  resembling  nothing  human  in  its  wild,  yell-like  intonation, 
and  kneeling  down  beside  the  maiden,  he  twisted  the  long  tresses 
of  her  hair  in  his  misshapen  fingers.  The  scene  would  have 
forcibly  recalled  some  of  the  pictures  of  nymphs  and  satyrs, 
which  the  old  masters  so  frequently  chose  as  subjects. 

The  glaring  eyeballs  of  the  monster  wandered  from  the  closed 
eyes  of  the  sleeper  to  her  little  and  exquisite  mouth  :  then  to  her 
graceful  throat,  and  lastly  to  her  half-exposed  breast.  New 
feelings  seemed  contending  in  his  mind,  and  his  unsightly  face 
became  frightfully  distorted  with  violent  and  brutal  passions. 
Now  he  clasped  the  sleeping  beauty  round  her  gracile  form,  and 
was  about  to  inflict  a  disgusting  caress  on  her  pure  lips,  when 
awaking  with  a  start,  and  almost  fancying  she  yet  dreamed, 
Ellen  screamed  loudly  and  struggled  to  liberate  herself.  But 
though  young  and  low  of  stature,  the  monster's  strength  was  that 
of  a  man,  and  she  vainly  endeavoured  to  extricate  herself  from 
his  long  arms,  which  clasped  her  so  tightly  as  to  impede  her 
breathing.  Half  lifeless  with  horror,  and  helpless  in  that  sinewy 
grasp,  the  extremity  of  her  danger  alone  gave  her  strength  ;  but 
the  miscreant  having  raised  her  from  the  earth  was  carrying  her 
away  to  the  clump  of  trees  whence  he  had  issued.  He  had 
enough  intellect  to  shape  a  course  of  action  for  himself,  and  he 
thought,  "  I  will  make  her  my  mate,  and  keep  her  in  a  cave,  and 
steal  fruits  and  gather  berries  for  her.  I'll  catch  the  birds  that 
sing  most  sweetly,  and  confine  them  for  her,  but  none  must  ever 
see  her  again  except  myself ;  for  I  know  I  am  loathsome  to  look 
at,  and  she  will  hate  me  if  she  see  others." 

Meditating  thus,  he  conveyed  his  terrified  burthen  to  the  spot 
he  had  chosen,  and  compelling  her  to  sit  on  the  grass,  and  em- 
bracing her  waist,  he  produced  some  fruit  and  offered  it  to  her. 
It  was  his  savage  mode  of  making  love.  The  monster's  bodily 
powers  were  far  in  advance  of  his  age,  and  his  passions  propor- 
tionately precocious :  but  these  new  sensations  had  abruptly 
come  upon  him,  and  overpowered  the  little  reason  and  humanity 
he  possessed.  Something  between  a  man  and  a  brute,  in  mind 
as  in  shape,  though  not  incapable  of  feeling  as  well  as  of  reflec- 
tion, his  thoughts  extended  but  little  beyond  what  in  beasts  is 
instinct.  There  are  three  qualities  of  mind,  sense,  reason,  and 


296  THE  MISER'S  SON. 

understanding.  The  first  is  passive  and  shared  by  all  animals, 
the  second  is  an  attribute  of  man  alone.  The  last,  many  brutes 
have  a  share  of,  and  the  savage  was  not  deficient  in  it ;  but  he 
could  not  carry  out  a  train  of  ideas,  probably  from  defects  of 
education,  as  much  as  from  weakness  of  judgment.  Thus  he  had 
no  notion  of  morality,  and  invariably,  of  course,  followed  the 
bent  of  his  inclinations.  After  all,  there  may  be  intellectual 
beings  far  more  fiendish  in  nature. 

Ellen  almost  thought  that  she  was  abandoned  of  Heaven ;  but, 
as  a  last  expedient,  she  strove  to  touch  the  heart  of  the  hideous 
boy. 

"  I  know  not  whether  you  can  understand  me,"  she  at  last 
faltered,  "and  I  know  not  how  to  find  strength  to  speak."  [The 
monster  made  gestures  signifying  he  comprehended.]  "  I  am  a 
forlorn  girl,"  continued  Ellen,  "  and  have  put  on  this  disguise  to 
seek  my  father.  I  beseech  you,  let  me  go.  What  would  you 
have  ?  I  can  be  of  no  good  to  you." 

The  savage  shook  his  head,  and  pointed  to  two  pigeons, 
which  were  roosting  together  on  the  tree  above.  He  gave  her  to 
understand  that  he  wished  they  should  live  together  like  those 
birds,  by  his  looks  and  gestures,  and  again  pressed  the  fruit  she 
had  rejected  on  her. 

"  God  help  me !"  exclaimed  the  poor  girl,  weeping,  "  what 
shall  1  do  ?" 

The  savage  seemed  sorry  for  her  distress,  but  did  not  offer  to 
release  her.  He  attempted  to  kiss  the  tears  from  her  cheek.  She 
repulsed  him  with  horror,  and  reiterated  her  cries  for  help.  The 
monster  at  length  appeared  enraged  at  her  screams,  and  putting 
his  hand  on  her  mouth  dragged  her  down.  It  was  at  this  junc- 
ture that  the  maiden  beheld  a  woman  approaching,  and  by  a  des- 
perate effort  managed  to  tear  away  the  miscreant's  hand  from 
her  lips,  and  to  exclaim,  "  Help  me  for  the  love  of  God,  help 
me  from  this  demon  !" 

The  new  comer  replied  only  by  a  sardonic  and  malicious  grin, 
muttering,  "Why  should  I  interfere?  I  hate  all  youth  and 
beauty.  Let  the  boy  treat  her  as  he  likes."  Saying  which,  to 
the  agony  of  Ellen,  she  retreated. 

By  a  convulsed  exertion  of  her  remaining  strength,  Ihe  maiden 
regained  her  feet,  but  it  was  impossible  to  fly  while  her  tormen- 
tor retained  her  by  his  claws  of  hands. 


THE  MISER'S  SON.  297 

sand  dogmas  and  fantasies  incapable  of  demonstration,  it  extends 
no  beacon,  it  affords  no  star  to  guide  the  weary  soul  to  a  haven 
of  rest -and  happiness.  Every  system  of  philosophy  which  pre- 
tends to  be  founded  on  immutable  truth,  with  the  exception  of 
this  solitary  monstrosity,  also  offers  something  to  the  amount  of 
enjoyment  or  good,  and  affects  to  contain  some  principle  which 
may  elevate  and  sustain.  But  this  from  first  to  last  is  dreary 
negation  of  all  that  is  sweet  and  consolatory  to  man. 

"  The  weakness  of  superstition,"  says  he,  who  denies  the  exist- 
ence of  a  Creator,  "  is  exploded  for  ever  by  Atheism  ;  and  by  the 
adoption  of  it,  the  universal  earth  might  be  emancipated  from  the 
shackles  of  error  and  falsehood." 

But  this  is  no  principle  at  all,  as  any  logician  knows.  Common 
sense  informs  us,  that  unless  it  can  be  proved  that  something 
can  be  substituted  for  something,  which  confers  a  degree  of  happi- 
ness, it  is  best  to  retain  what  has  been  tried.  Did  you  ever  know 
an  Atheist  happy  ? — Wonderful  hallucination  !  Is  there  no  super- 
stition in  the  negation  so  weakly  advocated  ?  The  superstition 
(if  it  be  so)  of  an  extra-mundane  God,  is  not  one-millionth  part 
so  great  as  that  of  a  blind  power  which  is  ever  producing  a  com- 
bination of  harmonic  and  certain  results.  And  for  the  rest,  all 
is  obscurity,  hopelessness  and  conjecture.  Annihilation  glares 
like  a  demon  on  us  at  every  step,  and  despair  stalks  over  the 
glorious  universe ; — a  phantom  which  must  ever  be  dissipated  by 
a  firm  credence  in  the  immortal,  which  is  implanted  in  us— even 
in  the  savage  who  worships  vain  idols. 

To  return  to  that  miserable  one,  who,  by  a  strange  perversion 
of  mind,  believed  we  are  all  as  brutes,  indestructible  only  in  the 
matter  of  which  our  bodies  are  composed,  while  the  spark  of 
thought,  feeling,  and  reason  is  extinguished  for  ever  by  death. 

He  had  entered  the  dwelling  in  which  we  now  find  him,  and 
sought  the  lady  who  was  holding  earnest  communion  with  her 
Maker.  He  stopped  at  the  half-open  door,  on  hearing  her  musi- 
cal voice  in  prayerful  accents,  and  listened  in  profound  silence  to 
the  breathings  of  that  seraphic  spirit.  There,  far  from  every 
human  being,  as  she  supposed,  unheard  by  any  in  the  material 
world,  she  opened  her  secret  heart,  in  the  assurance  of  faith  and 
love.  Her  splendid  and  unearthly  beauty  was  irradiated  with  in- 
tense glory  from  the  eloquent  working  of  her  perfect  features, 

2Q 


298  THE  MISERS'  SON. 

those  large,  and  pure,  and  melancholy  eyes,  shaded  by  their  silken 
lashes  on  which 

"  Clear  drops,  which  start  like  sacred  dew 

From  the  twin  lights  her  sweet  soul  darkens  through — " 

glowing  with  the  majesty  of  her  thoughts,  the  fervour  of  her  as- 
pirations, the  rapture  of  her  celestial  hope. 

A  celebrated  character  of  political  eminence,  who  was  a  friend 
of  a  late  eminent  divine  and  scholar,  had  imbibed  sceptical  opi- 
nions. It  happened  he  was  staying  with  this  worthy  clergyman, 
and  one  night,  having  left  that  person  in  his  own  chamber,  he 
remembered  he  had  left  something  behind,  which  he  had  occasion 
for,  and  returned  to  the  apartment.  The  pious  man  was  on  his 
knees,  engaged  in  supplication,  and  the  sceptic  listened  to  him, 
and  heard  him  seek  the  aid  and  sustentation  of  the  Deity.  He 
had  entertained  a  notion  that  religion  is  but  mere  profession ; 
but  when  he  found  how  deep  and  heart-felt  was  his  excellent 
friend's  devotion,  and  when  thus  unknown  to  all  he  sought  his 
Maker,  he  said,  "  that  it  did  more  to  shake  his  doubts  than  all 
the  arguments  he  had  ever  heard  in  favour  of  Christianity."* 

And  such  for  a  short  time  was  the  case  with  that  young  Atheist, 
whom,  it  were  superogatory  to  inform  the  reader,  was  William 
Walsingham.  His  unbelief,  however,  was  too  deeply  rooted  to 
be  extirpated  in  a  moment.  Yet  when  he  beheld  the  clasped 
hands,  the  upturned  eyes,  the  parted  lips,  that  quivered  with  emo- 
tion involuntarily,  and  were  more  exquisite  in  the  enthusiasm 
they  typified  than  the  inspired  hand  of  a  Raffaelle  ever  pourtrayed 
in  his  pure  saints  and  virgins,  the  prostrate  form,  the  looks  of 
divine  feeling,  the  grandeur,  the  meekness,  the  pathos  of  her 
countenance,  and  heard  the  thrilling  sweetness  and  love  and  en- 
thusiastic hope  of  her  accents  and  expressions,  he  was  so  touched, 
so  subdued,  so  convinced  that  he  saw  all  that  was  most  true,  sin- 
cere and  undefiled,  that  tears  of  admiration  trickled  down  his 
pale  cheek,  and  rapid  thoughts  were  evidently  busy  within  him, 
from  the  shadows  on  his  broad  forehead  ;  while  he  closed  his  eyes 
and  stood  motionless  as  a  statue. 

But  his  mood  soon  changed.     The  evil  fiend  of  his  nature  re- 

*  This  anecdote  of  Redhead  Yorke  and  Dr.  Valpy  is  from  a  private  source. 


THE  MISER'S  SON.  299 

sumed  its  sway,  or,  oh  !  how  different  a  man  he  would  probably 
have  become.  Had  such  a  mind  devoted  itself  to  religion  and 
virtue,  it  might  have  illuminated  a  world  by  its  radiance,  strength, 
and  fervour. 

The  suppliant  arose,  and  encountered  the  cold,  if  not  sarcastic 
gaze  of  the  Materialist.  A  slight  blush  was  visible  on  her  sculp- 
tured cheek,  as  she  found  she  had  been  detected  in  her  sanctuary 
of  thought,  but  it  passed  away  like  a  cloud  from  before  the  sun,  and 
erect  in  all  the  placid  dignity  of  worth,  she  confronted  her  visitor. 

"  You  pray  frequently,  I  suppose  ?"  said  William  Walsingham 
to  Harriet. 

"  I  find  comfort  in  prayer,"  was  the  reply. 

"  And  you  think  the  invisible  Power  you  worship  requires  to 
be  reminded  of  your  wants  and  wishes?"  he  rejoined. 

"If  you  heard  what  I  lately  said,  you  know  to  the  contrary," 
answered  Miss  Walsingham.  "God  is  certainly  aware  of  all 
that  we  require." 

•'  Then  why  endeavour  to  change  his  purpose,  why  importune 
him,  when  you  know  he  is  unchangeable, — for  so  you  say  he  is— 
if  you  conceive  that  he  has  any  intention  at  all  ?" 

Miss  Walsingham  did  not  speak,  and  William  continued— 

"  Of  course  you  must  suppose  this  being  has  not  created  you 
for  nothing.  Should  you  beg  any  gift  from  a  generous  and  bene- 
ficent earthly  person  ?  Would  not  a  benefactor  anticipate  your 
wants  and  supply  them,  as  he  thought  was  most  calculated  to  be 
serviceable  to  you,  without  your  reminding  him  of  your  depen- 
dency ?  Well !  Cannot  you  answer  me  a  word  ?" 

"  Yes,  William  :  but  I  must  have  a  moment  to  reply  to  you  in  a 
way  commensurate  with  the  importance  of  the  subject.  I  always 
reflect  why  I  do  everything ;  so  you  must  not  suppose  that  I  am 
doing  so  now  for  the  first  time ;  but  I  wish  to  collect  my  thoughts — 
for  they  have  not  been  engaged  in  mere  reasoning.  It  appears  to  me, 
in  the  first  place,  that  whatsoever  makes  me  happy,  that  must  be 
well  and  wise  to  do ;  for  the  search  for  happiness  is  the  great  law 
of  the  human  mind.  God  knows  my  heart,  I  admit,  of  course ; 
but  He  wishes  /  should  know  it.  Is  not  that  reasonable ;  if  I 
am  accountable  for  my  actions?  He  has  also  an  immutable  pur- 
pose with  regard  to  me.  But  though  nothing  can  change  His 
purpose,  it  does  not  therefore  follow  that  I  cannot  change  my 


300  THE  MISER'S  SON.' 

own ;  and  what  means  so  effectual  can  I  use,  as  prayer  ?  The 
human  heart  is  prone  to  evil  (at  least  I  think  so),  and  we  want  to 
direct  it  to  good.  I  find  that  prayer  purifies  my  heart:  I  am 
enjoined  to  pray,  and  if  the  results  be  such  as  I  am  told  they 
will  he,  is  it  not  rational  to  conclude  the  truth  and  divinity  of  its 
origin  ?  It  is  reasonable  to  suppose,  even  if  God  had  not  ordained 
prayer  as  a  means  to  an  end,  and  not  an  end  itself,  that  it  is  a 
wise  method  of  elevating  myself,  and  so  rendering  me  acceptable 
in  His  eye.  And  for  the  gifts  He  bestows  on  me,  I  am  grateful, 
and  therefore  I  thank  him.  Could  I  do  less  to  any  one  ?  And 
because  I  am  weak,  I  ask  Him  to  sustain  and  strengthen  me  ? 
Is  that  absurd  ?" 

"  But  if  this  Being  exist,  has  he  not  pre-ordained  all  things  ? 
Is  there  not  a  necessity  for  everything  ?  If  there  be  not,  then 
there  is  no  necessity  for  a  God.  How  could  the  moral  govern- 
ment— as  you  term  it — of  the  universe  proceed,  if  the  Power 
that  rules  all,  did  not  ordain  that  specific  causes  should  pro- 
duce definite  results?  For  if  this  were  not  so,  all  nature 
would  be  at  war  with  herself.  Then  why  attempt  to  divert  the 
necessary  purpose  of  this  Creative  Mind  ?" 

"  But  I  have  the  ability  to  will,  and  therefore  am  not  a  ma- 
chine in  the  universe.  Moral  actions  cannot  be  said  to  proceed 
from  necessity  ;  and  it  is  no  mistrust  of  the  goodness  of  God 
to  prefer  our  petitions  to  Him,  that  we  may  become  better  and 
more  devoted  to  His  will.  Ah,  William  !  you  do  not  know  the 
flood  of  joy  and  happiness  which  fervent  prayer  causes  to  gush 
through  the  heart.  We  are  sublimated  while  we  are  abased  by 
it.  The  smile  of  the  Eternal  rests  upon  us,  and  our  belief  becomes 
conviction  and  transport.  There  are  great  mysteries  in  all  things, 
I  admit,  and  I  know  not  how  the  Eternal  purpose  of  the  Deity 
can  be  changed, — I  do  not  think  it  can  be :  but  this  I  know, 
while  I  believe  He  is  immutable,  and  orders  all  the  wonderful 
operations  of  nature,  that  the  balm  of  His  holy  spirit  falls  on 
my  bleeding  heart  and  heals  it  sweetly." 

"  But  you  must  think  you  can  change  the  Eternal  purpose  by 
prayer,  while,  weak  in  your  belief,  you  ask  for  a  greater  measure 
of  it." 

"VI  am  not  weak  in  belief,  William — that  comes  by  the  grace 
of  Heaven — but  faith  is  more  than  mere  belief.  It  sinks  into  the 


THE  MISER'S  SON.  301 

inmost  life,  and  pours  ecstatic  thoughts  into  the  breast.  We  bound 
through  the  deep  azure  space  and  gain  our  immortal  wings  before 
we  become  so.     If  God  foresees,  Redoes  not  compel  our  actions. 
I  am  necessitated  to  believe  in  the  existence  of  my  Creator ;  but 
faith  is  distinguished  from  that  necessity  by  a  broad  line  of  de- 
marcation.    To  give  mere  credence  to  a  thing  is  not  to  make  the 
object  of  credence  a  principle  of  action.     But  faith  vivifies  all 
holy  thoughts,  it  inspires  all  devout  adoration ;  it  quickens  the 
heart  to  virtue,  and  makes  it  a  willing  sacrifice — destroys  the 
seeds  of  vice,  annihilates  all  fear,  bears  the  bright  feelings  to  the 
realms  of  bliss,  and  lays  them  at  the  throne  of  Him  that  gave  them. 
For  what  can  we  render  back  to  the  Supreme  for  all  the  benefits 
He  heaps  upon  us  ?     Gratitude  is  all  that  we  can  offer  up,  and 
He  accepts  it.     But  you,  if  you  were  a  believer  in  the  existence 
of  a  God,  would  take  all  he  gives  and  never  bend  the  head  in  ac- 
knowledgment of  it !     Is  this  your  science  ?     To  tell  me  that  you 
know  God  has  predestined  all,  and  therefore  you  can  only  work 
out  the  scheme  of  Providence  ? — Even  as  the  atoms  on  which  we 
tread  are  compelled  to  obey  the  laws  of  gravitation  ! — Is  this  your 
pride  of  intellect  ?     To  believe  that  you  are  nothing  more  than 
the  engines  framed  by  the  hands  of  men,  in  the  vast  plan  of  crea- 
tion ?     If  so,  give  me  ignorance.     Let  me  be  as  the  poor  savage 
that  is  not  enlightened  by  the  beams  of  revelation,  who  under- 
stands not  how  the  countless  stars,  which  for  ever  glorify  the 
skies,  are  measured,  and  the  great  globe  revolves  round  the  sun : 
but  let  me  feel  that  I  am  something  more  than  the  gross  matter 
of  which  my  body  is  composed.     That  is  my  pride.     If  a  New- 
ton who  explained  those  celestial  laws  with  such   all-piercing 
genius,  if  a  Shakspeare  who  read  all  the  complex  mysteries  of 
our  fearful  and  marvellous  nature,  if  a  Milton  whose  mighty  ima- 
gination soared  through  time  and  space,  could  humiliate  them- 
selves before  the  light  of  that  religion  I  adore,  the  invectives  of 
unbelief,  and  the  sneers  of  pseudo-philosophy  will  not  unfix  my 
mind  from  bending  in  lowly  worship,  sustained  by  a  consciousness 
which  you  cannot  have,  that  the  Being  I  address  is  truly  present 
to  me,  and  that  the  immortality  I  hope  for  will  not  be  withheld." 
With  what  energy  and  truthfulness  did  Harriet  Walsingham 
thus  defend  the  faith  she  held !     A  Cicero  with  his  flowers  of 
rhetoric  could  not  have  pleaded  more  convincingly  than  did  that 


302  THE  MISER'S  SON. 

woman  with  her  lustrous  eyes,  her  harmonious  voice,  her  flashing 
face,  which  awed  into  annihilation  as  she  spoke  the  Atheism  of 
the  youth.  He  was  for  the  time  staggered;  but  alas!  not 
shaken. 


CHAPTER  II. 


The  Atheist  will  tell  you  that  all  this  harmonious,  all  this  exquisite  arrange- 
ment, is  the  result  of  a  fortunate  concurrence  of  fortuitous  circumstances  ;  for 
the  fool  has  said  in  his  heart,  "  there  is  no  Maker,  there  is  no  God."  Can  you, 
will  you  helieve  him?  Rather  let  us,  compassionating  his  scepticism,  admire 
and  wonder,  let  us  reverence  and  adore. — DR.  BEDINGFIELD. 


ATHEISM— WILLIAM'S  VISIT  TO   LAWYER    QUIRK — A    NEW 

CHARACTER. 

ATHEISM  has  but  one  solitary  stronghold,  in  the  heart  of  the 
great  mystery  of  evil,  whose  origin  we  shall  fruitlessly  endeavour 
to  trace,  since  good  alone  is  eternal. 

Unbelief  in  general  may  be  said  to  have  two  forts,  viz.,  the 
practical  infidelity  of  the  great  body  of  nominal  believers,  and 
the  superstition  which  covers  like  a  pall  the  fair  face  of  Chris- 
tianity among  two-thirds  of  the  civilized  world.  When,  there- 
fore, some  bright  and  divine  example  of  genuine  piety  is  discovered 
by  the  sceptic,  among  those  whose  tenets  he  ridicules,  the  elo- 
quence of  conviction  which  truth  and  sincerity  carry  to  the  mind 
in  spite  of  itself,  effects  more  than  all  the  syllogisms  of  theological 
writers,  and  the  elegant  and  forcible  discourses  of  divines  in  the 
pulpit.  By  one  instance  of  goodness  the  Atheist's  soul  may  be 
borne  into  the  source  of  good,  and  he  will  see  evil  in  its  true  light, 
instead  of  through  the  distorted  medium  of  false  philosophy. 


THE  MISER'S  SON.  303 

He  will  see  how  vile  immorality  and  crime  of  every  species  is, 
contrasted  with  the  moral  radiance  he  must  admire,  and  that  the 
sorrows  with  which  humanity  is  afflicted,  are  far  from  being  in- 
supportable to  those  who  believe  in  eternal  rewards,  and  the 
beneficence  of  an  overruling  Providence,  who  never  inflicts  pain 
but  for  wise  and  merciful  ends.  But  why  afflict  the  virtuous? — 
Because  they  bear  grief  the  best,  and  their  example  is  like  the  voice 
of  an  angel,  and  breathes  supernal  love  and  holiness. 

Dear  one !  whose  enthusiastic  love  of  God  in  all  thy  most  se- 
vere and  agonizing  trials,  affords  an  irrefragable  argument  for  the 
power  of  religion  in  sustaining  and  in  comforting,  whose  actions 
are  indeed  "  like  an  angel's,"  whose  aspirations  are  all  of  faith 
and  hope,  and  adoration,  pure  and  intense  as  the  devotion  of 
Harriet  Walsingham,  who  like  thee  has  suffered  more  than  tongue 
can  tell,  but  in  the  mind  more  than  the  body, — accept  this  poor, 
passing  tribute  of  affection  and  admiration,  though,  respecting 
thy  modesty,  I  refrain  from  giving  to  the  world  a  name  which 
should  be  immortal  as  the  bright  stars  of  Heaven,  when  the  fame 
of  Napoleon  has  expired  with  the  memory  of  all  the  woes  he 
caused.  The  imperishability  of  a  nature  like  thine  should  be  a 
beacon  to  the  universe,  guiding  it  to  peace  and  joy,  a  memory 
immortal  even  here,  where  all  is  mortal,  as  it  must  be  in  Elysium, 
a  flower  that  exhales  eternal  odours,  gentle  and  sweet ;  for  man  in 
forgetting  such  an  example, 

"  Like  the  base  Judaean  throws  a  pearl  away 
Richer  than  all  his  tribe." 

"It  is  well,"  said  William  Walsingham,  after  a  pause,  in  reply 
to  the  fervent  appeal  of  that  pure  mind  in  favour  of  the  creed  it 
held  so  firmly,  "  it  is  well.  Behold !  this  life  is  a  dark  and 
stormy  dream  ;  and  thunders  and  lightnings  boom  and  flash  upon 
us,  destroying  our  frail  barks ;  each  hope  is  withered,  each  joy  is 
crushed  for  ever !  If  you  can  believe  that  evil  ever  springs  from 
good,  I  say,  His  very  well.  I  would  1  could  delude  myself  with 
the  idea  of  being  happy  for  ever !  Pray  on ;  weep  on  !  Poor 
dust !  Thou  art  not  strong  enough  for  the  most  fiery  spark 
within,  that  struggles,  but  to  be  extinguished.  Better  to  be  as 
the  brutes  that  know  nothing  beyond  the  present,  than  have  the 
insufficient  knowledge  we  possess.  How  painful  is  the  thought 


304  THE  MISER'S  SON. 

that  all  we  can  do  is  vain,  that  death  will  clasp  us  in  its  icy  arms, 
and  the  heart  cease  to  throb,  and  the  soul  of  mighty  thoughts  be 
hushed  in  everlasting  silence !  And  yet,  is  it  not  better  to  be 
nothing,  than  to  feel  the  gigantic  impulses  to  accomplish  things 
beyond  our  reach — to  experience  the  bitter  feelings  of  disappointed 
ambition,  of  frustrated  desires,  of  impotent  grasping  after  the  in- 
visible,— mysterious  longings  and  aspirations,  unutterable  thoughts 
and  visions,  which  vainly  strive  to  burst  from  the  womb  of  time, 
and  to  cleave  eternity, — things  that  mock  us  with  their  splendour 
and  power ;  for  ever,  for  ever  baffling  our  grasp  ? 

'  To  die,  to  sleep/ 
"  Thus  saith  he  who  knew  all  we  know — 

*  No  more ;  and  by  a  sleep  to  say  we  end 
The  heart-ache,  and  the  thousand  natural  shocks 
That  flesh  is  heir  to ;  'tis  a  consummation 
Devoutly  to  be  wish'd.' 

"  Ay,  the  dreamless  slumber !" 

It  would  be  difficult  to  describe  the  profound  mournfulness  and 
melancholy  pathos  with  which  the  Materialist  uttered  those  dark 
words,  which  like  the  philosopher's  of  Cyrene,  might  have  caused 
those  who  thought  as  he  did,  to  have  rushed  on  annihilation  ; — 
but  Atheists  seldom  or  never  commit  self-destruction  ; — words 
which  so  accurately  pourtrayed  the  sensations  of  a  mind  like  his, 
which  must  ever  aspire  to  the  eternal,  whatever  opinions  it  main- 
tain. The  lofty  intellect  warped  by  the  cold  negation  of  Atheism 
is  in  antagonism  with  itself,  and  every  sublime  feeling  must  be 
annihilated  before  the  spirit  can  rest  contented  with  a  world  so 
corrupt  and  wretched  as  this. 

Almost  unconsciously  he  had  given  vent  to  his  thoughts  in 
words — a  habit  which  he  had  acquired  by  so  frequently  choosing 
solitude,  and  holding  monologues  in  his  abstraction,  which  were 
many  of  them  singularly  different  in  their  matter,  yet  all  tinged 
with  sadness  and  despondency  of  good. — Harriet  Walsingham's 
acute  sensibility  was  deeply  touched  by  the  gentleness,  the  pathos, 
and  the  absence  of  his  usual  bitter  sarcasm,  in  what  the  young 
Atheist  had  been  saying,  and  taking  his  hand  in  her's,  she  ex- 
claimed— 

«'  My  poor,  deluded  nephew  !  surely  to  be  happy  is  the  great 


THE  MISER'S  SON,  305 

object  of  existence  ?  Whatever  tends  to  make  one  wretched  must 
be  founded  in  error.  I  love  jou  very  much — more  even  than  I 
loved  your  father ;  and  it  grieves  me  deeply  to  see  you  unhappy. 
Dear  William  !  you  can  struggle  with  yourself;  you  have  great 
though  dormant  powers,  and  for  my  sake,  in  return  for  my  affec- 
tion, rouse  yourself,  will  you  not  ?" 

Harriet  clasped  William's  neck,  and  kissed  him  fondly. 

The  strong  frame  of  the  Atheist  trembled  violently,  and  he  half 
repulsed  his  aunt,  muttering  indistinctly  to  himself,  while  he 
closed  his  eyes,  and  knit  his  brows,  and  seemed  engaged  in  a  .des- 
perate internal  conflict. 

"  What  is  it  that  you  say,  dear  boy  ?"  she  inquired,  solicitously. 

"  There  are  two  principles  in  the  mind,  it  would  seem,"  said 
William,  regarding  not  the  question  which  had  been  put  to  him, 
nor  the  presence  of  another ;  for  he  was  in  a  state  of  mind 
wherein  the  visible  and  actual  make  a  less  powerful  impression  on 
the  brain  than  the  ideal.  "  Now  we  are  led  by  the  one,  now  by 
the  other,  as  the  omnipotencies  of  circumstance  command.  They 
are  the  antitypes  of  good  and  evil,  yet  in  themselves  are  neither 
the  one  nor  the  other.  They  are  but  blind  agents  of  necessity. 
Shall  I  yield  at  once,  or  still  strive  on  ?  It  will  come  at  last ! — 
Embrace  me  no  longer.  I  am  a  base,  unworthy  wretch,  bright 
one !  I  feel  what  I  am  when  with  thee,  and  hate  myself.  Yet 
there  is  a  sacred  radiance  in  thy  presence  which—"  he  hesitated, 
and  added,  "  No  matter." 

So  saying,  with  quivering  hands,  he  was  about  to  release  him- 
self from  the  circling  arms  of  Harriet  Walsingham  and  to  depart 
in  haste,  when,  as  he  was  breaking  from  her,  she  cried — 

"  But,  William  !  you  have  forgotten  the  object  for  which  I 
sent  you,  and  which  has  so  long  occupied  your  time." 

The  Epicurean  pressed  his  shaking  fingers  on  his  hot  brow  and 
muttered — 

"  My  blood  boils  as  in  a  fever  to-night." 

"  I 'have  been  sitting  up  expecting  you  for  a  long  time,"  con- 
tinued the  lady ;  "  and  I  almost  feared  you  had  met  with  some 
accident.  You  look  ill,  dear  William — are  you  so  ?  Your  face 
flushes,  and  then  becomes  deadly  pale,  and  you  shake  as  if  with 
ague,"  and  again  she  put  her  arms  round  him. 

"  Do  not  touch  me — I  am  well  now,"  said  the  youth,  shrinking 

2R 


306  THE  MISER'S  SON. 

from  his  aunt's  embrace,  and  with  a  fearful  effort  mastering  him- 
self. "I  had  forgotten  the  business  you  mention.  I  found  out 
the  man  to  whom  you  sent  me — a  sly,  subtle  little  rascal  of  ad- 
vanced age,  who,  if  he  be  not  a  villain,  his  face  belies  him  foully. 
What  scoundrels  those  lawyers  are !  They  are  worse  even  than 
the  priests !  That  the  world  should  have  been  so  bamboozled 
for  so  many  centuries !" 

"  Well ;  and  what  did  he  say  ? — I  am  sure  you  are  not  well. 
Your  eyes  still  roll  wildly.  Let  me  send  for  the  doctor?" 

"  No,  I  thank  you.  Neither  priest,  nor  lawyer,  nor  physician 
shall  have  aught  to  do  with  William  Walsingham.  The  old  fellow 
said  a  great  deal ;  but  it  was  all  humbug  and  nonsense.  I  dis- 
covered his  residence,  a  shabby  house  in  the  centre  of  the  town, 
and  having  asked  for  '  Lawyer  Quirk'  I  was  ushered  into  a  dark 
room,  where  there  were  a  few  dirty  pictures,  a  table  with  writing 
utensils  on  it,  and  a  couple  of  chairs,  constituting  the  whole  furni- 
ture. Presently  the  decrepid  form  of  a  man  on  the  verge  of 
eighty,  with  a  diabolical  leer,  half  squint,  half  twinkle,  with  a 
wrinkled  forehead,  and  small,  sharp  eyes,  but  deeply  sunken  in 
their  sockets,  entered  the  room.  He  was  bent  almost  double, 
and  was  dressed  in  a  snuff-coloured  suit  which  was  well  worn. 

"  '  You  are  lawyer  Quirk,  I  suppose,'  said  I. 

"  'Your  servant,  young  gentleman/  he  replied. 

"  '  My  name  is  Walsingham,'  I  continued,  '  and  I  come  from 

my  aunt,  Miss  Walsingham,  to  communicate  with  you  on  a  sub- 

» 

Ah,  ha!'  the  old  man  interrupted.  'I  see!  I  see!  I  shall 
be  happy  to  serve  you.  State  the  case.' 

"  '  I  must  first  know  what  you  can  do,  Master  Quirk,'  I  said. 
'  It  appears  that  some  years  ago  you  waited  on  Miss  Walsingham, 
and  tendered  your  services  to  her  on  a  matter  of  much  delicacy. 
You  said  you  were  acquainted  with  circumstances  relative  to  a 
person  of  the  name  of  Danvers,  which  you  would  state  for  a  spe- 
cified sum,  and  moreover  offered ' 

"  Here  the  old  man  broke  in  on  what  I  was  saying  a  second 
time. 

"  '  I  beg  your  pardon,  young  sir ;  in  these  matters  we  must 
be  precise  ;  I  spoke  nothing  positively.  I  only  hinted — You  see, 
I  should  be  loth  to  commit  myself, — having  a  character  to  main- 
tain in  the  eye  of  the  law.  Do  you  bring  credentials  with  you  ?' 


THE  MISER'S  SON.  307 

"  'Worthy  Master  Quirk,'  was  my  rejoinder,  'if  you  think 
you  cannot  trust  me,  I  shall  repose  no  confidence  in  you.' 

"  '  Don't  be  so  hasty,  young  gentleman,'  he  cried.  'This  is 
a  matter  of  much  importance,  and  we  must  be  cautious,  very 
cautious.  I  should  like  to  see  Miss  Walsingham  personally,  and 
will  undertake  to  effect  all  that  I  promised  to  do  many  years  ago, 
if  it  should  be  necessary. — That  escape  was  remarkably  well 
managed — not  that  I  had  any  hand  in  it — God  forbid  !  hem !' 

"  '  Well,  I  suppose  you  had  better  wait  on  Miss  Walsingham 
to-morrow  ;  but  you  must  not  on  any  account  reveal  the  place  of 
her  abode '  " 

"  That  does  not  matter  now,"  muttered  Harriet. 

"  '  Or  that  she  is  living,  to  any.  Your  services  will  be  amply 
compensated ;  but  if  you  should  dare  to  prove  unfaithful,  as  I 
live,  I  will  slit  your  ears.' 

"  The  old  rogue  made  many  protestations  of  fidelity,  and  talked 
a  great  deal  of  absurdity  wide  from  the  purpose,  which  he  intended 
to  deceive  me  ;  but  I  cut  him  short,  and  left  him.  Various  acci- 
dents have  delayed  me,  or  I  should  have  returned  long  ago.  And 
now  adieu  until  to-morrow,  when  I  shall  be  with  you,  in  order  to 
be  present  at  the  interview  with  Quirk.  I  thank  you  for  having 
trusted  me  in  this  affair. — And  yet,"  he  said,  in  an  under-tone, 
"  I  would  that  it  had  not  been  !  Though  it  must  have  come. 
Yet ! — well — think  as  well  as  you  can  of  me,  beloved  aunt.  I 
value  your  good  opinion  far  more  than  that  of  all  the  knaves  and 
fools  who  compose  this  busy  world.  I  am  what  I  am.  With 
towering  passions  and  little  self-controul,  weak,  but  not  wavering, 
sensual,  but  not  heartless ;  something  between  the  God  of  our 
Philosophers,  and  the  evil  one  of  superstitious  fears.  Again, 
adieu." 

Thus  having  spoken,  the  Materialist  took  the  extended  hand 
of  his  aunt  for  an  instant,  then  dropped  it  suddenly,  and  va- 
nished. 

"O,  what  a  no'ble  mind  is  here  o'erthrown  !"  ejaculated  Har- 
riet Walsingham.  "  How  great  are  all  his  sentiments  when  they 
do  not  flow  in  the  channels  of  his  debasing  materialism.  May 
Heaven  change  his  heart  and  sentiments,  and  make  him  a  wiser, 
and  happier  man.  With  all  his  errors,  1  feel  1  love  him  beyond 
all  my  other  relatives ! — I  dread  this  interview  with  the  lawyer ; 


308  THE  MISER'S  SOW. 

but  Walter's  life  is  forfeited,  and  instant  measures  must  be  taken 
— alas,  alas!  that  fatal  passion.  Is  he  guilty,  or  innocent?  I 
cannot  judge  clearly  of  him.  Why,  why  have  I  loved  him  thus?" 

How  often  has  that  question  been  put  to  her  soul  by  the  splendid 
aristocrat,  who  moves  among  the  proudest  of  the  earth,  as  well 
as  by  the  humble  peasant  to  whom  that  love  is  sole  wealth  and 
happiness.  "Why  have  I  loved  him  thus?"  Painful,  sorrowful 
words,  implying  that  the  adored  object  of  the  being's  best  and 
early  affections  is  unworthy  of  them.  What  priceless  treasures  of 
pure  faith  and  passion  are  cast  away  by  those  whose  breasts  in- 
sphere  but  the  god  of  self !  What  a  thing  it  is  that  the  heart's 
wealth  should  be  lavished  in  vain  !  How  exquisitely  our  Hemans 
embodied  that  thought ;  how  passionately  she  cries — "  I  depart 
unknown  !"  And  the  most  precious  things  are  lost  or  squandered 
— -jewels,  as  it  were,  of  unknown  beauty,  dropped  from  a  brighter 
sphere,  and  cast  away  by  the  dull  and  ignorant,  never  to  be  re- 
gained. "  Why  have  I  loved  ?"  "  Why  have  I  not  loved  ?"  In 
those  two  sentences  are  summed  the  greatest  of  miseries.  But  to 
leave  this  apparent  enigma  unsolved,  and  return  to  our  narrative. 

Harriet  was  disturbed  from  the  reverie  into  which  she  had 
fallen,  by  hearing  a  sound  in  her  apartment.  Starting  up,  she 
uttered  a  cry  of  alarm,  as  she  beheld  a  strange-looking,  little,  old 
man,  who  stood  at  the  distance  of  a  few  feet  from  her,  peering 
around  with  his  still  sharp  and  cunning  small  eyes.  He  was  just 
such  a  figure  as  we  associate  in  our  fancy  with  the  queer,  dimi- 
nutive personages  of  fairy  tale,  old,  ugly,  and  of  sly  feature,  with 
intellects  as  much  on  the  alert  as  they  were  in  early  youth. 

"  Do  not  be  alarmed,  madam,"  said  this  odd  individual  to 
Harriet,  making  an  obeisance.  "  I  am  lawyer  Quirk.  I  hope 
that  you  will  pardon  my  thus  intruding  myself  on  your  privacy  ; 
but  I  have  disclosures  to  make  which  I  could  only  communicate 
to  you  thus,  unheard  by  any  witness." 

And  with  these  words,  the  lawyer  fumbled  in  his  capacious 
pocket,  and  produced  some  dirty,  yellow  papers. 


THE  MISER'S  SON.  309 


CHAPTER  III. 


Truth  ever  lovely  since  the  world  began, 

The  foe  of  tyrants,  and  the  friend  of  man, 

How  can  thy  words  from  balmy  slumber  start 

Reposing  Virtue,  pillow'd  on  the  heart! 

Yet,  if  thy  voice  the  note  of  thunder  roll'd, 

And  that  were  true  which  Nature  never  told, 

Let  Wisdom  smile  not  on  her  conquer'd  field  ; 

No  rapture  dawns,  no  treasure  is  reveal'd  ! 

Oh  !  let  her  read  nor  loudly,  nor  elate, 

The  doom  that  bars  us  from  a.  better  fate ; 

But,  sad  as  angels  for  the  good  man's  sin, 

Weep  to  record,  and  blush  to  give  it  in. — CAMPBELL. 


THE   EPICUREAN   ENCOUNTERS   CAPTAIN   NORTON— THE 
QUESTION — THE   PURSUIT. 

MEANWHILE  William  Walsingham,  after  leaving  his  aunt, 
pursued  his  way,  lost  in  abstraction — as  indeed,  professed  Ma- 
terialist as  he  was,  almost  invariably  was  the  case,  when  left  to 
himself.  He  believed  (singular  anomaly  as  such  a  belief  was  in 
this  instance)  that  he  could  only  derive  gratification  through  the 
medium  of  the  senses,  and  yet  no  man  was  ever  more  occupied 
with  analysis  of  the  elements  of  thought  and  sensation.  He  des- 
pised metaphysics,  which  he  considered  a  name  for  nothing,  not- 
withstanding he  found  his  own  intellect  a  theme  of  engrossing  in- 
terest. If  you  read  the  biography  of  men  of  similar  opinions  and 
like  mental  powers,  you  will  find  that  his  was  by  no  means  an 
isolated  case ;  and  it  demonstrates,  in  spite  of  all  the  materialistic 
tendencies  of  sensuality  and  epicureanism,  that  every  fine  mind  is 
more  or  less  absorbed  with  a  study  which  is  the  most  mysterious 


310  THE  MISER'S  SON. 

and  profound  of  any  we  can  take  cognizance  of.  True,  the  man 
who  devotes  himself  to  the  exact  sciences,  to  politics,  or  to  busi- 
ness, may  be  drawn  away  from  very  abstract  reflections  by  neces- 
sity; but  it  will  be  perceived  also,  whenever  the  soul  takes  a 
higher  flight  than  usual,  the  strange  and  incomprehensible  essence 
of  which  it  is  composed  is  that  to  which  it  is  attracted,  as  the 
needle  to  the  pole.  If  you  read  the  Elizabethan  dramatists  you 
will  see  such  was  their  opinion.  It  were  unnecessary  to  offer 
any  farther  defence  of  mental  philosophy,  as  it  thus  would  appear 
an  undeniable  fact,  that  in  the  highest  and  the  most  ethereal 
moods,  the  spirit  exhausted  with  flights  of  fiery  imagination  and 
exalted  aspirations,  returns  to  the  source  whence  all  must  ema- 
nate, the  one  great  secret  of  what  we  are.  What  was  the  youth 
thinking  about  ? 

"  I  wish  I  could  know  the  mode  in  which  certain  causes  must 
operate  to  certain  effects.  If  this  could  be  defined,  then,  indeed, 
volition  would  not  be  a  phantasma  of  the  diseased  fancy ;  for 
then  we  should  know  how  to  steer  our  course  with  certainty, 
whereas,  at  present,  we  have  no  star  to  light,  no  compass  to 
direct  us ;  we  are  in  total  ignorance  of  the  '  to  come !'  Each 
circumstance  produces  a  new  train  of  ideas,  and  each  new  train 
of  ideas  evolves  some  stage  of  mind.  There  is  no  such  thing  as 
a  state  of  sensation — that  is  an  unaccountable  thing  when  all  is 
sensation  ! — could  sensation  for  an  instant  be  annihilated  I  should 
become  another  individual.  It  is  evident,  then,  in  order  that 
identity  may  be  preserved,  that  I  should  undergo  continual  pro- 
gression ;  without  progress  nothing  could  exist, — and,  therefore, 
progress  is  a  law  of  development.  These  last  few  hours  have 
produced  many  changes  within  me.  I  have  been  tempted  to  do 
that  which  I  consider  immoral — not  because  there  is  such  an  en- 
tity as  vice,  but  because  it  would  perhaps  have  made  another 
miserable.  What  a  heart  this  is  !  My  head  has  no  chance  with 
it.  Yet  why  so  ?  Reason  is  in  every  action  ;  otherwise  I  should 
be  propelled  in  all  things  by  desire.  Am  I  so  ?  My  animal  na- 
ture was  evidently  subdued  by  my  intellectual  one,  for  I  was 
strongly  tempted — twice  tempted. — But  still  the  strongest  mo- 
tive ;  ay,  ay,  the  strongest  motive !" 

The  Materialist  folded  his  arms,  and  stood  perfectly  still,  sur- 
veying the  face  of  heaven,  the  grey  of  which  was  blending  with  a 


THE  MISER'S  SON.  311 

rosy  hue,  foretelling  the  dawn  was  at  hand.  In  the  anatomy  of 
his  mind  above  given,  it  has  been  endeavoured  to  give  an  insight 
into  the  recesses  and  springs  of  thought ;  and,  indeed,  it  is  here 
that  there  is  such  an  almost  illimitable  field  for  speculation  and 
interest,  greatly  transcending  that  of  mere  action,  which  is  but 
the  body  to  the  soul.  Sir  Edward  Lytton  Bulwer  has  been 
lately  attempting  something  of  this  sort.  He  is  a  fine,  beautiful 
novelist,  and  the  effort  was  a  noble  one.  But  a  public  must  be 
made  before  this  is  generally  relished.  Shakspeare  made  a  pub- 
lic in  an  age  far  inferior  to  ours ;  let  us  all  strive  at  least  to 
create  in  fiction  a  vehicle  for  the  intellectual  and  moral  exaltation 
of  man.  Blend  the  interest  of  thought  and  action,  and  the  novel 
will  rank  as  high  as  the  essay.  Its  theatre  is  a  larger  one  than 
the  essay  will  ever  command,  its  actors  are  passions  which  appeal 
to  all  hearts,  and  not  ideas  which  require  study  and  labour  to 
abstract  and  generalise.  Once  more  let  us  look  into  the  sanctuary 
of  the  spirit ! 

"  Even  as  the  external  universe  is  in  eternal  motion,  whirling 
round  and  round  according  to  its  invariable  laws,  so  is  my  being, 
which  is  a  part  of  it,"  he  thought.  Walsingham  paused  for  a 
moment,  and  added  aloud — "  I  sleep,  and  yet  each  instant  that 
I  do  so,  my  existence  is  varying.  My  ideas  are  in  continual 
chaos,  and  have  to  be  moulded  into  form,  and  they  are  moulded 
when  I  wake  as  when  I  sleep,  without  my  exercising  controul 
over  them.  I  arise  from  the  wild  visions  of  sleep,  and  thoughts 
and  passions  crowd  on  my  conscious  brain.  Again  I  enact  the 
same  scenes  of  unsatisfactory  illusion,  again  the  same  feelings  ab- 
sorb me — I  love,  I  hate,  I  lament,  and  all  as  vainly  as  when  I 
dream.  Harriet  Walsingham !  If  thou  wert  not,  what  should  I 
be?  How  different  now  !  But  each  unit  that  is,  must  be  con- 
nected with  some  other  in  the  vast  whole.  Why  am  I  what  I  am  ? 
Why  may  I  not  love  where  my  wishes  prompt  ?  If  I  were  a  brute 
now,  and  she  also  shared  the  same  nature  : — she  a  brute  !  Nay,  it 
is  the  mind,  the  lofty  mind  that  dazzles  while  it  attracts  the 
greatest  admiration,  that  subdues  while  it  excites,  and  purifies 
while  it  makes  impassioned,  I  worship.  With  nothing  less  could 
I  be  satisfied.  What  is  this  love?  An  animal  propensity!  It 
must  be  so ;  but  there  is  something  in  it  I  can  scarcely  compre- 
hend. Absurd  and  contradictory  are  all  the  hypotheses  of 


312  THE  MISER'S  SON. 

genius  and  philosophy  on  the  origin  and  nature  of  it.  Has  it 
birth  purely  in  the  regions  of  intelligence?  Certainly  not.  I 
could  not  love,  nor  any  one,  but  a  mad  poet — could  love  an  ab- 
stract idea,  a  mere  nympholepsy.  /  will  not  be  afflicted  with 
such  dreams.  Well,  then,  is  it  as  with  other  sentient  beings  ? 
They  are  content  with  sensual  enjoyment — are  we  so?  I'm  weary 
of  conjecture !  Certainty  does  not  live  in  aught  save  the  real 
and  actual.  And  yet  I  am  fool  enough  to  detest  them.  I ! — 
Poetry  is  the  bane  of  science,  and  is  a  childish  sport  of  misem- 
ployed imagination.  I'll  have  nothing  more  to  do  with  it." 

Such  were  the  crude  and  confused  mass  of  feelings  and  ideas 
in  the  Epicurean's  mind.  The  reader  will  perceive,  from  the  fre- 
quent use  of  dramatic  quotations  in  the  Materialist's  reveries,  that 
he  had  acquired  a  strong  relish  for  that  style  of  reading;  and, 
indeed,  from  childhood  he  had  delighted  in  plays  and  poems, 
and  perhaps  never  felt  better  pleased  than  when  some  happy 
image  or  striking  metaphor  engaged  his  attention.  You  may  try 
to  dislike  every  vagary  of  fancy,  as  well  as  each  undemonstrable 
theory  of  intellect ;  but  if  you  have  either  the  one  or  the  other, 
depend  upon  it  you  may  sometimes  experience  pleasure  in  giving 
a  rein  to  them — letting  the  fancy  play  with  the  understanding, 
and  vice  versa ;  and  surely  every  pursuit  calculated  to  refine  or 
strengthen  a  portion  of  that  you  are  should  not  be  contemned. 

There  was  a  soft  hush  diffused  through  all  the  earth.  The 
stars  were  still  twinkling,  still  fading,  one  by  one,  from  the  sky, 
and  the  moon  was  descending  with  slow  and  imperceptible  move- 
ments beneath  the  horizon  ;  and  there  was  a  slight  rustling  among 
the  trees,  as  the  early  larks  unclosed  their  eyes,  and  began  to 
twitter  and  hop  from  branch  to  branch,  a  wonderfully  truthful 
description  of  which  you  may  find  in  the  singular  poem  of  Peter 
Bell.  William  continued  his  walk,  half  inclined  to  lie  down  and 
sleep,  for  he  had  not  taken  any  rest  that  night : — indeed,  he 
often  wandered  about  like  an  unquiet  spirit  while  all  was  calm 
and  still,  uttering  high  and  dark  thoughts,  and  indulging  in  wild 
dreams ;  and  when  the  morning  approached  would  sleep  away 
the  hours  until  noon.  This  was  one  among  several  eccentric  habits 
of  that  uncommon  youth. 

He  was  met  on  a  sudden,  as  he  began  to  ascend  a  hill  of  some 
altitude,  along  which  poplars  and  other  tall  trees  grew  in  parallel 


THE  MISER'S  SON.  313 

order,  just  like  a  line  of  grenadiers,  by  a  man  who  emerged  from 
behind  the  shadow  of  those  aspiring  gentlemen,  and  whose  appear- 
ance was  haggard,  if  not  ghastly,  in  the  extreme.  He  could 
hardly  recognise  in  him  the  person  of  Captain  Norton.  The  re- 
collection of  the  dead  boy  he  had  loved  so  well  returned  upon 
him,  although  it  had  been  dismissed  from  his  absent  and  ever 
dream-thronged  soul,  so  that  he  had  for  a  short  time  actually 
thought  on  in  his  usual  way,  as  if  the  sad  event  had  never  been. 
But  the  Materialist  was  not  really  one  to  forget  so  soon.  His 
feelings  were  profound ;  and  measuring  the  bereaved  parent's 
grief  by  his  own — proportioning  the  loss  to  the  closeness  of  the 
tie — he  could  hardly  be  surprised  at  the  fearful  and  extraordinary 
change  which  intense  anguish  had  produced  in  the  Captain.  He 
accosted  him  compassionately,  saying — 

"  Why  are  you  absent  from  your  home  at  this  hour,  sir  ?" 

"  Home  !  home !  Ay,  those  were  words,  dear  and  familiar  to 
me  once,"  cried  the  wretched  man,  in  a  hollow  voice,  and  with 
his  blood-shot  eyes  vacant  and  glassy.  "  What  is  time  to  me, 
now  ?  Time  was,  and  is ;  but  I  have  left  it — I  am  a  blank  now  ! 
And  home  ! — that  word  was  made  for  those  that  have  children, — 
dear  ties  to  bind  them  to  it.  He  that  hath  them  not,  if  not  house- 
less, is  homeless,  in  the  true  signification  of  that  word  ;  home  is 
in  the  human  heart.  I  suppose  you  know  I  have  lost  Percy  ? 
He  loved  you,  next  to  me :  now,  tell  me — you  are  an  Atheist — 
do  you  think  nothing  more  remains  of  him — the  good,  the  gentle, 
and  the  noble — than  that  corruption  which  will  soon  be  hidden 
from  our  abhorring  eyes  ?  You  will  abhor  ;  but — I — could  kiss 
what  the  worm  will  shrink  from  of  him.  O,  God  !  If  I  thought 
that — I  would  not  live.  Do  you  not  answer  ?  Is  it  your  belief 
Percy  is  annihilated  ? — No  equivocation." 

"  This  awful  bereavement  has  unsettled  the  poor  wretch's 
brain,"  muttered  the  youth. 

"  Indeed  I  am  not  mad,  William  Walsingham.  Madness  is 
happiness ;  and  so  denied  so  often  to  sinners.  If  aught  in  the 
world  could  convert  me  to  your  way  of  thinking,  this  death,  this 
cruel  death  of  one  so  good  and  young ; — but  then  he  is  happy  : 
and  I  alone  am  accursed  !" 

"  You  talk  incoherently.  Pray  let  me  return  to  your  home 
with  you,  sir?" 

2s 


314  THE  MISER'S  SON. 

"  Incoherently,  do  I  ?  You  may  think  so  :  but  I  am  as  calm 
as  all  this  glorious  Nature  around. — I  feel  some  pain  though  in 
the  brain.  Perhaps  I  may  go  mad  ;  and  that  will  save  me  much 
misery.  Still,  I  want  you  to  answer  me.  Do  you  think  that  it 
is  possible  a  mind  like  Percy's  can  have  become  as  nought? — a 
breath  of  music  that  is  past ! — a  flame  that  is  quenched ! — an- 
swer me  sincerely." 

"  Some  other  time  we  will  speak,"  began  the  Materialist,  un- 
willing to  belie  his  real  sentiments,  and  yet  loth  to  torture  the 
unhappy  Norton  by  expressing  them. 

"No  time  so  fit  as  the  present,"  interrupted  Norton.  "I 
begin  to  doubt  of  every  thing  save  my  own  desolation." 

A  celebrated  author,  recently  alluded  to,  observes,  "  that  is  a 
peculiar  incident  that  perhaps  occurs  to  us  at  all  times — viz. — 
to  have  a  doubt  of  futurity  at  the  very  moment  in  which  the  pre- 
sent is  most  overcast,  and  to  find  this  world  at  once  stripped  of 
its  delusion,  and  the  next  of  its  consolation.  It  is,  perhaps,  for 
others,  rather  than  ourselves  that  the  fond  heart  requires  an  here- 
after. The  tranquil  rest,  the  shadow  and  the  silence,  the  mere 
pause  of  the  wheel  of  life,  have  no  terror  for  the  wise,  who  know 
the  due  value  of  the  world. 

1 After  the  billows  of  a  stormy  sea, 

Sweet  is  at  last  the  haven  of  repose.' 

But  not  so  when  that  stillness  is  to  divide  us  eternally  from  others ; 
when  those  we  have  loved  with  all  the  passion,  the  devotion,  the 
watchful  sanctity  of  the  weak  human  heart,  are  to  exist  to  us  no 
more." 

The  author  of  "  The  Pilgrims  of  the  Rhine"  is  certainly  mis- 
taken about  the  philosophy  with  which  a  wise  man  might  meet 
annihilation  ;  but  with  regard  to  the  agony  of  believing  the  dear- 
est one  of  this  existence  is  lost  to  all  eternity,  that  the  mind 
whose  thoughts  were  wont  to  make  us  joyous,  and  whose  senti- 
ments of  affection  were  such  treasures  to  our  bosoms,  his  apho- 
rism is  entirely  true. 

The  Atheist  paused. 

"  Why  will  you  compel  me  either  to  wound  your  feelings,  or 
deviate  from  the  line  of  conduct  I  consider  right?"  he  said. 
"  We  must  all  die;  but  what  is  life,  that  we  should  value  it? 


THE  MISER'S  SON.  315 

'  When  the  breath  of  man  goes  forth,'  says  the  old  Hebrew  king, 
'  all  his  thoughts  perish.'  Be  comforted !  Percy — poor  fellow ! 
has  been  saved  the  sad  and  bitter  things  which  ever  await  natures 
like  his — envy  of  his  fine  qualities,  hatred,  malice,  weariness  and 
disgust  of  life.  Then,  at  all  events,  he  is  the  gainer  by  death. "j 

"  O  no,  no,  no!"  cried  Captain  Norton,  wildly.  "I  will  not 
believe  it.  Tell  me  that  yonder  pale  star,  which  is  vanishing 
from  the  sky,  will  never  shine  again ;  that — Ha — there !  look 
there !  The  murderer !  seize  him !" 

With  this  abrupt  exclamation  Norton  rushed  away  through  the 
trees  and  the  brambles  which  skirted  them  with  extraordinary 
agility,  considering  his  age,  followed  by  William,  who  believed 
he  was  going  mad,  and  feared  he  might  do  some  injury  to  him- 
self. But,  despite  his  youth,  he  could  scarcely  keep  his  friend  in 
view,  particularly  when  he  dashed  into  the  midst  of  a  thicket—- 
which had  many  labyrinthine  windings,  shouting  fiercely,  "  Vil- 
lain !  stop."  That  the  poor  distracted  man  pursued  but  the 
phantom  of  his  brain  he  was  convinced,  for  he  had  neither  heard 
nor  seen  anything  which  could  lead  to  such  a  frantic  chase.  He 
would  now  have  lost  all  clue  to  the  direction  in  which  Captain 
Norton  had  gone,  but  for  his  vociferations  ;  yet  it  was  with  much 
difficulty  that  he  threaded  the  intricacies  of  the  wood,  with  which 
he  was  imperfectly  acquainted. 

The  morning  broke,  and  still  the  pursuit  was  continued  by  the 
officer  with  unabated  ardour,  William  still  endeavouring  to  over- 
take him,  that  he  might  by  his  persuasions  soothe  his  frenzy  and 
induce  him  to  return  to  his  desolated  home.  How  truly  had  the 
stricken  wretch  said  that  "  from  henceforth  he  had  no  home !" 
The  spirit  had  deserted  the  temple,  and  ail  was  dust  and  night. 
O  world  !  O  death  !  The  world  death's  house ;  death,  the  dwell- 
ing of  silence ! 

Norton's  fierce  cries  subsided,  and  the  Epicurean  now  kifBw 
not  where  to  seek  him.  He  raised  his  own  voice  and  shouted  ; 
but  no  answer  was  returned.  Long  and  weary  was  his  search  ; 
but  for  hours  it  was  unattended  with  the  least  success.  There 
was  no  outlet  that  he  knew  of  to  the  thicket  in  the  direction  he 
had  taken,  and  he  was  certain  that  Captain  Norton  could  not 
have  returned  from  his  wild  pursuit,  or  he  must  have  seen  him. 
He  was  on  the  point  of  relinquishing  his  efforts,  being  thoroughly 


316  THE  MISER'S  SON. 

exhausted  with  the  great  exertions  he  had  made,  when  he  espied 
a  portion  of  a  broken  sword,  and  marks  of  a  desperate  and  recent 
struggle  on  the  grass  where  it  lay.  But  still  he  could  perceive 
no  traces  of  the  officer.  He  had  been  pursuing  then  no  phantom, 
but  real,  substantial  flesh  and  blood.  Renewing  his  quest,  he 
followed  the  marks  of  the  footsteps  on  the  grass,  until  they  led 
him  to  a  spot  where  they  abruptly  terminated.  It  was  nearly  at 
the  outskirts  of  the  thicket,  where  bushes  and  brambles,  mingled 
with  underwood,  grew  thickly.  Here  there  had  been  another 
struggle,  for  the  impression  of  a  body,  which  had  fallen  heavily 
to  the  earth,  was  visible ;  and  examining  the  bushes,  the  youth 
perceived  a  ponderous  stone,  which,  on  his  placing  his  foot  upon 
it,  rose,  and  revealed  a  cave  of  apparently  some  depth  and  extent- 
Hesitating  but  an  instant  here,  the  Epicurean  descended  into  the 
bowels  of  the  earth  in  total  darkness ;  for  the  stone  at  the  entrance 
was  so  constructed  as  to  fall  and  close,  when  not  upheld.  His 
foot  struck  against  a  soft  object,  and  stooping,  he  discovered  it 
to  be  a  human  form. 

Thus  far,  my  friends,  have  we  journeyed  on  together  over  hill 
and  dale,  now  gazing  up  to  the  skies  with  the  gladdened  orbs  of 
faith ;  now  looking  down  into  the  black  abysms  of  the  earth,  and 
beholding  no  light  in  the  darkness.  A  little  while  and  our  brief 
drama  will  have  run  its  little  day,  and  may  be  consigned  to  obli- 
vion, like  many  a  nobler  thing.  Perchance,  in  years  that  lie  deep 
in  the  womb  of  time,  some  greedy  bookworm  will  seize  upon  this 
record  of  the  past,  and  say,  "Behold  what  things  our  ancestors 
read  !"  Yes,  a  brighter  era  will  come  ;  and  though  the  human 
heart  will  be  unchanged,  a  new  spring  of  sweet  affections  and 
lovely  thoughts  will  obliterate  the  remembrance  of  the  old  flowers 
of  autumn.  But,  oh  !  there  is  beauty,  there  is  holiness,  there  is 
everlasting  odour  in  what  has  once  been  loved. 

"  A  thing  of  beauty  is  a  joy  for  ever  j 
Its  loveliness  increaseth  ;  it  will  never 
Pass  into  nothingness ;  but  still  will  keep 
A  bower  quiet  for  us,  and  a  sleep 
Full  of  sweet  dreams,  and  health,  and  quiet  breathing," 

If  there  be  aught  loveable  in  this,  my  humble  work,  I  am  well 
content.  It  is  a  joyous  feeling,  although  it  be  sad  withal,  to 
think  that  when  the  daisies  are  exhaling  fragrance  over  our  quiet 


THE  MISER'S  SON.  317 

dust,  bright  eyes  will  be  weeping,  and  warm  hearts  throbbing 
over  what  has  once  been  fostered  in  our  own  breasts.  Give  me 
one  tear,  O  world  !  when  I  am  beyond  tears, — give  me  one  sigh, 
when  I  am  at  peace,  and  breathe  an  atmosphere  where  the  gale 
wafts  no  mournful  sounds  for  ever. 


CHAPTER  IV. 


I  do  not  speak  of  fear,  or  flight,  or  death  ; 
But  dare  all  imminence  that  gods  and  men 
Address  their  dangers  in. 

Troilus  and  Cressida. 

His  back  against  a  rock  he  bore, 
And  firmly  placed  one  foot  before  ; 
"  Come  one,  come  all,  this  rock  shall  fly 
From  its  firm  base  as  soon  as  I !" 

SCOTT. 


DANVERS   AGAIN — THE  CHASE — THE   MISER— GEORGE — 
NORTON — THE   FLIGHT. 

WALTER  DANVERS,  closely  pursued,  followed  little  George, 
whose  speed  of  foot  was  almost  miraculous,  up  rocks  and  banks, 
and  over  huge  trees,  which  had  been  levelled  with  the  earthly 
the  axe,  with  difficulty  maintaining  his  footing.  Certain  of  being 
taken,  and  equally  certain  of  being  executed,  if  he  did  not  strain 
every  nerve  to  fly,  he  exerted  himself  to  the  uttermost ;  but  not- 
withstanding, some  of  his  pursuers  gained  on  him.  There  was  no 
place  at  hand  which  afforded  the  means  of  concealment,  and  he 
could  hardly  hope,  single-handed,  to  contend  successfully  against 
half-a-dozen  well-armed  men ;  but  he  was  determined  rather  to 


318  THE  MISERS'  SON. 

die  like  a  soldier  by  their  swords,  than  to  expire  by  the  noose  of 
the  hangman.  Meanwhile  the  skirmish  was  kept  up  briskly  at 
a  short  distance,  and  he  hoped  that  he  should  be  able  to  reach 
the  party  engaged  against  the  cavalry  and  foot  soldiers,  which  he 
could  not  help  trusting  was  composed  of  his  friends  the  Jacobites. 
This  was  his  only  chance  of  safety  ;  for  two  or  three  of  his  pur- 
suers were  now  within  gunshot  of  him ;  and  he  had  no  hope  of 
outrunning  them — indeed,  he  felt  his  breath  was  nearly  spent. 

"Come  on,"  cried  George  to  Danvers,  "you  see  they  are 
fighting  yonder ;  and  if  you  run  on,  after  you  have  got  there, 
these  men  behind  will  not  dare  to  chase  you." 

The  practised  eye  of  Danvers  followed  the  direction  of  .George's 
finger,  and  recognised  some  of  the  Jacobites  in  those  who  were 
fighting  with  the  military.  He  perceived  that  they  were  greatly 
out-numbered  by  the  soldiers,  and  that  it  was  only  possible  for 
them  to  maintain  the  contest  while  they  were  covered  by  the  thick 
trees  behind  which  they  fought,  and  which  in  some  measure  con- 
cealed their  paucity  from  the  enemy. 

"  With  a  good  leader,"  he  thought,  "  they  might  get  safely 
off;  but,  otherwise,  they  will  all  be  taken.  Ah  !  there  is  honest 
John  Norton  fighting  like  the  devil — a  fine  soldier,  but  no  gene- 
ral !  Ha !  they  strike  him  down  !  God  grant  I  may  be  in  time 
to  save  him !" 

Gathering  up  all  his  powers,  Danvers  rushed  on  to  render  help 
to  his  faithful  friend,  who  had  been  felled  by  a  heavy  blow  from 
a  clubbed  musket,  and  was  surrounded  by  four  or  five  of  the  foe, 
who  were  about  to  plunge  their  bayonets  into  his  body,  for  he 
refused  to  yield.  Had  his  salvation  depended  on  Danvers  he 
must  have  been  lost :  but  a  sturdy  yeoman  hastened  to  succour 
him,  and  with  some  sweeping  blows  of  his  broadsword  compelled 
the  soldiery  to  retreat  a  pace  or  two,  enabling  Norton,  who  had 
only  been  stunned  for  half  a  moment,  to  regain  his  feet,  and  sub- 
sequently his  saddle. 

«*  Will  you  run,  or  fight?"  asked  George  of  Danvers,  seeing 
that  he  paused  to  recover  breath,  as  soon  as  he  saw  John  Norton 
was  rescued  from  impending  death. 

"  Fight,  my  boy  !  Run  away,  and  God  bless  you  !"  was  the 
reply. 

But  before  Danvers  could  reach  his  friends,  he  was  seen  by 


THE  MISER'S  SON.  "  319 

several  of  the  enemy,  who  dashed  forwards,  with  the  intention  of 
preventing  him  from  joining  them. 

It  must  be  understood  that  he  had  made  a  semi-circle,  after 
quitting  the  ranks  into  which  he  had  introduced  himself,  so  that 
he  had  never  been  actually  far  distant  from  the  foe.  Armed  with 
his  bayonet,  he  made  equal  speed  ;  but  they  who  were  striving  to 
outrun  him,  had  not  to  traverse  so  considerable  a  portion  of 
ground  as  he  had,  and  he  saw  himself  surrounded,  and  with  no 
option  save  that  of  fighting  or  surrendering.  He  had  already 
taken  his  resolution  which  to  do.  The  men  who  had  previously 
pursued  him  were  now  at  the  distance  of  a  few  paces,  numbering 
four  or  five,  and  others  were  coming  up.  His  quick  mind  in- 
stantly conceived,  that  if  these  fellows  attacked  the  Jacobites  in 
flank,  they  must  be  routed  immediately ;  for  on  that  side  they 
would  have  no  defence,  while  the  soldiers  would  be  protected  by 
the  trees. 

"  By  Jove!"  he  exclaimed,  "I  will  not  be  the  means  of  des- 
troying my  friends.  O,  for  two  stout  hearts  and  four  strong 
hands,  like  my  own,  to  drive  these  rascal  hirelings  off." 

"  Here,  Walter!"  cried  a  voice,  which  made  him  start.  "  Here 
is  a  hand  to  aid  you,"  and  the  form  of  Everard  Walsingham,  the 
Miser,  emerged  from  behind  a  tree ;  but  he  looked  so  pale  and 
weak  that  Danvers  felt  he  could  be  of  but  little  use.  Still  no  aid 
was  to  be  disregarded  under  such  circumstances,  and  he  knew 
that  as  far  as  personal  courage  was  concerned,  he  could  trust  the 
Miser  implicitly.  He  was  not  a  little  astonished,  however,  at 
his  conduct,  as  well  as  by  his  sudden  appearance  in  such  a  spot : 
and  it  was  only  a  most  transient  feeling  of  honour  which  had 
communicated  such  an  impulse  to  the  bosom  of  Everard  Wal- 
singham. But  he  still  retained  in  the  midst  of  his  meanness  some 
of  the  high  principles  he  had  imbibed  in  youth  relative  to  that 
bastard  reputation  which  is  commonly  substituted  for  moral  bra- 
very, and  he  was  unwilling  to  desert  a  friend  in  his  extremity. 
Everard  was  still  seeking  the  robber  who  had  possessed  himself 
by  so  singular  an  accident  of  the  important  papers,  and  had 
wandered  accidentally  to  the  place  where  he  encountered  his 
former  associate.  Being  fatigued  when  he  arrived  there,  no  very 
long  time  previously,  he  sat  himself  down  beneath  the  tree  from 
which  he  had  advanced,  and  was  roused  from  his  doze*  by  the  re- 


320  THE  MISER'S  SON. 

port  of  fire-arms.  He  saw  the  skirmishing  betwixt  the  military 
and  the  Jacobites,  and  while  deliberating  what  direction  to  take 
to  be  in  safety  himself,  the  form  of  Danvers  became  visible,  pur- 
sued by  several  men.  He  repented  him  of  his  gallantry  almost 
as  soon  as  he  had  proffered  his  aid  to  Danvers.  "  Walter  might 
be  killed,"  thought  the  Miser,  "  killed  without  confession,  and 
then  I  should  be  safe." 

"  Surrender !"  shouted  those  who  were  behind  Danvers,  as  the 
others  who  interposed  between  him  and  his  friends  approached. 
Without  returning  any  answer,  Danvers  levelled  his  bayonet  and 
fired.  That  unerring  aim  brought  down  the  most  formidable  of 
his  foes.  "  Charge !"  vociferated  the  fugitive — fugitive  no  longer 
— as  if  to  men  behind  the  adjacent  trees. 

"  Walsingham,  take  care  of  yourself,  and  do  what  you  can  to 
divert  the  enemy's  attention." 

"  Are  you  mad  ?"  cried  the  Miser,  as  he  beheld  Danvers  quit 
the  shelter  of  the  tree,  and  dash  against  the  foe.  A  dozen  bullets 
whizzed  through  the  air  at  Walter,  but  ere  they  could  reach  their 
destination  he  had  thrown  himself  down,  and  they  fell  within  a 
very  trifling  distance  of  him,  while  he,  having  re-loaded  with  mar- 
vellous celerity,  again  fired,  and  again  shot  a  tall  fellow  who  had 
reserved  his  fire,  like  a  veteran,  and  was  on  the  point  of  aiming 
at  the  prostrate  Danvers  as  the  ball  entered  his  own  brain. 

All  this  was  not  done  without  forethought  by  the  bold  Danvers  ; 
for  he  hoped  that  the  firing  would  lead  the  military  to  believe 
that  another  force  of  Jacobites  was  at  hand,  and  cause  them  to 
fall  back  on  their  main  body,  who  had  not  yet  got  fairly  into  ac- 
tion, but  stood  in  a  phalanx  ready  to  charge  as  soon  as  the  word 
of  command  was  issued  ;  nor  was  he  disappointed.  The  main 
force  seemed  somewhat  disconcerted,  ignorant  of  the  real  state  of 
the  case  ;  for  report  had  magnified  the  numbers  of  the  insurgents 
into  thousands :  and  it  was  asserted  that  foreign  auxiliaries  all 
well  armed  and  disciplined  were  among  them.  The  amount  of 
those  who  had  quitted  their  ranks  in  order  to  capture  Danvers 
had  not  been  observed,  and  though  it  was  of  course  known  that 
several  had  been  detached  to  retake  him,  they  feared  desertion 
had  taken  place,  so  that  their  disconcertion  almost  grew  into  a 
panic.  The  Jacobites  continued  firing,  protected  by  the  trees, 
and  they  could  not  be  greatly  harassed  in  return  without  an 


THE  MISER'S  SON.  321 

exposure  of  the  troops,  which  their  leaders  considered  would  have 
been  imprudent,  as  it  was  impossible  to  ascertain  the  numerical 
strength  of  the  rebels. 

"  With  a  Serjeant's  company  now,"  thought  Danvers,  "  I 
would  put  these  rogues  to  flight.  But  they  will  soon  discover 
how  contemptible  is  the  force  opposed  to  them ;  for  the  soldiers 
dispatched  to  seize  me,  who  are  in  the  rear,  can  count  every  man 
on  either  side  from  that  rising  ground.  I  will  lead  them  a  chase, 
and  if  I  can  but  get  to  my  friends,  a  masterly  retreat  might  be 
made,  in  the  position  they  are  in." 

These  thoughts  passed  like  lightning  through  the  brain  of 
Walter,  whose  rapidity  of  judgment  and  swiftness  of  action  were 
such  as  to  baffle  all  pro-conception ;  and  being  safe  for  a  few 
seconds,  at  all  events,  from  the  bullets  of  his  pursuers,  his  strata- 
gem having  proved  so  successful,  he  arose,  and  fled  again. 

"  If  I  had  but  Dickon  now,  1  would  dash  through  every  obsta- 
cle," continued  Danvers  to  himself.  "  Now,  Walsingham,"  he 
said  aloud  to  the  Miser,  as  he  returned  to  the  spot  where  that 
person  still  stood  inactive,  "  use  your  legs,  man !  I  wonder,"  he 
thought,  "  where  the  boy  has  gone.  He  will  not  be  taken,  if  I 
know  him  ;  but  it  is  strange  I  can  see  him  nowhere." 

While  Danvers  sped  onward,  and  Everard  Walsingham,  lost 
in  indecision,  remained  rooted  to  the  earth,  the  Jacobites  were 
not  idle.  John  Norton  turned  his  eyes  in  the  direction  of  the 
firing,  and  perceived  a  man  fighting  most  desperately  with  the 
foe,  but  did  not  recognise  Danvers,  whose  back  was  turned  to 
him,  at  the  instant.  He  felt  it  was  necessary  to  act  with  prompt 
nerve,  and  to  take  advantage  of  the  circumstance ;  but  he  wanted 
the  ready  intellect  of  Walter  Danvers,  though  he  lacked  not  any 
of  his  daring.  Nevertheless,  perceiving  the  dispirited  looks  of 
the  troops  opposed  to  him,  and  finding  the  courage  of  his  own 
men  rise  in  proportion  to  that  depression,  he  proposed  a  charge ; 
but  this  measure  was  strenuously  discountenanced  by  the  more 
prudent  of  the  party. 

"  We  cannot  stay  here,"  cried  Norton.  "  A  larger  body  of  the 
regulars  will  soon  arrive,  and  we  shall  be  annihilated. — Ah ! 
yonder  is  my  brother  among  the  enemy.  He  is  holding  a  council 
with  his  officers.  His  tactics  are,  I  believe,  good,  but  he  has  no 
head  for  action,  as  I  have  none  for  tactics.  O,  for  Walter  Dan 

2T 


32*2  THE  MISER'S  SON. 

vers,  now !  I'll  be  bound  he  would  extricate  us.  We  cannot 
return  whence  we  came,  for  then  we  shall  be  encountered  by  great 
numbers  of  the  enemy  ;  the  military  prevent  us  from  advancing. 
On  one  side  we  have  a  river  which  cannot  be  forded,  and  on  the 
other,  a  country  so  hilly  and  rugged  that  our  jaded  horses  will 
never  be  able  to  carry  us  over  it.  No,  we  must  fight !" 

"  If  you  please,  sir,"  here  exclaimed  the  voice  of  a  child  close 
to  Norton's  ear,  "  if  you  want  Mr.  Danvers,  that  is  him  yonder, 
loading  his  gun  and  firing.  O,  he  has  killed  another  man  !  This 
is  a  dreadful  scene  !" 

"  Why,  how  came  you  here,  my  man  ?"  said  Norton,  during 
this  temporary  cessation  of  battle,  "  and  how  do  you  know  that 
is  Walter  Danvers  ? — By  heaven,  though,  I  think  the  boy  is  right ! 
See !  the  brave  fellow  yonder  is  defending  himself  against  half-a- 
dozen  soldiers,  he  'enacts  more  wonders  than  a  man/  'TVs 
Danvers ;  none  but  he,  could  fight  thus. — Come,  let  us  join 
him !" 

Raising  a  loud  shout,  the  little  band  of  Jacobites  hastened  to 
the  aid  of  the  redoubted  Walter,  who  maintained  the  unequal 
conflict  with  desperate  valour,  and  thinking  that  his  hour  had 
come,  with  his  back  against  a  huge  mass  of  granite,  which  had 
been  detached  from  the  rocks  above,  his  lion  mien  undaunted, 
and  his  stern  nerves  as  firm  as  in  ordinary  circumstances,  he  re- 
mained at  bay,  attacked  by  a  dozen  antagonists :  for  they  poured 
on  him  from  either  side,  like  so  many  bull  dogs  on  a  bull. 

"  Bravely  done,  Walter !"  shouted  John  Norton,  spurring  on 
with  might  and  main  to  his  assistance. 

The  soldiers  turned  to  see  who  were  advancing  on  them,  hear- 
ing the  clattering  of  the  horses'  hoofs  ;  and  as  they  did  so,  Dan- 
vers rushed  through  the  midst  of  them,  striking  two  or  three  down 
with  the  butt  end  of  his  weapon. 

"  Mount  my  horse !"  exclaimed  John  Norton  ;  "  the  troops 
are  marching  on  us  !" 

Danvers,  seeing  that  no  time  was  to  be  lost,  vaulted  on  the 
horse's  back,  which  bore  up  nobly  under  this  superincumbent 
weight  of  at  least  three-and-twenty  stone.  Danvers  shook  Norton 
cordially  by  [the  hand. 

"  We  shall  do  with  you,  Walter !"  he  exclaimed. 

«'  There  is  nothing  for  it  but  flight,"  replied  Danvers.     "  As 


THE  MISER'S  SON.  323 

soon  as  possible  we  must  disband.  There  will  be  ten  to  one 
against  us  very  soon.  At  all  events  the  enemy  labour  under  the 
same  disadvantages  as  ourselves  here  from  the  roughness  of  the 
country,  and  regular  troops  are  always  tardy  in  their  movements. 
— Spur  on  for  your  lives,  my  men  !" 

Passing  over  the  trunks  of  trees,  and  leaping  awful  precipices, 
now  dashing  down  nearly  perpendicular  hills,  and  now  swimming 
rivers,  the  flying  Jacobites  pursued  their  headlong  course.  Nor 
were  the  troops  of  the  government  less  daring,  but  dispersing  in 
all  directions,  endeavoured  to  intercept  the  insurgents  before  they 
could  gain  the  open  country,  which  was  at  the  distance  of  two  or 
three  miles. 

"There  is  your  brother,  the  Captain,  John,'*  observed  Danvers 
to  his  companion,  "  among  the  very  foremost.  How  madly  he 
pursues.  He  will  break  his  neck,  if  there  be  not  a  special  Provi- 
dence over  him." 

Captain  Norton  was,  indeed,  speeding  after  the  Jacobites  at  a 
frantic  rate.  He  had  seized  on  one  of  the  best  horses  of  the  regi- 
ment of  dragoons,  and  his  rowels  were  bloody,  as  he  spurred  the 
animal  over  precipices  and  enormous  trunks,  regardless  of  his  own 
neck  and  of  the  knees  of  the  charger,  which  bore  him  in  advance 
of  all  others  by  the  length  of  some  roods.  Never  did  huntsman 
dash  along  so  furiously  ;  and  he  was  now  within  a  hundred  yards 
of  the  fugitives. 

"  Every  man  for  himself!"  exclaimed  Danvers,  abruptly ;  "  the 
enemy  are  dispersed,  but  were  we  to  attack  any  portion,  the  whole 
body  of  them  would  be  on  us  instantly.  Norton  ;  this  horse  will 
never  carry  us  at  such  a  pace  another  mile.  One  of  us  will  pro- 
bably be  taken,  but  one  may  escape,  if  the  beast  can  go  on.  I 
will  leave  you,  and  trust  to  fate." 

"  Why,  Walter !  what  has  come  to  you  ?"  asked  Norton,  in 
amazement. 

"  Do  you  not  see  ?"  whispered  Danvers,  "  another  large  force 
is  upon  us  ?  We  are  surrounded  on  every  side,  but  they  know 
not  their  advantage  yet.  There  is  a  chance  for  those  who  can 
gain  that  opening  yonder  before  the  soldiers  reach  it." 

"  Wherefore  conceal  this  ?" 

"  Nay,  I  know  not.  But  I  have  noticed  that  unexpected  diffi- 
culty damps  the  spirits  of  many  men — especially  when  they  fly. 


324  THE  MISERS'  SON. 

You  perceive  many  dragoons  are  coming  up :  the  sun  shines  on 
many  cuirasses  through  those  trees.  Fresh  horses  will  be  certain 
to  overtake  tired  ones,  if  the  men  make  no  blunder.  God  bless 
you." 

"  But  what  do  you  propose  to  do,  Walter  ?  Wait  an  instant.' 
*'  I  can  delay  some  of  the  fellows  who  are  pressing  on  you  so 
hard,"  replied  Danvers,  quitting  the  steed  of  Norton.  Before  any 
remonstrance  could  be  offered,  Walter  had  with  a  swift  bound 
gained  the  summit  of  a  rocky  knoll,  where  he  was  exposed  to 
view,  and  shouted  with  all  his  might  defiance  to  the  foe.  As 
might  have  been  expected,  attention  was  greatly  directed  to  him, 
for  he  was  of  as  much  importance  as  all  the  rest  collectively, 
while  the  large  reward  offered  for  his  apprehension  redoubled  the 
ardour  of  the  private  soldiers  in  the  chase.  His  object  was  thus 
gained  in  diverting  attention  from  the  Jacobites,  who,  with  very 
few  exceptions,  got  clear  off :  but  his  own  peril  became  more 
imminent. 

John  Norton  was  resolved  that  he  would  not  be  less  generous 
than  Walter,  and  presently  quitting  his  horse  he  ascended  a  low 
hill  covered  with  trees,  expecting  from  its  summit  to  see  him  ; 
but  there  was  no  trace  of  him,  far  or  near.  He  hastened  in  the 
direction  which  he  supposed  the  fugitive  had  taken,  and  plunged 
into  a  copse  in  which  he  concluded  that  he  was  hiding. 


THE  MISER'S  SON.  32S 


CHAPTER  V. 


If  you  will  have  revenge  from  hell,  you  shall : 
Marry,  for  Justice,  she  is  so  employ'd, 
He  thinks  with  Jove  in  heaven,  or  somewhere  else, 
So  that  perforce  you  must  needs  stay  a  time. 

Titus  Andronicus. 

There  are  sorrows  and  dreams  of  death  and  woe, 
But  the  Past  is  a  Hell  which  the  Guilty  know. — MS. 


THE    MISER    AND    GEORGE — EVERARD    WALSINGHAM  S   EMO- 
TION— THE  CAVE. 

THE  stout-hearted  little  George  having  been  bidden  to  betake 
himself  to  flight,  reflected  how  he  might  again  best  serve  Dan- 
vers ;  and  foreseeing  that  it  would  be  impossible  for  his  friend, 
single-handed,  to  cope  with  the  number  of  opponents  that  were 
pressing  on  him,  and  finding  that  Norton,  whom  he  recognised 
instantly  among  the  Jacobites,  did  not  perceive  who  it  was,  fight- 
ing so  fiercely  and  at  such  odds,  he  thought  his  best  plan  was,  if 
possible,  to  get  to  the  trees,  under  shelter  of  which  the  insurgents 
maintained  the  contest.  With  some  difficulty  and  danger  he 
accomplished  this  object,  as  the  soldiers  were  busied  with  Dan- 
vers,  and  bullets  came  flying  close  to  his  head  as  he  made  for 
the  Jacobites. 

As  soon  as  Norton  had  led  away  his  confederates  to  the  aid  of 
Walter  Danvers,  George  thought  it  right  to  look  to  his  own 
safety,  and  running  to  the  opposite  trees,  he  ascended  one  of  the 
largest  elms  among  them,  from  which  he  had  a  complete  view  of 


326  THE  MISER'S  SON. 

all  arotfnd.  Captain  Norton, .  as  soon  as  the  insurgents  had 
quitted  their  ground,  gave  commands  for  instant  pursuit,  and  was 
foremost  in  it  himself,  from  the  first ;  but  when  he  recognised 
Danvers  with  his  brother,  he  redoubled  his  speed,  George  esca- 
ping unnoticed  in  the  elm.  He  had  watched  the  succeeding 
events  with  breathless  interest,  and  was  on  the  point  of  descend- 
ing to  the  ground,  in  order  to  witness  more,  when  the  interve- 
ning trees  prevented  his  observing  farther,  when  a  tall,  thin  man, 
who  looked  almost  like  a  ghost,  advanced  from  behind  an  oak, 
which  grew  close  to  the  place  whither  the  child  had  repaired,  and 
glanced  around  him.  His  eyes  fell  suddenly  on  George,  and  he 
uttered  a  cry  of  astonishment,  which  attracted  the  boy's  notice. 
Advancing  eagerly  to  him,  Everard  Walsingham — for  it  was  he— - 
exclaimed, 

"  Who — what  are  you  ?     Tell  me  your  name  !" 

"  My  name  is  George,"  was  the  reply,  "  what  do  you  want?" 

"  God  of  heaven,  how  like !"  said  the  Miser,  wildly ;  "  I 
cannot  bear  to  look  on  him — and  the  voice,  too — so  musical,  so 
plaintive  !  Do  not  leave  me  yet,  child,"  he  added,  as  George 
was  about  to  depart.  "  It  is  such  painful  pleasure  to  look  on 
you.  I  loved  her — ah,  I  did  love  her — madly,  doatingly.  And 
yet  I  could  strike  at  her  sweet  life  like  an  assassin.  But  she  was 
corrupt,  and  vile,  and  worthless.  She  died,  she  died !  O  misery, 
O  despair !" 

The  Miser's  eyes  became  fixed  on  vacancy,  and  George  com- 
passionating his  condition,  but  anxious  to  learn  the  fate  of  Dan- 
vers, cried, 

"  I  am  sorry  to  leave  you,  but  I  can't  stay  any  longer.  Good 
bye  I" 

"  Say  that  again  !"  ejaculated  Everard,  hearing  only  the  last 
two  words  George  had  spoken.  "  «  Good  bye !'  Her  very 
tones,  looks,  all !  Oh,  heaven,  that  a  devil's  heart  should  lurk 
beneath  an  angel's  form.  My  wife,  what  wife !" 

"  What  ails  you  ?"  asked  the  child  gently,  restraining  his  im- 
patience to  be  gone. 

"  Again,  again !"  was  the  exclamation  of  the  Miser.  "  So 
silvery  is  that  sweetness  it  seems  like  that  of  a  departed  dream — 
remembered,  and  for  ever !  Would  it  could  be  forgotten  !  Life, 
life !  what  art  thou  ?  A  delusion,  a  frenzy !  There  is  madness 


THE  MISER'S  SON.  327 

in  this  brain,  there  is  hell  in  this  bosom,  and  yet  that  clear  soft 
voice  recals  a  heaven  of  peace  and  love — gone,  gone,  gone !  The 
Paradise  is  ruined,  the  garden  is  made  desolate — lost,  lost,  lost !" 

"  Poor  man,  he  is  distracted,"  murmured  the  child,  "  but  I 
must  leave  him." 

"  Stay  yet  a  little  while,"  cried  Everard,  imploringly.  "  Young 
boy,  thou  art  like  an  angel — thou  resemblest  strangely  one  that 
is  dead,  and  my  world,  my  universe,  is  buried  with  her !  But 
thou — thou  child — get  thee  gone !  get  thee  gone !  Things  most 
divine  in  beauty,  may  be  hollow  and  rotten  within,  like  a  tomb 
with  fair  marble  outside,  but  dust  and  corruption  all  that  it  con- 
tains. If  there  were  truth  in  aught,  I  could  take  thee  to  my 
bosom  and  be  a  father  to  thee :  but  I  shall  be  deceived  no  more 
—never  more.  The  brightness  of  earth  is  a  mockery  ;  its  glories 
are  like  the  mists  of  morning,  and  are  dispersed  by  the  Sun  of 
Truth  !  Accursed  sun  !  Oh,  that  I  could  live  in  darkness  hence- 
forth !  I  will  live,  believing  there  is  no  splendour,  no  holiness, 
no  hope,  joy,  faith,  sweetness,  out  of  the  immortal  spheres." 

The  boy  lingered  a  moment  after  the  Miser  had  ended  his  in- 
coherent speech,  and  then  exclaiming,  "  God  have  mercy  on 
him!"  vanished. 

"  Just,  just  so,  she  spoke !  The  phantom  has  left  me — all  is 
a  phantom!"  cried  the  unhappy  Everard.  "  Being  may  be  no- 
thing but  a  shadow — the  mighty  world  may  be  a  spectral  illusion 
— life  an  imagination— death  a  chimera.  Well — that  is  well!" 
and  a  bitter  smile  overshadowed  his  face.  "  If  I  could  fancy 
now  that  all  my  past  life  has  been  a  peopled  vision — oh,  what 
comfort  it  would  be  !  Could  an  Idealist  imagine  such  a  thing  ? 
If  so,  his  is  a  blessed  creed  !" 

The  Miser  relapsed  into  intense  abstraction.  Though  his  was 
a  mind,  incapable,  from  its  want  of  power,  of  grasping  the  philo- 
sophy which  teaches  wisdom  and  endurance,  he  was  wont  to 
speculate  on  the  invisible,  in  order  to  divert  his  mind  from  the 
thronging  and  dismal  shapes  which  haunted  him  day  and  night. 

"  And  why  may  not  all  be  a  dream !"  he  muttered.  "  Is 
there  reality  in  any  thing ?  In  happiness?  Oh,  no.  In  virtue? 
Never.  In  wisdom  ?  The  wisest  have  played  the  fool,  and  their 
knowledge  is  nothing.  We  wake  to  this  existence,  and  none 
know  how.  Then,  as  it  is  so,  why  do  we  exist  ?  Why  believe 


328  THE  MISER'S  SON. 

Jife  is  a  fact?  There  is  no  real  basis  for  doing  so.  Our  senses 
are  ever  cheating  us,  and  our  intellect  can  take  cognizance  of 
nothing,  save  through  the  senses.  If  this  be  so,  actions  may  be 
nothing  more  than  ideas  !  What  are  ideas  ?  Sensible  objects  ? 
Impossible  !  If  they  are  not  of  the  same  substance  as  the  out- 
ward world,  what  are  they  ?  How  connected  with  the  universe  ? 
They  are  dissimilar  in  essence  from  matter,  and  therefore  cannot 
be  developed  through  its  medium.  Ha,  ha  !  Now  I  am  trying 
with  my  reason  to  delude  my  reason  ;  but  I  cannot.  I  do  so, 
day  and  night.  I  look  at  my  gold,  and  as  the  glittering  hoard 
stares  me  in  the  face,  I  say  to  it,  *  Thou  art  a  lie  !'  and  yet  I 
hug  it  to  my  heart,  and  forget  everything  but  the  dark  irrevocable 
past  as  I  do  so.  We  are  the  idiots  of  a  fallen  creation,  walking 
in  the  light  of  God's  face,  and  seeing  only  ourselves  and  death 
and  time,  instead  of  the  eternal  host,  and  life  indestructible  and 
bliss  undying.  Eternity !  I  fear,  and  hate,  and  loathe  the 
thought.  I  cling  to  earth,  while  I  detest  myself,  and  all  that  is 
beneath  the  canopy  of  heaven.  If  I  could  but  quaff  of  the 
Lethe  stream  which  gives  oblivion  !  where  is  it  ?"  The  Miser 
groaned  audibly. 

"  Your  mind  is  sick,  friend,  if  your  body  is  not  so,"  a  mild 
and  gentle  voice  here  interrupted  the  Miser.  "  I  am  neither  phy- 
sician of  body  nor  soul,  professionally,  but  I  am  a  Christian,  and 
I  cannot  see  you  suffer  without  endeavouring  to  give  you  com- 
fort. Why  should  any  despair,  and  cling  to  pain,  instead  of 
looking  upward  with  hope  ?" 

A  little,  hale  old  man,  with  a  fishing-rod  in  his  hand,  was 
addressing  Everard  Walsingham,  who,  on  noticing  him,  replied, 

"  I  need  not  thy  help.  Human  wisdom,  if  I  asked  its  suc- 
cour, could  avail  me  nothing." 

"  Nay,  I  know  not  that,"  replied  the  stranger.  "  I  happened 
to  rise  earlier  even  than  usual,  this  morning,  and  I  heard  a  firing 
which  brought  me  here.  Seeing  you  motionless,  I  thought  you 
might  be  wounded,  and  hastened  to  you,  when  I  heard  you 
dreaming  aloud,  as  visionaries  are  wont  to  dream.  But  what 
you  said  convinces  me  that  you  are  suffering  in  the  spirit  grie- 
vously, and  I  well  know  that  mental  far  exceeds  corporeal 
agony.  You  strove  to  fancy  that  every  thing  is  unreal,  as  if  to 
fly  from  the  recollection  of  something  that  oppressed  you — par 


THE  MISER'S  SON.  329 

don  me  for  listening  to  what  you  said.  But  why,  instead  of  per- 
mitting this  incubus  to  sit  upon  your  heart,  destroying  the  vitality 
of  reason  and  judgment — why  not  rouse  your  soul,  which  can  do 
all  things  it  will  ?  You  are  wretched  ;  well,  sorrow  is  the  portion 
of  humanity  ;  but  though  the  clouds  of  this  life  darken  the  bright 
effulgence  of  the  ethereal  day,  this  world  is  but  as  a  night  of 
vision,  and  the  land  of  truth  and  immortality  is  the  morning  pro- 
mised to  us.  From  the  shadow  we  rise  to  the  substance,  from 
the  clouds,  to  the  pure  radiance  of  the  heaven.  You  have  done 
wrong,  perhaps — where  is  the  man  that  has  not  ?  In  fact,  we 
must  err,  whether  we  will  or  not.  But  the  Eternal  Goodness  can 
pardon  all  things,  if  there  is  but  sincere  repentance,  and  is  that 
so  very  difficult  a  thing  to  render?" 

"  All  who  sin,  repent ;  but  it  is  terror,  and  not  love  of  God 
that  makes  them  do  so,"  replied  the  Miser,  sullenly. 

"Not  always  so,"  answered  the  old  man.  "  From  the  frailty 
of  our  nature  we  must,  as  I  said,  be  ever  committing  actions 
which  grieve  us  to  contemplate,  and  almost  before  they  are  be- 
yond recal ;  but  why  is  this  ?  Conscience  exclaims,  '  you  have 
done  wrong ;'  and  we  are  humbled  in  our  own  opinion.  Now, 
the  fear  of  retributive  justice  does  not  come  upon  us  so  soon  as 
the  mortification  and  abasement  we  must  feel  from  falling  in  our 
own  respect.  Then,  sin  is  hated  from  love — from  love  of  virtue 
which  is  by  nature  implanted  in  the  soul ;  and  if  we  love  virtue, 
we  love  God  also,  that  is  clear." 

"If  that  be  the  case,  why  should  men  ever  do  wrong?"  de- 
manded Everard,  from  whose  mind  the  appearance  of  George 
and  the  train  of  feelings  consequent  upon  it,  had  effaced  the 
events  which  had  preceded  them  for  the  time  entirely. 

"  His  mind — his  immaterial  principle  can  alone  take  cogni- 
zance of  abstract  ideas,"  replied  the  stranger,  (in  whom  the  reader 
may  recognise  one  previously  known  to  him,)  "  and  his  body  is 
organized  in  the  same  manner  as  that  of  all  other  animals.  Man 
is  a  compound  being ;  with  feelings,  thoughts  and  perceptions. 
His  feelings  being  exclusively  animal,  and  his  perceptions  utterly 
sensuous  when  the  reason  is  not  called  into  operation,  he  cannot 
possibly  act  according  to  moral  laws,  except  by  combating  against 
inclination  by  the  higher  nature,  by  which  he  becomes  elevated 
above  the  mere  machine,  and  in  proportion  as  he  is  virtuous,  and 

2  u 


330  THE  MISER'S  SON. 

satisfied  with  his  actions,  he  is  happy.  Now,  if  we  regret  that 
we  have  done  ill,  it  follows,  that  we  must  be  unhappy  until  we 
do  what  is  good.  Mere  regret  for  the  past  is  an  unintellectual, 
enervating  and  immoral  thing ;  and  if  we  persist  in  rendering 
ourselves  up  to  it,  without  arousing  the  purer  and  diviner  ener- 
gies which  are  the  life  of  the  spirit  as  the  blood  is  to  the  body, 
all  must  seem  a  blank,  except  the  portion  of  being  to  which  our 
thoughts  continually  recur.  Pardon  me,  then,  if  I  say  you  are 
acting  most  unwisely  in  lamenting  over  what  you  cannot  recal, 
and  not  seeking  the  comfort  to  be  derived  from  striving  to  do  as 
much  good  as  possible,  in  order  to  erase  the  bad  from  the  great 
book." 

"  Some  things  cannot  be  erased,"  returned  the  Miser,  with  a 
trembling  lip.  "  When  you  have  murdered  your  own  peace, 
what  can  restore  it  ?  What  can  give  life  to  the  dead  ?" 

"He  that  gave  life,"  responded  the  old  man,  reverently.  "But 
what  is  this  firing  which  I  now  hear  again  ?  I  am  afraid  some 
bloody  business  is  going  on.'% 

"Ah!  I  had  forgotten,"  exclaimed  the  Miser — "I  must  pro- 
vide for  my  own  safety  at  once,"  he  thought  to  himself;  and 
hastily  wishing  the  stranger  farewell,  he  strode  away  in  the  oppo- 
site direction  to  that  whence  the  report  of  musketry  proceeded. 

And  what  had  become  of  Walter  Danvers,  whose  disappear- 
ance was  somewhat  mysterious,  in  the  interim  ?  The  copse  into 
which  he  had  plunged  after  leaving  John  Norton  (which  he  did 
when  he  perceived  his  horse  was  weary  with  the  exertions  he  had 
made  and  could  not  be  expected  to  bear  up  much  longer  under 
the  weight  of  two  men)  extended  over  some  space,  and  the  low 
trees  grew  in  great  thickness  in  every  direction.  Stooping  low, 
he  concealed  himself  under  some  furze,  which  grew  beneath  the 
brushwood,  for  he  heard  Captain  Norton,  whom  he  had  left  but 
a  very  short  distance  in  the  rear,  bounding  up  the  steep  he  had 
just  quitted,  and  he  must  have  exposed  himself  to  view,  if  he  had 
moved  from  his  lurking  place.  Danvers  had  little  hope  of  escap- 
ing ;  but  he  was  one  who  never  yielded  to  despair,  and  had  fre- 
quently escaped  from  perils  very  nearly  as  great  as  those  which 
now  beset  him. 

Captain  Norton,  fancying  that  the  fugitive  had  reached  a  clump 
of  trees  at  a  very  short  distance — which  were  insulated  from  the 


THE  MISER'S  SON.  33  lr 

rest — hastened  in  that  direction.  He  had  quitted  his  horse,  of 
course,  and  with  cocked  pistol  and  bare  sword,  advanced,  breath- 
ing vengeance  against  the  destroyer  of  his  son.  It  would  have 
pleased  him  belter  to  slay  his  hated  enemy  with  his  own  hand  at 
that  moment  than  to  have  seen  him  die  by  the  hand  of  the  pub- 
lic executioner ;  for  his  heart  was  thirsting  for  the  blood  of  the 
man  who  had  made  it  desolate,  as  poor  wretches  thirst  in  the 
wilderness  for  water,  and  it  seemed  to  him  as  if  the  ghost  of  his 
boy  were  crying  out  to  him  for  instant  retribution. 

O,  that  miserable  desire  of  revenge,  which  when  it  takes  pos- 
session of  the  mind  goads  it  to  madness !  How  strange  that  we 
should  care  about  the  destruction  of  an  insect  like  ourselves, 
whose  ephemeral  existence  is  not  certain  for  an  instant !  Wretched 
nature  of  mau,  how  mean,  abject,  despicable  thou  art !  It  can 
soar, — how  high,  let  angels  tell ;  it  DOES  fall — how  low,  you  may 
read  in  the  chronicles  of  perdition  ! 

Meanwhile,  Danvers  was  surprised  to  find  a  huge  stone  beneath 
the  furze  into  which  he  had  crept,  and  which  seemed  to  cover 
what  had  once  been  a  well.  He  found  that  by  pressing  the  stone 
on  one  side,  an  opening  was  revealed  ;  but  it  was  so  dark  below 
that  he  was  unable  to  determine  to  what  depth  the  excavation 
descended.  It  occurred  to  him,  however,  that  he  might  conceal 
himself  in  this  place,  as  there  was  no  water  there,  and  remain 
undiscovered  ;  and  deliberating  but  a  few  seconds,  he  increased 
the  pressure  of  his  hand  on  the  stone  till  the  aperture  was  wide 
enough  to  admit  of  his  body  passing  through.  But  how  was  he 
to  accomplish  the  descent?  He  threw  a  small  pebble  down  to 
ascertain  the  depth,  and  as  it  did  not  seem  very  great,  and  there 
was  no  water  below,  he  resolved  to  work  his  way  down  with  his 
back  and  knees  at  the  risk  of  excoriation  ;  but  what  was  his  sur- 
prise, when  in  commencing  the  descent,  he  discovered  steps  at 
regular  intervals,  by  which  he  had  no  difficulty  in  effecting  what 
he  wished. 

During  this  time  Captain  Norton  had  been  beating  the  bushes 
in  every  direction,  calling  on  the  fugitive  to  come  forth  and  meet 
him  without  success  of  course.  Presently,  however,  he  perceived 
the  form  of  a  man  hastily  making  his  way  through  the  thicket, 
and  not  doubting  it  was  Danvers,  rushed  furiously  after  him.  The 
chase  lasted  some  minutes,  but  at  last  he  overtook  the  object  of 


332  THE  MISER'S  SON. 

his  pursuit,  and  seizing  him  with  a  ferocious  grasp,  was  about  to 
cut  him  down  with  his  sabre,  when  the  man  turned  and  he  ejacu- 
lated— 

"  How  !  my  brother  John !" 

His  uplifted  arm  fell,  and  the  disappointment  of  unsatiated 
hate  was  expressed  by  his  face. 

The  younger  Norton  confronted  the  captain  boldly-  "  You 
were  seeking  Walter  Danvers,"  he  said. 

"  Ay,  for  the  murderer  of  my  gallant  Percy  !"  replied  the  ve- 
teran officer.  "  Show  me  where  he  is  !  He  shall  fight  me  like  a 
soldier,  if  he  dare." 

"  He  would  fight  the  devil  himself,  if  that  were  all,"  returned 
John  ;  "  but  what  did  you  say  about  his  being  a  murderer !  and 
Percy?" 

"  My  son  is  dead,  and  fell  by  his  bloody  hand  whom  you  hug 
to  your  heart,"  answered  the  captain. 

"  Impossible!  Walter  Danvers  could  not  have  raised  an  arm 
against  a  mere  boy  of  fifteen  !  When — where  was  this,  that  you 
tell  me  of?" 

"  I  have  no  time  for  explanations ; — I  shall  go  mad,  if  the 
monster  escape.  If  you  have  one  drop  of  blood  in  you  which  is 
warm  in  the  cause  of  kindred,  place  him  in  my  hands.  I  saw 
him  riding  behind  you,  and  you  must  know  where  he  is.  If  you 
do  not  this,  although  you  are  my  brother " 

"  I  care  not  for  your  menaces,"  interrupted  John  Norton,  as 
his  brother  glared  upon  him,  and  lifted  his  sword  to  a  level  with 
his  head,  "  but  this  is,  indeed,  an  awful  calamity. — On  my  word, 
on  my  soul,  I  know  not  where  Danvers  is  now!  I  was  in 
search  of  him  myself. — But  there  must  be  some  mistake  in  this 
matter." 

"  I  tell  you  he  murdered  him, — if  not  in  cold  blood,  when  the 
poor  boy  had  no  means  of  defence. — My  child  !  my  child !  I 
hear  your  voice  calling  again  on  his  accursed  head  the  destruction 
I  have  sworn  to  fulfil !  John !  Conceal  him  not ;  you  must 
know  where  he  is.  Walter  Danvers  and  I  cannot  breathe  the  air 
of  this  earth  together  longer." 

"  1  have  pledged  my  sacred  honour  that  I  am  ignorant  of 
where  he  is,"  replied  the  younger  Norton.  "  If  he  have  mur- 
dered my  poor  Percy,  by  heaven !  though  he  is  my  dearest 


THE  MISER'S  SON.  333 

friend  on  earth,  I  will  have  his  heart's  blood.  I  will  deliver  him 
to  justice,  I  swear.  If  my  nephew  fell  in  honourable  fight  by  his 
hand,  I  must  forgive  him  ;  but  will  henceforth  avoid  his  sight." 

"  Honourable  fight!  You  said  just  now,  he  could  not  have 
raised  his  hand  against  a  boy  of  fifteen !  But  I  am  losing  pre- 
cious time.  You  swear  you  have  no  idea  where  the  murderer  is 
lurking?" 

"  I  have  sworn,"  was  the  reply. 

"  Go,  then,  for  this  time ;  but  if  you  have  deceived  me,  I  will 
kill  you — as  I  will  all  that  keep  him  from  my  sword.  I  have 
recorded  an  oath  above  that  I  will  not  close  an  eye,  nor  eat  a 
morsel  till  he  is  discovered." 

Thus  having  spoken,  Captain  Norton  resumed  his  search,  and 
plunged  into  the  deepest  parts  of  the  thicket.  John  Norton  also 
pursued  his  quest  for  Danvers,  though  not  with  the  amicable 
feelings  which  he  had  been  animated  by  previously.  The  main 
body  of  the  troops  had  not  perceived  when  Danvers  and  the 
Nortons  had  gone  out  of  the  direct  road,  and  one  and  all  were 
still  chasing  the  flying  Jacobites,  it  being  supposed  that  Danvers 
had  only  ascended  the  bank  for  a  minute  to  reconnoitre.  Some 
more  troops  had  now  joined  the  others,  and  they  dashed  for- 
ward with  the  eagerness  of  fox-hunters,  anxious,  now  that  they 
perceived  the  handful  of  men  before  them,  to  retrieve  the  fame 
they  had  lost,  in  not  having  routed  them  instantly.  But  the 
insurgents  (if  they  could  strictly  be  called  so)  had  a  good  start, 
and  were  better  acquainted  with  the  country  than  the  military,  so 
that  they  finally  succeeded  in  baffling  the  foe — with  the  excep- 
tion of  one  or  two  who  were  ill  mounted, — and  dispersed  in  all 
directions. 


334  THE  MISER'S  SON. 


CHAPTER  VI. 


Yes,  though  thou  hast  destroyed  my  life  of  life, 

And  though  existence  now  is  dark  and  sear, 

And  this  sad  heart  with  memories  is  rife 

Which  are  too  deep  to  trickle  in  the  tear, 

I  pardon  thee,  and  wholly. — From  an  unpublished  Poem. 

To  suffer  woes  which  Hope  thinks  infinite ; 
To  forgive  wrongs,  darker  than  Death  or  Night, 
This,  like  thy  glory,  Titan,  is  to  he 
Great,  good,  and  joyous,  beautiful  and  free. 

Prometheus  Unbound. 


GEORGE'S  ADVENTURES — MOTHER  STOKES  AND  ROGER 
SIDNEY — THINGS  PAST. 

THE  child  George,  after  quitting  Walsingham  the  Miser,  has- 
tened, if  possible,  to  rejoin  Danvers :  but  he  could  discover  no 
clue  to  guide  him  to  the  place  where  he  was, 

"  What  shall  I  do?"  he  said  to  himself.  "  If  I  remain  here, 
the  soldiers  will,  it  is  likely,  return  and  take  me,  and  those  papers 
will  be  found.  I  wanted  to  have  returned  with  Mr.  Danvers  safe 
to  his  home — his  daughter  would  have  been  so  glad  and  grateful 
to  me  for  getting  him  out  of  peril ;  but  that  is  impossible  at  pre- 
sent, I  am  afraid.  Miss  Danvers  will  be  very  anxious  about  her 
father ;  so  I  will  go  to  her  at  once." 

Acting  upon  this  resolution,  George  turned  into  a  little  valley 
reposing  peacefully  beneath  green  hills  and  rocks,  down  which  a 
mimic  cascade  was  pouring  with  sweet  music — the  only  sound, 
except  the  chirruping  of  a  bird,  and  now  and  then  a  faint  and 


THE  MISER'S  SON.  335 

far-distant  shout,  to  be  distinguished.  Here  George  had  left 
his  pony,  tied  to  "a.  young  sapling,  and  mounting  him  without 
delay,  with  his  habitual  promptness  of  action,  was  cantering 
briskly  away,  when  to  his  horror  and  dismay  he  perceived  the 
monster,  who  had  so  nearly  killed  him  when  he  was  rescued  by 
Danvers,  his  huge  eyes  fixed  on  him  savagely,  and  his  distorted 
face  grinning  with  a  demoniacal  expression,  as  he  was  ascending 
the  sloping  ground  which  led  out  of  the  valley. 

The  savage  was  armed  with  a  pole,  and  was  covered  with 
blood,  so  that  altogether  he  looked  most  ferocious  and  terrible  ; 
but  the  brave  child,  who  had  conducted  himself  so  dauntlessly 
through  dangers  which  might  have  cowed  the  boldest  man,  and 
tried  the  strongest  nerves,  spurning  the  impulse  which  would 
have  moved  him  to  turn  and  fly  when  he  beheld  the  monster, 
urged  his  pony  on  to  a  gallop,  determining  to  force  his  way 
through  every  impediment :  but  his  enemy  seized  the  bridle  with 
his  powerful  hand,  and  made  menacing  gestures,  which  expressed 
that  he  would  destroy  him,  if  he  attempted  to  proceed.  George, 
however,  was  not  to  be  intimidated,  and  struggled  to  release 
himself  from  the  grasp  which  the  savage  now  placed  on  his 
shoulder,  but  his  powers  were  utterly  inadequate  against  one 
who  possessed  the  bones  and  sinews  of  mature  and  even  great 
strength,  vigorous  as  he  was  for  a  young  boy.  The  monster 
dragged  him  to  the  ground,  and  struck  him  with  his  unshapely 
hand  ;  but  the  child  fiercely  returned  the  blows,  and  would  pro- 
bably have  been  killed  for  his  temerity,  had  not  Mother  Stokes 
hobbled  up,  and  exclaimed, 

"  What !  Sophy's  brat !  How  is  this,  eh  ?" 

"  This  is  the  second  time  that  devil  has  attacked  me,"  replied 
George.  "  If  I  were  a  man,  I  would  not  let  such  a  wretch  live." 

"  Let  him  go,"  said  Mother  Stokes  to  the  savage.  "  But  I'll 
tell  you  what  it  is,  young  gentleman,  if  you  don't  take  care  you 
shall  have  such  a  beating  as  you  will  carry  the  marks  of  to  your 
grave." 

"  I  do  not  fear  you,"  replied  George  firmly  ;  "  I  know  you 
are  a  very  bad  woman  ;"  aud  so  saying  leaped  on  his  pony,  and 
was  going  instantly  to  continue  his  journey,  but  Mother  Stokes 
prevented  him. 

"  Not  so  fast,  little  sir,"  she  cried.     "  As  to  yqur  thinking  me 


336  THE  MISER'S  SON. 

a  bad  woman,  I  don't  care  a  pinch  of  snuff  for  your  opinion  ; 
but  I  shall  give  you  a  lesson  that  will  make  you  keep  a  civil 
tongue  in'your  head.  Go,  and  get  some  thistles,"  she  added  to 
the  savage,  while  she  detained  the  child  with  a  strong  hand. 
"  I'll  give  him  a  flogging  he  shall  remember." 

George  struggled  violently,  but  to  no  purpose,  and  the  thistles 
having  been  procured,  the  woman  was  about  to  administer  the 
chastisement  she  had  threatened,  in  the  manner  formerly  prac- 
tised at  schools,  when  an  old  man  stepped  forward  and  ex- 
claimed, 

"  Why  are  you  going  to  punish  the  child  in  such  a  cruel  way  ?" 

Mother  Stokes  started  at  the  sound  of  that  voice,  and  when 
she  turned  her  face  to  the  speaker  uttered  an  exclamation  of 
surprise ;  and  a  shudder  ran  through  the  old  man's  frame  as 
he  beheld  her. 

"  Wretch  !"  he  cried,  "  I  thought  that  you  were  gone  to  your 
great  account." 

"  Indeed,  Master  Sidney  !  Well,  I'm  here  alive,  and  at  your 
service,"  returned  the  woman  with  a  sneer,  the  most  hideous 
imaginable.  "  When  we  meet  in  the  lower  regions,  if  my  master 
Satan  should  appoint  me  servant  to  the  fires,  I  shall  take  care 
to  provide  you  with  a  very  comfortable,  everlasting  roasting !" 
And  she  chuckled,  as  she  concluded  her  benevolent  speech,  much 
as  the  kindly  inhabitants  of  Pandemonium  may. 

"  I  pity  you,"  replied  Roger  Sidney — for  it  was  no  other  than 
the  old  Angler,  who  had  just  been  conversing  with  the  Miser — 
"  you  must  be  very  wretched.  But  this  young  boy  here  you 
shall  not  touch.  A  miscreant,  like  you  are,  is  unfit  to  chastise 
the  worst  of  human  beings,  and  such,  I  am  sure,  he  is  not." 

"What  right  have  you  to  interfere?"  demanded  Mother 
Stokes.  "  I  would  advise  you  to  keep  clear  of  this  business,  or 
I  will  set  my  monster  on  you.  I  think  you  have  had  enough  of 
me  to  sicken  you  from  interfering  with  such  as  I  am.  Roger 
Sidney,  I  yet  owe  you  a  return  for  many  favours,  and  will  pay 
them  with  interest  ere  I  die." 

"  I  am  not  so  old  and  feeble,  but  that  I  can  still  strike  a  good 
blow,  returned  the  Angler,  surveying  the  savage  with  curiosity. 
"  1  bid  you  to  release  that  boy  directly." 

"  Never,  at  your  command,"  cried  Mother  Stokes.  "  Sidney, 


THE  MISER'S  SON.  337 

I  hate  you.  Once,  when  my  heart  was  full  of  vanity,  and  my 
face  was  not,  as  it  is  now,  hideous  and  wrinkled,  I  would  have 
given  myself  to  you.  Yes,  I  did  love  you  as  much  as  1  detest 
you  now.  You  scorned  me,  and  I  was  revenged — deeply,  bit- 
terly revenged.  The  despised  menial  proved  an  enemy—" 

"  Oh,  woman,  woman  ! — If  you  indeed  ^belong  to  that  sex 
which  is  most  like  the  angels  when  adorned  with  virtue—"  here 
broke  in  the  old  man,  "  forbear  to  torture  me !  Why,  why  did 
you  strike  at  that  innocent  life,  pure  and  gentle  as  the  sweet 
flowers  that  bloom  for  a  few  brief  days,  and  send  up  their  fra- 
grant incense  to  the  Creator!  She  never  injured  the  meanest 
thing  that  crawled  ; — yet  you,  like  an  incarnate  fiend,  poisoned 
her  bright  existence,  and  devised  the  most  accursed  falsehood 
that  was  ever  fabricated  without  the  gates  of  hell !  Her  death, 
too,  was  most  mysterious — grief  does  not  kill  at  once.  Tell  me, 
know  you  how  she  died  ?" 

"  Probably  by  her  own  hand,"  replied  Mother  Stokes.  "  I 
dare  say  she  swallowed  poison  ;  it  may  be  taken  in  such  a  way 
that  it  cannot  be  detected  afterwards." 

"  Liar!"  cried  Roger  Sidney,  indignantly.  "She  was  a  Chris- 
tian, in  all  her  thoughts,  words  and  works,  and  could  never  have 
committed  an  action  which  might  have  endangered  her  eternal 
welfare.  My  Eliza !  my  first,  and  last,  and  only  love !  why 
didst  thou  leave  me  alone  ?  We  should  have  lived  and  died 
together!"  The  old  Angler  spoke  with  profound  pathos  and 
feeling ;  but  his  grief  only  increased  the  malice  of  the  reputed 
witch. 

"  So,  you  think  she  wouldn't  have  killed  herself,  do  you  ? 
And  you  believe,  if  she  did  so,  she  mightn't  go  to  Heaven  !  I 
can't  see,  for  myself,  why  she  shouldn't  do  what  she  liked  with 
her  own. — Well,  I  won't  make  you  miserable,  by  giving  you 
proof  of  the  fact.  That  she  did  die  by  poison  there  is  not  a 
doubt,  though  the  surgeons  could  not  say  how  it  was  taken,  or 
what  it  was." 

"  Ay,  and  by  whom  was  it  administered  ?"  exclaimed  Sidney, 
quickly.  As  he  spoke,  he  fixed  his  clear,  penetrating  eye,  un- 
dimmed  by  age,  on  the  woman,  who  quailed  beneath  it.  "  Indi- 
rectly you  certainly  were,  and  directly  you  may  have  been  the 
cause  of  her  untimely  death  !  There  is  One  who  sees  into  the 

2x 


338  THE  MISER'S  SON. 

secrets  of  all  hearts,  and  He  alone  knows  thine.  /  do  not  judge 
thee,  but  from  Him  you  will  receive  just  and  terrible  punishment, 
if  you  do  not  repent  of  your  accumulated  crimes." 

"  I  repent  of  nothing,"  returned  Mother  Stokes.  "  I  glory  in 
what  I  have  done,  and  with  my  dying  breath  I  will  curse  you. 
See,  what  you  have  made  me.  I  was  once  admired  and  flattered ; 
I  am  now  ugly  and  loathed  by  all.  I  am  grown  old,  but  not  so 
much  with  years,  as  from  fierce  passions  consuming  me — passions 
created  by  you  ;  for  I  was  not  what  I  became  until  you  crossed 
my  path." 

"  Your  character  was  infamous,"  replied  Sidney,  "  before  you 
entered  into  Miss  Spenser's  service.  "  Oh,  if  we  had  but  known 
what  you  were,  how  great  a  load  of  agony  might  have  been 
saved  !" 

"  I  live  on  the  recollection  of  that  glorious  vengeance,"  ex- 
claimed the  woman,  with  savage  exultation.  "  When  I  think 
upon  it,  the  blood  dances  in  my  torpid  heart,  and  rushes  through 
my  veins  like  a  torrent,  making  me  young  again.  I  told  a  lie  to 
destroy  your  bride.  True !  But  why  should  she  have  believed 
me  ?  If  she  really  loved  you,  surely  she — " 

"  I'll  hear  no  more,"  interrupted  Roger  Sidney,  with  vehe- 
mence. "  I  shall  forget  myself,  if  I  listen  to  you  any  longer.  It 
is  not  for  the  blighting  of  existence  that  my  soul  hates  you.  I 
could  have  been  content  to  have  lost  my  Eliza,  if  she  had  believed 
me  true.  O  God  !  O  God  !  But  she  knows  the  truth  now. 
She  sees  me  from  yon  blue  vault — soaring  among  the  eternal 
host — and  perceives  that  my  whole  spirit  was  devoted  to  her — 
perhaps  more  than  it  ought  to  have  been,  and  so  I  was  visited  so 
heavily  !  For  you,  unhappy  creature,  dreadful,  indeed,  must  be 
your  misery  !  The  pangs  of  a  guilty  conscience  like  yours  must 
be  a  very  antepast  of  damnation.  Repent — repent,  and  I  will 
forgive  you  all !" 

Oh,  the  sublime  heart  of  the  believer !  It  leaves  behind  all 
this  earth's  littleness,  and  laughs  at  what  man  can  do.  Revenge, 
however  dreadful,  can  do  nothing  against  the  peace  of  that  mind 
whose  hope  is  a  world,  whose  faith  a  God,  where  shadows  do 
not  deceive,  and  falsehood  disquiet.  For  the  hope  is  in  God,  and 
the  world  is  in  the  soul — that  world  a  heaven,  that  God  a  Truth 
immutable ! 


THE  MISER'S  SON.  339 

So  when  the  fiendish  woman  saw  how  that  high  faith  baffled 
her  petty  malice,  she  ejaculated, 

"  Forgive  me  !  You  forgive  me!  When  Heaven  forgives  the 
peopled  Hell !  I  ask  not  forgiveness — I  would  be  content  to  en- 
dure wretchedness  myself  for  ever,  so  that  you  should  share  it.  I 
pour  on  you  again  and  again  my  maledictions.  Forgiveness ! 
Ha,  ha,  ha !  Do  you  prate  of  that  ?  O  rare !  When  the  snake 
is  coiling  around  the  heart,  and  inflicting  tortures,  pity  and  par- 
don him  !  When  the  executioner  is  racking  your  limbs  with  ago- 
nies, extend  to  him  the  hand  of  friendship  !  Reverse  all  the  laws 
of  nature — make  the  lamb  fond  of  the  wolf— the  deer,  of  the 
savage  hound — do  all  this,  and  then  tell  me  of  forgiveness !" 

With  these  words,  Mother  Stokes,  followed  by  the  savage, 
hastily  left  the  valley. 


ftJ 


^UV 


340  THE  MISER'S  SON. 


CHAPTER  VII. 


If  I  had  a  mind  to  be  honest,  I  see  Fortune  would  not  let  me ;  she  drops 
booties  in  my  mouth.  Who  knows  how  that  may  turn  back  to  my  advance- 
ment?—Winter's  Tale. 


How  the  knave  jostles  by,  and  fools  exclaim, 
"  This  man  is  wise !"     'Tis  that  they  idiots  are. 

Old  Play. 


MOTHER    STOKES  AND   THE   MISER — GEORGE   AND   ISAAC 
QUIRK — SAM    STOKES — THE   PAPER. 

THE  passions  which  instigate  all  our  actions,  and  from  whose 
dominion  none  can  escape,  are  the  parents  of  all  good,  and  of  all 
evil  likewise.  Revenge  is,  perhaps,  the  darkest  of  all ;  and  how 
often  is  it  substituted  for  Justice,  how  often  does  it  steal  its 
name !  Throw  it  away,  like  fine  old  Roger  Sidney  !  If  a  man 
insult  you,  he  is  a  blackguard,  and  you  would  degrade  yourself  by 
noticing  him.  What  advantage  do  we  reap,  if  we  succeed  in 
punishing  a  rascal  ?  Will  it  put  money  in  your  pocket,  give  you 
a  clear  conscience,  a  mens  sana  corpore  sano  ?  Pooh  ! 

We  must  now  put  ourselves  in  very  villanous  company  for  a 
short  time,  and  return  to  Mother  Stokes,  taking  up  her  adven- 
tures from  the  period  when  she  effected  her  escape  from  the  mili- 
tary. That  escape  had  been  effected  with  no  great  difficulty,  and 
was  in  fact  winked  at  by  the  officer  who  had  taken  her,  and  for- 
gotten, in  the  hurry  of  action,  to  leave  her  at  the  town  from 
which  he  had  led  his  troops  to  encounter  the  Jacobites.  It  was 


THE  MISER'S   SON.  341 

not  long  after  this,  that  the  circumstance  of  the  monster  falling 
in  love  with  Ellen  Danvers  occurred,  and  it  was  succeeded  in  the 
course  of  a  little  period  by  that  detailed  in  the  preceding  chapter. 
Soldiers  were  scouring'the  country  in  every  direction  J  and  fear- 
ing lest  she  should  be  again  taken,  Mother  Stokes  concealed  her- 
self, as  best  she  might,  when  the  engagement  betwixt  the  military 
and  the  Jacobites  took  place. 

What  a  tempest  was  in  the  bosom  of  that  woman,  when  she 
recognised  the  old  Angler ;  and  how  vastly  was  it  aggravated  by 
the  conversation  which  supervened !  She  forgot  the  boy  by 
whom  she  had  been  incensed,  she  forgot  the  peril  in  which  she 
stood,  and  all  her  passions  and  thoughts  were  swallowed  up  in 
the  idea  of  Roger  Sidney,  whom  she  had  not  beheld  for  many 
years.  What  a  Pandemonium  is  the  human  heart,  when  the 
fires  of  the  dark  volcanoes  which  smoulder  there,  are  kindled  by 
that  strong  fire-creator  which  rules  the  being,  as  Lucifer  his 
kingdom,  and  they  burst,  and  roar,  and  scatter  destruction,  tear- 
ing their  own  entrails,  like  him  of  the  old  fable,  living  on  their 
own  vitals,  in  throes  and  convulsions ! 

Mother  Stokes,  very  soon  after  she  left  Sidney,  beheld  the 
form  of  Everard  Walsingham — though  the  distance  from  his 
house  was  considerable.  The  Miser,  paler  and  more  emaciated 
than  ever,  was  crawling  along,  with  difficulty  supporting  himself 
on  his  legs,  from  fatigue  and  loss  of  blood  ;  and  his  mind  was  at 
least  as  distracted  as  that  of  the  reputed  witch. 

Mother  Stokes  accosted  him,  well  disposed  to  torture  one  she 
had  in  her  power,  and  said — 

"  Good  morrow  to  you,  my  lord !" 

The  Miser  started  and  trembled,  and  the  woman  continued— 

'*  I  have  some  business  with  you,  and  we  had  better  not  defer 
it.  If  you  want  to  know  the  nature  of  it,  I  can  inform  you  in  one 
word, — Treason." 

"  Ah !"  cried  the  Miser,  as  if  a  serpent  had  stung  him. 

"  Yes,  you  must  give  me  money ;  or  I  will  reveal  all." 

"  No,  no,  no,"  exclaimed  Everard.  "  I  am  ruined  already. 
I  defy  you,  woman— and  yet — well,  what  would  you  say?  I 
know  nothing  of  treason  or  you." 

"  Indeed  !"  replied  Mother  Stokes.  "  Don't  you  know  Walter 
Danvers,  and  a'nt  you  aware  the  Jacobites — — " 


342  THE  MISER'S  SON. 

The  Miser  suddenly  seized  Mother  Stokes  by  the  throat ;  but 
he  released  his  grasp  instantly,  muttering — 

"  No,  never  again.  I  have  no  money  to  give — none ! — Walter 
Danvers  is  nothing  to  me.  You  mistake  me  for  another." 

"  Not  I !  It  is  well  you  left  your  gripe  of  my  throat,  or  I 
have  one  here  should  have  strangled  you.  Your  name,  I  know, 
is  Everard,  Lord  Walsingham." 

" No,  no,  I  tell  you  no  no,"  answered  the  Miser.     "I  am  a 
poor  man — no  lord  ;  be  assured,  you  are  in  error." 
,    And  he  rushed  away  like  a  maniac.     Mother  Stokes  gazed 
after  him  with  one  of  her  sardonic  grins  and  said — 

"  I  have  you  fast  enough,  old  bird  !  You  shall  not  escape 
from  the  net  I  have  laid  for  you." 

Meanwhile,  Roger  Sidney,  as  soon  as  Mother  Stokes  and  the 
savage  had  disappeared,  turned  kindly  to  George,  and  said — 

"  Take  care  of  yourself,  my  little  fellow ;  and  if  you  want  a 
friend,  here  is  my  name  and  address.  I  cannot  stay  with  you 
now." 

Then  putting  some  apples  into  his  hand,  of  which  he  was  very 
glad,  the  old  man  hurried  away,  to  conceal  from  every  eye  the 
emotions  which  the  words  of  Mother  Stokes  had  excited  in  his 
bosom. 

"  Poor  old  man  !"  murmured  the  child,  a  tear  starting  to  his 
eye,  as  the  Angler  left  him — "  poor,  poor  old  man  !" 

But  George  was  not  to  return  to  the  house  of  Danvers ;  for  as 
he  was  guiding  his  pony  in  that  direction  at  a  fast  trot,  he  was 
descried  by  some  dragoons,  who  had  been  ordered  to  scour  the 
locality  in  which  the  engagement  had  been  fought,  as  well  as  to 
see  whether  the  enemy  had  left  any  wounded  men  among  the 
trees.  Unfortunately  for  George  the  soldiers  were  some  of  those 
who  had  attempted  to  capture  him,  when  he  swam  the  river,  and 
instantly  recognising  him,  raised  a  threatening  shout,  and  gave 
chase ;  the  boy  urging  his  diminutive  steed  into  a  gallop,  when 
he  heard  the  foe's  vociferations.  A  circumstance  happened  here, 
which  impeded  the  progress  of  the  soldiers :  for  as  they  were 
within  a  few  yards  of  the  young  fugitive,  who  was  striving  with 
all  his  might  to  gain  a  labyrinth  where  he  might,  perhaps,  baffle 
pursuit,  a  man  started  up  from  the  ground,  on  which  he  had 
been  lying,  and  tired  at  them. 


THE  MISER'S  SON.  343 

This  individual  was  no  other  than  the  sturdy  yeoman,  who  had 
acted  a  conspicuous  part  at  the  Jacobite  meeting,  and  had  joined 
John  Norton's  party.  His  horse  had  been  killed  under  him  by  a 
stray  shot,  and  he  had  fallen,  and  been  severely  hurt.  This  was 
just  as  the  Jacobites  hastened  to  the  aid  of  Danvers,  and  the  yeo- 
man, stunned  and  bruised,  was  overlooked  by  them.  The  bluff 
fellow's  temper  was  exacerbated  by  the  pain  of  his  injuries,  and 
he  no  sooner  saw  those  by  some  of  whom  it  was  probable  he  had 
sustained  such  damage,  than  with  an  effort  springing  up,  he  dis- 
charged his  pistol ;  but  not  with  unerring  accuracy  of  aim,  for  it 
revenged  the  death  of  his  own  steed  by  disabling  the  leg  of  that 
belonging  to  one  of  the  dragoons,  which  fell,  with  his  rider.  The 
yeoman  was  surrounded  and  menaced  with  death,  if  he  did  not 
yield ;  but  with  a  grim  smile  he  hurled  the  pistol  he  had  lired 
at  one  of  the  soldiers,  and  brandished  his  sword  on  high.  The 
combat  which  ensued  did  not  last  long,  for  a  sabre-cut  in  the 
head  felled  him  to  the  earth,  and  he  exclaimed  with  a  groan— 

"  D — n  you !  You've  done  my  business,  properly.  Here, 
you  rascal  (to  the  dragoon  who  had  wounded  him),  you'd  rob  me 
after  I'm  dead,  if  I  didn't  give  you  my  purse  now.  Go,  and  get 
drunk,  if  you  like,  and — and — " 

His  voice  failed,  and  he  gasped  for  breath ;  but  he  managed 
to  exclaim — 

"  What  a  cursed  fool  I've  been  !"  and  expired. 

"  Heroes  must  die,  and  by  God's  blessing  'tis 
Not  long  before  the  most  of  them  go  home." 

All  this,  however,  procured  a  famous  start  for  George  ;  but  he 
was  obliged  to  pursue  a  path  opposite  to  that  he  had  intended 
taking,  and  became  involved  in  the  intricate  windings  of  the 
place.  The  soldiers  continued  their  pursuit  of  him,  but  they  also 
speedily  became  bewildered  in  the  maze,  and  after  some  time 
abandoned  the  hope  of  capturing  the  child. 

George,  after  hours  spent  in  trying  to  extricate  himself  from 
the  labyrinth,  emerged  in  a  direction  far  from  that  he  wished  to 
have  found  himself  in  ;  but  he  had  eluded  the  soldiers,  and  was 
now  in  a  solitary  path,  exposed  to  no  observation.  He  had  lost 
himself  entirely,  and  overcome  with  the  extraordinary  exertions 
he  had  been  making,  he  suffered  the  pony,  no  less  fatigued,  to 


344  THE  MISER'S  SON. 

pursue  the  path  he  thought  fit,  and  his  weary  eyes  closed  in  sleep. 
Dozing  thus,  but  not  quite  unconscious,  he  was  carried  along  by 
his  little  steed  for  about  an  hour  at  a  slow  walk,  along  a  road 
between  high  embankments,  whereon  the  wild  thyme  grew  in 
luxuriance,  and  made  the  air  fragrant.  The  day  was  declining, 
and  the  song  of  the  birds  grew  less  frequent,  while  the  sheep 
that  might  be  seen  grazing  on  the  green  hills  with  the  kine,  were 
lying  lazily,  cropping  the  grass,  their  occasional  bleating  and  bel- 
lowing, mingled  with  the  tinkling  of  the  sheep  bells,  making  a 
pleasant  sound  in  the  distance.  George  was  dreaming  of  happi- 
ness perhaps,  never  to  be  realized — wandering  among  Elysian 
scenes, — among  woodlands  and  rivers  and  valleys  yet  more  lovely 
than  those  which  he  now  and  then  caught  glimpses  of  through 
his  more  than  half-closed  eyelids,  when  he  was  aroused  by  feeling 
a  rough  hand  placed  on  his  shoulder,  and  a  voice  which  he  knew 
exclaimed — 

"  So,  my  young  chap,  I've  caught  you  at  last,  have  I  ?"  and 
he  received  a  severe  blow,  which  knocked  him  to  the  ground.  On 
looking  up,  he  perceived  that  he  was  within  a  few  yards  of  the 
Britannia  Inn,  which  was  situated  at  the  extremity  of  a  straggling 
village,  picturesquely  isolated,  stood  over  by  the  stable  boy,  who 
had  pursued  him  vainly,  and  whom  he  had  charged  down  when 
he  ran  off  with  the  pony,  with  clenched  fists. 

What  boy  but  knows  the  village  bully,  with  his  ugly  face,  and 
his  sturdy  form,  from  whom  he  has  often  received  so  unmerited 
a  drubbing,  until  he  grew  strong  and  tall  and  could  fight  his 
battles  manfully  ? 

George  regained  his  feet,  and  feeling  how  vain  it  would  be  to 
contend  against  the  powerful  lad,  who  was  the  little  tyrant  of  the 
little  place,  and  from  whose  hand  he  had  just  sustained  a  blow 
which  might  have  prostrated  one  of  double  his  age,  he  said — 

"  O,  Isaac !  Why  do  you  beat  me  ?" 

But  before  he  could  proceed  any  farther,  the  bully  again  struck 
him  brutally,  and  the  high  and  fiery  blood  within  the  child's 
heart  mounting  to  his  pale  cheek  and  brow,  he  returned  the  blow 
with  all  his  force.  Isaac  Quirk — for  such  was  the  appellation  of 
the  stable  boy — turned  almost  livid  with  rage,  seized  him  by  the 
neck,  and  was  going  to  dash  him  against  a  wall,  when  a  hand 
came  in  contact  with  his  own  face  so  forcibly  as  to  cause  him  to 
measure  his  length  on  the  earth. 


THE  MISER'S  SON.  345 

"  Ton  my  soul,  Isaac,  you're  not  a  bit  better  nor  that  savage 
as  they  say  is  your  cousin,"  cried  Sam  Stokes,  who  had  been  the 
means  of  rescuing  George  from  the  vengeance  of  the  stable-boy. 
"  Aint  ye  ashamed  of  yerself  to  hit  a  child  like  that  there,  you 
great  lubberly  blackguard  ?"  continued  the  tar,  as  Isaac  arose 
with  sullen  anger  (if  that  be  not  an  anomaly  in  terms)  in  his  looks. 
"  You're  no  nevy  of  mine,  you  rascal,  you  !" 

"  That  young  devil  ran  away  with  the  powney,"  replied  Isaac, 
in  his  defence,  "  and  he  deserves  to  have  his  precious  head 
knocked  off,  he  does  !" 

"  I've  a  notion  you  desarves  it  most,"  returned  the  sailor,  in- 
dignantly. "  What  chance  had  a  little  chap  like  that  there 
against  you?  Thof  I'm  your  uncle,  I'm  a  Briton,  and  have 

sarved  the  king,  and  I'm if  I  lets  you  make  use  of  the  strength 

God  has  given  ye  to  fight  the  foes  of  old  England,  as  if  ye  was 
a  savage  Hingian,  and  not  born  and  bred  in  the  only  country 
good  for-tuppence  under  the  sun." 

A  crowd  was  now  collected  round  the  sailor,  the  stable-boy 
and  George,  and  some  seemed  inclined  to  side  with  Sam,  some 
with  Isaac. 

"  That  boy  ought  to  be  well  birched,"  cried  the  landlord,  of 
"  The  Britannia,"  who  was  very  wroth  at  having  been  so  long 
robbed  of  his  pony,  at  no  slight  inconvenience  to  himself. 

"  And  if  he  ought — and  I  knows  nothing  of  the  rights  of  the 
business — is  that  any  reason  why  a  young,  unhuman  scoundrel 
should  go  for  to  dash  him  against  a  wall  ?"  rejoined  Samuel. 

"  I  didn't  dash  him  against  the  wall,"  answered  Isaac,  grow- 
ing saucy  when  he  saw  his  master  was  favourable  to  him. 

"  It's  well  I  prevented  ye,"  returned  the  cripple,  while  George, 
a  little  terrified  at  the  threatening  looks  of  the  landlord,  crept 
closer  to  his  protector. 

It  was  most  strange  that  he  who  had  undauntedly  gone  through 
such  dangers  lately  should  dread  the  ordinary  correction  of  a  re- 
fractory child  :  but  it  is  said  that  a  French  soldier,  who  will  fight 
bravely,  has  been  known  to  sob  when  about  to  undergo  the 
punishment  of  the  lash  ;  and  it  was  on  the  same  principle — the 
dread  of  ignominy,  perhaps — that  George  shrank  from  chastise- 
ment. 

2  Y 


346  THE  MISER'S  SON. 

"  Never  fear,  my  man,"  said  the  tender-hearted  Stokes,  pat- 
ting the  child  on  his  cheek,  "you shan't  be  hurt." 

While  he  was  thus  speaking,  a  burly  form  made  way  through 
the  crowd,  and  George  clung  yet  more  nearly  to  Sam. 

"  You  little  rascal !"  exclaimed  the  new  comer,  "  your  mother 
will  give  it  you,  when  you  go  to  her.  Ah,  Stokes !  Is  that  \ou  ? 
How  d'ye  do?" 

"  Yes,  Mr.  Figgins!  d'ye  know  this  boy?" 

"  He's  a  young  rogue,  and  I  know  nothing  good  of  him,"  re- 
plied Corporal  Pidgins — for  it  was  he.  "  Go  home  to  your 
mother,  sir,  directly  :"  and  seizing  George  by  the  collar,  the 
Corporal  dragged  him  away,  though  Sam  Stokes  seemed  much 
inclined  to  interfere  again  in  his  behalf. 

Isaac  Quirk  gazed  after  George  with  ill-disguised  malice.  He 
muttered  something'  to  himself  in  an  inaudible  tone,  while  Sam 
addressed  him  thus — 

"  If  so  be  I  ever  see  ye  fighting  with  one  less  than  yerself,  d'ye 
see>  I'll  whack  ye,  shiver  my  timbers." 

The  stable-boy  then  proceeded  to  lake  the  tired  pony  into  the 
stable,  but  before  he  did  so,  he  caught  sight  of  a  paper  which 
George  had  dropped  in  the  scuffle  with  him,  and  picked  it  up, 
though  with  what  motive — as  he  could  not  read  himself — is  not 
quite  clear.  The  crowd  dispersed  ;  Sam  Stokes  having  accepted 
an  invitation  from  the  landlord  of  the  "  Britannia" — to  whom  he 
was  a  good  customer — to  take  a  pipe  and  tankard  with  him,  and 
his  sweetly-disposed  nephew  found  himself  alone  outside  the  pre- 
mises. He  busied  himself,  with  a  sulky  air,  in  his  usual  occu- 
pations, occasionally  whistling,  and  mumbling — "  I'll  take  care 
and  pay  you  for  it,  Mr.  Uncle  Sam  !"  not  noticing  that  he  was 
narrowly  watched  by  a  little  old  man,  to  whom  he  bore  a  degree 
of  resemblance,  who  was  standing  at  the  distance  of  a  few  paces 
from  him,  leaning  on  a  staff. 

This  young  Master  Isaac  Quirk  before  us,  was  the  son  of 
Samuel  Stokes's  sister,  who  married  the  son  of  a  pettifogger, 
much  against  the  said  pettifogger's  will.  Both  his  parents  died 
when  he  was  a  child,  and  he  had  been  employed  as  an  errand 
boy,  and  subsequently  as  a  helper  in  the  stable  of  the  "  Britan- 
nia,'' his  grandfather,  the  lawyer,  having  declined  to  do  anything 
for  him.  Indeed,  he  had  never  seen  the  attorney  to  whom  he 


THE  MISER'S  SON.  347 

was  so  nearly  related,  and  nature  had  endowed  him  with  all  the 
mental  powers  he  possessed  in  toto ;  for  he  had  never  learned 
anything  but  what  he  taught  himself — if  that  Hibernicism  may 
pass.  Nevertheless,  Isaac  was  considered  a  sharp-witted  fellow 
who  had  an  eye  to  his  own  interest;  and  it  was  remarked  he  had 
usually  more  money  in  his  pocket  than  the  generality  of  lads  in 
his  station — a  circumstance  arising  from  the  success  he  uniformly 
had  in  games  of  chance  and  skill,  including  marbles,  chuck- 
farthing,  &c.  He  was  now  advancing  towards  man's  estate,  and 
was  debating  with  himself  whether  he  might  not  procure  some 
more  profitable  employment  than  that  he  now  held. 

"  I  shouldn't  care,"  said  Isaac,  uttering  his  thoughts,  "  if  I 
was  a  chimbley-sweeper,  so  I'd  lots  of  cash.  What's  the  use  of 
this  here  life,  if  one  han't  the  means  to  enjoy  it?  I'd  stick  at 
nuffin,  not  I,  to  have  as  much  money  as  I  wants.  I'd  beg,  cheat, 
steal,  rob — um ! — I  doesn't  know  as  I'd  do  what'd  risk  my  neck, 
'cos  one  can't  live  without  'un.  But  I'd  do  it,  if  it  wasn't  for 
that.  I  must  learn  to  read  and  write — one  can't  cheat  on  a  large 
scale  without  being  a  bit  of  a  scholard.  That's  the  way  rich 
folks  keeps  riches,  or  else  if  poor  'uns  was  as  cunning — wouldn't 
they  do  'em  just !  1  wonder  what  this  here  paper  is,  now  ?  It 
strikes  me  there's  something  unkimmon  in  it.  It  don't  look  like 
the  writing  of  a  uneddicated  person." 

While  he  was  communing  with  himself,  the  little  old  man  had 
carefully  marked  all  he  said,  and  seemingly  with  exultation. 

"  What's  bred  in  the  bone,"  he  thought;  and  advancing  close 
to  Isaac,  he  cried — 

"  My  lad,  you  should  never  think  aloud — it's  a  bad  practice. 
But  I'm  glad  I  overheard  what  you  were  saying  :  for  it  gives  me 
an  insight  into  your  character.  You  are  a  very  promising  boy, 
and  uncommonly  like  your  father.  What  is  your  age,  Isaac?" 

"  Who  are  you  ?"  asked  the  stable-boy,  much  surprised  at  this 
address ;  and  without  deigning  to  notice  the  old  man's  interro- 
gatory. "  You're  a  queer-looking  old  fellow,  you  are!" 

"  Who  should  I  be,  but  your  grandfather,  Lawyer  Quirk  ?  You 
may  fancy  I've  been  unkind,  my  lad,  in  not  taking  any  notice  of 
you,  hitherto;  but  I'll  explain  the  matter;  and,  with  your  native 
good  sense  and  discernment,  1  am  confident  you  will  perceive  my 
conduct  was  just.  You  see,  my  good  Isaac,  your  father  offended 


348  THE  MISER'S  SON. 

me  by  his  imprudent  marriage  ;  and  would  have  extracted  sums 
of  money  from  me,  which  I  couldn't  afford  to  lose.  So  I  told 
him  he  must  not  come  to  my  house :  and  as  he  was  old  enough 
to  choose  a  wife  for  himself,  I  supposed  he  could  also  support 
her.  Well,  he  took  to  drinking,  and  died  in  a  fit,  and  your  mo- 
ther did  not  long  survive  him.  Then  I  was  importuned  to  pro- 
vide for  you.  But,  Isaac,  my  hands  were  full  of  business,  and  I 
could  not  be  troubled  with  a  squalling  brat.  Now,  however,  you 
are  no  longer  a  child,  and  I'll  see  what  I  can  do  for  you,  if  you 
like  to  come  with  me." 

"  You're  a  rum  old  cock,  and  no  mistake,"  answered  Isaac  ; 
"  but  I'll  see  you  don't  try  to  flumnmx  and  gammon  me !  I  un- 
derstand you,  dad,  and  I'll  sarve  you,  so  as  you'll  agree  to  pay 
me  well." 

"  I  like  your  sincerity,"  said  the  lawyer,  "and  will  give  you 
£10  a  year  for  your  services.  But,  Isaac,  if  you  are  sharp — as  I 
think  you  are — you  may  double  and  treble  that  salary  in  such  a 
situation.  You  shall  be  taught  to  read  and  write,  and — cheat, 
my  lad" he  added,  in  an  under-tone. 

"Will'ee?"  cried  the  stable-boy,  with  a  grin.  "I  shan't 
want  much  teaching.  So  there's  my  hand  on  the  bargain.  I 
knows  you  wants  some  dirty  work  done  ;  but  I'm  accustomed  to 
that  with  my  ringers,  and  why  not  with  my  brains?  But  as  to 
your  teaching  me  to  cheat,  dad,  I've  a  notion  I  can  do  that  with- 
out your  help — only  give  me  some  humbugging  words.  If  you'll 
engage  to  larn  me  to  read  and  write,  I'll  thank'ee !" 

"  Sensibly  spoken,"  replied  Lawyer  Quirk.  "  When  I  was 
your  age,  Isaac,  I  was  only  a  travelling  tinker,  as  my  father  was 
before  me.  I  found  that  wasn't  a  thriving  trade,  so  I  took  to 
begging:  but  having  been  sent  to  prison  for  that,  turned  my 
thoughts  to  something  more  reputable,  and  entered  an  attorney's 
office.  This  attorney  was  just  such  a  man  as  I  am  now  ;  he 
wanted  a  good  hard  swearer t  who  would  stick  at  nothing— blush 
at  nothing — just  my  case,  Isaac! — I  proved  the  best  witness  he 
ever  had — stepped  into  his  shoes  when  he  died,  and  married  his 
daughter,  ha,  ha !  Follow  in  my  footsteps,  boy,  and  you'll  get 
rich.  You've  a  genius  for  roguery,  I  can  see,  by  the  twinkling 
of  your  little  grey  eyes.  I  like  a  grey  eye  ! — I  never  knew  a  man 
possessed  of  one,  devoid  of  cleverness  or  sense!" 


THE  MISER'S  SON.  349 

"  What  a  pity  we  didn't  know  each  other  afore,"  observed 
Isaac. 

"  Perhaps  it  is ;  perhaps  it  is :  but  no  great  time  has  been 
lost,"  returned  Quirk. 

"  Can  you  read  this  thingumy  ?"  inquired  the  stable-boy  of 
his  grandfather,  handing  to  him  the  paper  George  had  inadver- 
tently dropped. 

The  old  man  putting  on  his  large  horn  spectacles  began  to  read 
at  first  with  curiosity,  then  with  interest  and  wonder. 

"  How  did  you  get  this?"  he  asked  of  the  lad. 

"  O,  just  by  chance  !  It  was  dropped  by  a  cursed  little  brat 
as  I  means  to  drub  a'most  dead  one  day." 

"  I'll  keep  this,  Isaac,"  said  the  old  man,  putting  the  paper  in 
his  immense  pocket. 

"  That's  of  use  to'ee,  aint  it  ?"  asked  Isaac. 

"  Y-e-es,  it  may  be,"  was  the  reply. 

"  Then  I  won't  take  less  nor  a  guinea  for  it,  dad." 

"  Ha,  ha,  ha !  you're  a  monstrous  clever  dog,"  chuckled  old 
Quirk.  "  Why,  what  should  the  paper  be,  eh  ?" 

"  Something  what  you  can  make  money  of,"  said  Isaac  :  "  and 
nothing  risk,  nothing  have." 

"  You  shall  have  a  guinea,  Isaac,"  returned  the  aged  man, 
approvingly.  "  I  like  to  encourage  rising  talent." 

"  Yes,  and  the  sooner  the  better,"  returned  the  young  hopeful. 

"  Here,  then,  is  a  guinea,"  said  the  lawyer,  after  searching  his 
pockets  for  some  time. 

Isaac  threw  the  coin  on  a  stone,  instantly. 

"  Thought  so !"  he  exclaimed — "  counterfeit,  by  Jingo !  That 
won't  do,  by  no  means,  old  cock, — nothing  but  copper  gilt." 

"  Why,  how  old  are  you  ?"  asked  Quirk,  with  an  air  of  intense 
admiration  at  this  manifestation  of  his  grandson's  precocious 
genius. 

"  Sixteen,"  responded  Isaac — "  old  enough  to  know  what* s 
what,  I  can  tell  'ee.  See,  if  you've  a  good  guinea  about  ye." 

"  There's  no  deceiving  him,  I  see,"  muttered  the  lawyer, 
"  he's  as  sharp  as  steel.  Then,  you  can  come  home  with  me, 
now  ?" 

"  Yes,  but  where's  the  guinea  ?  I  never  takes  promises — 
substance  for  shadder,  anyhow. 


350  THE  MISER'S  SON. 

"  You'll  make  a  first-rate  man;  if  you've  common  industry," 
remarked  Quirk,  as  he  gave  the  required  coin  to  Isaac. 

"  Ah  !  it's  all  right,  this  time.  O  yes,  depend  on't,  dad,  I 
shan't  be  long  learning  your  sort  of  tricks.  I  des  say  they're  not 
different  from  mine ;  all  roguery's  alike." 

And  thus  ended  the  interview  between  two  remarkable  charac- 
ters, who  were  about  the  most  cunning  and  villunous  of  all  that 
ever  figured  in  the  annals  of  rascality. 


CHAPTER  VIII. 

Love-quarrels  oft  in  pleasing  concord  end, 
Not  wedlock  treachery  endangering  life. 

MILTON. 

There  in  a  moment  we  may  plunge  our  years 

In  fatal  penitence,  and  in  the  blight 
Of  our  own  soul,  turn  all  our  blood  to  tears, 

And  colour  things  to  come  with  hues  of  Night. 

BYRON. 

MORE   ADVENTURES— PAN VERS   IN   THE   CAVE — THE   SECRET 
DOOR — THE   BLOW — CORPORAL   FIGGINS. 

WALTER  DANVERS,  after  he  had  descended  into  the  cave 
which  he  had  discovered  so  fortunately,  endeavoured  to  see  what 
kind  of  place  he  was  in  ;  but  the  darkness  was  so  intense,  that 
it  was  impossible  to  discover  anything.  Even  when  liis  eyes, 
accustomed  to  the  darkness  became  of  some  little  use,  all  that  he 
could  perceive  was,  that  he  had  entered  into  a  subterranean  pas- 
sage, of  apparently  considerable  extent,  which  was  probably  sur- 
rounded by  water  at  one  extremity,  as  several  reptiles,  which 
generally  inhabit  dark  and  stagnant  pools,  rushed  past  him  in 
alarm. 

There  appeared  to  be  no  outlet  large  enough  to  admit  of  egress, 
except  that  by  which  he  had  entered  ;  and,  therefore,  summoning 
patience  to  his  aid,  he  seated  himself  on  the  ground,  and  gave 


THE  MISER'S  SON.  351 

himself  up  to  thought.  He  was  extremely  sorry,  now,  that  he 
had  not  taken  the  important  papers  he  had  entrusted  to  George 
from  him,  when  he  might  have  done  so  ;  for  although  he  doubted 
not  the  integrity  and  discretion  of  that  extraordinary  child,  he 
feared  that  some  accident  might  befal  him,  and  all  be  discovered. 
But  the  adventures  of  the  last  few  hours  had  been  so  crowded 
together,  there  had  been  no  time  for  reflection ;  and  after  all,  he 
thought  George  was  not  exposed  to  so  much  peril  as  himself. 

The  hours  glided  slowly  on,  and  at  length  Danvers,  weary  with 
his  long  confinement,  away  from  the  light  and  air,  and  anxious  to 
be  stirring,  ventured  to  re-ascend,  and  look  about  him.  All  was 
apparently  safe :  the  sounds  of  pursuit  had  ceased,  and  there 
was  no  trace  of  friend  or  foe,  far  as  the  eye  could  reach.  He, 
therefore,  sallied  forth  with  caution,  and  walked  along  through 
the  thick  trees  of  the  copse. 

But  as  he  was  about  to  make  for  the  high  road,  he  turned  his 
head  sideways,  and  beheld  two  fierce  and  bloodshot  eyes  glaring 
like  a  wild  beast's  upon  him  ;  and  conceiving  that  many  other 
foes  were  at  hand,  he  rushed  back  towards  the  cave. 

Captain  Norton — for  his  assailant  was  no  other — attacked 
him  with  maniacal  fury ;  but  Danvers,  warding  off  the  blows 
aimed  at  him  with  his  musket,  by  a  well-directed  stroke  shivered 
the  officer's  sword  into  pieces,  and  clubbing  his  own  weapon, 
knocked  him  down,  and  again  made  for  the  cave.  Before  he 
could  disappear,  Norton  followed,  exclaiming — "  Villain  ! 
Coward  !''  but  in  a  voice  almost  inarticulate  with  intense  passion. 
For  a  second  time — the  stone  at  the  month  of  the  cave  delaying 
him — the  fugitive  was  obliged  to  defend  himself;  and  again 
felled  his  antagonist ;  but  as  he  was  once  more  descending  into 
the  earth,  Norton  seized  him  by  the  throat,  and  supplied  with 
factitious  strength  by  his  frenzy,  a  fearful  struggle  ensued.  The 
hard  and  enormous  bones  and  iron  muscles  of  Danvers  at  length 
prevailed,  and  he  dashed  his  opponent  senseless  down  the  steps 
on  which  the  contest  had  taken  place,  when,  fancying  that  he 
heard  others  approaching,  he  closed  the  entrance,  and  crept 
through  a  passage  only  high  enough  to  admit  of  his  going  through 
it  on  his  hands  and  feet. 

Captain  Norton  remained  insensible  for  a  long  time,  having 
sustained  a  severe  injury  in  the  head  :  and  he  was  slowly  return- 


352  THE  MISER'S  SON. 

ing  to  life,  when  William  Walsingham  entered  the  place,  and  trod 
on  his  body. 

"  His  blood  !  his  blood  !"  exclaimed  Norton.  "  I  will  have 
the  murderer's  blood !" 

He  strove  to  regain  his  feet ;  but  had  it  not  been  for  the  help 
of  the  youth  he  could  not  have  done  so,  and  when  he  had  suc- 
ceeded, he  was  so  dizzy  that  he  still  needed  William's  support. 

"  O,  this  passion  of  revenge  !"  muttered  the  Materialist,  "  how 
unworthy  it  is  of  a  rational  being!  What  pleasure  can  there  be 
in  destroying  a  human  being,  because  he  has  destroyed  one  pre- 
viously ?" 

"  I  will  tear  his  heart  out!"  ejaculated  the  officer,  "and  I  will 
give  his  body  to  the  dogs !" 

"  Be  calm,"  said  the  young  man,  "  this  rage  only  exhausts 
you." 

"  I  tell  you  I  must  find  him,"  replied  Norton,  staggering  along ; 
and  in  spite  of  the  remonstrances  of  his  companion,  crawling 
through  the  low  passage  by  which  Danvers  had  escaped.  This 
being  done  with  much  difficulty,  Norton  found  himself  before  a 
mass  of  solid  rock.  "He  must  have  gone  this  way,"  said  the 
officer  to  William,  who  had  followed  him. 

"  Nay,  he  might  have  escaped  by  the  entrance  while  you  were 
without  sense — I  beseech  you,  relinquish  your  unavailing  search." 

"  Never !  I  will  pursue  him  into  hell !"  replied  the  veteran 
soldier,  vehemently.  "  Ah  !  see,  what  is  here."  And  striking 
against  what  seemed  the  solid  rock,  a  door,  so  constructed  as  to 
appear  a  portion  of  it,  unclosed.  "  He  must  have  gone  this  way  !" 
almost  screamed  the  officer,  rushing  away. 

After  taking  several  windings,  he  entered  another  narrow  pas- 
sage ;  but  as  he  was  proceeding  to  thread  it,  he  received  a  blow 
on  the  face  from  a  strong  hand.  With  a  shout  of  rage  he  sprang 
on  the  person  who  had  struck  him — concluding,  of  course,  it  was 
Danvers — but  he  soon  found,  though  it  was  nearly  pitch  dark, 
such  could  not  be  the  case ;  for  the  man  who  opposed  him  was 
a  giant  in  stature,  whereas  the  object  of  his  resentment  was  of  a 
very  common  height. 

Danvers,  meanwhile,  having  discovered  the  secret  of  the  door 
in  the  rock,  by  accidentally  falling  against  it  in  his  hurry  on 
leaving  the  low  passage,  lost  no  time  in  taking  advantage  of  the 


THE  MISER'S  SON.  353 

circumstance,  and  continuing  his  flight,  certain  that  such  was  his 
only  means  of  safety.  But  instead  of  taking  the  turning  by 
which  Norton  had  come  in  collision  with  his  tall  adversary,  he 
chose  one  which  led  him  to  the  open  air  by  many  windings, 
through  a  circular  hole  of  several  feet  in  diameter,  beneath  which 
the  river  was  gliding  calmly ;  and  hesitating  not  many  seconds, 
he  plunged  in  and  swam  to  the  opposite  shore. 

The  cavern  he  had  left  behind  was  a  deserted  mine,  which  had 
been  abandoned  centuries  before,  and  afforded  shelter  to  the  per- 
secuted Protestants  in  the  reign  of  Bloody  Mary,  who  had  in- 
creased its  natural  facilities  of  concealment  by  artificial  means. 
Afterwards,  it  had  been  worked  to  a  considerable  extent,  but  its 
vein  of  metal  was  now  quite  exhausted,  and  for  many  years  its 
proprietors  had  closed  it. 

Danvers  was  now  terribly  in  need  of  refreshment ;  not  having 
taken  anything  to  eat  for  a  great  number  of  hours,  many  of 
which  had  been  spent  in  excessive  fatigue ;  but  he  did  not  think 
it  prudent  to  expose  himself  to  observation,  by  entering  any  inn 
or  public  house,  if  such  there  were  in  the  vicinity.  Yet  he  felt 
that  if  he  did  not  procure  food,  he  should  not  be  able  to  undergo 
the  exertions  which  would  probably  be  requisite  ;  and  he  thought 
his  best  plan  would  be  to  offer  to  pay  for  provisions  at  some 
cottage,  and  proceed  on  his  way  at  once. 

Night  was  now  gradually  approaching,  and  he  was  at  a  loss 
what  direction  to  take.  There  appeared  no  vestige  of  a  habita- 
tion on  the  side  of  the  river  he  had  swum  to — and  he  could  only 
have  left  the  cave  by  taking  to  the  water — but  a  little  farther  up 
on  the  opposite  side,  where  there  was  a  heath  of  some  extent,  he 
observed  a  hut,  and  resolved  to  proceed  to  it.  He  was  very  wet, 
of  course,  and  being  too  tired  to  enjoy  swimming — although  the 
water  had  refreshed  him — he  walked  across  the  stream,  where, 
narrowing,  it  was  shallow,  and  made  for  the  squalid  abode  he 
had  noticed. 

He  went  up  to  the  hovel,  and  knocked  at  the  door,  when  a 
woman's  voice,  with  which  he  was  almost  certain  he  was  familiar, 
bade  him  "  come  in  ;"  but  in  a  tone  so  low  that  the  sound  of  it 
alone  was  audible. 

"  O,  Mother  Stokes  !"  the  voice  exclaimed,  as  Danvers,  with- 

2  z 


354  THE  MISER'S  SON. 

out  standing  on  farther  ceremony,  entered — "  so,  you're  come  at 
last!" 

But  as  Danvers  advanced,  the  woman  who  had  spoken,  and 
who  was  extended  on  a  bed,  uttered  a  scream,  while  Walter  stood 
transfixed  in  horror  and  amazement. 

"  My  wife!"  he  exclaimed.  "  Merciful  Heaven  !  How  came 
you  here  ?" 

And  his  brain  reeled  so  that  he  could  hardly  stand ;  but  his 
eye  wandering  to  a  cradle  near  the  female,  he  saw  anew-born  in- 
fant asleep  in  it,  and  the  truth  flashed  upon  him. 

"  Thus,  then,  after  long  years,  I  find  you !"  cried  Danvers, 
addressing  the  woman,  who  was  no  other  than  the  niece  of  Mother 
Stokes,  introduced  to  the  reader  in  the  early  portion  of  this 
Chronicle.  The  woman  made  no  reply.  *'  Abandoned  wretch  ! 
This  is  your  child,  then  ?"  said  Walter  Danvers.  "  Who  is  its 
father?" 

*'  That  cannot  matter  to  you,"  replied  the  female,  recovering 
her  effrontery.  "  I  do  not  ask  you  to  support  it.  Pray,  what 
do  you  here  at  such  a  lime  ?  How  did  you  know  I  was  in  this 
place  ?" 

"  Nay,  chance  has  brought  me  to  you  !  I  never  wished  to  see 
your  face  again,"  replied  Danvers,  bitterly.  "You  have  poi- 
soned my  existence,  and  made  me  guilty  and  despised.  O,  how 
I  curse  the  hour  that  I  first  saw  you  !  What  madness  and  infatua- 
tion it  was  in  me  to  make  you  my  wife !" 

"  It  was !"  returned  Mrs.  Danvers,  (if  it  be  thought  she  is 
entitled  to  that  appellation,)  speaking  with  an  icy  sneer.  "  You 
certainly  did  not  show  the  intellect  you  fancy  you  possess  in  mar- 
rying an  actress,  who  had  previously  been  kept  by  your  friend 
Mr.  Walsingham,  having  had  children " 

"  Infamous  creature !"  interrupted  Walter.  "  You  know  that 
you  deceived  me — wickedly  deceived  me.  My  God  !  that  I 
should  have  sacrificed  the  possession  of  one  of  the  purest  and 
brightest  angels  that  ever  breathed,  to  be  the  cuckold  of  such  a 
vile  harlot!"  And  he  struck  his  head  with  his  clenched  hand  in 
agony. 

"  Call  me  what  names  you  please,  dear  husband  !"  said  Mrs. 
Danvers,  with  mock  humility  and  theatrical  hyper-pathos,  "  I 


THE  MISER'S  SON.  355 

deserve  them  all :"  and  then  burst  into  a  hoarse  laugh,  which 
irritated  Danvers  to  madness. 

"  Hark  you  !"  he  cried,  approaching  close  to  her,  and  speaking 
in  a  voice  little  above  a  whisper,  but  preternaturally  distinct  and 
clear.  She  shrunk  from  him  with  a  quivering  lip,  as  he  added, 
"  There  is  a  devil  in  my  soul,  now,  which  prompts  me  to  that 
which  I  might  fearfully  repent.  How  easy  now  it  were  to  place 
my  hand  upon  your  throat,  out  of  which  you  have  insulted  me  so 
vilely " 

"  O,  God  of  Heaven !"  exclaimed  the  female,  gazing  at  the 
bright,  starting  eyes  of  her  husband,  and  shrinking  from  them 
appalled.  "Do  not  murder  me,  Walter !  Think  how  unfit  I 
am  to  die !  Spare  me,  spare  me !" 

Instead  of  the  crimson  flush  which  had  for  a  minute  covered 
his  face,  a  deathly  pallor  had  overspread  the  brow  and  cheek  of 
Danvers.  He  moved  not,  he  spoke  not;  but  continued  to  glare 
with  that  awful  look  upon  the  now  awed  and  trembling  wretch, 
till  her  flesh  crept  and  her  blood  congealed . 

"There  is  no  hope  for  me,"  thought  Mrs.  Danvers,  "if  the 
Corporal  do  not  come  directly.  Why  did  I  rouse  the  fiend  in 
his  desperate  nature  ?  That  gaze  of  stony  horror !  Ah,  Walter  ! 
have  mercy  !"  she  cried. 

"  What  harm  should  I  be  doing?"  muttered  Danvers,  still  re- 
taining the  same  immoveable  rigidity  of  position.  "  Many  a 
poor  wretch  has  been  executed  for  one  half  the  crimes  she  has 
committed  !  I  am  tempted  fiercely.  It  would  be  just,  strictly 
just !" 

"  No,  no,  Walter !"  exclaimed  the  woman,  cold  drops  of  mor- 
tal agony  on  her  brow,  throwing  herself  on  her  knees  on  the  bed 
before  him.  "  Remember  1 — was  once  your  wife,  and  I  bore 
children  to  you  !  On  my  soul,  they  are  yoursl  Indeed,  indeed, 
indeed  !" 

Well  was  it  for  the  guilty  creature  that  she  had  spoken  those 
words ;  for  the  resentment  of  that  man  of  mighty  passions  had 
been  roused  to  such  a  pitch  of  frenzy  by  her  taunts,  and  his  vio- 
lent, stern  and  sanguinary  feelings,  so  preponderated  over  reason 
and  humanity,  that  murder  seemed  nothing  to  him.  But  the 
appeal  was  perfectly  successful. 


356  THE  MISER'S  SON. 

"  Ay,  ay,  they  are  my  children,  and  hers,  too — they  aje  like 
me :  you  swear  they  are  mine,  Sophia  ?" 

"O,  yes,  yes!"  was  the  reply.  "  Pray,  leave  me— I  am  ill. 
You  see  I  have  just  been  delivered." 

"  God  forgive  you,  for  I  cannot,"  returned  Danvers,  moving 
away.  But  just  as  he  was  on  the  point  of  leaving  the  hut,  he 
was  arrested  by  a  Herculean  grasp.  Corporal  Figgins  opposed 
him.  "What!  she  has  fallen  to  be  your  strumpet,  ha!"  ex- 
claimed Danvers,  his  eagle  eye  seeming  to  read  the  Corporal's 
soul. 

"  You  are  my  prisoner !"  said  Figgins. 

"Yours!"  cried  Walter,  contemptuously.  "Huge  beast  as 
you  are,  it  would  take  a  dozen  like  you  to  capture  me." 

"  We  shall  see  about  that,"  returned  the  Corporal,  stoutly. 
"  What  brought  you  here,  to  insult  and  terrify " 

"  Scoundrel !"  exclaimed  Walter,  the  strength  he  had  lost 
through  hunger  and  fatigue,  returning  as  if  by  magic,  with  the 
rage  within  his  breast ;  and  striking  Figgins  in  the  mouth,  thereby 
dashing  out  several  of  his  strong  teeth.  The  blow  was  returned, 
and  Danvers  aimed  his  bayonet  at  the  Corporal's  heart.  Figgins 
averted  the  weapon  with  a  thick  cudgel  which  he  carried,  and 
drawing  his  sword,  attacked  his  foe. 

"  Kill  him !"  cried  the  woman,  as  the  blows  were  given  and 
parried.  "Kill  him,  Figgins!  he  knows  too  much;"  but  the 
Corporal,  with  all  his  unwieldy  strength  and  skill  in  the  use  of 
the  broadsword,  was  unequal  to  cope  with  Danvers,  armed  as  he 
was  with  the  bayonet. 

Therefore,  though  burning  with  passion,  he  was  constrained  to 
forego  all  hope  of  capturing  his  enemy,  who  compelled  him  to 
retire  into  the  hut,  and  threatened  to  transfix  him  with  his  bayonet 
to  the  wall. 

"  I  spare  you  this  once,  Mr.  Figgins,"  he  said,  however,  "  but  I 
warn  you  to  beware,  lest  I  should  think  no  more  of  slitting  that 
bull  throat  of  yours,  than  of  slaughtering  a  hog.  Your  paramour 
and  you  are  well  matched,  and  I  leave  you  to  yourselves."  And 
so  saying,  he  strode  away. 


THE  MISER'S  SON.  357 


CHAPTER  IX. 

And  there  was  famine  with  his  eager  eye, 

His  staring  bones,  and  ghastly  look  ;  as  though 

A  ghost  had  come  from  Hell  with  horrid  tales. 

Old  Play. 

"An  honest  rascal,  eh,  sir?     Know  you  him?" 

The  Rogue's  Comedy. 

HARRY     DANVERS     AND     HIS     HORRIBLE     SITUATION — JEN- 
NINGS— A    STORY — A   STRUGGLE. 

A  CONSIDERABLE  time  has  now  elapsed  since  young  Harry 
Danvers  has  appeared  on  the  stage ;  and  lest  the  circumstances 
in  which  he  was  left  should  be  forgotten,  let  us  return  to  him, 
and  see  what  turn  the  wheel  of  fortune  has  taken  in  his  case. 

Alas !  as  we  revolve  on  the  everlasting  axis  of  destiny,  how 
very,  very  seldom  do  the  stern  sisters  give  us  a  favourable  turn  ; 
and  how  frequently  are  we  left  in  a  worse  condition  than  that  in 
which  we  began ! 

Harry  Danvers  was  left  asleep,  and  if  he  could  enjoy  a  rest  so 
dreamless,  without  the  vain  struggles,  the  guilt,  and  sorrow  of 
mortal  existence,  he  was  not  to  be  pitied.  We  should  do  well  if 
we  could  forget  that  we  are,  forget  there  are  hearts  hollow  and 
cold,  forget  there  are  hopes,  joys,  and  despair ;  supposing  this 
"  might  be  the  be-all,  and  the  end-all  here  :"  but  we  have  sweet 
and  happy  feelings,  nestling  themselves  in  the  bosom  of  an  im- 
mortality ;  and  they  are  blest,  and  bright,  and  beautiful  in  the 
felicity  they  scatter,  and  the  eternity  they  so  eloquently  predicate. 
They  purify  and  etherealise  our  being,  and  even  in  pain  and  dis- 
appointment will  conduct  our  spirits  to  some  angel  sphere,  where 
the  poetry  of  our  young  hearts  may  find  realisation. 

When  the  lad  awoke,  he  felt  the  pangs  of  hunger,  and  he  had 
not  the  means  of  appeasing  the  demands  of  his  appetite.  But, 


358  THE  MISER'S  SON. 

nevertheless,  he  set  himself  to  work  with  a  strong  and  resolute 
soul,  and  made  some  progress  ;  but  was  at  last  obliged  to  stop, 
from  exhaustion.  He  threw  himself  on  the  ground  once  more, 
and  presently  slept  again ;  nature  endeavouring  thus  to  supply 
the  strength  he  could  not  obtain  from  external  means.  But  at 
ength  famine  was  preying  on  his  vitals,  and  thirst  was  goading 
him  to  madness.  He  raved  and  prayed  by  turns,  till  insensibility 
kindly  stole  over  him.  O,  the  horror  of  such  a  situation,  no 
friendly  word  to  comfort,  no  dear  face  to  smile,  to  soothe — cut 
off  in  the  morning  of  existence,  and  none  acquainted  with  that 
dark  and  awful  cloom  !  But  too  frequently  have  there  been  such 
cases  unseen  of  all  but  the  Omniscient  eye.  But  Harry  dreamed. 
God's  angel  was  in  his  bosom ;  and  he  thought  he  was  in  Elysian 
fields,  all  lovely  things  around  him,  in  the  society  of  the  beatified. 
He  might  soon  have  been  so,  if  no  human  succour  had  been  at 
hand  :  but  he  was  aroused,  after  he  had  slept  a  very  short  time, 
by  a  choking  sensation  in  the  throat,  and  opening  his  languid 
eyes,  beheld  a  most  gigantic  figure,  the  stature  of  which  seemed 
superhuman  in  the  grey  obscurity,  supporting  him.  He  gazed 
around  with  bewildered  looks. 

"Water!  O,  water!"  he  cried,  his  tongue  cleaving  to  his 
palate,  and  his  former  pangs  returning. 

"  Here  is  some  soaked  biscuit ;  try  and  eat  it,"  said  the  man, 
who  was  sustaining  him. 

Harry's  heart  leapt  at  the  sound  of  that  voice,  for  he  had  made 
up  his  mind  that  he  should  never  hear  one  again  on  earth,  and 
though  he  had  been  listening  in  imagination  to  the  songs  of 
seraphs,  I  question  whether  he  was  not  more  delighted  at  hearing 
what  was  not  anything  like  heavenly  music.  Whatever  Hobbes 
and  Mandeville  may  tell  you  to  the  contrary,  depend  upon  it 
man  does  not  hate  his  species  for  the  love  of  himself — an  assertion 
very  well  defended  by  Hazlitt,  when  he  wrote  against  Helvetius. 
O,  how  we  cling  to  this  old  earth  of  ours  !  We  fire  always  abus- 
ing it,  and  all  that  it  contains,  as  if  it  were  a  pickpocket,  or  a 
lady  of  ill  fame ;  but  we  must  in  our  hearts  conceive  it  is  a  very 
honest,  amiable,  and  virtuous  creature,  just  adapted  to  our  wants 
and  wishes.  Talk  of  evil,  misery,  &c.  &c. !  Bless  your  soul ! 
We  must  be  very  fond  of  them  ;  or  we  should  want  to  leave  them 


THE  MISER'S  SON.  359 

behind,  since  they  are  forever  pursuing  us;  but  then  we  certainly 
don't  know  if  we  all  should  do  so.     "  There's  the  rub." 

Harry  gradually  revived  ;  and  in  the  course  of  a  few  minutes 
was  able  to  express  his  thanks  to  the  friendly  stranger,  and  inquire 
how  he  happened  to  come  to  his  assistance,  how  he  got  there, 
and  several  other  questions. 

"  An  accident  has  brought  me  here,"  was  the  reply.  "  I  sup- 
pose such  has  been  your  case  ?" 

"  No,"  returned  Harry,  "  foul  treachery  has  brought  me  to 
this  pass;  and  but  for  you  [  should  have  perished." 

They  soon  entered  into  familiar  conversation ;  and  Harry 
found  his  companion  a  rather  amusing  person,  with  a  large  fund 
of  anecdote,  which  he  was  very  willing  to  impart. 

"  We  must  set  about,  and  try  to  release  ourselves  without 
delay,"  said  the  tall  man,  Harry  having  regained  his  spirits  under 
the  influence  of  his  lively,  rattling  talk ;  '*  but  you  must  rest 
yourself  first.  Explain  to  me  your  position,  and  I  may  possibly 
help  you ;  for  I  have  a  good  deal  more  power  than  you  would 
give  me  credit  for,  seeing  me  in  this  d — d  methodistical  dress." 

Harry  immediately  communicated  all  that  he  prudently  could 
concerning  himself  to  the  stranger;  who  eyed  him  with  curiosity, 
and  when  he  had  finished,  said — 

"  Well,  I'll  stand  your  friend,  if  I  can,  depend  upon  it.  Now 
suppose  you  try  to  get  a  little  sleep,  and  I'll  go  to  work  and  see 
what  I  can  do  to  release  ourselves  from  this  unpleasant  predica- 
ment. I  have  got  plenty  of  food  in  my  pockets." 

And  so  saying,  the  tall  man  produced  some  biscuits  and  meat 
from  his  huge  pockets,  and  partook  of  some  himself. 

"  Thank  you,"  cried  Harry,  "  I  can't  sleep ;  but  I  don't  know 
that  I  could  help  you  much  in  working." 

"  No,  no,"  said  the  stranger,  proceeding  to  examine  the  place 
carefully  ;  and  added,  "  in  an  hour  we  may  break  through  this 
wall ;  but  1  feel  rather  tired  myself,  and  there  is  no  very  great 
hurry — "  muttering,  "  they  won't  think  of  trying  to  get  at  me. — 
As  you  have  told  me  something  of  yourself,"  he  continued,  •'  I 
will  now  relate  some  particulars  of  my  life,  which  has  been  a 
rather  singular  one ;  for  I  have  seen  ups  and  downs  without 
number ;  but  laughed  at  the  jade  fortune — who  is  a  cursed,  fickle 
wench,  not  worth  caring  about : — and  drank,  and  made  merry, 


360  THE  MISER'S  SON. 

without  giving  a  thought  to  the  morrow.  I  am  an  easy,  jovial 
sort  of  fellow,  and  scramble  as  I  can  through  existence,  never 
bestowing  a  second  thought  on  what  may  come,  after  it  is  over." 


THE   HISTORY   OF  THE   STRANGER. 

"  My  maternal  parent  was  a  lady  attached  to  a  marching  regi- 
ment, and  married  to  a  little  wretch  of  a  drummer,  who,  I  must 
tell  you,  was  my  reputed  parent.  It  is  a  devilish  good  plan  to 
have  a  father  who  takes  care  of  you,  at  all  events.  Mr.  Jennings, 
the  gentleman  I  have  alluded  to,  was  also  a  tailor,  and  indeed  in 
person  he  was  but  the  ninth  part  of  a  man  ;  whereas  my  good 
mother  was  a  strapping  piece  of  feminine  loveliness,  standing  six 
feet  high. 

"  Now,  there  was  a  young  fellow  just  entering  life,  who  was  a 
private  in  the  regiment,  named  Figgins.  He  was,  when  Mr.  and 
Mrs.  Jennings  were  married,  somewhere  about  your  age,  or  maybe, 
a  little  older — but  was  a  tall  and  sturdy  lad,  and  his  society  was 
much  liked  :  for  he  sang  one  of  the  best  songs,  and  told  some  of 
the  most  facetious  stories  of  any  person  I  ever  knew — and  I  have 
been  so  fortunate  as  to  make  the  acquaintance  of  men  of  wit, 
humour  and  ability.  You  must  pardon  the  rough  way  in  which  I 
tell  my  story — hopping  from  one  thing  to  another  without  round- 
ing a  period,  for  I  hate  verbosity,  and  like  variety.  I  don't  know 
that  the  character  of  my  sweet  little  mother  was  unimpeachable 
before  she  married  ;  but  whispers  were  circulated,  I  have  heard, 
to  her  disadvantage,  after  she  had  entered  the  state  of  holy  matri- 
mony ;  and  it  was  asserted  that  the  boy  Figgins  '  twixt  the 
sheets'  of  my  father  *  had  done  his  office.'  Certain  it  is,  that 
in  the  course  of  time,  my  mother  produced  a  bouncing  boy,  not 
in  the  least  like  good  Mr.  Jennings,  but  more  resembling  Figgins. 
This  was  my  eldest  brother,  and  myself  and  a  sister  followed  as 
fast  as  nature  permits — a  deuced  good  job  that  human  beings 
don't  spawn  like  fish  do,  or  we  must  all  be  cannibals — all  three 
of  us  being  remarkable  for  height  and  strength.  Soon  afterwards, 
Mr.  Figgins  quitted  our  regiment,  and  entered  into  the  Horse 
Guards,  who  wanted  some  six  feet  fellows  ;  and  that  in  which  he 
had  served,  subsequently  was  ordered  abroad.  About  the  same 


THE  MISER'S  SON.  361 

time  as  the  departure  of  this  worthy,  a  singular  circumstance 
occurred,  which  exercised  a  powerful  influence  on  the  destiny  of 
my  sister  and  myself.  An  eccentric  medical  man,  who  was 
always  theorising  and  experimentalising,  had  a  fierce  dispute 
with  the  surgeon  of  the  regiment  I  have  alluded  to,  on  the  causes 
of  the  difference  of  stature  among  mankind.  The  military  sur- 
geon maintained  that  the  cause  of  this  diversity  is  the  same  as 
that  from  which  springs  superiority  of  mind — original  organiza- 
tion— while  the  theorist  stoutly  asserted  that  it  was  the  result  of 
training,  and  offered  to  make  a  bet  that  he  would  create  giants 
out  of  two  children,  if  he  had  them  under  his  care.  This  eccen- 
tric individual  carried  out  his  wager,  and  made  choice  of  my 
sister  and  me  for  his  experiment,  though,  as  I  have  said,  we 
were  always  remarkably  tall ;  and  so  he  might  give  a  shrewd 
guess  that  we  were  likely  to  substantiate  his  hypothesis.  Cer- 
tainly, he  succeeded  in  making  me  six  feet  four  in  my  stockings, 
and  my  sister  is  but  two  inches  less :  but  then  my  brother  is  full 
six  feet  three,  and  no  training  was  bestowed  on  him.  It  seems 
to  me,  sir,  that  all  these  theories  which  distract  the  brains  of  our 
knowing  ones — as  they  are  esteemed — are  so  many  humbugs, 
originated  by  quacks,  and  swallowed  by  fools,  and  that  plain 
common  sense  is  the  only  rational  thing  in  the  universe.  But  I 
am  an  exceedingly  shallow  and  superficial  fellow,  and  nothing 
but  an  empiric  myself;  so  I  don't  pretend,  by  any  means,  to  be 
infallible  in  the  oracles  1  deliver.  Opinions  go  fixing  about  hither 
and  thither,  like  leaves  before  the  wind,  and  they  don't  stay  any 
longer  for  the  most  part ;  so  I  have  no  opinions,  no  principles, 
but  am  ruled  by  my  feelings — as,  \nfact,  who  isn't? 

"Such  were  the  circumstances,  then,  which  attended  my  birth 
and  early  life.  My  parents,  and  particularly  my  father,  was 
glad  to  be  rid  of  such  encumbrances  as  two  hungry  children  : 
and,  accordingly,  my  sister  and  I  were  taken  under  the  roof  of 
the  excellent  theorist,  who,  to  do  him  justice,  provided  all  things 
proper,  both  for  our  minds  and  bodies  ;  only  he  crammed  us  nnto 
bursting  with  soups,  at  one  time,  imagining  that  liquids  are  more 
conducive  to  the  growth  of  the  body  than  solids.*  The  old  gen- 


*  Such  was  the  supposition  of  a  physician,  a  few  years  ago,  who  caused,  it  is 
said,  a  young  Irish  giant  to  reach  seven  feet  by  feeding  him  in  this  way. 

3  A 


362  THE  MISER'S  SON. 

tleman  was  a  great  Materialist  (as  I  have  heard  those  called  who 
say  we  have  nothing  but  matter  in  us — though  how  we  know 
that,  any  more  than  other  animals,  if  it  is  so,  I  don't  pretend  to 
understand.)  I  am  no  philosopher,  assuredly  ;  but  was  always 
a  very  idle  rascal,  and  never  bothered  my  head  about  what  didn't 
concern  me. 

"  My  mother,  just  before  the  regiment  her  husband  belonged  to 
embarked  for  a  foreign  country,  was  drowned  when  in  a  state  of 
intoxication,  and  I  never  heard  what  became  of  my  father ;  but 
it  was  said  that  he  never  recovered  the  joy  of  losing  his  larger 
half,  and  died  of  it  by  slow  degrees.  But  I  can't  believe  happi- 
ness has  ever  killed  a  man.  Be  this  as  it  may,  I  grew  up  strong 
and  hearty  ;  and  was  stuffed  with  a  little  Latin  and  Greek ;  but 
I  always  hated  them  cordially,  thinking  them  my  natural  enemies, 
as  good  Englishmen  do  Frenchmen ;  so  you  may  suppose  I  never 
made  much  progress.  The  theoretical  gentleman  to  whom  [  am 
indebted  for  my  education,  and  something  maybe,  of  my  inches, 
would  have  bound  me  apprentice  to  him,  and  married  me  to  a 
little  squint-eyed  girl  with  whom  he  was  trying  a  contrary  expe- 
riment to  that  I  was  submitted  to ;  but  I  relished  not  pestle  and 
mortar,  nor  four  feet  one  of  female  ugliness,  and  thought  my 
brother — who  had  been  taken  care  of  by  a  relation,  and  was  now 
a  private  in  a  dragoon  regiment,  though  only  sixteen — a  very 
lucky  chap :  for  he  had  never  been  obliged  to  learn  so  much  as 
to  read.  Thus  do  we  estimate  the  blessings  of  fortune  ;  and  ever 
by  negatives  :  what  I  mean  is,  we  do  not  feel  grateful  for  benefits 
enjoyed,  but  think  how  much  happier  we  should  be,  if  we  had 
what  we  cannot  possess.  However,  I  cut  the  fair  dwarf,  and 
cutting  limbs,  and  one  fine  morning  I  went  off  to  London  by  my- 
self, being  then  about  fifteen,  but  taller  than  many  men,  by 
several  inches.  Here  I  supported  myself  by  my  wits,  now  as  an 
auxiliary  at  one  of  the  theatres,  now  as  a  street-musician ;  and 
once  as  servant  to  a  lady  of  fashion,  who  took  a  fancy  to  my 
great  height,  and  made  a  regular  show  of  me.  She  wanted  to 
have  all  things  remarkable  about  her,  and  all  her  servants  were 
dressed  like  ladies  and  gentlemen.  I  was  a  smart  and  dashing 
fellow  of  pleasing  appearance,  and  suited  her  exactly ;  but  my 
unfortunate  predilection  for  the  fair  sex  began  to  manifest  itself 
about  this  time,  and  I  was  discovered  in  the  act  of  making  love 


THE  MISER'S  SON.  363 

to  her  eldest  daughter,  who  would  have  run  away  with  me,  if  we 
had  not  been  delected.  I  had  reached  the  age  of  seventeen  in 
this  manner,  when  my  old  protector  died,  leaving  a  thousand 
pounds  a  piece  to  my  sister,  the  squinting  dwarf,  and  myself, 
and  writing  me  a  gentle  rebuke  on  my  wildness,  adding,  if  I  were 
wise  I  should  marry  the  wife  he  had  selected  for  me,  and  get  a 
fine  family  of  children.  '  For,'  said  he,  *  perfection  lies  between 
extremes,  and  I  doubt  not  your  offspring  would  be  symmetrical 
and  beautiful.'  This  latter  piece  of  advice,  however,  I  declined 
to  profit  by,  and  I  fear  his  moral  axioms  were  equally  futile  with 
me.  My  sister  came  to  live  in  London,  and  was  very  much 
admired,  though  she  had  grown  to  an  awful  height  for  a  woman. 
I  procured  a  situation  as  secretary  to  a  gentleman  of  literary 
reputation,  who  employed  me  to  steal  all  the  tit-bits  from  the 
poets  and  others,  and  dress  them  up  in  a  new  fashion,  in  which 
work  I  was  aided  by  my  sister,  who  has  more  brains  than  I  have. 
What  a  thing  is  fame,  to  be  sure !  Strange,  that  any  one  should 
care  leaving  one  behind  him,  when  any  pitiful  pilferer  can  acquire 
it,  by  paying  a  few  pounds  to  another  to  do  his  dirty  business ! 
But  one  day  my  employer  had  the  audacity  to  take  liberties  with 
my  sister,  she  having  come  to  visit  me,  and  I  being  out,  she 
knocked  him  down.  So  I  lost  my  situation.  When  I  got  the 
legacy  left  me  by  my  worthy  old  friend,  you  may  suppose  I  soon 
spent  it.  I  kept  horses,  company,  and  mistresses,  and  very  soon 
found  myself  without  a  farthing.  But  I  hoped  to  marry  an 
heiress,  being  a  favourite  with  the  ladies,  and  I  doubt  not,  should 
have  succeeded,  had  I  been  able  lo  carry  on  the  war :  but  my 
creditors  were  importunate,  and  I  was  obliged  to  quit  London  on 
a  sudden  ;  and  being  very  hard  pushed,  I  enlisted  as  a  trooper 
in  the  regiment  my  brother  was  in.  I  became  a  favourite  with 
my  comrades,  having  some  of  the  qualities  of  Corporal  Figgins, 
thought  more  of  than  any  others  by  soldiers — although  not  half  so 
clever  a  man  :  but  the  fair  daughter  of  the  quarter-master  of  the 
regiment  having  engaged  my  affections,  I  wanted  her  to  become 
my  wife. — O,  these  women  !  Ever  since  Eve  was  made,  what  mis- 
chief they  have  brought  on  mankind  !  The  quarter-master  hear- 
ing of  this  affair,  came  to  me  in  a  great  passion,  and  swore  he 
would  horsewhip  me.  Now  I  was  known  to  be  a  man  of  some 
education ;  and  several  of  my  officers  had  even  associated  with 


364  THE  MISER'S  SON. 

me  when  I  was  a  gay  man  in  town,  so  that  I  was  not  looked 
upon  in  the  light  of  a  common  soldier.  I  gave  a  challenge  to  the 
father  of  my  beloved,  who  being  a  hot-blooded  Irishman  accepted 
it.  Pistols  were  at  hand,  and  we  fired  without  the  presence  of 
witnesses,  when  I  most  unluckily  shot  my  man  through  the  heart. 
I  was  obliged  to  decamp  without  a  minute's  delay,  and  since 
that  time  have  wandered  about  in  various  disguises>  having  had 
some  hair-breadth  escapes,  which  I  will  relate  to  you  at  some 
future  time.  Now  I  will  go  to  work." 

Thus  Mr.  Jennings  concluded  his  history,  which  he  told  with 
great  volubility,  and  Harry  having  thanked  the  tall  man  for  the 
confidence  he  had  reposed  in  him,  that  person,  the  pickaxe  in  his 
hand,  shortly  effected  a  breach  in  the  wall. 

"  Now,  then,"  he  said,  "  I  dare  say  that  we  shall  find  our  way 
out ;  but  I  must  assume  another  disguise.  I  learned  this  art 
when  [  was  pursuing  a  theatrical  occupation.  I  shall  be  lame 
and  blind,  now.  With  this  wig"  (producing  one  from  his  pocket, 
and  putting  it  on)  "  and  a  few  other  alterations,  no  one  will  know 
me." 

Harry  was  astonished  at  the  metamorphosis  which  Jennings 
soon  produced  in  his  appearance,  seeming  a  poor,  feeble  old  man, 
very  far  advanced  in  life.  His  dress  also  he  managed  to  trans- 
mogrify ;  but  not  to  his  own  satisfaction.  Looking  around  him, 
the  long  gentleman  perceived  an  oak  chest,  old  and  rotten,  and 
breaking  it  open  with  the  pickaxe,  he  exclaimed — 

"  Here's  luck  !  A  lot  of  clothes  of  all  sorts.  You  had  better 
help  yourself,  for  if  you'll  take  my  advice,  you  II  assume  a  disguise 
also." 

From  a  heap  of  miscellaneous  articles  of  apparel,  Harry  selected 
a  cloak,  which  had  once  been  handsome,  and  was  not  in  a  bad 
state  of  preservation  considering  the  age  it  was  apparently  of. 
Jennings  chose  some  other  garments  for  himself,  and  then  said  — 

"  Now  I  will  stain  your  face,  if  you  like,  with  a  preparation  I 
have  here ;  and  you  may  then  go  where  you  will,  and  not  be  re- 
cognised." 

So  Harry,  reflecting  that  he  might  prosecute  his  search  after 
his  father  with  greater  safety,  if  he  took  the  counsel  of  his  new 
friend,  submitted  to  have  his  fair  face  embrowned,  and  they  then 


THE  MISER'S  SON.  365 

sallied  forth,  the  youth  declaring  he  felt  quite  strong  again.  But 
as  they  were  proceeding  through  a  dark  passage,  Jennings  cried, 
"  Hist !"  Scarcely  had  the  word  escaped  his  lips  when  hasty 
footsteps  were  heard  advancing. 

"  Stand  here !"  said  Jennings,  in  .a  low  voice.  Even  as  he 
spoke  the  footsteps  approached  to  within  a  few  feet  of  them  ; 
and  the  tall  man  bidding  Harry  follow  him,  noiselessly  moved 
forward,  and  the  passage  being  wide  enough  to  admit  but  of  one 
person  threading  it  at  a  time,  whispered,  "  We  must  fight  for  it :" 
and  thrusting  out  his  long  arm,  bestowed  a  terrible  blow  on  a 
person  within  a  yard  of  him.  The  stroke  was  returned  ;  but  Jen- 
nings soon  hurled  his  opponent  to  the  earth,  and  with  Harry  at 
his  heels,  was  proceeding  again,  when  a  second  individual  opposed 
them. 

There  was  another  brief,  but  strong  struggle,  when  the  tall 
man  was  for  a  second  time  victorious,  and  still  accompanied  by 
the  youth  hastened  away,  and  met  with  no  farther  resistance. 
So  we  will  leave  them,  and  glance  at  some  other  of  our  acquain- 
tances, whom  we  have  not  seen  of  late. 


CHAPTER  X. 

Alas  !  our  young  affections  run  to  waste, 

Or  water  but  the  desart !     Whence  arise 
But  weeds  of  dark  luxuriance — tares  of  haste, 

Rank  at  the  core,  tho'  tempting  to  the  eyes. 

BYRON. 

CHARLES  WALSINGHAM — MISTRESS  HAINES— AND  A  PHILIP- 
PIC AGAINST  THE  WORLD,  WHICH  CONCLUDES  THIS  EVENT- 
FUL BOOK. 

IT  was  a  night  of  tempest  and  violence.  The  lurid  lightning 
shot  athwart  the  sky,  succeeded  by  claps  of  thunder  at  rapid  in- 
tervals, and  the  heavy  sleet  and  rain  descended  without  a  mo- 
ment's cessation.  Some  solitary  star  might  occasionally  be  seen 


366  THE  MISER'S  SON. 

ill  the  black  vault  above  ;  but  no  moon  gleamed  through  the 
heavy,  gigantic  clouds,  and  the  wind  whistling  in  dismal  and 
fitful  gusts,  tended  to  aggravate  the  gloom  and  desolation  of  the 
scene. 

But  these  things  were  little  known  by  the  occupants  of  a 
chamber  in  a"  lone  country  house — one  of  them  being  in  a  semi- 
dozing  condition,  and  the  other  absorbed  in  stern  and  intense 
reverie. 

The  former  of  these  persons  was  a  handsome  young  man,  who 
lay  on  a  sofa — or  rather  a  rustic  bench,  covered  with  cushions — 
with  a  pale  face,  and  attenuated  frame,  seeming  not  yet  recovered 
from  severe  and  protracted  illness.  The  other  was  a  woman  in 
the  decline  of  life,  with  gray  hair,  and  dark,  fiery  eyes,  which 
were  now,  however,  grave,  and  bent  down,  lines  of  thought  and 
sorrow  distinctly  visible  in  her  sunken  cheek,  and  haughty  and 
commanding  brow. 

At  length  the  woman  rose  from  the  chair  on  which  she  had 
been  sitting,  and  went  to  the  window.  She  surveyed  the  scene 
without  with  a  stern,  unmoved  countenance,  muttering — 

"  What  is  the  scathing  hand  of  the  tempest,  to  the  desolation 
and  destruction  that  rage  in  a  human  bosom  ?  Nature  will  look  fair, 
and  put  on  her  holiday  smiles  again  :  the  sky  will  be  blue  and 
calm,  and  the  glorious  lights  of  Heaven  will  shine  as  if  they  were 
spiritual  beings  removed  from  change ;  but  the  soul  which  has 
lost  its  radiance  once,  pines  and  droops,  until  the  silence  of  the 
grave  closes  over  it." 

Having  thus  said,  she  folded  her  arms  across  her  chest,  and 
stood  in  an  attitude  of  contemplation  for  the  space  of  some  mi- 
nutes, the  lurid  flames  above  throwing  a  ghastly  and  spectral  hue 
upon  her  bold  and  striking  lineaments.  Presently  she  returned 
to  the  couch  by  which  she  had  been  resting,  and  scrutinized  the 
features  of  the  young  man  there. 

"  A  splendid  form, — in  health,  manly,  vigorous  and  imposing," 
she  said. 

Her  voice  awoke  the  sleeper,  who  exclaimed — 
"  You  are  very  good  to  take  so  much  interest  in  me.     In  a 
few  days  I  hope  I  shall  not  be  obliged  to  trespass  farther  on  your 
"kindness." 

"  I  am  glad  you  feel  you  are  getting  better." 


THE  MISER'S  SON.  367 

As  the  woman  was  thus  speaking,  a  vivid  flash  of  lightning 
revealed  a  miniature  which  she  wore,  and  which  had  escaped 
from  her  bosom. 

"  How  very  strange !"  said  the  sick  man. 

"  What  is  very  strange?"  inquired  the  female. 

"  I  was  thinking  you  bear  a  wonderful  resemblance  to  some 
picture  that  I  have  seen,"  was  the  reply,  "  and  now  I  perceive 
you  are  the  very  image  of  the  miniature  you  wear,  which  is  evi- 
dently one  of  Charles  the  Second." 

A  flush  of  mingled  pride  and  shame  rose  to  the  woman's  brow. 

"  Yes,  Captain  Walsingham,"  she  said,  "  that  monarch  was 
my  father.  He  was  a  man  with  evil  passions — with  dark  crimes 
it  may  be ; — but  yet  he  had  virtues  which  shone  forth  from  that 
darkness,  like  the  flame  of  Heaven  therefrom  the  gloom  around. 
1(0  was  a  man  of  intellect,  and  natural  feeling  ;  but  all  his  best 
qualities  were  perverted,  and  his  abilities  suffered  to  rust  from 
neglect.  He  died  almost  before  I  saw  the  light,  and  I,  who 
might  have  mingled  with  the  most  illustrious  among  the  great, 
am  now  a  poor,  old,  withered  creature,  mourning  over  great 
wrongs,  and  unable  to  right — to  revenge  myself.  But  there  is  a 
God  above,  who  will  redress  the  injuries  of  the  widow  ;  and  the 
time  is  at  hand,  when  I  shall  see  the  tyrant  and  the  usurper  de- 
throned, and  the  family  to  which  I  belong  wielding  the  sceptre  of 
their  ancestors." 

The  daughter  of  a  vicious  king  spoke  with  vehemence  and 
rapidity,  as  if  unable  to  stem  the  torrent  of  her  feelings,  and 
there  was  that  about  her  which  confirmed  the  truth  of  her  asser- 
tion, not  only  in  looks,  but  in  words,  and  tones  and  gestures. 

Walsingham  (the  invalid  was  he)  regarding  her  compassionately, 
rejoined — 

"  To  what  injustice,  may  I  ask,  do  you  allude?" 
"  Listen,"  she  answered,  with  that  startling  and  abrupt  man- 
ner which  conceals  and  stifles  passion.  «'  I  had  once  a  son,  the 
glory  and  pride  and  hope  of  my  existence.  I  had  once  a  hus- 
band, kind,  brave,  generous,  and  good.  My  son  was  even  such 
a  man  as  you  are.  The  same  height  of  stature  and  military 
bearing  made  him  look  like  the  descendant  of  a  line  of  monarchs  : 
the  same  fine,  open  features  promised  the  firmness,  sagacity,  and 
courage  which  he  had  ;  and  if  ever  there  lived  one  worthy  of  be- 


368  THE  MISER'S  SON. 

ing  called  a  hero — one  worthy  to  stand  among  his  fellow-men, 
erect  in  the  majesty  of*  worth  and  mind, — he  was  pre-eminently 
so.  I  think  I  see  him  now,  poor  boy  !  with  his  flashing  eye  and 
powerful  frame,  ready  to  go  forth  to  battle  in  the  sacred  cause  of 
Justice.  I  think  I  see  him  in  all  the  flush  of  youth  and  valour, 
each  limb  so  strong,  each  beauty  so  magnificent !  And  then  a 
pale,  stiff  corse,  livid  with  the  marks  of  the  hangman's  hands. 
They  would  not  give  him  so  much  as  a  soldier's  death.  O  God 
of  Heaven  !  thou  alone  knowest  what  I  have  endured  !  Thou 
alone  art  conscious  of  the  extent  of  the  ruin  and  wretchedness 
within  me,  and  canst  alone  revenge  my  wrongs — my  fearful,  un- 
utterable wrongs  !" 

Walsingham  attempted  to  soothe  the  excited  feelings  of  his 
companion ;  but  her  frenzy  rushed  in  a  lava  flood  of  violence 
from  her  bursting  heart,  and  she  continued.  ^ 

"  In  the  fatal  rebellion  of  1715,  my  husband  and  son  were 
given  commissions  in  the  army  under  the  Earl  of  Mar.  They 
had  previously  served  in  France  as  private  soldiers  ;  but  their 
bravery  and  prowess  had  attracted  the  attention  of  King  James, 
and  I,  through  a  friend  who  was  in  his  household,  having  made 
known  to  him  that  my  boy  was  the  grandson  of  the  restored 
Charles,  he  interested  himself  in  his  behalf.  You  know  the  ter- 
mination of  the  war  in  Scotland;  and  you  know  also  that  many 
brave  men  were  taken  and  executed.  My  husband  fell  in  battle, 
as  a  soldier  ought ;  and  I  wept  for  him,  with  tears  of  pride  and 
grief;  but  my  child — my  only  child,  was  hanged  like  a  felon; 
and  I  shed  no  tears  for  him,  but  breathed  a  deep  and  bitter  vow 
of  vengeance,  which  I  will  accomplish  ere  I  die.  My  son  had 
attained  the  same  rank  in  the  army  as  you  hold,  and  he  was  be- 
loved and  admired  by  all  his  comrades.  Oh,  he  was  so  good,  so 
great !  None  can  know  the  agony  of  a  heart  whose  every  throb, 
hope,  wish,  is  centered  in  a  darling  child — one  always  most  af- 
fectionate, noble,  and  exalted, — when  his  death  is  attended  with 
infamy,  and  he  is  cut  off  when  a  proud  career  of  honour  is  open- 
ing to  him,  in  the  vigour  and  blossom  of  his  life ; — a  thousand 
bright  and  radiant  things,  which  are  to  the  human  soul  what 
angels  are  to  heaven,  destroyed  for  ever  by  his  death.  And  I 
have  been  like  a  tree  struck  by  the  ethereal  fire — all  joy  and 
splendour  crushed  and  blasted  within  ;  and  my  only  desire  on 


THE  MISER'S  SON.  369 

earth,  a  holy,  an  awful,  and  a  consummate  vengeance!  Young 
man,  you  serve  the  cause  I  hate;  you  are  the  minion  of  those 
who  cut  off  from  me  the  tendrils  which  twined  around  my  heart ; 
and  when  you  hear  my  maledictions,  you  feel  no  goodwill  for  me. 
But  if  you  had  experienced  the  dire  and  burning  pangs  which 
have  scorched  up  the  very  springs  of  this  existence  1  bear,  until 
they  have  become  like  living  fire,  pouring  torture  and  madness 
through  my  veins,  you  would  not  think  Elizabeth  Haines  a  re- 
vengeful and  bloodthirsty  woman.  You  would  not  think  my 
words  are  those  of  gall ;  you  would  not  wonder  I  am  desperate 
and  frenzied." 

The  blood  had  mounted  to  the  pallid  cheek  of  the  Hanoverian 
soldier  as  Elizabeth  poured  forth  her  torrent  of  invective  ;  but  to- 
wards the  climax  of  her  speech,  pity  and  tenderness  were  expressed 
by  his  looks,  and  every  vestige  of  anger,  kindled  by  the  dispa- 
raging allusions  to  himself  in  connection  with  the  existing  govern- 
ment, vanished  from  his  open  forehead.  "  1  sympathise  with  your 
sorrows  most  sincerely,"  he  said  ;  "  but  surely  it  is  our  duty,  as 
Christians,  hoping  to  receive  mercy,  and  conscious  for  the  neces- 
sity of  the  exercise  of  it  toward  ourselves,  to  forgive  the  injuries 
with  which  we  have  been  assailed,  and  to  leave  a  righteous  retri- 
bution to  the  infallible  Judge  of  all." 

Elizabeth  vouchsafed  no  answer ;  and  the  young  man  added  : 
"  Poor  indeed  is  the  good  or  evil,  the  mercy,  or  the  justice  man 
can  do  ;  and  for  the  virtuous  dead,  what  care  they  for  vengeance  ? 
Are  they  not  happy  beyond  conception  ?  Can  we  add  aught  to 
their  felicity  ?  The  gallant  husband  and  son  you  so  deeply  lament, 
are  perhaps  enjoying  even  now  the  fruits  of  their  good  deeds  on 
earth,  and  you  may  possibly  be  giving  them  cause  for  sorrow — if 
they  can  grieve — by  fostering  a  sentiment  inimical  to  religion  on 
their  account.  We  all  of  us  err,  and  must  suffer ;  but  there  is 
One  who  knows  our  weakness  and  commiserates " 

"  Ay  !"  exclaimed  Elizabeth  ;  "  but  He  makes  man  the  instru- 
ment of  His  vengeance;  or  else,  why  should  He  have  instituted 
laws,  which  were  to  be  vindicated  with  severity?  And  I  have 
sworn  to  seek  justice,  and  I  will  have  it,  or  die.  Wherefore 
should  I  forgive  those  who  have  so  irremediably  wronged  me  ? 
who  cared  not  for  my  tears  and  prayers,  and  the  youth  and 
gallantry  of  my  heroic  boy  ;  who  spurned  me  with  insult  and 

3  B 


370  THE  MISER'S  SON. 

treated  me  with  indignity,  though  the  last  daughter  of  a  king- 
arid  tearing  my  son  away  from  my  widowed  arms,  consigned  him 
to  the  death  of  a  common  malefactor  ?  Theirs  are  low  and 
slavish  spirits  who  would  not  seek  to  be  revenged  for  wrongs  like 
these !  O,  God  of  Eternity  !  that  I  should  live  and  see  him  in 
the  convulsions  of  expiring  mortality,  without  stirring,  weeping, 
speaking,  and  live — so  long  : — all  the  sap  which  supplied  my  in- 
most being  with  vitality,  so  cruelly  drawn  away  from  me ;  and 
nothing  left  to  support  my  agonized  soul,  my  dreary  and  desolate 
existence — except  revenge — except  that." 

"  Alas!"  replied  the  soldier:  "deep  and  terrible  are  the  trials 
with  which  we  are  afflicted  ;  and  it  is  only  by  enduring  them  with 
that  high  and  heavenly  philosophy  which  Faith  and  Virtue  can 
supply,  that  we  can  hope  to  sustain  them,  and  cause  them  to 
operate  to  the  purpose  for  which  they  were  sent — our  own  puri- 
fication and  exaltation.  Too  often  are  we  in  the  habit  of  calling 
that  just  which  harmonises  with  our  passions.  We  must  learn 
to  extract  good  from  evil,  and  apply  the  poison  as  a  wholesome 
medicine,  necessary  to  prepare  us  for  a  better  state.  I  must  ac- 
knowledge that  the  conduct  of  the  government  in  the  year  when 
that  unhappy  rebellion  terminated  was  harsh,  and  perhaps  san- 
guinary :  but  stringent  measures  were  at  that  time  indispensable, 
and  could  not  be  carried  out  without  the  effusion  of  blood.  Of 
course  the  least  guilty  were  sometimes  immolated  ;  but  for  the 
sustentation  of  the  monarchy " 

"What!  do  you  justify  the  murder  of  my  son?"  burst  out 
Elizabeth,  indignantly. 

"  I  do  not !  I  myself  would  have  pardoned  him  and  every  other 
valiant  enemy  freely,"  replied  Charles.  "  It  never  would  be  with 
satisfaction  that  I  could  take  the  life  even  of  the  basest ;  but  a 
painful  sense  of  public  duty  must  have  compelled  me  to  sacrifice 
rny  individual  feelings  ;  and  I  think  and  hope  that  such  a  princi- 
ple dictated  the  execution  of  your  son/' 

"Talk  not  of  execution !"  exclaimed  Elizabeth.  "Call  the 
deed  by  its  right  name!  It  was  inhuman,  if  legalised  murder. — - 
Shall  we  say  that  a  government  has  a  right  to  commit  any  deeds, 
when  an  accursed  tribunal  condemned  the  son  of  the  Eternal  to 
die  ? — I  speak  it  with  all  reverence  !" 

"  O,  no!"  cried  Walsinghum.     "  But  surely  no  parallel  is  to 


THE  MISER'S  SON.  371 

be  drawn  between  such  cases.     The  Messiah  shed  no  blood  ;  but 
these  misguided  men  committed  many  atrocities." 
His  words  were  heeded  not,  and  he  desisted. 
"  My  boy  !  my  boy !  how  nobly  he  bore  himself,   even   unto 
death !"    cried  the  widow,    passionately. — "  Undaunted  to  the 
last,  he  raised  his  voice,  and  exclaimed  against  the  injustice  of 
the  house  of  Hanover,  and  prayed  Heaven  to  make  the  righteous 
cause  triumph  at  last — And  it  shall — it  shall ! — He  lived  and  died 
a  hero,  as  lofty  as  was  ever  deified  or  immortalised  in  the  ancient 
Roman  days  !" 

Walsingham's  eye  fired  at  this  description,  and  then  became 
dim  with  tears. 

"  O,  that  I  could  have  saved  him  !"  he  ejaculated  with  enthu- 
siasm. "  O,  that  the  sacrifice  of  my  life  could  have  given  to  the 
world  so  brave  and  generous  a  spirit ! — But,  tell  me :  cannot  I 
serve  the  gentleman  under  whose  roof  I  now  am  ?  Is  he  not  in 
danger,  from  having  acted  with  imprudence?" 

"  If  we  should  ever  need  your  help,"  replied  Elizabeth  Haines, 
softened  by  the  fervour  she  had  elicited  from  Charles,  by  the  pic- 
ture she  had  drawn  of  her  son ;  "  I  will  not  fail  to  ask  you  to 
exert  your  influence  in  his  behalf." 

"  I  thank  you  cordially  for  that  promise,"  said  Walsingham. 
"  Is  there  nothing  I  can  do  for  you,  also  ?" 

"  Nothing,"  returned  Elizabeth,  rather  haughtily ;  "  you  do 
not  owe  me  anything :  and  I  would  never  willingly  receive  any 
benefit  at  the  hands  of  an  officer-of  the  Elector  of  Hanover." 

The  soldier  coloured,  but  did  not  reply  for  some  time.  When 
he  did  so,  he  said — 

"  You  will  convey  a  short  letter  for  me  to  the  yoH,ng  lady,  who 
was  such  a  ministering  angel  to  me : — you  cannot  refuse  me  this 
•last  request?" 

"  I  must  not,"  said  Mrs.  Haines,  though  with  more  hesitation 
than  was  usual  with  her. 

"  Yes,  yes,"  you  will !"  cried  Charles.  "  I  swear  to  you  it 
shall  contain  nothing  which  the  saints  themselves  might  not  read. 
I  have  centred  all  my  fondest  hopes  and  aspirations  in  that  pure 
young  being :  and  her  absence  has  impeded  the  progress  of  my 
recovery.  I  need  not  add  that  my  designs  are  honest.  I  would 


372  THE  MISER'S  SON. 

not  wrong  any  woman  that  lives,  and  for  her — L  should  as  soon 
offer  an  insult  to  a  seraph/' 

"  Well,  I  will  take  your  letter,"  replied  Mrs.  Haines ;  "  but  I 
warn  you  that  she  can  never  become  your  wife  :  there  is  an  insur- 
mountable barrier  betwixt  you." 

Often,  very  often  have  those  words  sounded  like  a  knell  to  the 
sweet  bells,  which  chime  like  those  of  the  Eastern  Paradise,  in 
youth,  because  the  vile  barriers  of  the  world  arise  between  pure 
loves,  and  fetter  the  limbs  with  iron, — which  eats  into  the  flesh 
more  keenly  than  the  chains  of  a  tyrant !  The  end  of  all  joy — 
the  seal  of  all  the  aerial  soarings,  and  pantings,  the  awakening 
from  the  sweet  dream  of  passion,  and  the  thrilling  ecstasies  which 
now  are  yours,  O  bright  ones !  such  must  be — such  is  the  inexo- 
rable, universal  destiny.  And  behold  the  poet  and  the  visionary 
changed  into  the  cold,  heartless  man  of  the  world,  sordid,  and 
selfish,  and  sarcastic,  without  aught  of  the  lofty  and  generous 
feeling  which  was  kindled  by  the  pure  breath  of  affection  !  And 
lo,  the  gentle,  tender  girl,  with  her  romance,  her  delicacy,  her 
truthfulness,  a  dissipated,  degraded,  guilty  creature,  sacrificed  by 
those  who  worshipped  Mammon  for  dust — to  which  they  have 
returned.  Gold!  gold!  opinion,  bigotry,  and  prejudice,  what 
miseries  have  ye  created !  Dear  Reader !  What  thing  seems 
most  desirable  in  your  eyes  ?  Power  ?  O,  bethink  you  how  it 
has  crumbled  from  the  grasp  of  the  mighty  of  old  time !  Love  it 
not,  seek  it  not,  if  to  attain  it  you  are  required  to  give  up  a  tittle 
of  those  humble  household  enjoyments,  which  you  know  not  the 
value  of  until  they  are  gone.  Make  of  the  smiles  and  tears  which 
are  in  the  spirit,  friends, — for  it  is  good  to  be  happy,  it  is  good 
to  be  sorrowful.  But  would  you  have  wealth  ? — Find  it  in  the 
heart.  Are  gold,  diamonds,  rubies,  to  be  compared  to  the  warm 
drops  that  flow  in  the  human  bosom?  The  Penates,  of  which 
the  beautiful  feelings  of  nature  constitute  the  substance  and  the 
spirit,  must  not  be  hurled  down,  for  the  idols  of  the  world — 

"  Whose  root  is  earth,  whose  leaves  and  branches  be 
The  skies  which  rain  their  plagues  on  men,  like  dew." 


END    OF    BOOK   VI. 


BOOK    VII. 


We  are  the  fools  of  time  and  terror  :  Days 
Steal  on  us  and  steal  from  us  :  yet  we  live 
Loathing  our  life,  and  dreading  still  to  die. 

Manfred.. 

Down,  reason  then  j  at  least,  vain  reasonings  down. 

MILTON. 

Inspiring  thought  of  rapture  yet  to  be, 

The  tears  of  love  were  hopeless  but  for  Ihee  ! 

CAMPBEM., 

To-morrow  and  to-morrow,  and — to-morrow, 
Creeps  in  this  petty  space  from  day  to  day, 
To  the  last  syllable  of  recorded  time  ! 
And  all  our  yesterdays  have  but  lighted  fools 
The  way  to  dusky  death ! — Macbeth. 


©€><§>  IK  wan, 


CHAPTER  I. 


Here  he  was  interrupted  by  a  knife 

With  "  D — n  your  eyes!  your  money  or  your  life!" 

BYRON. 


THE    PHILOSOPHER    AND    HIS    MEDITATIONS— THE  CHILDREN 
— WALSINGHAM — THE  ROBBERS — HARRY  AND  DANVERS. 

HE  sultry  breath  of  the  noonday  was  mingling 
with  soft  and  refreshing  gales,  .and  the  long 
shadows  of  the  trees  upon  the  grass  indicated 
that  evening  was  at  hand,  though  the  royal 
orb  of  day  was  still  shining  gloriously  in  the 
western  sky,  and  tinging  the  fantastically 
shaped  clouds  with  gorgeous  hues  of  yellow, 
pink,  and  crimson.  The  faint  disk  of  the  moon  might  be  seen  in 
the  soft,  blue  heaven,  resembling  some  ideal  image,  rather  than 
aught  substantial.  A  spirit  of  love  and  stillness  seemed  to  hang 
enamoured  over  the  radiant  scene,  and  the  notes  of  the  thrush 
and  the  blackbird  in  the  verdant  hedges,  which  enclosed  fields 
and  orchards  abounding  with  corn  and  fruit,  sounded  sweetly 
and  harmoniously  in  the  calm  air  ;  and  Nature  smiling  solemnly 


376  TFIE  MISER'S  SON. 

and  tenderly,  in  the  serenity  of  her  dreamy  soul,  appeared  to 
say,  "  We  have  had  enough  of  darkness,  of  terror,  and  convul- 
sion ;  let  us  now  remain  for  ever  thus,  and  woo  the  divine  beings 
who  live  in  the  everlasting  effulgence  to  come  and  see  how  happy, 
how  tranquil,  all  may  be,  even  far  away  from  the  spheres  of 
glory !" 

Some  such  thoughts  as  these  had  probably  been  passing 
through  the  mind  of  a  solitary  mortal,  who  sat,  enjoying  the  fra- 
grant breeze,  scented  with  the  breath  of  dewy  flowers,  beneath 
an  enormous  elm,  which  overshadowed  a  pretty  little  cottage, 
nestled  among  woodlands,  but  commanding  on  one  side  a  beauti- 
ful and  extensive  view  of  hill  and  valley,  stream  and  pasture; 
for  as  a  shade  of  deep  melancholy  was  visible  on  his  face,  he  said, 
in  a  low  voice — 

"  Yes,  all  is  like  Heaven,  now  !  Thus  humanity,  with  peace 
within,  and  beauty,  and  love,  and  melody  without,  may  for  a  few 
moments  forget  that  there  is  such  a  thing  as  sorrow.  But  the 
history  of  all  is  DESOLATION  ;  the  calm  is  only  the  forerunner  of 
the  tempest;  the  storm  gathers,  and  brings  ruin  with  it;  and 
the  dream  disperses."  The  rest  is  silence. 

What  a  man  was  there  !  Though  below  the  height,  even  of 
what  is  considered  a  diminutive  person,  though  slight,  and  pale, 
and  fragile,  the  intense  and  eager  spirit  within  illuminating  his 
white  cheek,  and  breathing  on  his  parted  lip — the  deep  and 
majestic  character  of  intellect  so  vividly  impressed  on  each  feature 
and  each  line  of  his  eloquent  countenance,  denoted  one  of  those 
master  spirits,  which  soar  on  immortal  pinions  to  the  stars,  and 
commune  with  feelings,  desires,  and  aspirations,  which  are  not 
bounded  by  time  and  space. 

But  if  the  splendour  of  his  other  features  was  remarkable, 
much  more  so  was  the  God-like  effulgence  of  his  forehead,  which 
was  covered  with  a  skin  so  delicate,  that  every  vein  in  it  was  per- 
ceptible ;  and  the  subtile  workings  of  the  brain  seemed  equally 
visible,  as  the  thronging,  clear,  and  aspiring  thoughts  were  busy 
in  that  organ  where  ail  sensation  is:  and  which  looked  forth  a 
world  of  infinite  things  from  his  large,  luminous,  and  piercing 
eyes,  that,  but  for  the  long  lashes  which  shaded  them,  would  have 
been  almost  insufferably  brilliant.  Intellect  and  imagination 
were  the  predominating  characteristics  of  that  wonderful  face  ; 


THE  MISER'S  SON.  377 

but  sensibility  and  gentleness,  with  a  mixture  of  that  quiet  sad- 
ness which  is  now  more  like  thought  than  melancholy,  and  now 
the  reverse,  pervaded  its  general  expression.  The  head  was  ex- 
quisitely formed,  and  covered  with  fair  hair,  such  as  that  which 
Milton  is  represented  to  have  possessed,  and  although  his  age 
was  not  above  six- and -thirty,  he  was  a  little  grey,  and  lines  of 
sorrow  blended  with  those  of  reflection  on  his  brow.  His  frame, 
as  has  been  remarked,  was  very  small  and  delicate ;  but  would 
have  been  decidedly  symmetrical,  but  for  a  slight  and  nearly  im- 
perceptible crookedness  in  the  left  shoulder.  He  might  have 
looked  contemptible  by  the  side  of  a  giant,  if  the  size  of  his 
person  alone  were  taken  into  consideration  ;  but  the  blaze  of  his 
face  was  such,  that  few  indeed  among  the  children  of  men  could 
have  borne  comparison  with  its  continuous  light.  Yet  there  was 
repose  in  each  look,  and  tranquil  dignity  in  each  gesture,  which 
mellowed  the  brightness  of  his  countenance,  and  imparted  lofty 
grandeur  even  to  his  puny  form.*  Inward  and  frequent  commu- 
ning with  his  soul,  was  evidently  a  delight  to  him;  and  he  was 
now  engaged  in  profound  meditations,  which  were  partly  embo- 
died in  the  following  words:  — 

"  '  The  rest  is  silence!'  So  said  Hamlet,  when  he  expired. 
So,  after  the  turmoil  of  this  being,  there  is  not  a  breath  to  dis- 
turb or  to  excite !  The  end  of  Life  is  Death.  Is  Death  no- 
thing ?  When  we  gaze  on  the  rigid  lineaments,  the  stiffened 
body,  the  glazed  eyes,  the  dull,  heavy  forehead,  we  ask,  Is  this, 
then,  all  ?  Where  is  the  mind  which  informed  those  now  mo- 
tionless features?  Is  the  mind  nothing  ?  For  it  must  be  so,  or 
else  an  essence  of  itself.  Whatsoever  exists  is  indestructible. 
The  forms  of  things  may  perish,  but  the  substance  cannot  be 
destroyed.  It  is  possible,  then,  that  form  is  the  creation  of  our 
mind,  as  matter  is  the  affection  of  the  senses.  Both  exist ; 
otherwise  it  is  impossible  to  conceive  the  intellect  or  the  senses 
as  existing.  Then  Death  is  an  entity.  It  has  form,  if  it  have  no 
substance  ;  but  it  is  in  the  mind — an  idea  which  is  universal. 
Life  also  exists;  and  in  these  things  are  the  arch -mysteries  of 

*  This  description  is  long  and  minute  :  but,  to  my  mind,  there  is  something 
deeply  interesting  in  the  study  of  the  outward  form,  which  almost  without  ex- 
ception conveys  the  image  of  the  mental  shape. 

3c 


378  THE  MISER'S  SON. 

Being.  Beautiful  Life  !  With  all  thy  music  and  visions  of  stu- 
pendous magnificence,  thine  ethereal  grace  and  motion,  what  art 
thou  ?  Thy  looks  are  as  an  angel's,  and  thou  must  come  from 
none  less  than  God.  Then  what  is  Death  ?  Who  made  the 
horrible  corruption,  the  foul  smell,  the  loathsomeness,  the  silence 
wherein  thou  dwellest?  Does  the  Creator  of  life  blast  his  own 
sublime  work  ?  Does  He  change  the  loveliness  into  deformity, 
the  symmetry  and  perfect  excellence  into  a  heap  of  shapeless 
ashes?  The  Sculptor  does  not  break  the  statue  on  which  he  has 
expended  his  thought  and  labour :  but  Time  is  the  iconoclast. 
Say,  whence  is  Death  ?  Is  there  some  evil,  as  well  as  some  good 
Omnipotence  ?  Two  Omnipotences  ?  Impossible!  One,  or  none 
at  all. 

"Then  Dealh  is  from  God?  He  created  not  Death,  but  the 
elements  of  Death;  and  we  must  ask  wherefore?  Reason, 
haughty  Reason  !  answer  thou  this.  Solve  the  problem,  explain 
the  necessity  !  Look  at  the  agonies  which  follow  in  the  steps  of 
Death — did  a  merciful  Creator  inflict  them  ?  Did  he  make  the 
poor  widow  desolate,  and  the  innocent  children  orphans,  for 
nothing?  Death  itself  a  good  man  will  not  fear;  but  to  leave 
those  he  loves  to  a  cold  world  is  hard  indeed.  Is  Death  the  end 
of  Life  ?  After  a  "  fitful  fever"  of  many  painful  diseases  of  mind 
and  body, — hopes  annihilated,  and  joys  crushed  unsparingly,  is 
"  Silence,"  I  ask,  the  consummation  of  all  ?  Is  the  goodness  of 
the  Eternal  evinced  in  Evil  ?  If  this  were  a  sweet  and  a  plea- 
sant existence,  to  be  succeeded  by  a  sleep  from  which  there  is  no 
waking,  it  were  well ;  we  should  have  nothing  to  complain  of 
but  the  cessation  of  joy.  Though,  even  then,  it  is  not  possible  to 
conceive  that  in  the  infinite  design,  where  nothing  is  lost  or 
wasted,  the  human  mind,  which  is  the  most  exalted  work  of  all, 
should  sink  into  nothingness ;  while  dull  matter  exists  for  ever. 
Great  Being!  Incomprehensible  are  thy  ways;  but  to  me  that 
incomprehensibility  is  a  manifestation  of  thy  divinity  and  my 
weakness.  Wisdom  in  vain  would  fathom  thy  mysterious  opera- 
tions, and  Genius  penetrate  into  thy  secret  councils.  But  I 
thank  Thee  for  the  conviction  of  a  surpassing  eternity,  stamped 
in  thy  divinest  characters  on  my  soul !  I  bless  thee  that  I  exist ; 
I  thank  thee  that  I  suffer ;  for  I  know  that  if  Thou  art,  I  am  to 
live,  when  Universes  have  passed  away." 


THE  MISER'S  SON.  379 

Such  were  the  feelings  and  contemplations  of  a  philosopher. 
He  had  read  and  thought  with  all  the  power  of  a  strong,  a  vigo- 
rous, and  original  understanding  ;  and  his  conviction  of  the  im- 
mortality of  the  soul,  was  mighty  to  sustain  and  comfort  him. 
We  invariably  find  that  the  finest  and  noblest  spirits  are  ever 
most  clingingly  attached  to  the  idea  of  their  Eternal  Destiny  ; 
and  while  others  may  pursue  the  phantoms  of  a  vain  ambition, 
and  a  worldly  lust,  how  striking  is  the  contrast  between  their 
gross  and  miserable  Idols,  and  the  bright  Deities  which  are  the 
objects  of  the  true  philosopher's  adoration  !  There  is  something, 
to  me,  divine  and  affecting  in  the  worship  of  that  truth,  of  which 
we  possess  both  so  much  and  so  little,  and  the  affectionate  en- 
dearments which  are  so  profusely  lavished^on  the  ideal  and  invi- 
sible. Those  who  had  no  Revelation  to  guide  them  were 
always  reasoning  on  the  probability  of  a  future  state  of  existence, 
and  there  was  a  passionate  desire  to  demonstrate  this  high  argu- 
ment, which  invests  the  philosophy  of  the  ancients  with  its 
greatest  charm.  At  the  present  time,  we  rather  confute  the 
theses  of  sceptics,  than  advance  new  reasons.  The  genius  of  the 
metaphysics  of  the  Greeks  and  Romans  was,  abstractedly,  affir- 
mation ;  but  the  re-action  produced  by  the  study  of  those 
sciences  from  which  we  derive  much  of  our  civilization,  from 
their  materialistic  tendencies  has  been  negation.  We  seldom 
recur  to  first  principles  now  :  and  when  such  is  the  case  we 
shall  be  likely  to  think  little  of  aught  beyond  the  actual.  But 
then  it  is  on  the  other  hand  advanced,  that  these  philosophers 
idolize  their  own  theories.  True,  great  thinkers,  from  Plato  down 
to  Schelling,  have  idolized — Virtue,  Wisdom,  Love,  and  Immor- 
tality, the  essence  of  the  One  Eternal.  Only  sciolists  adore  what 
is  not  IN  the  Creator. 

On  the  bench  on  which  the  reasoner  was  seated,  there  were 
some  volumes,  the  nature  of  whose  contents  indicated  the  bent 
of  his  mind  and  studies.  There  was  the  inspired  disciple  of 
Socrates,  there  was  the  lofty  Cicero,  the  subtile  Aristotle,  and 
the  moralising  Seneca,  together  with  the  acute  Locke,  the  spi- 
ritual Berkeley,  the  erudite  Cud  worth,  and  the  ingenious  Clarke. 

"  And  yet,"  continued  the  thinker,  "  the  assumptions  and 
reasonings  of  all  philosophers  were  inconclusive  and  insufficient 
for  our  assurance,  without  the  promises  of  God.  They  confirm 


380  THE  MISER'S  SON. 

what  is  true,  they  do  not  certify  what  is  probable.  For  why 
should  we  be  left  uncertain  of  our  future  destiny,  if  it  could  be 
revealed  to  us  ?  True,  we  might  hereafter  receive  a  heaven  ; 
but  is  it  compatible  with  the  benevolence  we  must  ascribe  to 
Deity,  to  withhold  the  only  knowledge  that  can  comfort  us  under 
every  calamity  ?  No;  the  belief  is  stamped  on  the  soul,  the 
certainty  is  conveyed  from  above.  Far  happier  is  the  religionist 
than  the  speculator :  the  hopes  of  the  one  are  fixed  and  immu- 
table ;  the  other's,  varying  and  uncertain.  These  are  great  minds 
I  have  been  communing  with ;  and  their  arguments  for  immor- 
tality are  good  and  rational :  but  Revelation  affords  irrefraga- 
ble proof  to  the  believer." 

The  psychologist  now  proceeded  to  examine  some  notes  he 
had  been  making  on  the  authors  whose  works  were  his  favourite 
study — notes  which  contained  novel,  fine,  and  original  criticism, 
analytical,  and  comprising  a  philosophy  of  Eclecticism.  Victor 
Cousin  was  not  then  born  :  but  the  embryo  of  his  excellent  sys- 
tem was  in  being,  and  his  views  and  those  of  that  noble  thinker 
were  in  many  points  similar. 

A  few  words  here  must  be  introduced  in  favour  of  the  doc- 
trines of  the  Eclectics,  to  which  I  am  inclined  to  assent,  and 
then  we  will  eschew  abstract  discussion.  There  can  be  no 
doubt  that  there  is  but  one  true  philosophy  :  and  it  is  also  mani- 
fest that  there  is  no  system  so  comprehensive  as  to  embrace  all 
Truth.  Every  writer  has  a  theory  of  his  own  ;  but  each  such 
theory  must  necessarily  contain  portions  of  what  has  gone  before, 
and  for  this  reason  :  the  human  mind  is  so  constituted,  that  it  is 
essentially  re-productive  ;  there  is  a  chain  of  universal  ideas,  all 
of  which  are  shared  in  by  each  individual.  The  same  thoughts 
will  cross  every  intellect,  though  in  a  variety  of  phases,  as  the 
same  objects  will  create  similar  associations.  Now  this  universal 
chain  of  ideas  is  broken  in  the  individual  mind  into  separate 
links  ;  and  error  consists  rather  in  separation  from  the  whole, 
than  the  creation  of  a  false  totality. 

This  distinction  is  of  importance  in  defending  Eclecticism. 
For  it  is  true  that  Eclecticism  is  itself  a  system :  but  it  is  not 
confined  to  one  hypothesis,  as  many  doctrines  are.  But  is  the 
truth  of  this  philosophy  contingent,  or  necessary  ?  Is  truth  in 
itself  absolute  and  universal  ?  An  absolute  universal  truth  implies 


THE  MISER'S  SON.  381 

an  absolute,  universal  being,  who  is  not  a  recipient  but  a  Creator  : 
and  it  is  certain  that  man  is  not  such.  Then  show  me  this  uni- 
versal truth,  apart  from  Deity.  I  maintain,  we  can  only  find  it 
in  parts,  and  on  the  putting  of  them  together  well  or  ill  depends 
the  amount  of  its  greatness  or  the  converse.  If  we  cannot  create 
illimitable  truth,  amid  the  multiplicity  of  errors  which  the  con- 
fusion of  parts  with  the  whole  has  caused,  our  only  method  of 
arriving  at  it  is  to  join  the  divided  links,  observing  where  they 
have  been  broken  :  and  I  apprehend  that  as  far  as  finite  reason 
will  permit,  Eclecticism  searches  for  those  segments,  and  by 
placing  them  in  the  circle,  connects  the  divided  links,  and  erects 
a  philosophy,  not  by  searching  for  new  worlds,  but  by  reproducing 
the  materials  of  the  old  ones,  and  combining  and  harmonizing, 
instead  of  wandering  in  the  mazes  which  ourselves  create,  adding 
difficulties  to  the  elucidation  of  the  true  more  frequently  than 
finding  a  means  of  separating  the  false  and  certain. 

Such  were  the  opinions  of  the  character  we  are  now  in  contact 
with :  and  they  will  be  diffused  in  proportion  to  the  progress  of 
science,  and  impartial  investigation.  There  may  be  errors  in 
judgment  among  Eclectics :  but  they  will  not  be  tied  down  to 
particular  and  exclusive  dogmas  ;  and  will  not  substitute  the 
jargon  of  the  schools  for  honest  sense,  for  lucid  logic,  and  for 
long  experience. 

I  must  not  trespass  too  far  on  the  patience  of  my  readers  ;  but 
it  is  requisite  to  point  out  the  peculiar  sentiments  of  the  philoso- 
pher, and  not  to  permit  those  who  differ  from  him  in  opinion  to 
suppose  that  he  had  adopted  them  without  adequate  grounds. 
And  now  to  return  to  the  real  and  substantial,  which  somehow  is 
relished  by  the  generality  far  better  than  the  abstract  and  ideal. 
It  would  seem  that  for  the  most  part  our  feelings  are  susceptible 
of  greater  satisfaction  than  our  reasoning  faculties.  The  heart 
against  the  head  "  all  the  world  to  nothing." 

The  thinker's  cogitations  were  interrupted  by  the  sound  of  gay 
laughter,  and  lifting  his  eyes  from  his  book,  he  directed  them  to 
the  spot  from  which  it  proceeded.  Two  childish  forms  were 
bounding  towards  him,  and  he  gazed  with  deep  fondness  on  their 
young  and  radiant  faces.  Those  who  had  seen  that  look  could 
not  have  mistaken  it  for  any  but  a  father's.  O,  how  different  it 


382  THE  MISER'S  SON. 

is,  in  its  mingled  pride  and  love  from  all  others !     There  is  a 
poetry  of  half  human  weakness,  half  divine  affection  in  it. 

The  children  were  respectively  of  the  ages  of  six  and  seven, 
and  the  youngest  was  very  like  her  parent.  The  other  was 
darker,  with  large,  dark,  oriental  eyes,  full  of  liquid  sensibility, 
and  even  of  romance,  her  figure  light  and  airy  as  a  little  sylph's  : 
yet  even  as  she  sped  along,  scarce  touching  the  ground,  and  her 
beautiful  face  wreathed  with  smiles,  there  was  an  expression  of 
mournfulness  in  it  singular  to  behold  in  one  of  her  age,  when  the 
heart  is  so  light,  and  the  spirits  so  high  and  wildly  blithe,  and 
not  a  dream  of  sorrow  overshadows  the  pure  soul.  There  was  a 
world  of  melancholy  in  those  dreamy,  soft,  bright  orbs,  which 
foretold  that  her  destiny  was  not  among  the  happy  and  joyous, 
and  even  in  her  very  smile  there  was  something  that  made  one 
sad.  Her  beauty  was  strange  and  unearthly,  but  yet  it  was  win- 
ning, it  was  irresistible,  every  look  of  her  features  being  full  of 
eloquence  and  passion .  There  was  no  promise,  perhaps,  of  very 
great  intellect  in  her  countenance,  but  imagination,  fancy  and 
feeling  were  imprinted  on  the  whole  of  it.  Her  long,  dark  tresses 
floated  over  her  exquisite  throat  and  shoulders ;  and  if  they  had 
not  been  confined  would  almost  have  swept  the  ground — for  she 
was  of  low  stature  for  her  years — and  her  polished  limbs  were 
extraordinary  elastic  and  gracile. 

The  other,  though  equally  lovely,  had  no  remarkable  character 
in  her  appearance ;  but  she  seemed  gentle,  docile,  and  affection- 
ate :  and,  as  has  been  observed,  was  extremely  like  her  father, 
but  without  the  mighty  intellect  which  flashed  such  radiance  over 
his  face.  She  was  very  little  also — even  in  a  greater  degree  than 
her  sister,  and  her  hair,  which  was  of  equal  length  with  the  other 
tiny  creature's,  was  of  an  almost  flaxen  hue.  A  poet  who  had 
seen  them  on  a  sudden  might  have  thought  fairies  were  not  the 
creation  of  his  brain. 

"O,  my  dear  father!"  said  the  elder  of  the  children,  running 
up  breathless  to  the  philosopher,  and  throwing  her  arms  round 
his  neck  :  "  there  is  such  a  fine  horse — such  a  fine  man  coming 
up  the  hill.  Lolah  and  I  have  been  running  to  tell  you  :  but  she 
has  no  chance  with  me ! — Dear  Lolah !  how  pretty  she  looks 
with  her  flushed  cheeks,  and  sparkling  eyes,  doesn't  she  ?"  And 


THE  MISER'S  SON.  .383 

the  varying  countenance  of  the  child  changed  from  gladness  to 
deep  melancholy,  though  without  the  least  apparent  cause. 

"  My  own  Adah !"  exclaimed  the  philosopher,  clasping  the 
bright  creature  to  his  heart  with  unutterable  love,  and  then  em- 
bracing Lolah  also — as  fondly,  perhaps,  but  not  so  passionately. 
The  eyes  of  Adah  swam  with  tears  at  the  tenderness  of  her 
father's  caresses  :  Lolah's  looks  were  but  of  love. 

"  Strange  !"  muttered  the  thinker  to  himself;  "  what  can  bring 
those  tears  to  her  eyes  ?" 

"  Ah  !"  cried  Adah,  whose  ears — as  indeed  every  other  sense 
—were  marvellously  quick,  overhearing  her  father.  "  I  shed 
tears  because  I  am  so  happy  to  have  your  love.  I  would  not  lose 
it  to  be  the  queen  of  the  stars  of  heaven.  But  happiness  is  such 
delicious  sadness !" 

"  And  you  would  like  to  be  queen  of  those  orbs,  sweet  ?" 

"  O,  yes  !  they  are  so  bright  to  look  upon.  I  could  weep  for 
a  long,  long  time,  when  I  gaze  at  them,  and  yet  I  know  not  why 
— for  the  sun  is  brighter,  and  I  do  not  weep  to  look  at  that :  but 
then,  you  know,  it  is  another  brightness.  What  joy  it  would  be 
to  have  an  angel's  wings  and  fly  up  to  those  dear  worlds,  which 
you  tell  me  are  like  the  earth, — but  they  must  be  more  beautiful! 
To  take  you  with  me,  my  father,  and  Lolah,  and  the  flowers  and 
birds  I  love,  and  leave  all  the  sorrow  which  you  say  exists  on 
earth — sin,  and  pain  and  death  behind  for  ever  !" 

"  I  hope  you  will  one  day  live  in  worlds  more  bright  than 
those,  my  child  ! — more  full  of  bliss  and  beauty,"  said  the  philo- 
sopher, playing  with  the  dark  ringlets  of  Adah's  hair. 

"  Nothing  can  have  more  brightness,"  returned  Adah,  shaking 
her  head — "  that  is  like  the  light  of  the  soul — do  you  understand 
me?  But  sometimes  I  fancy  that  they  look  sorrowful.  Have 
the  stars  souls,  think  you  ?  They  could  not  be  so  beautiful  with- 
out them,  surely  ?" 

"  My  little  poetess !"  said  the  fond  father,  smiling,  adding  to 
himself — "Children  are  all  Idealists:  and  their  thoughts  seem 
fresh  from  heaven."  Then  a  shade  of  melancholy  like  that  oil 
his  child's  April  face  passed  over  his  own,  as  he  murmured — "  I 
remember  Harriet  once  asked  me  the  same  question,  when  she 
was  no  older  than  Adah.  I  could  almost  believe  in  the  Platonic 
theory  of  the  pre-existence  of  the  spirit." 


384  THE  MISER'S  SON. 

"Why  do  you  look  so?"  asked  the  child  who  had  just  spoken, 
the  tears  now  trickling  down  her  cheeks,  as  she  anxiously  watched 
the  shadows  on  that  loved  and  splendid  countenance  bending 
over  her.  "  Your  eyes  are  as  mournful  as  my  own." 

Lolah  also  regarded  her  father  wistfully :  but  spoke  not  a 
syllable. 

"  Some  thoughts  of  the  past!"  replied  the  philosopher  gently : 
and  turning  the  conversation  to  the  channel  which  it  had  pro- 
ceeded from,  added,  "  Lolah,  when  I  kissed  her  did  not  shed 
tears,  nor  must  you,  my  Adah  !"  and  he  dried  the  drops  on  that 
soft  cheek  with  his  lips ;  but  they  only  sprang  into  her  eyes  the 
more  abundantly. 

Adah's  answer  was  remarkable. 

"  Lolah  is  very  good  and  kind,  and  very  fond  of  you ;  but  she 
conceals  her  feelings,  as  a  rosebud  hides  the  dews,  and  I  cannot 
hide  mine.  I  would  sooner  be  Lolah  than  myself:  she  has  more 
command  over  her  heart,  though  it  is  full  of  love  and  sweet- 
ness." 

Children  have  an  intuition  into  children's  minds,  which  we 
never  reach  by  reason.  Often  did  the  philosopher  ponder  those 
distinctions  which  his  eldest  child  had  drawn  ;  and  in  after  years 
he  found  them  singularly  verified. 

As  this  scene  was  passing,  a  solitary  horseman,  of  dignified 
mien  and  erect  carriage,  who  appeared  scarcely  to  have  recovered 
from  a  severe  illness,  was  climbing  a  steep  hill,  whose  summit 
was  within  a  few  yards  of  the  philosopher's  cottage ;  and  by  the 
lime  Adah  had  finished  speaking,  he  was  within  view. 

"  That  must  be  Charles  Walsingham  !"  exclaimed  the  owner 
of  the  dwelling.  "  What  a  height  he  is  !  Well !  the  giant  and 
the  dwarf  lie  '  i'  th'  same  fashion  in  the  earth  !'  What  a  differ- 
ence a  foot  of  stature,  or  so,  will  make]  But  the  mind  may  have 
as  lofty  thoughts  in  a  poor,  weak,  diminutive  form  like  mine,  as 
in  a  grand  and  vigorous  frame  which  will  require  six  feet  two  of 
earth  to  bury  it." 

Thus  speaking,  he  quitted  the  bench  on  which  he  had  been 
sitting,  and  advanced  to  meet  the  traveller,  who  perceived,  and 
recognised  him,  and  greeted  him  frankly,  saying — 

"  Mr.  Spenser  !  I  have  not  seen  you  for  many  years !  You 
are  well,  I  hope?"  And  he  extended  his  hand. 


THE  MISER'S  SON.  385 

"  I  thank  you,  yes  !  Welcome  to  Uskedale.  You  will  make 
the  hearts  of  your  good  relations  blithe,  though  you  have  de- 
layed long." 

"  Are  these  your  children  ?"  asked  Walsingham. 

"  They  are !"  replied  Spenser  :  "-this  one,  Adah,  is  the  image 
of  her  poor  mother,  after  whom  she  is  named." 

"  She  must  have  been  very  lovely,"  said  Charles,  as  he  patted 
the  child's  velvet  cheek.  "  But  has  she  always  so  pensive  a 
look  T 

"  She  never  looks  so  gay  as  her  sister  Lolah,"  was  the  response. 

"  They  are  well — all  of  them — at  Walsingham  Hall  ?"  asked 
our  old  friend  Charles,  having  noticed  Spenser's  children  with 
much  interest. 

"All  well:  but  they  have  been  very  anxious  about  you.  I 
will  not  stop  you  longer,  but  I  hope  I  shall  see  you  to  morrow. 
Good  bye." 

Walsingham  once  more  shook  hands  with  Spenser,  and  pro- 
mising to  visit  him  as  soon  as  possible,  continued  his  way. 

"  I  like  his  looks,"  thought  Spenser  :  "  if  they  do  not  belie 
him,  he  has  a  royal  soul." 

The  soldier  was  now  within  a  few  miles  of  his  journey's  end  : 
but  the  scenery  through  which  he  was  passing  evoked  so  many 
sweet  associations  of  boyhood,  that  he  lingered  at  many  a  fami- 
liar spot,  until  the  sun  was  lost  below  the  horizon,  and  a  lovely 
twilight  succeeded.  The  delicious  calm  of  the  evening  was 
hardly  disturbed  by  any  living  sound,  and  the  distant  jingle  of 
the  sheep-bells  was  the  only  music  that  blended  with  that  of  the 
faint  gale.  Spenser's  cottage  was  far  removed  from  any  other 
human  habitation,  and  the  loneliness  of  the  road  increased  as 
Walsingham  proceeded.  Many  thoughts  were  stirring  within 
his  bosom,  and  the  solitude  was  a  luxury  to  his  spirit :  so  that  he 
suffered  his  horse  to  advance  at  whatever  pace  he  chose,  and  re- 
signed himself  to  reverie.  But  he  had  not  journeyed  above  half 
a  league  from  the  dwelling  of  the  philosopher,  when  as  the  moon 
arose  from  behind  a  cluster  of  poplars,  behind  which  there  was 
a  romantic  lake,  that  glided  serenely  on  among  rocks  and  hills 
and  banks — and  on  whose  bosom  there  rested  many  a  fairy  island 
tenanted  by  aquatic  birds — he  was  arrested  by  a  voice,  crying — 
"  Stand  and  deliver." 

3D 


386  THE  MISER'S  SON. 

With  true  military  promptness,  Walsingham  drew  his  sword 
and  a  pistol  with  either  hand ;  and  sternly  gazed  on  the  man 
who  had  addressed  him.  Two  fellows,  mounted  on  large,  bony 
horses  were  in  his  direct  path,  a  third  was  coming  up  from  behind 
the  poplars  with  cocked  pistols,  and  three  others  emerged  from 
another  clump  of  trees  at  a  short  distance,  also  armed. 

"  Give  way  !"  said  the  soldier,  as  he  sat  rigid  and  immoveable 
as  a  statue  in  his  saddle,  not  a  muscle  of  his  face  working,  as  he 
spurred  on  his  fiery  charger. 

"  Down  with  him  !"  exclaimed  one  of  the  robbers. 

And  swords  were  crossed  in  an  instant,  while  Charles  levelled 
his  pistol  and  fired,  but  the  ball  missed  one  of  his  assailant's 
head  by  a  hair's  breadth.  Opposed  to  these  fearful  odds,  the 
high  and  haughty  courage,  and  cool  presence  of  mind  of  Captain 
Walsingham  did  not  for  an  instant  desert  him.  Wheeling  round 
rapidly,  he  caused  his  horse  to  rear,  and  dealt  blows  in  all  direc-< 
tions  with  incredible  quickness:  but  just  as  he  was  about  to 
charge  his  two  first  antagonists,  one  of  the  highwaymen  raised 
his  hand,  unseen  by  the  soldier,  and  taking  steady  aim,  would  in 
all  probability  have  shot  him  through  the  heart,  when  a  horse- 
man galloped  swiftly  up,  unheard  by  the  villain,  and  struck  the 
weapon  from  his  hand. 

"  Cowards !"  exclaimed  the  new  comer,  "  desist." 

"  Ah !"  cried  the  robber,  whose  object  had  been  thus  frus- 
trated, turning  round,  and  perceiving  a  slight  young  man  of 
some  seventeen  years  of  age  beside  him.  "  You're  not  my  mas- 
ter ;  and  you  had  better  keep  out  of  the  way.  We  have  had  no 
wages  for  a  long  time,  and  must  now  help  ourselves." 

So  saying,  the  fellow  turned  to  assail  Walsingham  again. 

"  I  dare  you  to  disobey  my  orders  !"  exclaimed  the  youth,  in 
a  calm,  commanding  voice.  "  Who  lifts  a  hand  against  this 
gentleman,  I  will  shoot  him." 

"  Big  words,  Master  Harry,"  returned  the  ruffian  to  whom  he 
had  before  addressed  himself,  while  the  other  men  desisted  from 
their  attack  ;  "  but  I  am  not  going  to  be  led  by  a  boy  like  you. 
On  him,  comrades !" 

With  these  words,  the  robber  once  more  raised  his  arm  against 
the  Captain,  when  the  young  man,  whose  peremptory  commands 
he  had  slighted,  drew  a  pistol  from  his  pocket,  and  without  utter- 


THE  MISER'S  SON.  387 

ing  a  word,  discharged  it.  The  bullet  entered  the  brain  of  the 
rascal  who  was  so  determined  on  obtaining  Walsingham's  purse  : 
and  with  a  deep  groan  he  fell  and  expired,  at  the  same  instant  as 
another  horseman  arrived  on  the  scene  of  action. 

"  Thus,"  said  the  young  man,  who  had  acted  with  such  stern 
decision,  *'  thus  will  I  punish  every  man  who  dares  to  turn 
assassin,  instead  of  acting  up  to  the  orders  he  has  received  from 
his  employer.  My  father ! — have  I  not  done  well  ?" 

"  Yes,  Harry,"  said  a  deep,  manly  voice,  in  which  Walsing- 
ham  recognised  that  of  Ellen's  father ;  '*  you  have  acted  as  I 
would  myself.  You,"  he  added  to  the  robbers,  "take  that  car- 
rion away ;  and  be  prepared  to  act  better  for  the  future. — Cap- 
tain Walsingham,  I  am  very  sorry  this  has  occurred.  These  men 
are  in  my  employ  ;  and  have  most  infamously  behaved  in  quitting 
the  honourable  service  I  gave  them,  to  turn  marauders.  But  I 
cannot  tarry  any  longer.  I  will  communicate  with  you  at  some 
future  time  : — farewell !" 

And  without  permitting  the  soldier  to  answer  a  word,  Danvers, 
accompanied  by  Harry,  cantered  briskly  away. 


CHAPTER  II. 

Ill  deeds  will  rise, 
Though  all  the  earth  o'erwhelm  them  to  men's  eyes. 

SHAKSPEAEE. 

THE    ADVENTURES   OF    DANVERS — MOTHER  STOKES  AND  SAM 
STOKES — MRS.    HA1NES    AND    ELLEN — ROGER   SIDNEY. 

IT  is  necessary  now  to  retrograde  some  time,  and  to  detail  the 
adventures  of  Walter  Danvers  since  we  lost  sight  of  him.  When 
he  quitted  the  dwelling  of  infamy  and  guilt,  where  the  woman 
who  was  once  his  wife  remained  with  her  paramour,  he  strode 
hastily  away,  and  plunged  into  the  deepest  solitude  he  could 
find :  and  so  violent  was  the  conflict  in  his  bosom,  that  for 
many  minutes  he  was  as  one  struggling  between  life  and  death, 


388  THE  MISER'S  SON. 

his  iron  frame  shaking,  and  the  muscles  of  his  face  quivering  in- 
voluntarily ;  while  the  convulsed  movement  of  his  lip,  and  the 
writhing  of  his  cheek,  demonstrated  how  terrible  was  the  inward 
struggle.  Such  natures  as  his,  if  not  so  exquisitely  sensitive  as 
those  of  highly  nervous  temperament,  have  intense  feelings  :  and 
their  passions  are  not  only  quick  and  furious,  but  deep  and  en- 
during. He  had  loved  one  as  far  above  him  in  virtue,  as  the 
woman  he  now  loathed,  was  more  deeply  steeped  in  crime  ;  and 
his  grief  and  despair  were  aggravated  by  the  consciousness  of  his 
own  misconduct — to  call  it  by  no  harsher  name — and  the  convic- 
tion that  he  had  irrevocably  wronged  a  woman  richer  in  all  the 
gifts  of  mind  and  heart  and  soul  than  those  most  eminently  en- 
dowed with  them  among  all  he  knew. 

t(  O,  my  Harriet !"  he  exclaimed,  in  accents  of  despair,  "  that 
I  should  have  lost  thee  by  having  tied  myself  indissolubly  to  one 
I  detest — a  fiend — a  devil!  Curses  on  her!— And,  yet,  have  / 
not  need  of  forgiveness  ?  I,  who  have  made  her  miserable,  than 
whom  there  is  not  a  purer  and  diviner  saint  in  the  courts  of 
Heaven !" 

At  last,  worn  out  by  excessive  fatigue  of  frame  and  mind,  Dan- 
vers  cast  himself  on  the  earth,  and  groaned  aloud  in  all  the  bitter- 
ness of  despair.  Shall  human  eloquence  accurately  paint  the 
fearful  hell  raging  within  that  stern  spirit?  It  was  the  Titan  in 
his  agony  :  but  the  hero  of  the  immortal  Greek  was  supported  by 
his  own  mind.  Danvers,  on  the  contrary,  had  no  great  principle 
to  sustain  him.  He  suffered  for  crime,  and  not  for  virtue.  The 
good  man  can  bear  all  things,  the  bad  one  nothing. 

While  thus  grovelling  on  the  earth,  a  female  approached,  and 
glared  on  him  with  eyes  of  devilish  malice.  She  broke  out  into 
a  hoarse,  chuckling  laugh,  after  a  minute,  spent  apparently  in 
ineffable  gratification,  as  she  beheld  the  hopeless  misery  of  Wal- 
ler, and  said — 

"This  is  rare  luck  !  Ha,  ha!  Worthy  Danvers!  How  happy 
you  seem  !  O,  1  delight  in  seeing  you  look  so  pleased  and  joyful ! 
Pray,  don't  rise  !  I  dare  say,  when  you've  heard  some  more  good 
news  that  I've  got  to  tell  you,  your  face  will  be  bright  as  hea- 


ven s  1 


"  What  mean  you,  woman  ?"  demanded  Danvers,  fiercely,  re- 
turning the  glare  of  hate  fixed  on  him,  with  another  so  full  of  fire, 


THE  MISER'S  SON.  389 

that  it  seemed  to  blast  its  object,  like  lightning  scathing  a  withered 
oak. 

Mother  Stokes  (for  it  was  no  other)  soon  recovered  the  dark 
power  which  was  in  her  horrid  nature  to  torment,  and  resuming 
the  effrontery  which  had  shrunk  under  the  awful  glance  of  Dan- 
vers,  replied — 

"  I'm  in  no  haste,  and  so  I  will  stay  and  talk  with  you  a  bit. 
I  love  your  society — Ha,  ha,  ha !" 

"  Trifle  not  with  me,"  cried  Walter,  from  between  his  clenched 
teeth.  "  If  you  have  aught  to  say,  speak  at  once." 

"  O,  if  you  are  so  anxious  to  hear  the  good  intelligence,  far  be 
it  from  me  to  withhold  it !  You  had  a  son  a  few  years  ago — a 
likely  lad  enough  ! — I  suppose  you  were  fond  of  him  ?" 

"  I  had  a  son.     Do  you  know  aught  of  him,  foul  hag?" 

"  1  do,  sweet  Master  Walter !  Blessed  are  those  that  die 
young !  Ha,  ha !  He  may  be  in  the  highest  heaven  by  this 
time  !  Isn't  that  glorious  news  for  a  good  father?" 

"  Mistress  Stokes!  speak  out  at  once  ;  or  I  may  do  you  mis- 
chief. I  am  almost  mad  already.  .What  of  my  son?" 

Mother  Stokes  loved,  like  the  cat,  to  torment  her  victims  before 
she  destroyed  them  :  and  would  have  delayed  still  longer  to  im- 
part what  she  knew  about  Harry,  but  Walter  looked  dangerous, 
and  his  bayonet  glittered  brightly  in  the  moonbeams,  so  that — 
knowing  his  desperate  character,  she  at  length  said — 

"  Well,  to  relieve  your  anxiety,  I  have  to  inform  you  that  your 
son  is  certainly  no  more.  In  looking  after  you  he  fell  down  a 
steep—" 

"  What !  what !  Where,  where  ?  O,  agony  !  Take  me  to 
him  !  O  God  !  This  is  more  than  I  can  bear  !" 

"  But,  after  all,  he  might  not  have  been  your  son,  Walter  Dan- 
vers!  There  is  some  comfort  in  that !" 

Danvers  seized  the  vile  woman  by  the  throat,  and  she  shrieked 
with  terror ;  she  felt  that  her  love  of  vengeance,  and  the  plea- 
sure she  felt  in  beholding  her  mortal  foe's  pangs  had  carried  her 
too  far.  He  relaxed  his  grasp  in  a  moment,  however,  and  said 
in  a  husky  voice — 

"  Take  me  to  the  body,  then,  and  I  will  spare  you  !" 

"  Indeed,  I  know  not  where  it  is  !  Perhaps  they  have  taken 
it  to  the  Britannia  to  await  a  coroner's  inquest." 


390  THE  MISER'S  SON. 

No  sooner  had  she  spoken,  than  Danvers  released  her  entirely, 
and  rushed  franticly  from  the  place.  As  he  did  so,  the  monster, 
having  heard  the  squeak  of  his  grandmother,  joined  her. 

"  We  will  be  revenged,  boy !  we  are  revenged !"  she  exclaimed ; 
"  but  our  vengeance  is  yet  incomplete.  He  must  be  taken  if  he 
goes  to  the  inn  ;  and  then  he  will  be  hanged — ha,  ha  !  Good, 
good !  I  have  not  felt  so  merry  for  many  a  year — never  since 
Roger  Sidney  lost  his  bride !  Now,  then,  you  go  to  the  hut,  and 
see  what  is  taking  place  there.  If  you  should  see  those  who  are 
likely  to  detain  you,  run  instantly  away.  I'll  wait  for  you  where 
I  am.  Bring  Figgins  to  me,  if  you  can." 

The  savage  obeyed,  first  having  shaken  his  huge  fist  at  the 
now  distant  form  of  Danvers. 

That  unhappy  person,  heedless  of  the  consequences,  was  now 
hastening  to  the  Britannia,  scarcely  being  left  the  use  of  reason, 
to  ascertain  the  fate  of  his  son  ;  but  before  he  had  taken  a  step 
which  would  have  been  irrevocable,  a  suspicion  that  he  had  been 
cajoled  darted  on  his  brain. 

"  I  will  not  be  rash,"  he  muttered.  "  God  grant  that  the  wo- 
man has  spoken  falsely.  O,  I  was  ungrateful  when  I  wished 
for  death  just  now  !  Harry  may  live — Ellen  does  live! — I  may 
regain  my  honour — obtain  a  divorce  from  that  wretch,  and — and 
— Harriet  may  still  be  mine  !  I  love  her  more  than  ever." 

This  wild  transition  from  abject  despair  to  the  most  exalted 
hope  kindled  new  energies  in  the  heart  of  Danvers.  It  is  a  most 
strange  thing  that  the  mind  always  flies  to  extremes ;  and  the 
fact  evinces  that  it  moves  in  a  cycle,  so  that  its  changes  are  ne- 
cessarily not  gradual,  but  sudden.  If  it  were  not  so,  it  is  incon- 
ceivable that  the  mighty  revulsions  of  feeling  which  are  so  often 
evolved  instantaneously,  should  not  undergo  modification.  They 
would  be  slow  and  gradual,  and  would  not  convulse  the  central 
being,  if  they  were  constrained  to  traverse  a  considerable  space 
ere  they  could  reach  the  opposite  extreme. 

But  this  is  a  subject  too  recondite  for  profound  investigation 
at  this  lime.  To  give  an  impetus  to  thought  is  all  the  novelist 
can  expect. 

Danvers,  as  soon  as  he  could  regain  his  cooler  judgment,  began 
to  ask  himself  how  he  should  now  proceed.  He  must  obtain 
news  of  Harry  ;  but  how  to  do  so,  he  knew  not,  without  exposing 


THE  MISER'S  SON.  391 

himself  to  imminent  danger.  Irresolute  as  to  the  measures  to 
pursue,  he  made  for  a  neat  little  abode,  at  the  porch  of  which  there 
sat  a  crippled  man  with  but  stumps  of  legs,  to  whom  he  addressed 
himself. 

"  I  would  thank  you,  friend,"  he  said,  "  to  sell  me  something 
to  eat.  I  am  hungry,  and  have  to  journey  far." 

"  You  shall  have  it,  messmate,  with  all  my  heart,"  replied  the 
maimed  tar  with  alacrity.  "  Here  is  some  bread  and  cheese,  and 
I'll  go  and  mix  you  some  grog." 

"  No,  I  thank  you  !  I  will  take  nothing  but  a  draught  of  water," 
returned  Walter,  whose  stomach  was  MOW  making  dire  remon- 
strances, in  spite  of  all  his  anxiety  ;  for  the  fatigue  he  had  under- 
gone without  tasting  a  morsel,  was  immense.  "  Can  you  tell  me 
if  the  body  of  a  youth,  who  was  lately  thrown  down  a  precipice, 
has  been  carried  to  the  Britannia  ?"  inquired  Danvers,  hardly 
knowing  how  to  open  the  subject  his  heart  was  set  upon,  and 
eager  to  do  so,  without  betraying  himself. 

"  No,  I'm  sure  it  wasn't  an  hour  ago,"  was  the  reply. 

"  Thank  Heaven  !"  cried  Danvers.  "  But  has  any  one  been 
severely  hurt  in  this  part  of  the  country,  very  lately?" 

"  Why  a'  woman  has  been  wounded,"  returned  the  cripple. 
"  She  would  give  me  this  here  thingumy,  when  1  went  to  see — " 

"  How !"  interrupted  Danvers,  attracted  by  a  little  trinket 
which  the  tar  held  between  his  finger  and  thumb. 

"  Ay,  and  a  sweet  young  lady  as  is  with  her  now — she's  as 
pretty  a  creetur  as  ever  was,  she  says,  says  she,  *  You've  been 
very  kind  to  my  poor  nurse,  and  must  accept  this  locket  for  my 
sake.' "  . 

And  the  honest  fellow,  in  the  pardonable  vanity  of  his  heart, 
exhibited  a  locket  with  hair  in  it,  which  removed  all  doubt  from 
Walter's  mind. 

"  It  is  very  strange !"  he  thought.  "  I  was  not  certain  about 
the  other  trinket;  but  this — !  You  say  that  the  woman  was 
wounded.  How  did  it  happen  ?" 

"  Why,  I  hardly  likes  to  tell  'ee  ;  'cos  as  how  a  person  I'm  re- 
lated to,  fired  the  pistol  at  her.  Ma}  hap  you're  acquainted  with 
the  poor  body  who's  hurt?" 

"  Yes,  I  must  go  directly  to  her.  Can  you  guide  me  to  the 
place  where  she  is?" 


392  THE  MISER'S  SON. 

"  That  I  can,"  replied  the  sailor;  "  and  I'll  go  with  'ee,  as  it 
aint  fur  off." 

"  I  suppose  Elizabeth  and  Ellen  have  come  in  quest  of  me," 
thought  Danvers ;  adding,  aloud,  "  The  wound  is  not  dangerous, 
then.  But  why  did  this  woman  fire  at  her,  good  friend  ?" 

"  It's  a  long  story,  and  I  don't  quite  know  the  rights  on't," 
returned  the  cripple.  "  But  what  I  can  make  out  is  this. — The 
good  lady  as  is  wounded  found  out  as  a  young  genTman  she 
knows  has  been  murdered — and — why,  what  ails  ye,  sir?  You 
quite  staggers !" 

"  Go  on — quick  !"  cried  Danvers,  gasping  for  breath,  and  all 
his  worst  apprehensions  returning. 

"  Well,  then,  this  here  aunt  o'  mine,  Mother  Stokes,  't  would 
seem,  knows  more  than  she  ought  about  the  death  of  this  poor 
lad  ;  and  the  lady  what's  wounded,  accused  her,  and  so  she  tried 
for  to  send  a  bullet  through  her,  the — wretch  !" 

"  Ah  !  I  see  !  I  see !"  exclaimed  Walter,  in  a  choakiug  voice. 
"  That  infernal  woman  lied  to  me !  It  was  she  who  killed  him  ! 
By  Heaven  !  I'll  be  revenged  !  My  son,  my  son  !" 

"  Lord  bless  us !"  cried  Sam  Stokes,  "  be  you  then,  the  father 
of  the  youth?  Poor  boy  !  He's  gone  aloft,  I  fear.  But,  bear  up, 
brother.  It  aint  certain  he's  dead.  If,  as  how,  you're  the  father 
of  the  young  gen'l'man,  though,  you're  the  very  chap  they're  all 
a  looking  arter;  and  a  terrible  price  is  on  your  head.  They  do 
say,"  (and  Sam  recoiled  a  step  as  he  spoke  the  last  words)  "  you're 
a  murderer !" 

"  It  is  false  !"  exclaimed  Danvers.  "  But  I  care  not  for  myself 
if  Harry  is  gone !  O,  my  boy  !  my  own  brave  boy  !  Now  1  feel 
all  the  agony  I  inflicted  on  the  heart  of  Norton  !" 

"  Hark  ye !"  cried  Stokes.  "  I  doesn't  believe  as  you're  a 
murderer  ;  or  ye  wouldn't  feel  so  for  your  own  son  being  killed. 
But  take  my  advice.  I've  got  enough  rhino  myself: — and  if  I 
was  as  poor  as  the  devil,  I  wouldn't  betray  ye ;  but  others  might  : 
and  so — " 

"  I  cannot  remain  in  suspense,  my  friend  !  Pray  make  haste  : 
I  care  not  if  I  am  taken  !  O  God  !" 

"  Well ;  it's  so  late  now,  ye  mayn't  be  observed,  and  see,  yon- 
der's  where  yer  friend  is !" 

Elizabeth  had  been  taken,  after  she  had  seen  the  apothecary* 


THE  MISER'S  SON.  393 

to  a  small  public-house,  at  no  great  distance  from  the  Britannia; 
and  Stokes  managed  to  smuggle  Danvers  into  it,  without  his 
being  noticed  by  any.  Cautiously  he  opened  the  door  of  Mrs. 
Haines's  apartment,  and  then  left  his  companion,  who  advancing 
into  the  middle  of  the  room,  perceived  Elizabeth  stretched  on  a 
bed,  dozing ;  and  Ellen,  buried  in  thought,  silting  close  beside 
her.  He  clasped  his  daughter  in  his  arms,  placing  his  hand  on 
her  mouth,  to  prevent  her  crying  aloud  with  sudden  fright. 

"  Harry!"  he  gasped — "  have  you  heard  anything  of  him?" 

"  Oh,  my  father,"  cried  Ellen,  "  how  glad  I  am  that  you  are 
here  safe!  We  know  not  yet  poor  Harry's  fate,  but  have  hopes  ; 
— oh,  Elizabeth,  you  are  awake!  My  father  is  here!" 

"  You  are  in  great  peril  in  this  place,  Walter !"  said  Mrs. 
Haines.  "  But  I  rejoice  you  have  escaped  so  far.  We  know  not 
yet,  whether  Harry  be  alive  or  dead.  The  proper  authorities 
have  been  applied  to,  and  a  young  man  of  the  name  of  Francis 
Walsingham  has  promised  to  give  us  the  earliest  intelligence  pos- 
sible. He  is,  even  now,  investigating  the  circumstances  of  the 
case,  though  doing  so  is  fraught  with  risk  to  himself.  Nothing 
is  yet  more  than  surmise." 

As  Mrs.  Haines  concluded,  a  footstep  was  heard  on  the  stairs, 
succeeded  by  a  tap  at  the  door. 

"  Here  he  is,"  cried  Ellen.  "  My  father  had  better,  perhaps, 
step  into  the  closet."  Danvers  accordingly  having  concealed 
himself,  the  visitor  was  admitted  by  Ellen. 

"  Pardon  my  intrusion  at  this  late  hour,"  said  Francis  Wal- 
singham, as  he  entered.  "  I  have  not  very  good  news  to  give 
you.  But  the  hut  of  this  woman  Stokes  has  been  searched,  and 
this  pistol,  marked  with  a  crest,  which  I  have  remarked  on  a  ring 
you  wear,  discovered.  The  wretch  herself  cannot  be  found. 
There  is  a  female  in  the  dwelling,  who  is  her  niece  ;  but  she  can- 
not, or  will  not,  give  any  account  of  her.  I  hope  that  our  invalid 
here  finds  herself  better  now." 

"  Yes,  I  thank  you,"  replied  Elizabeth.  "  Nothing  has  yet 
been  ascertained  then,  positively  ?" 

"  Nothing  ;  but,  I  beseech  you,  hope  for  the  best." 

While  the  young  man  spoke,  he  gazed  with  deep  and  earnest 
sympathy  on  the  anxious  face  of  Ellen ;  and  a  close  observer 

3E 


394  THE  MISER'S  SON. 

might  have  detected  in  that  glance  the  incipient  passion  which 
manifests  itself  in  ardent  but  respectful  admiration. 

"  Well,  then,  I  will  wish  you  good  night,"  said  Mrs.  Haines, 
desirous  of  talking  with  Danvers,  uninterruptedly.  "  It  is  very 
late,  and  I  must  take  some  sleep.  I  am  much,  very  much  in- 
debted J;o  you  for  the  kind  interest  you  have  evinced  for  me." 

Francis  Walsingham  pressed  the  extended  hand  of  the  invalid, 
and  taking  that  of  Ellen,  ventured  to  press  it  to  his  lips,  and  de- 
parted. As  soon  as  he  was  gone,  Danvers  emerged  from  the 
closet.  An  earnest  conversation  ensued,  Mrs.  Haines  briefly  re- 
lating her  adventures  on  the  road,  and  expressing  her  belief  that 
Mother  Stokes  had  attempted  the  life  of  Harry,  though  for  what 
reason  she  could  not  understand.  Still  there  was  some  room,  how- 
ever slight,  for  hope,  and  they  clung  to  it  like  drowning  wretches 
to  a  reed,  though  Danvers,  remembering  the  malignant  looks  of 
the  reputed  witch,  felt  sick  at  heart. 

"  I  must  go  and  look  for  him  myself,"  he  said. 

"  But  you  must  rest  first.  You  seem  terribly  fatigued,  my 
dear  father!"  said  Ellen.  "  O,  if  my  beloved  Harry  be  indeed 
lost,  you  are  all  I  have  of  kindred  on  earth !  For  my  sake  be 
cautious  then*" 

"  1  believe  I  must  rest  for  a  short  time,"  replied  Danvers ; 
"  but  in  two  or  three  hours  I  must  depart.  That  time  I  will 
spend  in  sleep ;  for  it  is  absolutely  necessary  I  should  gain  all  the 
strength  possible  for  to-morrow.  God  in  Heaven  bless  you,  sweet 
child  !  If  He  think  proper  to  deprive  you  of  your  father,  remem- 
ber He  is  the  parent  of  the  orphan." 

How  is  the  sentiment  of  religion  expanded  by  adversity  !  It 
may  bloom  and  look  bright  amid  prosperous  fortunes ;  but  it  is 
the  winter  of  grief  which  prepares  the  eternal  spring  of  joy  ! 

Kissing  his  daughter  affectionately,  Danvers  lay  down  on  the 
floor,  and  was  almost  instantly  buried  in  profound  repose.  Mrs. 
Haines  too  was  in  a  few  minutes  fast  asleep,  and  Ellen  was  left 
the  sole  watcher  in  the  apartment.  Long  and  wistfully  she  gazed 
on  the  calm  features  of  her  father,  now  so  calm,  so  motionless, 
that  they  were  like  those  of  the  dead  ;  and  her  imagination  con- 
jured all  the  evils  to  which  she  might  be  exposed,  if  deprived  of 
him.  Yet  not  for  those  evils  did  she  care.  Her  pious  and  gentle 
spirit  relied  on  the  protection  of  that  Heaven  where  such  pure 


THE  MISER'S  SON.  395 

beings  find  friends  innumerable:  but  the  desolation  of  existence 
without  the  fond  ties  of  kindred  was  a  thought  she  could  hardly 
endure. 

"  Nevertheless,"  she  murmured,  in  the  humble,  trusting  words 
of  that  One,  before  whose  virtues  all  human  excellence  is  dim, 
"not  as  I  will ;  but  as  Thou  wilt !"  raising  her  swimming  eyes 
to  the  starry  vault,  and  addressing  Him  who  is  above  the  firma- 
ment. And  she  recalled  the  last  words  that  the  earthly  author 
of  her  being  had  spoken.  "  God  is  the  parent  of  the  orphan." 

It  was  seldom  indeed  that  Danvers  spoke  a  word  appertaining 
to  religion ;  for  though  not  a  sceptic,  it  was  a  rare  thing  for  his 
thoughts  to  soar  above  this  world  ;  and  they  had  the  more  weight 
on  Ellen's  heart  from  that  circumstance. 

It  is  most  strange  that  the  majority  of  mankind  should  think 
so  lightly  of  their  immortal,  in  comparison  with  their  mortal  des- 
tiny ;  when  all  around  speaks  in  sad  and  solemn  accents  of  the 
shortness  of  all  earthly  pleasures,  and  the  nihility  of  man's  pur- 
suits. But  that  high  spirit  which  probed  all  the  secrets  of  the 
human  bosom, — the  Shakspeare,  whose  genius  appeared  to  have 
the  gift  of  Omniscience,  in  nearly  every  character  be  has  de- 
lineated, has  markedly  depicted  the  aversion  of  men  in  general  to 
contemplate  the  Eternity  which  is  All  or  Nothing.  If  it  do  not 
exist,  the  longest  life  would  be  utter  vanity  and  hollowness, 
though  crowned  with  magnificence  and  glory :  but  if  it  be  indeed  the 
goal  of  virtue,  then  how  easily  may  every  sorrow  be  compensated, 
and  every  grief  annihilated  in  the  presence  of  the  glorified  of  the 
incomprehensible  Uncreate.  Yet  even  in  this  melancholy  fact, 
that  man  should  neglect  the  future,  a  design  is  evident :  for  if  we 
were  only  alive  to  the  Hereafter,  the  affairs  of  this  life  would  be 
neglected  utterly : — and  there  can  be  but  little  doubt,  that  we 
should  pursue  the  path  to  eternity,  without  despising  the  mercies 
we  possess,  or  affixing  too  high  a  value  to  the  transitory  enjoy- 
ment of  all  things  here. 

The  hours  passed  away,  and  before  the  morning  broke,  Dan- 
vers arose. 

"  My  child  !"  he  said  to  Ellen,  "  I  cannot  tarry  to  relate  what 
has  befallen  me  since  we  parted,  but  I  hope  to  see  you  again  in 
the  course  of  a  few  hours.  I  will  now  take  some  bread  and  meat, 
if  you  have  them,  in  my  hand,  aud  depart  at  once." 


396  THE  MISER'S  SON. 

"  I  know  not  why,"  returned  Ellen  ;  "  but  all  along  I  have 
had  a  hope  that  Harry  is  safe.  But  you,  my  dear  father,  must 
be  very  cautious.  Could  you  not  disguise  yourself  in  some  way  ? 
I  wore  Harry's  clothes  till  a  few  hours  ago,  when  I  procured  these 
from  the  village." 

"  It  might  be  well  if  I  could  do  so  ;  but  I  can  stay  no  longer. 
I  shall  not  be  recognised  in  this  obscure  light.  I  am  glad  Eliza- 
beth is  asleep ;  bid  her  adieu  for  me :"  and  so  saying,  having 
received  some  provision  from  Ellen,  Danvers  stole  down  the  stairs, 
followed  by  his  daughter,  who  locked  the  outer  door  after  him. 

He  then  directed  his  steps  towards  the  spot  Mrs.  Haines  had 
described  to  him,  as  being  that  where  she  had  remarked  the 
blood,  and  found  a  portion  of  Harry's  dress,  and  in  the  course  of 
about  an  hour  he  reached  it — though  it  was  with  some  difficulty 
lie  recognised  the  place  from  Elizabeth's  description. 

The  sun  was  rising  gloriously,  and  the  morning  lark  carolled  its 
joyous  hymns  as  it  mounted  the  liquid  heaven  ;  but  distracting 
feelings  in  the  breast  of  Danvers,  caused  all  the  grand  and  majes- 
tic spectacle  of  nature,  and  the  melody  of  her  multitudinous 
voices  to  jar  on  his  brain.  At  one  moment,  it  might  be  elated 
with  hope,  his  eye  would  sparkle,  and  his  heavy  step  become 
elastic ;  but  the  next,  gloom  and  despondency  overgrew  his  spirit, 
and  he  felt  almost  weary  of  struggling  with  fortune.  How  gladly 
in  that  quiet  spot,  when  all  was  so  blithe  and  radiant,  could  he 
have  resigned  existence,  with  its  pageantry  and  mockeries.  Well, 
it  is  all  the  same  now  !  All  our  actors  have  left  not  a  trace  be- 
hind, and  we  also  hasten  to  oblivion. 

The  news  of  a  murder  having  recently  been  perpetrated  had  on 
the  previous  day  attracted  numbers  to  the  place  where  Elizabeth 
had  discovered  the  tracks  of  blood,  and  they  were  now  almost 
entirely  effaced  ;  but  Danvers  followed  them  as  far  as  possible, 
and  then  set  his  head  to  work  to  find  something  farther. 

"  If  he  have  been  murdered,  what  could  the  assassin  have  done 
with  the  body  ?"  he  asked  himself.  A  sudden  thought  flashed 
on  him.  "  It  was  at  no  great  distance  from  this  place  that  Wal- 
singham  was  murdered !"  he  exclaimed ;  "  and  I  have  always 
suspected  that  Mother  Stokes  was  in  some  way  accessory  to  that 
deed,  which  has  been  so  falsely  ascribed  to  me,  Walsingham's 
body — if  his  body  it  really  were — was  found  in  the  river — the 


THE  MISER'S  SON.  397 

very  river  which  1  see  yonder  between  the  trees,  about  half  a  mile 
hence,  and  which  I  now  perceive  was  that  I  crossed  yesterday. 
That  very  cave  I  was  in  may  contain  something  to  throw  a  light 
upon  the  deed.  I  will  take  some  dry  wood  with  me,  and  kindle 
a  blaze  in  the  place." 

Danvers  had  his  bayonet — though  not  the  musket  to  which  it 
was  attached — with  him,  and  a  pistol  which  belonged  to  Eliza- 
beth also,  so  that  he  had  not  the  least  difficulty  in  procuring  a 
light ;  and  forthwith  gathering  up  some  decayed  wood,  he  pro- 
ceeded towards  the  cave.  When  he  arrived  at  the  water,  he  per- 
ceived an  old  man  arranging  his  fishing  materials,  and  eating  a 
biscuit  as  he  did  so :  and  it  struck  him  forcibly,  before  he  saw 
the  Angler's  face,  that  he  knew  him,  but  as  he  did  not  wish  to 
be  seen  by  an  acquaintance,  he  was  stealing  away,  when  the  old 
man  turned  his  head,  and  caught  a  view  of  his  side-face. 

"  What!  Walter  Danvers  !"  he  cried  in  amazement. 

Danvers  at  this  salutation  stood  still,  and  looking  at  the  Angler, 
said — 

"  Mr.  Sidney  !  I  am  glad  to  see  you  !" 

"Ah,  Walter;  I  have  heard  that  you  have  suffered  much, 
since  I  saw  you  last,"  exclaimed  the  old  man,  who  was  no  other 
than  our  friend  of  the  rod,  who  has  before  figured  on  several  occa- 
sions. 

"  I  have,  indeed,"  was  the  reply. 

"  You  were  found  guilty  of  a  crime,  Walter,  which  I  am  certain 
it  was  not  in  your  nature  to  commit,"  rejoined  Sidney.  "  I  read 
— and  carefully  read,  all  the  evidence  on  the  trial,  though  I  was 
then  at  a  great  distance  from  this  part  of  the  world.  I  know 
public  opinion  was  against  you  ;  but  after  all,  it  appeared  that 
the  body  could  hardly  be  identified. — Pardon  me,  if  I  pain  you 
by  alluding  to  such  a  subject;  but  I  want  to  say  something  about 
it,  which  may  be  of  importance.  That  devil,  Mother  Stokes — " 

"  Ha !"  cried  Danvers,  "  what  of  her?" 

"  She  could  be  guilty  of  any  crime,  I  am  convinced  :  and  of 
course  you  know  that  she  lived,  at  the  time  of  Mr.  Walsiugham's 
murder,  at  a  very  short  distance  from  the  place  where  you  said 
you  found  him,  wounded  and  insensible.  I  have  just  been  think- 
ing over  the  matter — for  it  was  not  far  from  hence  that  the  body 
was  found — and  some  notions  have  entered  mv  old  head,  which 


398  THE  MISER'S  SON. 

I  will  tell  you.  Poor  Mr.  Walsingbam  was  known  to  have  had 
money  and  valuables  about  him  to  a  large  amount  when  he  was 
murdered.  .You  are  not  a  person  to  care  for  money — supposing 
it  possible  you  could  have  perpetrated  such  a  deed — but  what 
more  likely  than  that  this  woman,  when  you  left  Walsingham  in 
order  to  procure  assistance,  should  have  been  tempted  to  rob 
him;  for  if  you  remember,  your  little  boy,  who  happened  to  be 
passing  soon  after  you  were  gone,  said,  that  he  saw  a  demon' 
stabbing  the  wounded  man,  and  was  so  horror-stricken,  that  he 
fled  on  the  instant,  was  seen  by  a  woman  who  was  also  near  the 
body ;  and  that  this  woman  and  the  little  demon  pursued  him  ; 
but  he  was  too  nimble  for  them.  I  never  believed  for  an  instant, 
as  was  suggested  by  the  counsel  opposed  to  you,  that  the  boy 
either  spoke  falsely,  or  was  terrified  by  some  phantom  of  the 
mind  :  for  though  he  was  only  seven  years  old,  he  appeared  an 
intelligent  child  ;  and  his  statement  could  not  be  shaken  by  all 
the  rigid  cross-examination  he  was  subjected  10.  Mother  Stokes, 
it  was  said,  was  very  ill  at  the  time,  and  in  fact  confined  to  her 
bed  ;  but  that  might  have  been  an  artful  trick  of  her's.  As  for 
the  demon,  I  beheld  a  creature  with  Mother  Stokes,  yesterday, 
which  may  easily  account  for  the  child  imagining  him  such — so 
strange  and  hideous  is  it.  I  have  made  inquiries,  and  find  that 
he  is  a  semi-human  being,  and  the  grandson  of  Mother  Stokes ; 
and  that  he  runs  about  the  woods  with  an  old  ape  in  a  savage 
state." 

"I  have  seen  him!"  exclaimed  Walter  Danvers.  "  O,  if  1 
could  but  prove  my  innocence  of  that  accursed  deed  !  I  thank 
you  cordially  for  your  belief  in  my  perfect  guiltlessness,  and  for 
your  good  suggestions  also.  Harry's  story  was  so  vague  and 
wild,  that  I  was  inclined  myself  to  doubt  the  accuracy  of  it ;  and 
it  never  struck  me  until  you  started  the  supposition,  that  this 
monster  could  be  the  demon  Harry  alluded  to,  and  which  he 
stoutly  maintained,  had  stabbed  Walsingham.  The  story  was 
improbable,  and  there  was  strong  circumstantial  evidence  against 
me.  But  now  I  fear  this  fiendish  woman  has  destroyed  my  only 
son.  Will  you  accompany  me  a  short  distance  ?  I  am  proceed-  -. 
ing  to  search  a  cave,  which  I  accidentally  discovered  yesterday, 
in  which  there  may  be  something,  perhaps,  to  throw  a  light  oh 


THE  MISER'S  SON.  399 

these  transactions.  You  will  be  an  excellent  witness  for  me,  if 
we  should  find  aught  to  justify  our  suspicions." 

Roger  Sidney  at  once  assented  to  Danvers's  request,  and  they 
walked  on  together,  the  latter  relating  the  extraordinary  circum- 
stances of  the  last  few  days,  as  far  as  they  concerned  the  business 
on  which  they  had  been  talking. 

In  former  years,  when  Walter  was  a  lad,  Roger  Sidney  had 
been  very  kind  to  him;  and  so  many  generous  and  noble  traits 
had  he  observed  in  the  youth's  character,  that  nothing  had  been 
able  to  shake  his  conviction  that  he  was  innocent  of  the  foul 
charge  of  murder  of  which  he  had  been  found  guilty,  after  a  pro- 
tracted deliberation,  by  a  jury  of  his  countrymen.  He  was  a  fine 
old  fellow — that  Roger  Sidney,  though  eccentric,  and  strangely 
devoted  to  so  frivolous  a  pastime  as  that  of  angling,  and  retained 
all  the  freshness  and  verdure  of  feeling  which  usually  departs  from 
the  bosom  with  youth  and  joy. 

Danvers  had  originally  possessed  a  fine  though  very  faultv 
nature ;  and  except  that  he  was  somewhat  sanguinary,  and  that 
his  ambition  was  not  of  that  exalted  kind  which  excludes  self 
from  its  dreams  and  aspirations,  he  was  still  capable  of  great  and 
lofty  deeds.  One  crime,  one  deadly  crime,  which  he  bitterly 
and  with  agony  repented,  was  an  indelible  blot  on  his  honour 
and  reputation.  Almost  all  persons  of  his  character  have  com- 
mitted some  foul  act,  which  all  their  other  virtues  cannot  wipe 
away.  Brutus — the  patriotic  Brutus  murdered  Caesar  in  cold 
blood,  and  with  the  basest  ingratitude,  whatsoever  the  crimes  of 
that  mighty  conqueror : — the  amiable,  but  misguided  Charles 
the  First,  who  had  many  of  the  qualities  of  Danvers,  can  never 
be  forgiven  for  his  conduct  relative  to  Strafford,  and  deadly  and 
innumerable  errors  have  been  committed  by  persons  capable  of 
high  and  valorous  deeds.  Yet  this  is  not  any  palliation  of  such 
offences ;  but  only  evinces  the  weakness  of  human  nature  when 
it  is  severely  tried.  And  Danvers  had  been  tempted  far  more 
dreadfully  than  the  Roman  patriot,  or  the  British  monarch. 

Sidney  and  Danvers  found  no  difficulty  in  entering  the  cave, 

jv\Kere  the  father  had  so  lately  and  narrowly  missed  his  son  ;  and 

/^'-having  lighted  some  wood,  commenced  their  examination.    Each 

held  a  withered  branch  alight  in  his  hand,  which  burned  with 

tolerable  brightness ;  and  at  length  they  entered  the  cave  where 


400  THE  MISER'S  SON. 

Harry  first  found  himself  on  recovering  his  senses.  Here  Danvers 
lingered,  while  Sidney  crawled  through  the  aperture  which  Harry 
had  recently  made ;  but  the  former  was  soon  called  to  the  old 
man's  side  by  a  cry  of  horror  from  him. 

"  Look  !  that  skeleton  !"  exclaimed  Roger  Sidney  ,~as  Wal- 
ter, every  drop  of  blood  seeming  to  congeal  within  him,  ap- 
peared,— pointing  to  an  object  at  a  short  distance. 

"  Ha !"  cried  Danvers,  after  looking  at  the  unsightly  thing  for 
a  few  moments,  murmuring  a  prayer  of  thankfulness  that  he 
stood  not  by  the  lifeless  corse  of  his  child.  A  glance  at  the  ske- 
leton sufficed  to  show  that  the  first  stage  of  decomposition  had 
long  ceased.  "  By  heaven  !'*  cried  Danvers,  "  these  are  the 
remains  of  poor  Walsingham.  The  very  height  of  the  stature,  the 
very  form  of  the  skull — the  hair,  some  of  which  you  may  see,  of 
a  peculiar  auburn  hue,  and  the  shape  of  one  leg,  which  is  slightly 
warped  from  his  having  broken  it  when  he  was  a  boy.  I  think 
there  can  be  no  reasonable  doubt  of  the  fact.  But  we  shall  find 
more  directly.  Ha !  see  !  this  sword,  though  very  rusty,  I  can 
swear  to ;  for  I  exchanged  it  with  Walsingham  for  one  of  his, 
and  on  the  trial  it  was  thought  a  strong  evidence  of  my  guilt 
that  a  part  of  the  blade — see,  it  is  broken  off  at  the  point ! — was 
found  in  the  body.  Well,  I  don't  think  there  is  any  trace  of 
Harry,  unless — ha !  there  is  something  at  your  foot.  It  is  part 
of  a  letter  directed  to  him  in  Norton's  hand-writing.  Oh,  God  ! 
my  boy  !"  Danvers  clasped  his  hands  together  on  his  brow,  and 
stood,  an  image  of  despair,  for  a  minute  or  two. 

"  Be  of  good  cheer,"  at  length  exclaimed  Sidney,  "  we  have 
found  nothing  else  of  your  son's ;  and  this  may  have  been 
dropped  by  Mother  Stokes.  He  may  not  have  been  here." 

Danvers  shook  his  head,  but  answered  nothing.  "  Now,"  he 
thought,  "let  fate  do  its  worst.  What  is  life  to  me?" 

"  Come,  let  us  search  every  corner,"  said  the  old  man,  "  and 
then,  at  all  events,  you  may  be  relieved  from  this  awful  state  of 
suspense." 

In  compliance  with  this  suggestion  Walter  resumed  the  search, 
but  he  could  find  nothing  else  of  Harry's.  There  appeared, 
however,  at  no  great  distance  from  the  skeleton  the  marks  of 
recent  gore ;  and  with  a  hopeless  spirit,  the  agonised  father 
quitted  the  cave  with  Sidney. 


THE  MISER'S  SON.  401 


CHAPTER  III. 

There  live,  alas !  of  heaven-directed  mien, 
Of  cultured  soul,  and  sapient  eye  serene, 
Who  hail  thee,  man !  the  pilgrim  of  a  day, 
Spouse  of  the  worm,  and  brother  of  the  clay, 
Frail  as  the  leaf  in  Autumn's  yellow  bower, 
Dust  in  the  wind,  or  dew  upon  the  flower ; 
A  friendly  slave,  a  child  without  a  sire, 
Whose  mortal  life,  and  momentary  fire, 
Lights  to  the  grave  his  chance  created  form, 

CAMPBELL. 

DANVERS   AND   OLD    QUIRK — THE    EPICUREAN'S   BOOK — THE 
MISER   AND   THE   LOST   PAPERS. 

"  WE  must  now  consider  what  further  steps  are  expedient," 
said  Roger  Sidney.  "  1  have  been  informed  that  the  authorities 
have  been  in  pursuit  of  this  wretch,  Stokes  ;  but  all  in  vain.  It 
is  clear,  however,  that  she  cannot  be  far  hence.  I  will  go  and 
make  a  deposition  before  the  nearest  magistrate,  and  you  can 
continue  your  quest  for  your  son.  Keep  a  good  heart,  I  beseech 
you,  and  trust  in  the  goodness  of  Providence." 

"  At  all  events,"  replied  Danvers,  "  Heaven  is  good  to  my  boy. 
If  he  is  no  more,  he  is  happy.  But  O  !  It  is  a  dreadful  thing  to 
be  bereaved  of  one  we  love  so  dearly!  God  bless  you,  sir!  I 
think  the  course  you  have  marked  out  will  be  the  best  to  pursue. 
And — and — if  I  should  perish,  worthy  Mr.  Sidney, — I  have  a 
daughter — a  good  and  lovely  child,  who  will  be  left  without  pro- 
tection in  the  world.  May  I  ask  you  to  extend  your  friendly  hand 
to  her?  There  is  no  one  whom  I  could  trust — unless  it  be  my 
honest  John  Norton,  who  must  provide  for  his  own  safety — like 
you." 

"  I  will  be  a  father  to  her!"  returned  Sidney,  grasping  the 
hand  of  Danvers.  "  But  I  hope  you  may  be  preserved  yet.  And 
consider,  Walter,  whether  in  the  dangerous  schemes,  in  which  it 

3  F 


402  THE  MISER'S  SON. 

seems  you  are  involved,  you  are  not  depriving  her  of  one  she  so 
much  needs.  I  know  not  the  nature  of  the  service  in  which  you 
are  engaged  ;  but  I  have  heard  rumours  of  treason — " 

"  No  more  of  that,  I  pray  you,"  exclaimed  Danvers.  "  What- 
ever betide,  I  am  bound  heart  and  soul  to  the  cause  I  now 
serve.  Once  more  adieu,  and  accept  my  cordial  thanks  for  your 
goodness." 

Thus  parted  those  two  old  friends,  the  most  opposite  in  cha-' 
racier  imaginable,  and  yet,  though  with  widely  diverse  views 
and  interests,  linked  together  by  bonds  which  could  not  be 
broken  by  time  or  circumstance.  The  friends  of  youth — sin- 
cerely so, — are  ever  most  deeply  interested  in  our  welfare  :  and 
they  must  sympathise  with  our  sorrows  the  more  profoundly, 
that  we  are  blended  with  their  own  early  associations.  True, 
old,  friends  are  ever  ready  to  assist  us,  "  when  all  around  grows 
dark  and  dim,"  and  others  forsake,  neglect,  and  forget  us. 

Walter  Danvers  continued  his  solitary  way,  without  any  fixed 
plan  of  action.  He  entertained  but  small  hopes  that  he  should 
ever  behold  Harry  again  alive:  but  reluctant  to  abandon  the 
search,  he  walked  forwards  at  a  rapid  pace,  buried  in  gloomy 
reverie.  Thus  he  had  advanced  for  the  space  of  about  a  mile, 
when  he  was  met  by  a  little  old  man,  who  gazed  at  him 
curiously  ;  and  then,  doffing  his  hat,  accosted  him,  saying, 

"  Master  Danvers !  A  good  day  t'ye,  sir." 

"Ha!  old  Quirk !"  exclaimed  Walter,  with  some  surprise, 
"  I  did  not  think  you  were  in  the  land  of  the  living!" 

"  Oh,  yes,"  answered  the  lawyer,  with  whom  the  Reader  is 
already  acquainted,  "  such  rogues  as  I  am  don't  die  so  early  as 
the  good.  Ha,  ha!  Well,  sir,  I  think  1  know  something  you 
would  be  pleased  to  hear.  And  I  could  give  you  information,  if 
remunerated  handsomely,  which  might  be  of  great  importance  to 
you." 

Danvers  smiled  bitterly.  "  I  see  you  are  the  same  old  grasp- 
ing fellow  as  ever,  now  that  you  have  one  foot  in  the  grave,"  he 
said  ;  "  but  it  is  your  nature.  What  have  you  to  say  to  me  ?" 

The  lawyer  grinned.  "  1  find,"  he  replied,  "  that  the  beau- 
tiful Miss  Harriet  Walsingham  is  still  much  interested  for  you." 

"Ah!"  cried  Danvers,  "  what  of  her?"     And  he  spoke  so 


THE  MISER'S  SON.  403 

eagerly,  that  the  cunning  attorney  felt  he  had  that  to  impart 
which  would  unloose  the  purse-strings  of  Danvers. 

"  Why,"  returned  Quirk,  "you  are  in  a  very  perilous  predica- 
ment, having  been  found  guiltv  of  the  murder  of  Mr.  Walsing- 
ham,  the  lady's  own  brother;  and  Miss  Harriet  supposing  you 
were  in  prison,  sent  for  me  to  communicate  on  the  subject.  Now, 
what  will  you  give  me,  if  I  relate  what  passed  in  that  interview?" 

"  Nothing,"  replied  Danvers,  with  an  effort.  "  What  she 
confided  to  you,  she  did  not  intend  should  reach  my  ear ;  and 
therefore  I  should  consider  myself  most  base  in  bestowing  a 
bribe  on  an  untrustworthy  agent,  to  learn  a  secret  which  honour 
forbids  me  seeking  out." 

"  Well,  as  you  like  on  that  point,"  returned  the  old  fellow  ; 
"  but  I  was  not  a  little  astonished  that  she  should  betray  so 
much  feeling  for  one  who  was  supposed — pardon  me  for  saying 
it — to  have  injured  her  deeply,  in  more  than  one  respect.  I  am 
at  this  time  retained  by  her  for  you,  and  I  have  no  doubt  I  shall 
be  able  to  make  out  a  case,  proving  your  innocence  of  the  death 
of  Mr.  Walsingham.  But  I  shall  be  at  a  great  expense,  a  very 
great  expense,  Master  Danvers!" 

"  Strange,"  muttered  Walter,  "  most  strange  !" 

"  What  is  strange?"  asked  Quirk,  peering  into  the  other's 
face. 

"  That  she  should  have  applied  to  you,  who  are  known  to  be 
one  of  the  greatest  rascals  in  the  kingdom. 

Quirk  chuckled.  "That  is  the  very  reason  I  am  so  often  ap- 
plied to,"  he  said.  "  You  see,  sir,  I  have  constituted  myself 
Attorney-General  to  all  the  scoundrels  in  England  ;  and  as  it  is 
known  I  possess  their  secrets,  I  am  frequently  sought  by  persons 
of  reputation  and  even  rank,  when  they  want  to  circumvent  the 
machinations  of  villains.  I  am  a  low,  pettifogging  lawyer.  What 
of  that?  I  make  £3,000  a  year,  and  am  not  more  mercenary  than 
statesmen  and  others.  I  work  best  for  those  who  pay  me  best. 
Surely  that's  right?" 

"  Most  undoubtedly,"  replied  Danvers,  sarcastically.  "  But 
do  not  the  rascals  you  work  for  often  cheat  you  ?" 

"  Cheat  their  lawyer!  Ha,  ha,  ha!  Do  the  minor  devils  cheat 
Satan  ?  Preposterous  !  Well,  sir,  to  return  to  the  matter  we 
have  digressed  from.  What  will  you  give  me,  if  I  prove  you 


404  THE  MISER'S  SON. 

guiltless  of  that  murder?  I  suppose  you  want  to  stand  clear  in 
the  eyes  of  the  world,  and  especially  in  the  eyes  of  Miss  Wal- 
singham  ?" 

"  Yes,  I  do,"  was  the  answer.  "  I  will  give  you  £100,  when 
you  can  establish  the  innocence  which  avails  me  not.  And, 
Quirk,  you  have  sagacity  and  shrewdness.  I  will  now  give  you  a 
fee  to  deal  with  an  old  wretch  of  the  name  of  Stokes."  The 
lawyer  started.  "  She  knows  something  of  Walsingham's  mur- 
der, I  am  convinced,  as  we  shall  prove  hereafter :  but  now  I 
would  have  you  discover  the  fate  of  my  son,  who,  I  suspect,  has 
met  his  death  at  her  hands." 

"  Indeed  !"  cried  Quirk,  as  Danvers  placed  in  his  hand  ten 
guineas,  which  instantly  disappeared. 

"  But  she  is  not  to  be  found,"  added  Danvers. 

"  Ah,  not  by  you,  perhaps,"  answered  the  lawyer,  with  a 
smile;  "  but  /shall  soon  find  her.  "  I  will  see  her  immediately, 
and  try  to  elicit  the  truth  from  her.  You  know  I  monopolise  all 
the  rogues.  And  this  has  been  my  plan  through  life.  I  have 
uniformly  endeavoured  to  establish  a  reputation  for  consummate 
villany.  I  would  not  stop  half  way,  and  keep  something  like  the 
semblance  of  a  character  with  the  world.  No,  no.  I  have  re- 
marked that  your  half-and-half  rascals  always  are  believed  to  be 
as  great  ones  as  others,  but  yet  they  are  not  bold  and  decided 
enough  to  please  the  scoundrels.  Well,  state  your  case  to  me, 
and  I  will  then  see  what  I  can  do  for  you." 

Danvers  proceeded  to  relate  the  facts  of  Harry's  disappearance, 
and  of  his  having  searched  the  cave  himself;  and  when  he  had 
finished,  the  decrepid  but  cunning  lawyer  cried, 

"  I  see !  I  see !  No  time  is  to  be  lost.  Meanwhile,  Master 
Danvers,  I  would  advise  you,  as  you  have  been  so  lucky  as  to 
escape,  to  keep  close.  You  do  not  care  to  bear  further  of  Miss 
Walsingham,  I  suppose  ?" 

Danvers,  desirous  of  hearing  Harriet's  opinion  of  him,  and 
wherefore  she  had  sent  to  the  attorney,  but  determined  not  to 
arrive  at  the  knowledge  by  underhand  means,  replied,  <f  Tell  me, 
what  does  she  think  of  me  ?"  but  added,  "  I  will  hear  no  breach 
of  confidence." 

"  She  firmly  believes  you  are  not  lost  to  virtue,"  returned 
Quirk,  with  a  sneer,  laying  an  emphasis  on  the  word  Virtue, 


THE  MISER'S  SON.  405 

which  he  no  more  believed  in  than  Robert  Owen,  though  from  a  dif- 
ferent principle.  "  Between  you  and  myself,  I  can't  conceive  that 
one  man  is  better  than  another.  Some  may  appear  worse ;  but 
that  is  all.  Farewell  for  the  present/' 

"  I  will  meet  you  here  at  this  time  to-morrow,"  cried  Danvers. 

"If  you  will  take  mv  advice,"  answered  Quirk,  "you'll  do  no 
such  thing.  I'll  find  you  out,  depend  upon't,  when  I  have  any- 
thing to  communicate  to  you."  And  so  ended  the  interview. 

"  Harriet  still  loves  me,"  thought  Danvers,  "  in  spile  of  all 
my  villany.  But  her  love  partakes  of  pity  more  than  of  any 
other  sentiment.  Alas  !  I  can  never  hope  to  regain  what  I  have 
lost." 

While  thus  cogitating,  he  continued  his  walk,  with  many  cor- 
roding feelings  in  his  bosom,  to  add  to  the  grief  and  agony 
which  his  more  recent  probable  affliction  occasioned  ;  and,  heed- 
ing not  whither  he  went,  he  reached  the  very  spot  where  he  en- 
countered the  Epicurean  a  few  days  previously.  He  stopped, 
when  he  found  where  he  was.  Casting  his  eyes  on  the  ground, 
he  saw  a  book  lying  beneath  a  tree,  and  remembered  to  have  seen 
the  young  philosopher  with  such  an  one  in  his  hand.  The  whole 
of  that  singular  meeting  rose  up  to  his  mind.  What  vast  changes 
had  those  few  hours  which  had  elapsed  made  in  his  fortunes  and 
being!  He  recalled  the  dark  and  melancholy  words  of  the 
strange  boy  who  appeared  to  have  adopted  such  Hegesian  views 
of  human  life  and  destiny,  and  murmured  to  himself,  "  I  wonder 
who  he  was  !"  Picking  up  the  volume,  he  opened  it,  and  found  it 
to  be  a  Greek  Plato,  with  the  name  of"  William  Walsingham" 
written  on  a  blank  page. 

"What!"  exclaimed  Danvers,  "the  son  of  the  man  whose 
murder  is  ascribed  to  me  !  Most  marvellous !  Such  must  be  the 
case.  I  remember  I  was  struck  with  a  resemblance  which  I 
could  not  define." 

Beneath  the  name  which  William  Walsingham  had  written  in 
a  large  bold  hand,  very  peculiar  and  significant  of  his  character, 
there  was  a  Latin  sentence,  which  Danvers  had  just  sufficient 
scholarship  to  understand,  in  the  same  writing  as  the  autograph. 
It  was  to  this  effect :  "  Here  you  may  read  the  aspirations  of  a 
mind  too  soaring  for  earth,  and  yet  too  low  for  that  which  it 
aspired  after.  Vainly  does  the  heart  pant  to  leave  its  cage,  as  an 


406  THE  MISER'S  SON. 

imprisoned  bird  that  would  soar  into  the  liquid  air.  Genius  is 
the  light  of  the  world,  and  darkness  encompasses  it  like  a  pall. 
He  that  would  enjoy  life,  must  tread  the  path  of  others.  Enjoy- 
ment— vain,  idle  word  !  To  enjoy  is  but  to  avoid  pain  !  He  that 
would  do  this  must  gratify  his  senses,  and  repress  the  longings 
of  his  heart  for  perfection,  and  of  his  intellect  for  the  unattain- 
able. He  must  grasp  power,  and  wealth  and  glory,  if  he  is 
ambitious ;  he  must  bask  in  the  smiles  of  women,  if  a  sensualist,' 
he  must  eat,  drink,  and  sleep,  like  the  other  animals:  and  when 
he  has  done  all  this — when  he  has  drunk  of  the  cup  of  pleasure 
to  satiety — when  he  has  gained  the  acclamations,  the  envy,  the 
admiration  of  the  Universe — when  he  has  raised  himself  to  the 
station  of  a  God  by  his  genius,  and  made  for  himself  the  para- 
dise he  longed  for — behold,  it  passes  away  like  a  vision.  And 
though  an  immortality  of  fame  may  irradiate  his  memory  after 
death,  all  will  be  naught  to  him  !  Oh,  what  is  greatness,  love, 
passion,  glory,  ambition,  hope,  and  life?  In  the  words  of  the 
philosopher,  all  but  as  A  lucernarum  extinctu  /" 

"  With  the  putting  out  of  candles  !  What  a  simile  !"  thought 
Danvers.  "  I  hardly  comprehend  what  the  youth  is.  We  are 
as  meteor  lights,  that  is  certain,  and  fall  into  the  black  abyss  of 
Death,  the  secrets  of  which  no  traveller  can  tell." 

Turning  over  the  leaves  of  the  book,  he  found  a  paper  in  the 
same  character,  on  the  works  of  Epicurus  and  Lucretius,  in  com- 
parison with  those  of  Plato.  It  was  masteily  and  brilliant, 
indicating  a  perfect  knowledge  of  the  subject,  and  abounding 
with  deep  and  sombre  thoughts,  grand,  shadowy  and  sublime. 
It  was  the  writing  of  one  deeply  versed  in  the  secrets  of  the 
human  heart  by  intuition,  more  than  experience.  "  We  may 
observe,"  wrote  the  critic,  "  a  singular  feature  in  the  writings  of 
the  disciple  of  Socrates — an  ardent  belief  in  immortality,  though 
vague  and  indistinct  in  its  intimations;  in  those  of  Epicurus  and 
Lucretius  a  firm  conviction  of  the  non-existence  of  anything  of 
the  conscious  being  after  death.  The  visible  and  invisible  worlds 
constitute  in  the  mind  of  Plato  a  species  of  phantasrna,  in  which 
his  thoughts  are  continually  involved.  Yet  of  what  consequence 
is  it  to  contend  for  the  indestructibility  of  the  mind  ?  for,  of 
course,  it  is  the  merest  axiom  to  say  that  it  is  not  eternal  in  its 
present  state.  To  be  eternal,  then,  it  must  undergo  a  change  in 


THE  MISER'S  SON.  407 

essence,  and  therefore  could  not  remain  the  same  mind.  No;  the 
present  is  All :  and  that  All,  if  calmly  and  dispassionately  con- 
sidered, amounts  to — Nothing." 

"  Wonderful  !"  thought  Danvers,  "  to  contend  thus  for 
annihilation,  and  to  deny  the  entity  of  the  present  in  the  same 
breath.  If  I  thought  annihilation  possible — if  I  were  certain 
now  that  my  Harry  ceased  to  be — that  I  might  never,  never  see 
him  more — oh,  death!" 

Danvers  had  been  comforting  himself  with  the  belief,  that  if 
his  son  were  dead,  he  was  happier  far  than  if  he  had  continued 
on  earth  ;  and  somehow  the  essay  of  the  Atheist  had  made  a 
more  powerful  impression  on  him  than  he  liked  to  own  to  himself. 
There  are  certain  states  of  mental  progress,  when  we  are  apt  to 
doubt  of  everything  conducive  to  felicity;  and  Danvers,  it  has 
been  said,  was  not  a  religious  man.  Irreligion  is  more  frequently 
manifested  in  dull  indifference  than  disbelief,  and  though  it  may 
not  sap  the  foundations  of  morality  so  speedily  in  the  former 
phase,  it  takes  away  the  prop  which  sustains,  and  slowly  plunges 
its  votaries  into  the  depths  of  wretchedness.  Walter,  from  his 
occupations,  and  the  original  bias  of  his  nature,  had  been 
immersed  in  thoughts  which  ever  distracted  his  mind  from  the 
contemplation  of  eternity.  The  fevered  dreams  of  ambition,  and 
the  hot  unrest  of  mighty  passions,  continually  absorbed  his 
spirit.  All  men  of  the  world  more  or  less  resemble  him.  The 
doctrine  of  annihilation  is  necessarily  such,  that  it  excludes  from 
the  soul  every  sweet  hope  and  thought  directed  into  the  future — 
even  on  earth.  If  there  were  no  other  argument  against  it  than 
its  restriction  to  the  present — when  no  rational  person  will  assert 
that  th«  present  is  sufficient  for  the  happiness  of  man  — and  that 
he  must  ever  desire  what  cannot  be  attained,  as  a  law  of  his 
being — it  were  a  cogent  reason  for  rejecting  it  in  toto:  but  when 
we  are  torn  from  those  we  love,  when  we  behold  our  bright  ones 
scattered,  "  like  sear  and  yellow  leaves,"  by  the  blast  of  desola- 
tion, oh,  how  agonizing  would  be  the  reflection,  that  the  most 
virtuous,  and  pure,  and  cherished  have  become  but  as  the  matter 
which  is  wasting  to  ashes ;  "  for  none  can  say  to  the  grave 
'  restore  to  me  my  beloved,'  nor  to  corruption,  '  give  me  back 
my  darling.'"  In  the  words  of  the  eloquent  Bulwer,  "when 
after  long  years  of  desertion  and  widowhood  on  earth,  there  is 


408  THE  MISER'S  SON. 

to  be  no  hope  of  re-union  in  that  Invisible  beyond  the  stars, 
where  the  torch  not  of  life  only,  but  of  love,  must  be  quenched  in 
the  Dark  Fountain  ;  and  the  grave  that  we  would  fain  hope  is 
the  great  restorer  of  broken  ties,  is  but  the  dumb  seal  of  hope- 
less, utter,  inexorable  separation.  Blessed  be  the  faith  which 
removes  these  terrors.  Listen  not  to  those  who  would  destroy 
the  poetry  of  the  affections,  with  the  pure  religion  of  the  heart." 

Plunging  into  yet  deeper  meditation,  Danvers  now  pursued  his 
way  across  a  more  sterile  and  uncultivated  portion  of  the  country 
than  that  which  he  had  hitherto  traversed.  And  presently  he 
found  himself  in  a  narrow  path,  winding  betwixt  hills  and  rocks 
which  rose  to  a  considerable  altitude  in  a  semicircular  form.  A 
wild  torrent  rushed  down  a  channel  which  it  had  made  for  itself 
in  the  hard,  stony  earth,  and  spent  its  fury  in  hollow  and  mournful, 
yet  angry  tumult  in  a  valley  which  lay  below.  Descending  into 
this  valley,  he  descried  a  thin  form,  crawling  along  with  uncertain 
steps,  and  recognised  in  it  that  of  the  Miser,  Everard  Walsingham, 
from  whose  residence  he  was  now  at  no  very  great  distance. 
Hastening  his  pace,  he  would  soon  have  overtaken  Everard  ;  but 
the  Miser  turning  his  head,  no  sooner  beheld  him,  than  he  rushed 
away  at  a  furious  rate,  regardless  of  the  shouts  of  Danvers  to 
stop.  But,  unluckily  for  the  fugitive,  in  dashing  down  a  hill 
which  he  was  at  the  ascent  to,  when  Walter  first  observed  him, 
he  fell,  and  sprained  his  leg  so  severely  that  he  could  scarcely 
limp  along. 

"  In  the  fiend's  name,"  cried  Danvers  impatiently,  as  soon  as 
he  reached  his  former  friend,  who  was  groaning,  as  much  from 
fear  as  pain,  "  what  ails  thee?" 

"  Oh,  Walter,"  replied  the  Miser  imploringly,  "  indeed  I  did 
not  betray  your  trust.  I  am  unable  to  tell  you  how  I  lost ; — 
you  know — that  is — "  and  he  stopped  abruptly,  hardly  daring 
to  look  Danvers  in  the  face.  But  his  was  a  countenance  which 
betrayed  the  secrets  of  the  soul  even  to  a  superficial  observer, 
and  the  keen  eye  of  Danvers  read  it  almost  as  a  book,  from 
custom. 

"  You  have  not  dared  to  breathe  a  word  of  what  I  confided  to 
you,  to  living  man,  Everard  Walsingham?"  said  Danvers,  sternly- 
regarding  the  Miser. 

"  No,  no!  indeed  not  I!''  replied  Everard,  frantic  with  fear, 


THE  MISER'S  SON.  409 

and  losing  all  thought,  but  of  the  danger  he  was  in  from  the 
terrible  resentment  of  that  dreaded  man ;  for  the  events  of  the 
last  few  days  had  almost  reduced  his  feeble  mind  to  idiotcy.  "  I 
dropped  the  papers,  and  a  robber  has  got  possession  of  them. 
He  broke  into  your  house  at  midnight,  and,  and — '' 

"  Wretched  fool !"  interrupted  Danvers,  "  I  told  you  of  the 
infinite  importance  of  those  papers."  And  as  he  spoke  he  recol- 
lected those  documents  which  he  had  entrusted  to  little  George. 
The  feelings  of  the  father  gave  way  before  those  of  the  partisan, 
and  he  exclaimed,  "  We  are  undone."  He  thought  to  himself, 
"  Those  papers  put  together  with  mine,  if  discovered,  will 
destroy  every  hope  that  we  have.  I  must  think  no  more  of  pri- 
vate sorrows  ;  but  bestir  myself  at  once  ....  Walsingham,"  he 
said  aloud,  "  you  have  been,  at  all  events,  shamefully  careless: 
but  if  I  find  that  you  have  done  worse,  expect  my  heaviest  ven- 
geance on  your  head;  you  shall  die,  by  heaven!"  And  with 
these  menaces,  turning  a  deaf  ear  to  the  prayers  and  entreaties  of 
the  Miser,  who  was  now  driven  to  the  very  verge  of  desperation, 
and  half  drew  a  pistol  from  his  bosom,  when  he  found  Walter 
heeded  him  not — but  returned  it  to  its  place  again  instantly— 
Danvers  left  him. 

"  Oh,  it  has  come  at  last,"  ejaculated  Everard,  "  my  fearful- 
lest  dreams  are  on  the  point  of  verification.  What  shall  I  do? 
My  reason  seems  to  totter.  Ha,  he  is  gone,  and  I — and  I !" 
He  left  the  sentence  unfinished,  and  fell  back  with  a  piercing 
cry  of  anguish. 


3  G 


410  THE  MISER'S  SON. 


CHAPTER  IV. 


My  noble  boy,  and  have  I  found  thee  thus  ? 
When  that  I  thought  the  grave  had  o'er  thee  closed ! 
Oh,  joy — Off,  villains,  off — a  father's  love 
Will  make  this  arm  omnipotent! — New  Drama. 


HARRY  DANVERS — FREESTONE — THE  STRUGGLE  —  WALTER 
DANVERS — HARRY'S  DEPARTURE. 

MEANWHILE  Harry  Danvers  and  his  tall  friend,  Jennings, 
having  escaped  from  the  cave  in  safety,  took  the  first  turning  of 
the  road  which  led  to  it ;  and  then  held  a  consultation  together. 
"Perhaps  we  had  better  separate  for  the  present,"  said  Jennings; 
"  but  meet  me  again  here  to-morrow,  or  the  next  day,  if  possi- 
ble. But  if  that  cannot  be,  here  is  my  address  in  London.  I 
will  give  you  a  helping  hand  in  any  difficulty  you  may  get  into, 
depend  on't.  And  now  I  must  commence  my  transformation. 
Good  bye." 

Thus  having  spoken,  Jennings  began  to  limp  away,  turning  up 
his  eyes  in  a  peculiar  manner,  as  a  chance  traveller  made  his 
appearance — to  whom  he  made  application  for  alms  in  a  whining 
voice.  Harry  instantly  strode  away  in  the  direction  of  the  Bri- 
tannia :  but  he  found  he  was  weaker  than  he  thought  possible. 
When  he  had  gained  the  shelter  of  a  wood  at  the  distance  of 
about  half  a  mile,  he  stopped  to  rest  fora  few  minutes,  as  well  as 
lo  drink  from  a  brook  which  coursed  gently,  and  without  a  rip- 
ple, through  the  place.  Having  refreshed  himself,  he  arose,  and 
pursued  his  way  ;  but  he  had  not  proceeded  many  furlongs,  when 
a  man  rushed  up  to  him,  breathless  with  the  speed  he  had  been 
using,  and  exclaimed, 

"  I  do  beseech  you,  exchange  your  cloak  and  hat  with  me.  I 
am  desperate,  and  if  you  refuse,  I  must  take  them  by  force.  My 
own  are  in  better  condition  by  far  than — " 


THE  MISER'S  SON.  411 

"Ha!  your  name  is  Freestone?"  ejaculated  Harry,  before  the 
man  had  finished  his  sentence  ;  and  he  himself  being  disguised, 
was  not  recognised  by  the  other. 

"  Yes,  yes,  your  voice  is  familiar  to  me,  but  I  know  you  not. 
There  is  no  time  to  waste.  If  you  would  befriend  me,  make  the 
exchange." 

"  I  suppose  you  are  pursued,"  said  Harry,  as  he  proceeded  to 
divest  himself  of  his  cloak  and  hat — the  latter  article  of  dress  he 
had  lost,  when  he  was  knocked  down  while  contending  with 
Mother  Stokes  and  the  savage,  and  it  had  been  replaced  with  one 
as  old  as  his  years — and  he  gave  them  to  Freestone. 

"  I  think  I  know  you  now,"  exclaimed  the  emissary,  a  dark 
cloud  gathering  on  his  brow  for  an  instant.  "  1  have  been 
pursued  until  almost  exhausted.  The  great  meeting  you  have 
heard  of,  as  about  to  be  convened,  a  [short  time  since,  was 
discovered,  and  a  number  of  military  attacked  us.  We  were 
basely  deserted  by  Norton  and  many  others  in  our  extremity  ; 
but,  with  the  most  daring,  I  made  a  sally,  and  together  with  two 
or  three  others  cut  my  way  through  the  enemy.  But  I  have  been 
pursued,  with  scarcely  any  intermission,  ever  since.  My  horse 
has  fallen  under  me  from  fatigue,  and  the  hunters  are  now 
almost  within  sight." 

Generously  resolving  to  incur  peril  himself,  in  order  to  save 
one  of  the  principal  instruments  of  the  cause  he  was  attached  to, 
the  youth  said,  "  I  will  try  to  mislead  the  persons  who  pursue 
you.  At  a  distance  we  might  easily  be  mistaken  for  each  other. 
You  can  conceal  yourself  among  yonder  bushes,  and  I'll  appear 
to  fly.  But,  before  we  part,  I  must  express  my  conviction  that 
you  are  in  error  with  regard  to  Norton  ;  he  is  the  best,  bravest, 
noblest  fellow  in  existence." 

"  I  cannot  stay  to  dispute  the  point,"  returned  Freestone.  "  I 
thank  you  for  your  help;"  saying  which  he  immediately  disap- 
peared. 

Harry,  however,  did  not  wish  to  be  taken,  though  he  would 
probably  have  been  suffered  to  go  at  large,  after  some  delay  ; 
for  he  was  anxious  to  gain  tidings  of  his  father,  and  to  be  at 
liberty  to  assist  him,  if  necessary :  and  therefore,  as  soon  as  he 
heard  the  sounds  of  pursuit,  he  knew  that  he  was  perceived,  and 
started  off.  After  running  for  about  ten  minutes,  when  his  strength 


412  THE  MISER'S  SON. 

and  wind  failed  him,  he  plunged  into  the  thickest  of  the  wood, 
closely  followed  by  two  or  three  men,  who  were  on  horseback ; 
but  who  quitted  their  steeds,  and  tied  them  to  a  tree,  in  order  to 
follow  the  fugitive,  who  they  imagined  was  at  hand.  The  exertion 
that  he  had  made,  quite  knocked  up  Harry,  after  all  he  had 
undergone;  and  he  crept  under  some  tall  grass,  overhung  by 
bushes,  and  lay  concealed  there.  The  pursuers  were  very  close, 
and  would  probably  have  discovered  Harry,  had  not  their  atten- 
tion been  diverted  by  the  appearance  of  two  men,  the  one  wild 
and  haggard  in  his  looks,  with  blood  streaming  down  his  face, 
the  other  a  well-looking  youth  of  about  eighteen. 

"  Have  you  seen  the  villain  ?"  demanded  the  first  of  these 
persons  of  one  of  the  soldiers,  who  seemed  much  fatigued  with  a 
protracted  chase. 

"  Does  your  honour  mean  the  Jacobite,  Hugh  Freestone  ?" 
inquired  the  soldier,  doffing  his  cap. 

"  No,  no,"  answered  the  officer,  who  was  no  other  than  Cap- 
tain Norton,  and  who  had  been  pursuing  Danvers  with  desperate 
eagerness,  while  William  Walsingham,  unwilling  to  desert  him 
while  he  laboured  under  such  a  frenzy  of  excitement,  remained 
with  him.  "  I  am  in  search  of  the  miscreant,  Walter  Danvers," 
continued  the  Captain,  "  for  whose  head — and  you  are  at  liberty 
to  kill  him  for  a  felon  and  a  traitor — I  will  give  a  thousand 
pounds." 

"  I  wish  I  could  clap  my  hand  on  him,"  replied  the  man,  who 
was  heartily  sick  of  pursuing  Freestone,  and  did  not  suppose  that 
he  should  take  him  without  great  difficulty  yet, — the  emissary 
having  slightly  wounded  him  with  a  pistol-ball  already.  "  Shall 
I  assist  your  honour  to  look  for  this  rascal  ?  Tom  and  Jack  there 
will  see  after  t'other."  "-V  - 

Captain  Norton  accepted  the  man's  services,  'and  William 
Walsingham,  bidding  the  soldier  not  to  quit  the  officer's  side, 
departed.  The  two  soldiers  left  behind  were  in  no  humour  to 
continue  the  pursuit  in  which  they  had  been  engaged  ;  and  as 
soon  as  the  other  man,  who  was  their  Corporal,  had  followed 
Captain  Norton  away,  they  proposed  to  "  wet  their  whistles" 
before  they  did  anything  further.  Accordingly  they  seated  them- 
selves on  the  ground,  and  began  to  drink  from  a  flask  of  spirits 
which  one  of  them  carried,  and  to  refresh  themselves  with  some 


THE  MISER'S  SON.  413 

hard  biscuit,  while  they  gathered  the  nuts  and  berries  which 
grew  near  them.  They  were  very  weary,  and  the  turf  being  soft, 
and  the  spot  a  pleasant  one,  realizing  those  pictures  which 
Poussin  delighted  in — quiet  and  shady  and  romantic — they  did 
not  seem  likely  to  quit  it  speedily. 

Harry  remained  in  a  state  of  suspense  and  anxiety  far  from 
being  enviable,  while  the  soldiers  regaled  themselves,  lazily 
recumbent ;  but  he  did  not  dare  to  stir,  lest  he  should  be  dis- 
covered. He  was  a  bold  fellow,  and,  in  ordinary  circumstances, 
would  not  have  hesitated  to  encounter  them  in  fight,  but  now  he 
was  so  faint  and  weak,  that  he  felt  he  should  be  mad  to  do  so. 

"  Well,  I  think  I  shall  take  a  snooze,"  said  one  fellow,  the 
refreshments  being  demolished.  "  It's  of  no  use  to  try  and  catch 
that  d d  runaway." 

"  You  may  do  as  you  like,"  replied  his  comrade;  "  but  I 
haven't  done  eating  these  berries  and  nuts.  1  shall  pick  all  I 
can,  and  carry  them  to  my  sweetheart." 

"  Sweethearts  be  hanged  !"  returned  the  first  speaker,  who  was 
soon  snoring. 

A  whole  hour  was  consumed  in  this  manner,  much  to  the  an- 
noyance of  Harry  ;  and  at  last  his  impatience  getting  the  better 
of  his  prudence,  leaving  behind  the  hat  and  cloak  of  Freestone, 
as  soon  as  the  back  of  the  soldier  who  was  gathering  wild  fruits 
was  turned,  he  crept  out :  but  he  had  hardly  done  so,  when  he 
was  descried  by  the  man  who  was  giving  a  proof  of  the  sincerity 
of  his  passion,  after  having  plentifully  supplied  his  own  wants  ; 
and  with  a  shout,  he  pursued  him,  although  he  saw  at  a  glance 
he  was  not  the  person  he  had  been  in  search  of. 

It  was  evident,  however,  that  Harry  wished  to  elude  observa- 
tion, and  that  he  had  been  lurking  near  for  no  good  purpose, 
that  he  was  not  suffered  to  escape  as  he  might  have  been,  had 
he  put  a  bold  face  on  the  matter,  and  (being  without  Freestone's 
habiliments)  stepped  boldly  away.  The  sleeping  soldier  was 
aroused  by  the  shout  of  his  comrade,  and  joined  in  the  chase, 
saying— 

"  Perhaps  this  is  the  fellow  Captain  Norton  offered  the  reward 
for  I" 

The  notion  of  the  possibility  of  such  a  thing,  gave  wings  to  the 
feet  of  the  pursuers ;  and  Harry,  though  a  fleet  runner,  would 


414  THE  MISER'S  SON. 

have  had  but  little  chance  of  escaping,  if  the  intricacies  of  the 
wood  had  not  befriended  him  :  for  he  was  now  nearly  exhausted, 
and  needed  rest  and  food.  Still  he  held  on  with  might  and 
main  ;  and  at  one  time  imagined  that  the  soldiers  had  abandoned 
the  hope  of  capturing  him,  a  darkness  having  arisen,  and  envelop- 
ing every  object  in  obscurity. 

It  was  with  this  idea  that  he  quitted  the  shelter  of  the  wood, 
and  paused  to  recover  breath  ;  but  it  appeared  the  soldiers  had 
only  been  involved  in  a  maze,  from  which  it  was  some  time  ere 
they  could  extricate  themselves :  and  seeing  Harry,  renewed  the 
chase.  Knowing  that  he  should  soon  be  overtaken  in  the  open 
road,  in  his  tired  condition,  the  youth  darted  away  in  a  transverse 
direction ;  and  gathering  together  all  his  energies,  turned  an  an- 
gle, which  hid  him  from  view,  and  regained  the  thicket,  before 
his  pursuers  could  perceive  the  path  he  had  taken.  There  was 
only  a  choice  of  two  paths  in  that  direction,  and  the  soldiers 
separating,  rushed  onwards. 

I  have  uniformly  observed,  that  whatever  is  most  difficult  of 
attainment  is  most  eagerly  pursued  by  mankind  ;  and  the  efforts 
which  Harry  made  to  escape,  redoubled  those  of  his  enemies,  so 
that  he  was  not  much  better  off  than  before,  unless  he  chose  to 
fight  for  it ;  and  being  unarmed,  in  the  state  he  was,  what  chance 
could  he  have  had  with  the  stalwart  fellow  who  was  behind  him  ? 
But  it  was  fortunate  for  Harry  that  he  had  acted  as  has  been 
described ;  for  he  was  now  within  a  few  hundred  yards  of  the 
place  where  the  dragoons  had  left  their  horses.  The  youth 
immediately  scanned  the  appearance  of  the  three  animals,  who 
were  tied  up  and  grazing,  and  his  practised  eye  soon  discovered 
which  was  the  best  and  least  fatigued  horse.  Having  made  his 
selection,  he  bounded  along,  almost  staggering  from  extreme  ex- 
haustion, vaulted  into  the  saddle  ;  and  in  another  instant  was 
galloping  away  at  a  tremendous  pace. 

Still  labouring  under  the  impression  that  he  might  be  the  man, 
for  whose  capture  so  tempting  a  reward  had  been  offered,  the 
troopers  relaxed  not  their  exertions,  the  more  Harry  endeavoured 
to  outspeed  them,  convinced  that  he  was  of  importance.  It  was 
almost  dark  when  Harry  once  more  quitted  the  thicket,  no  twi- 
light having  ushered  in  evening.  Though  hotly  pressed,  it  was 
evident  he  had  the  advantage,  his  steed  being  in  better  condition 


THE  MISER'S  SON.  415 

than  the  soldiers',  and  himself  a  much  lighter  weight  than  those 
ponderous  dragoons.  But  he  felt  he  should  not  be  able  to  support 
himself  much  longer,  and  even  the  animal  he  rode  could  not  main- 
tain the  speed  to  which  he  was  urging  him,  after  the  previous 
exertions  he  had  been  compelled  to  make.  He  was  some  minutes' 
gallop  in  advance  of  the  soldiers  ;  and  he  hoped  that  in  the 
darkness  of  night  he  should  be  able  to  elude  them  by  pursuing 
several  cross-roads  nigh  at  hand.  Nor  was  he  disappointed  ;  but 
his  head  swam  in  such  a  manner,  and  he  was  so  faint,  that  he 
could  scarcely  keep  his  seat.  The  horse  of  the  foremost  dra- 
goon, a  man  of  immense  weight,  had  failed  him,  so  that  Harry 
thus  gained  another  advantage :  but  now  his  face  became  per- 
fectly white,  and  his  eyes  grew  dim  ;  and  finally  he  fell  insensible 
from  his  saddle,  happily  for  him  upon  some  straw  which  was  laid 
for  a  dunghill. 

The  pursuers  found  themselves  at  fault,  when  they  came  to 
three  roads  which  intersected  the  highway  they  had  previously 
been  traversing  :  and  the  atmosphere  was  now  so  thick,  and  the 
approaching  night  so  dark,  that  it  was  impossible  to  distinguish 
objects  at  any  distance,  or  to  trace  the  hoof-prints  of  Harry's 
horse.  One  of  the  troopers  had  dismounted,  his  steed  panting 
for  breath,  and  led  the  beast  along,  while  the  other,  though  still 
retaining  his  saddle,  was  obliged  to  proceed  at  a  walk.  The  spot 
where  Harry  lay  being  about  a  mile,  or  nearly  so,  in  advance,  he 
was  thus  for  the  present  safe  from  his  pursuers,  if  they  but  hap- 
pened to  err  in  the  choice  of  their  road  ;  for  it  was  a  lonely  part 
of  the  country,  and  they  were  not  likely  to  meet  those  who  could 
give  them  the  least  information.  And  fortune  favoured  the  youth  ; 
for  the  dragoons  determined  on  following  the  two  paths,  neither 
of  which  he  had  taken :  and  for  hours  prosecuted  an  unavailing 
search . 

It  was  early  morning  when  Harry  recovered  his  senses.  Look- 
ing about  with  much  bewilderment,  he  perceived  a  farm-house  at 
the  distance  of  a  furlong  or  so,  and  the  horse  which  had  proved 
so  useful  to  him  a  few  hours  before,  standing  a  little  way  from 
him,  making  a  repast  of  some  hay  from  a  stack.  Harry  still  felt 
weak'and  feeble  :  but  he  thought  that  a  good  meal  would  restore 
his  strength  ;  and  he  determined  on  walking  to  the  farm-house, 
and  procuring  a  breakfast  there,  if  possible.  So  taking  the  dra- 


416  THE  MISER'S  SON. 

goon's  horse  by  the  bridle,  and  leaning  on  him  for  support,  Harry 
with  fainting  steps  and  slow,  proceeded  towards  the  dwelling  so 
opportunely  near  him,  trusting  that  he  had  baffled  the  vigilance 
of  pursuit,  and  might  now  continue  his  way  as  he  thought  fit.  He 
gained  the  rustic  abode,  the  inhabitants  of  which  were  already 
stirring,  as  it  was  harvest-time ;  and  found  no  difficulty  in  pro- 
curing wherewithal  to  appease  the  cravings  of  his  appetite.  He 
inquired  where  he  was ;  for,  in  the  precipitation  of  the  chase,  he 
had  not  marked  the  direction  he  had  taken :  and  found  that  he 
was  farther  from  the  thicket  where  the  latter  part  of  his  yester- 
day's adventures  had  taken  place  than  he  supposed  possible ;  for 
in  the  course  of  half  an  hour,  which  the  gallop  might  have  occu- 
pied, at  least  seven  good  miles  had  been  left  behind  ;  and  the 
chargers  of  that  day  were  not  remarkable,  for  the  most  part,  for 
speed.  Harry,  having  partaken  of  the  rustic  cheer  hospitably 
pressed  upon  him,  was  on  the  point  of  taking  his  departure ;  but 
the  heavy  meal  on  his  empty  stomach  caused  a  return  of  illness, 
and  for  several  hours  he  was  constrained  to  remain  where  he  was. 

At  length,  having  recovered,  he  sallied  forth  :  but  a  scene  had 
just  occurred,  which  involved  him  in  fresh  difficulty.  The  soldier 
Captain  Norton  had  taken  with  him,  having  been  sent  back  a 
short  time  previously  by  the  officer,  as  nothing  could  be  seen  or 
heard  of  Danvers, — he  took  the  road  in  which  the  farm-house 
was  situated  wherein  Harry  had  taken  up  his  quarters,  and  on 
arriving  at  the  locality,  he  perceived  the  horse  which  Harry  had 
brought  thither,  standing  outside.  He  immediately  asked  of  a 
rosy  urchin  to  whom  it  belonged,  for  the  purpose  of  eliciting  the 
truth,  and  was  told  "  To  a  young  gentleman  within." 

"  O,  indeed !"  he  said,  drawing  his  sabre,  "  I  must  see  this 
gentleman." 

But  as  he  spoke,  the  worthy  mistress  of  the  house,  who  had 
heard  the  preceding  question  and  answer,  having  taken  a  great 
liking  to  the  youth,  came  out,  and  finding  the  soldier  with  his 
drawn  sword,  seized  a  pitchfork,  and  in  a  threatening  voice  cried, 

"  If  you  dare  to  lay  a  hand  on  him,  I'll  run  you  through,  you 
great,  ugly  lobster :"  and  seeing  Harry,  who  was  sallying  forth, 
added,  "  Run,  young  gentleman  !  I'll  keep  this  rascal  off." 

Harry,  however,  had  too  much  of  his  father's  spirit  to  run  from 
mortal  man,  when  there  was  the  least  probability  of  fighting  with 


THE  MISER'S  SON.  417 

success  :  and  a  second  pitchfork  being  at  hand,  as  he  saw  he  had 
but  one  foe  to  deal  with,  he  firmly  stood  his  ground.  Those 
people  in  the  farm-house  who  were  not  gone  to  work  in  the  fields, 
now  gathered  about  them  :  but  intimidated  by  the  presence  of 
the  burly  soldier,  in  spite  of  the  commands  of  their  mistress  to 
drive  him  off,  remained  neutral. 

"  That  young  rogue  is  a  thief,  if  he  is  nothing  more,"  cried  the 
soldier :  "  and  I  order  you,  in  the  king's  name,  to  assist  me  to 
arrest  him.  The  horse  that  stands  there,  belongs  to  my  regiment." 

The  worthy  dame  who  had  so  stoutly  arrayed  herself  in  Harry's 
cause,  was  somewhat  staggered  at  this  intimation,  especially  as 
she  beheld  two  other  dragoons  advancing  towards  the  house. 
These  were  no  others  than  those  who  had  so  hardly  pressed  Harry 
the  day  before,  having  returned  from  a  fruitless  expedition  :  but 
on  making  inquiries  of  some  labourers  attached  to  the  farm,  re- 
ceiving intelligence  of  the  fugitive's  whereabouts,  they  had  has- 
tened thither.  Still  the  old  woman  did  not  absolutely  desert  her 
favourite,  who  remained  undaunted,  and  beholding  the  soldiers, 
who  were  by  this  time  within  a  hundred  yards,  sprang  towards 
the  horse,  with  the  hopes  of  being  able  to  reach  him  before  he 
could  be  prevented  from  mounting;  but  the  corporal  of  dragoons 
was  too  quick  for  him,  and  seized  his  arm  with  a  powerful  hand. 
Vainly  did  Harry  struggle,  vainly  endeavour  to  release  himself 
from  that  Herculean  grasp ;  and  he  had  given  all  up  for  lost, 
as  he  heard  the  shouts  of  exultation  the  dragoons  raised  within 
gunshot  of  him,  when  a  form  bounded  over  a  hedge  which  stood 
opposite,  uttered  a  cry  of  joy  in  a  well-known  voice,  and  struck 
down  the  strong  man,  against  whom  the  immature  powers  of 
Harry  availed  nothing,  as  if  he  had  been  a  stripling. 

"Ha!  my  father!"  exclaimed  the  youth. 

"  My  own  boy  !"  ejaculated  Walter  Danvers,  as  he  stood  with 
flashing  eyes  over  the  man  he  had  struck.  "  Mount,  Harry;  and 
I  will  vault  up  behind  you  !  My  dear,  dear  Harry  !"  said  he. 

•'  Stop  !"  vociferated  the  soldiers,  fiercely,  as  they  came  up. 

"  Dare  not  attempt  to  impede  our  way,"  cried  Danvers,  in  his 
stern,  deep  voice,  calm  and  awful  as  the  thunder,  as  he  levelled  a 
pistol,  "  or  I  shall  fire." 

"  That  is  the  man  for  whom  the  reward  is  offered  !"  exclaimed 
the  prostrate  Corporal. 

3  H 


418  THE  MISER'S  SON 

Harry  Danvers  was  now  in  the  saddle ;  and  his  father  leapt 
up  behind  him.  Having  recovered  the  son  he  had  nearly  given 
up  for  dead,  Walter  Danvers  felt  invincible ;  and  so  terrible  was 
the  flashing  of  his  lion- like  countenance,  so  lit  up  with  fierce 
radiance  and  daring,  high  chivalry,  and  transport,  that  it  awed 
even  the  stout  hearts  of  gallant  British  soldiers.  Yet  the  reward 
to  be  gained  was  great,  and  they  made  a  stand  :  but  urging  his 
horse  on  to  a  gallop,  Danvers  charged  them  down,  Harry  knock- 
ing; one  to  the  ground  with  the  pitchfork,  and  off  they  dashed 
triumphantly.  The  chargers  of  the  soldiers  were  quite  spent  and 
blown,  while  that  on  which  the  father  and  son  were  riding,  was 
now  quite  fresh,  and  displayed  a  brave  spirit ;  so  that,  in  the 
course  of  a  few  minutes,  they  left  the  shouts  of  the  enemy  behind 
them  ;  and  before  half  an  hour  had  elapsed  were  many  miles  dis- 
tant. 

That  the  joy  of  Danvers  at  recovering  his  son  was  intense,  may 
easily  be  supposed,  and  that  of  Harry  at  seeing  his  father  was 
little  inferior.  Beautiful  is  the  love  of  parent  and  child,  when 
there  is  confidence  and  fervour;  it  is  "  like  moonlight"  in  its 
purity,  and  is  potent  to  give  consolation,  to  develope  the  best  feel- 
ings of  the  heart,  to  strengthen,  to  subdue ! 

Harry  having  related  his  adventures  since  he  parted  with  his 
father,  Danvers  gave  him  a  hasty  outline  of  the  prominent  fea- 
tures of  his  own  in  return,  and  then  added — 

"  We  must  waste  no  time  in  idleness.  It  was  lucky  that  I 
recognised  you,  my  Harry,  in  that  disguise  ;  and  I  think  it  would 
baffle  any  but  a  father's  eye.  I  must  procure  something  of  the 
same  sort  for  myself,  and  communicate  \\ith  our  adherents  in  this 
part  of  the  country,  among  whom  I  fear  the  result  of  the  late 
disastrous  meeting  has  struck  a  panic.  You  I  must  send  forward 
to  London  with  despatches,  if  you  feel  well  enough  to  undertake 
a  journey.  I  sent  the  men  to  intercept  a  mail  which  will  depart 
from  I  he  metropolis  with  state  papers  of  importance.  If  you  can 
do  so,  try  and  see  them  before  they  proceed  in  that  business  ;  but 
do  not  mix  yourself  up  xvitli  it,  or  you  may  be  branded  with  the 
name  of  robber.  I  will  now  return  to  Ellen  and  Elizabeth,  who 
must  be  extremely  anxious  :  and  then  I  must  try  and  recover  the 
documents  which  have  been  lost.  I  cannot  return  to  our  house ; 
for  probably  that  has  been  discovered  by  the  authorities,  despite 


THE  MISER'S  SON.  419 

the  precautions  I  have  taken.  Do  what  you  can  also  in  London. 
Thus  far  you  are  in  the  road  to  the  metropolis  ;  but  here  we 
must  part.  God  bless  yon,  my  beloved  boy  !  How  tiratefiil  I 
should  be,  that  you  are  spared  to  me.  There  is  a  Providence 
over  all." 

And  embracing  his  son,  Walter  'Danvers  dismounted  ;  and 
Harry,  manning  himself  to  undergo  the  fatigue  of  the  journey,  to 
which  he  was  hardly  competent,  cantered  off.  A  load  was  now 
removed  from  the  heart  of  Danvers,  and  brighter  hopes  and  feel- 
ings than  had  stirred  within  him  of  late  took  possession  of  his 
soul.  He  ate  some  coarse  bread,  and  drank  of  some  clear  water, 
and  felt  he  was  equal  to  any  exertion.  It  would  not  have  been 
prudent  in  him,  however,  to  have  entered  the  village  where  Mrs. 
Haines  and  Ellen  were,  in  the  broad  daylight :  and  so  he  resolved 
to  visit  a  partisan  of  the  cause  he  served,  who  lived  in  the  vicinity. 
Thither,  accordingly,  he  repaired  ;  and  procured  minute  intelli- 
gence of  the  recent  discomfiture  of  the  Jacobites,  and  spent  a 
long  time  in  laying  schemes  with  the* zealous  adherent  of  their 
common  party  for  the  reparation  of  the  mischief  which  the  late 
events  must  occasion  to  it.  As  soon  as  twilight  began,  he  pro- 
ceeded toward  the  "  Britannia :"  but  his  quick  eye  detected  a 
lad  dodging  him,  among  some  trees,  before  he  entered  the  village. 
Danvers  feigned  riot  to  perceive  him  ;  but  on  coming  to  a  seques- 
tered spot,  suddenly  turned,  darted  on  "  the  Artful  Dodger," 
and  in  spite  of  his  cries  and  kicks,  soon  bound  him  hand  and  foot ; 
having  done  which,  he  proceeded  unmolested  to  the  inn,  where 
he  had  left  Mrs.  Haines  and  Ellen  :  and  was  fortunate  enough 
to  enter  it,  and  reach  the  room  they  occupied,  without  being 
seen. 


420  THE  MISER'S  SON. 


CHAPTER  V. 


Are  these  the  pompous  tidings  ye  proclaim, 
Lights  of  the  world,  and  demi-gods  of  Fame  ? 
Is  this  your  triumph,  this  your  proud  applause. 
Children  of  Truth,  and  champions  of  her  cause  ? 
Oh,  star-eyed  Science,  hast  thou  wander'd  there 
To  waft  us  home  the  message  of  despair  ? 

CAMPBELL. 


WALTER   DANVERS CHARLES    WALS1NGHAM    AND    HIS   COU- 
SIN   WILLIAM — OPPOSITE   SENTIMENTS. 

IT  may  easily  be  supposed  how  rejoiced  Elizabeth  and  Ellen 
were  to  behold  Danvers,  and  to  hear  the  good  news  he  brought 
of  Harry's  safety  ;  but  he  did  not  stay  above  a  couple  of  hours  : 
when,  singularly  metamorphosed  in  external  appearance,  he  de- 
parted. Ellen  had  procured  a  woman's  dress,  during  his 
absence,  exactly  similar  to  that  worn  by  Mrs.  Haines,  which  she 
pretended  was  for  that  person ;  and  insisted  on  her  father's 
wearing  it  over  his  own  clothes.  A  lady's  wig  concealed  his 
hair ;  and  she  painted  and  patched  his  face  in  such  a  manner 
that  his  identity  would  indeed  have  been  difficult  to  establish.  A 
boy,  belonging  to  the  public-house  where  the  females  still 
remained,  perceived  Danvers,  as  he  left  it;  and  amazed  at  his 
strange  appearance,  and  the  manner  in  which  he  stalked  along, 
which,  as  may  be  supposed,  was  most  unfeminine,  the  time  being 
midnight,  was  convinced  that  he  saw  a  ghost :  for  he  was 
certain  that  no  such  person  was  in  the  place ;  and  fled  on  the 
instant,  with  a  terrified  exclamation. 

Danvers  heeded  him  not,  however,  but  made  for  a  place  of 
rendezvous,  which  he  had  appointed  with  the  individual  in  whose 
house  he  had  spent  the  greater  part  of  the  day,  who  had 
promised  to  collect  some  of  the  principal  conspirators  by  one 


THE  MISER'S  SON.  421 

o'clock  in  the  morning.  When  he  arrived  there,  it  was  not  easy 
for  him  to  make  them  understand  whom  he  really  was ;  and, 
satisfied  with  his  disguise,  he  determined  on  retaining  it  for  the 
present.  But  a  circumstance  occurred  very  soon  afterwards, 
which  disgusted  him  with  his  female  attire  :  for  he  was  met  by  a 
semi-intoxicated,  rustic  libertine,  after  quitting  the  meeting, 
without  effecting  much,  who  having  a  somewhat  strange  taste 
for  coarse  and  masculine  beauties,  made  overtures  of  an  amatory 
nature  to  the  supposed  lady,  who  almost  killed  him  in  his  rage 
and  vexation,  with  a  blow  on  the  face,  which  was  the  sole  reply 
he  vouchsafed.  Some  boon  companions  of  the  tipsy  man  came 
up  at  this  juncture,  and  being  flushed  with  liquor,  heedless  of  the 
signal  discomfiture  of  their  friend,  set  upon  Danvers,  and  tried 
to  tear  his  gown  off  his  back.  Never  was  there  such  a  scene, 
when  Danvers,  wrenching  a  cudgel  from  one  fellow's  hand,  com- 
menced breaking  the  heads  of  every  man  of  the  party,  who 
thinking  that  the  devil  himself  had  put  on  petticoats,  at  last 
decamped  at  full  speed.  Having  procured  a  horse  of  a  friend 
whom  he  visited  after  this  curious  incident,  he  tied  his  female 
attire  into  a  bundle,  and  carried  it  in  his  hand.  But  his  subse- 
quent adventures  were  not  of  sufficient  interest  to  be  recorded 
here.  Once  more  only  had  he  been  able  to  visit  Ellen  in  the 
period  which  intervened  between  this  time  and  when  he  encoun- 
tered Captain  Walsingham,  Harry,  and  his  men ;  and  was 
informed  by  his  daughter  that  Mrs.  Haines,  having  wonderfully 
recovered,  had  gone  to  see  after  the  invalid  officer,  as  well  as  to 
transact  some  other  business  at  home  ;  and  she  thought  it  would 
be  better  for  herself  to  remain  where  she  was.  This  she  said 
with  a  sigh.  Danvers,  after  thinking  a  minute,  seemed  to  agree 
with  Mrs.  Haines,  by  whose  advice  Ellen  acted,  on  this  point, 
but  the  girl  seemed  melancholy — of  course,  at  being  left  alone. 
It  was  a  few  days  after  this  that  the  prevented  highway  robbery 
occurred ;  and  having  thus  glanced  at  the  circumstances  which 
had  taken  place  during  the  interval  in  question,  let  us  follow 
Charles  Walsingham's  history  at  once. 

As  soon  as  Danvers  and  Harry  had  disappeared,  the  soldier 
continued  his  journey,  though  at  a  slow  pace ;  for  the  recent 
adventure  had  given  him  much  food  for  thought.  He  had  already 
imbibed  strong  suspicions  that  Danvers  was  engaged  in  some 


422  THE  MISER'S  SON. 

hazardous  and  unlawful  business  ;  but  his  conjectures  as  to  the 
nature  of  it  had  not  been  similar  to  those  which  now  forced 
themselves  on  his  mind.  It  was  not  to  be  disputed  that  Ellen's 
father  exercised  control  over  robbers,  who  would  have  murdered 
him ;  and  the  deductions  to  be  drawn  from  this,  made  Charles 
feel  sick  at  heart.  Three  days  had  elapsed  since  the  scene  which 
had  occurred  with  Mrs.  Haines,  who  left  him  very  soon  after- 
wards ;  and  he  had  lingered  on  in  the  hope  of  seeing  Ellen,  but 
in  vain.  He  could  not  prevail  on  the  stern  and  haughty  woman, 
who  was  so  nearly  allied  to  one  of  England's  kings,  though 
occupying  a  subordinate  station  in  society,  even  to  inform  him 
where  her  he  loved  might  be  found  ;  and  all  his  affections  were 
now  so  bound  up  with  Ellen,  that  he  felt  existence  would  be  a 
dreary  blank  to  him,  if  not  filled  by  her  beloved  presence. 
Though  returning  health  made  him  feel  an  elasticity  of  frame 
which  he  had  not  for  long  experienced,  the  idea  of  being  eter- 
nally divided  from  Ellen  was  so  intolerable,  that  he  felt  an  infi- 
nitely greater  depression  and  despondency  than  in  the  worst  part 
of  his  illness.  What  though  the  sanguine  tides  of  life  course 
through  the  veins,  and  the  proud  spirit  of  youth  and  manhood 
impart  aspirations  too  lofty  for  the  earth,  though  strength,  and 
sense,  and  all  personal  and  intellectual  advantages  be  combined  ; 
when  the  cherished  object  of  the  heart's  best  hopes  is  departing 
from  us,  sickness,  age,  and  debility  are  more  endurable.  Who 
hath  not  felt  the  vanity  of  pride  of  mind,  and  power  of  body, 
when  joys  are  crumbling  to  dust,  and  dreams  are  melting  into 
bubbles,  bubbles  into  air  ?  Sic  transit  gloria  mundi. 

But  as  Charles  was  revolving  these  bitter  things,  which  were 
gall  and  aconite  to  his  spirit,  about  a  mile  from  the  spot  where 
the  scene  of  the  attempted  robbery  had  passed,  he  encountered  a 
young  man  with  a  book  in  his  hand,  which,  though  open,  it  was 
evident  he  did  not  read  ;  for  he  was  so  lost  in  reverie  that  he  did 
not  even  perceive  the  horseman,  until  he  had  nearly  run  up 
against  him. 

"  Ah,"  said  the  soldier,  perceiving  the  youth,  "  surely  I  have 
seen  you  before,  young  sir?  May  I  ask  your  name?" 

The  moon  was  streaming  over  the  pale  face  of  the  young  man 
with  a  brightness  which  gave  it  a  peculiar  hue  of  melancholy, 
softening  the  lines  of  thought  already  visible  in  that  young  brow, 


THE  MISER'S  SON.  423 

and  imparting  to  the  whole  countenance  a  gentleness  such  as  it 
seldom  wore.  The  youth  gazed  a  moment  into  Charles's  face, 
and  apparently  recognizing  him,  exclaimed,  "  You  must  be  no 
other  than  Captain  Walsingham.  My  name  is  William." 

He  did  not,  however,  hold  forth  his  hand,  but  Charles  took  it, 
saying,  *'  Who  could  have  thought  to*  see  you  so  manly,  my  dear 
cousin  !  when  I  left  you  a  little  urchin,  scarcely  to  be  called  a 
boy.  I  am  very  glad  to  see  you  again."  Frankly  did  Charles 
Walsingham  shake  William's  hand,  but  the  Epicurean  did  not 
return  the  pressure  with  equal  warmth.  "  Well,  how  are  the 
gond  folks  at  Walsingham  Hall  ?"  asked  the  soldier,  endeavouring 
to  throw  off  his  melancholy  ;  "  all  well,  I  hope  ?'' 

"  Quite  so,"  replied  the  youth.  "  But,  of  course,  you  will 
find  great  alterations  in  them,  after  having  been  absent  so  many 
years." 

"  I  have  almost  forgotten  their  very  characters,  being  but  a 
thoughtless  lad  of  sixteen  when  I  left  England.  My  good  old 
grandmother,  who  must  now  be  of  immense  age,  how  is  she?" 

"  Hale  and  hearty  still,"  replied  William  Walsingham.  "  She 
will  yet  entertain  you  with  her  reminiscences  of  the  Conquest,  if 
you  like  to  listen  to  her." 

Charles  smiled.  "I  recollect,"  he  said,  "  the  dear  old  Jady 
used  to  take  the  family  history  very  far  back.  And  your  aunt — 
my  uncle's  wife,  the  prettv,  amiable  Fanny,  does  she  look  young?" 

"  Still  more  so  than  she  is,"  returned  the  Epicurean.  "  She 
will  have  to  present  her  little  daughter  to  you,  who  promises  to 
possess  even  more  beauty  than  her  mother — at  least,  a  more  in- 
tellectual style  of  loveliness." 

"  I  am  anxious  to  see  my  little  cousin.  And  what  has  become 
of  poor  Harriet?  I  fear  she  lias  never  recovered  the  effects  of 
that  unfortunate  attachment?' 

"  Ah,  she  will  see  you :  but  she  lives  at  some  distance  from 
this  locality,  entirely  secluded  from  the  world,  even  having  taken 
her  mother's  maiden  name,  that  her  dwelling  might  not  be  dis- 
covered by  friends  or  others.  It  is  generally  supposed  among  her 
former  acquaintance  that  she  is  dead.  She  is  a  glorious  being." 

"  She  must  be  very  wretched,"  remarked  the  soldier. 

"  You  do  not  know  her,"  replied  William,  shaking  his  head. 
"  She  seems  to  spurn  from  her  the  cares  and  sorrows  which 


424  THE  MISER'S  SON. 

oppress  the  hearts  of  common  mortals,  and  to  live  in  a  world  of 
her  own  creation,  pure  and  bright  as  herself.  Her  mind  is  like 
a  bird  at  morning,  springing  upwards,  and  heeding  not  the  earth 
it  leaves." 

"  I  know  she  is  a  poetess.  She  was  a  noble  creature  when  a 
girl.  That  any  man  could  act  so  villanously  towards  such  a 
woman  as  did  that  Walter  Danvers !  It  is  a  bad  world,  William  !" 

The  Atheist  smiled  darkly.  There  was  something  painful  and 
disagreeable  in  the  sneer,  which  generally  accompanied  that 
smile;  from  which  Charles,  willing  to  be  favourably  impressed 
with  his  young  kinsman,  averted  his  eyes.  It  reminded  one  that 
looked  upon  a  picture  of  a  fallen  angel,  that  the  heaven  had 
sunk  into  the  hell.  The  image  which  arises  to  our  minds,  when 
we  study  Goethe's  strange  and  wonderful  creation  of  Mephisto- 
philes,  cold,  keen,  and  sarcastic,  realized  that  look. 

"  This  world,1'  said  the  Materialist,  in  reply,  "  contains  many 
things  which  men  call  evil,  knowing  not  what  evil  really  is." 

"And  can  you  explain  the  enigma?"  inquired  the  soldier, 
desirous  to  sound  the  depth  of  his  cousin's  mind,  but  unprepared 
for  its  powerful  grasp  and  precocity. 

"  I  think  I  can,"  answered  William.  "  I  do  not  agree  with  the 
sentiment  expressed  in  Pope's  last  work,  the  Essay  on  Man, 
which  I  have  here,  to  the  effect,  '  that  whatever  wrong  we  call, 
may,  must  be  right  as  relative  to  all.'  " — He  continued,  "  partial 
evil,  according  to  him,  being  '  universal  good,'  it  is  reduced  to 
nothing  more  than  a  relative  term.  We  know  nothing  of  evil,  it 
is  asserted,  except  by  antagonistic  properties  in  some  other  essence. 
I  deny  the  fact.  Evil  is  an  entity,  per  se,  or  it  is  nothing  at  all ; 
and  for  this  reason  :  we  do  not  feel  by  contraries  only ;  since 
contraries  imply  that  other  qualities  inhere  in  their  opposites.  If 
it  were  not  so,  there  would  be  no  dissimilarities  at  all ;  and  good 
and  evil  would  never  have  started  into  existence.  But  it  is  said 
that  what  is  a  curse  to  one,  is  a  blessing  to  another ;  and  what  is 
virtue  here,  is  vice  there.  What  is  the  inference  ?  Why,  that 
they  individually  co-exist  in  the  idea,  from  their  painful  or  plea- 
surable effects.  Which  is  equivalent  to  saying  that  virtue  and 
vice,  pleasure  and  pain,  have  no  being  in  themselves,  but  are 
true  and  real  in  their  material  operation.  There  is  no  other 
standard  of  morality." 


THE  MISER'S  SON.  425 

"  I  should  say,"  cried  Charles,  "  that  they  do  exist  most  posi- 
tively as  intuitions — I  believe  that  is  the  term — from  the  very 
circumstance  of  their  receiving  different  appellations  at  various 
times  and  places.  It  seems  an  universal  idea  among  all  men  that 
these  states  of  morality  are  ever  in  being." 

"  Very  well,"  returned  the  Materialist.  "  But  what  is  the 
cause  of  that  idea.  Sweet  is  sweet,  and  bitter,  bitter,  everywhere. 
Evil  must  of  course  consist  in  painful  sensations  of  mind  or  body, 
which  may  be  produced  from  their  action  on  separate  organiza- 
tions in  different  degrees.  Here  is  this  new  work  of  Pope's  now, 
which  I  have  just  received.  Some  will  believe  its  philosophy 
good,  others  will  think  it  vile.  Here  is  the  same  cause  producing 
diverse  effects.  But  then  we  must  consider  the  preceding  sensa- 
tions which  modified  the  subsequent  sensations  of  the  recipient. 
What  is  good  ?  That  which  produces  benefit  to  mankind.  But 
the  question  is  not  as  to  the  results  of  good, — for  that  is  begging 
the  question ;  but  what  creates  the  benefits  themselves.  I  say 
truth  is,  and  falsehood  is  an  idea ;  but  not  a  necessary  and  uni- 
versal principle  implanted  by  Nature.  Then  each  individual 
pursues  the  path  of  inclination,  whether  he  will  or  not.  Opinion 
is  nothing  more.  I  contend  that  this  is  the  only  morality :  for  if 
there  be  restrictions  on  the  enjoyments  of  mankind,  beyond  such 
as  Mature  makes  imperative,  an  evil  is  caused,  from  which  other 
evils  must  arise.  If  the  despotism  be  removed,  a  good  is  created, 
and  from  good,  or  in  other  terms  from  liberty,  more  must  spring." 

"  I  do  not  understand  you,"  said  Charles  :  "  nor  do  I  perceive 
how  what  you  have  been  saying  bears  on  the  subject." 

The  worthy  soldier  was  not  versed  in  controversy,  and  was  un- 
able to  pierce  the  mystery  of  a  chain  of  argument,  made  up  of 
sophistry,  such  as  the  mode  in  which  his  cousin  marked  out  his 
theory.  But  he  was  soon  enlightened.  The  Materialist  rejoined 
thus — 

"Virtue,  so  called,  must  have  had  a  beginning  in  the  mind. 
And  what  was  its  primary  cause?  Is  it  conceivable  that  it  could 
have  arisen  from  any  other  belief  than  that  it  tended  to  create 
pleasurable  sensations  ?  For,  in  the  first  stages  of  society,  when 
men  are  barbarous  and  uncivilized,  they  must  judge  of  all  things 
by  their  immediate  sequences.  And  it  appears  to  me  that  these 
barbarians  arrived  at  a  truth  from  nature :  as  we  do  from  induc- 

3  I 


426  THE  MISER'S  SON. 

tion.  I  believe  a  thing  is  thus  ;  and  I  do  so  because  it  pleases 
my  mind  most  to  do  so :  and  I  have  no  option ;  for  all  actions 
of  thought — so  to  speak — must  proceed  from  the  operation  of 
external  laws  on  my  organization.  The  first  law  of  nature  must 
be  the  best :  and  that  is,  to  gratify  the  feelings  which  she  has  im- 
planted in  us.  Those  feelings  are  perverted  by  circumstance, 
and  produce  injury  toothers.  The  good  is  the  fruition,  the  evil 
is  the  perversion.  If  we  had  but  all  things  in  common,  these 
passions  would  not  be." 

The  Materialist  paused  for  a  reply :  for  he  was  for  the  most 
part  ever  ready  to  hear  an  objection  ;  but  his  cousin  remaining 
silent,  he  finished  thus — 

"  The  light  of  nature  is  the  only  true  light.  All  others  must 
be  factitious.  The  ideas  of  vice  and  virtue  are  not  intuitions, 
but  pain  and  pleasure  are.  What  you  think  is  pleasant  in  your 
morality,  I  think  the  converse.  It  is  evident  then  that  the  cause 
of  those  ideas  must  have  been  from  the  different  impression  of 
external  objects  on  dissimilar  natures.  The  same  cause  thus  ope- 
rating on  two  opinions — as  is  the  case  in  optics — where  nothing 
can  be  seen  in  a  similar  phasis  by  different  persons — a  diverse 
effect  is  produced.  I  infer  that  there  cannot  possibly  be  a  stan- 
dard of  morals,  because  no  two  individuals  will  agree  on  the  same 
point.  Absolute  and  contingent  truths  are  supposed  to  admit  of 
a  division :  but  to  my  mind  they  seem  the  manifestations  of  the 
same  principle.  I  conceive  that  they  move  in  one  cycle,  and  are 
parts  of  a  whole.  In  that  Henry  Spenser  is  right.  If  this  be  a 
just  inference,  what  we  denominate  good  and  evil,  must  bear  the 
same  analogy  ;  viz.  that  they  are  the  emanations  of  one  thing, 
and  true  to  the  individual :  but  specific,  and  not  universal.  They 
do  not  admit  of  separation — out  of  their  immediate  physical 
laws — the  one  necessarily  following  the  other.  They  are  distinct 
in  relations,  they  are  identical  in  derivations.  My  ultimatum  is 
this — That  good  and  evil  are  the  same  in  kind,  but  not  in  de- 
gree ;  and  it  is  from  allowing  too  much  to  the  one,  and  too  little 
to  the  other,  that  all  the  confusion  about  them  has  arisen.  In 
other  words,  *  GOOD  is  EVIL,  AND  EVIL  GOOD,  ACCORDING  TO 

THE  MEASURE  WE  TAKE  OF  THEM.'  " 

"  According  to  the  measures  we  take  of  them  I"  exclaimed 
Charles,  when  the  Materialist  had  thus  concluded  his  argument 


THE  MISER'S  SON.  427 

for  the  non-entity  of  a  moral  standard — which  has  heen  given 
rather  to  show  the  contradictions  of  Necessitarians,  than  to  dis- 
play the  full  scope  of  William's  almost  mature  philosophy — crude, 
but  metaphysically  so,  in  its  deep  paradoxes  and  anomalies. 
For  materialism  is  always  unripe;  it  is  only  the  fruit  shaken 
down,  and  rotting  into  decay,  not  ripening  into  sweetness.  •'  Yet 
you  allow,"  added  the  soldier,  "  that  good  and  evil  are  diverse  ; 
one  cause  having  two  specific  properties  in  effect." 

The  Materialist  replied  thus — 

"  How  much  which  might  be  productive  of  good,  is  lost  by 
pseudo-philosophy  !  I  told  you  I  believe  good  and  evil  inhere  in 
the  same  substance:  but  it  is  in  the  application  of  them,  we 
wander  at  present  without  card  or  compass.  By  following  the 
dictates  of  nature,  we  cannot  do  wrong.  Man  should  move  in 
harmony  with  the  universe.  He  should  study  the  analogies  which 
exist  in  the  world ;  and  he  will  perceive  a  beautiful  system  of 
morality ;  which  can  alone  be  really  conducive  to  happiness. 
Abjuring  then  the  idea,  that  by  permitting  man  to  be  wretched  in 
some  respects,  we  are  promoting  his  weal  in  others ;  partial  evil 
being  allowed  to  exist  only  as  it  does  in  the  matter  of  which  we 
are  a  portion ;  governing  ourselves  by  the  rooted  conviction  that 
each  one  is  acting  according  to  necessity,  how  much  pain,  crime, 
and  misery  may  be  avoided  !  Let  us  not  believe  that  the  evil  of 
one  is  the  benefit  of  another ;  but  rather,  in  permitting  it,  we 
cause  a  larger  amount,  as  by  cultivating  good  we  create  more.  Is 
it  not  so  with  matter  ?  Let  us  endeavour  universally  to  promote 
the  greatest  amount  of  happiness,  as  we  cultivate  land  so  that  it 
may  produce  the  most  fruit;  and  it  must  follow.  Alas!  for 
man.  For  ages  and  ages  he  has  been  lost  in  the  dark  windings 
of  an  inextricable  labyrinth,  disputing  about  words  which  never 
had  nor  can  have  any  ideas  attached  to  them  ;  and  fancying  that 
in  those  eternal  logomachies,  he  is  elucidating  the  mysteries  of 
being, — and  indicating  which  path  leads  to  felicity,  and  which  to 
perdition.  Let  us  but  return  to  that  sublime  philosophy  which 
is  ever  evolving  around  us :  and  casting  away  the  stern  dogmas 
which  would  restrain  all  the  gentle  influences  and  exquisite  im- 
pulses of  universal  charity  and  uncorrupted  feeling  to  a  Stoic's 
dungeon  bosom,  live  as  the  stars  of  heaven,  radiant,  and  divine, 
and  mild,  resembling  them  in  all  save  their  immortality." 


428  THE  MISER'S  SON. 

William  spoke  with  enthusiasm,  though  his  usual  manner  was 
calm,  cold,  and  even  cynical :  and  although  much  which  he  had 
spoken  was  very  far  removed  from  the  principles  of  the  soldier, 
he  could  not  but  admire  his  elevated  views  of  the  universe,  apart 
from  their  materialism,  unaware  that  he  was  conversing  with  one 
who  saw  all  things  through  a  distorted  medium,  who  believed 
that  the  shrine  was  without  its  divinity,  who  was  persuaded  that 
the  dear  light  of  the  everlasting  was  nihility,  pure  faith  mere  fo6l- 
ishness,  and  her  sister  virtue  in  personal  action  a  chimera :  that 
all  the  majestic  feelings  and  aspirations  of  the  spirit  are  to  end 
with  this  life  ;  and  that  there  exists  neither  good  nor  evil  save  in 
the  brute  sensations. 

Had  he  been  a  controversialist,  or  a  deep  thinker,  Charles 
would  easily  have  perceived  the  tendency  of  his  cousin's  opinions ; 
but  he  now  only  esteemed  them  the  sentiments  of  a  visionary, 
who  had  adopted  some  false  views,  which  were  blended  with 
others,  ennobling,  poetical,  and  in  some  degree,  original.  He 
was  pleased  on  the  whole  with  the  youth,  who,  when  he  chose  to 
permit  his  sarcasm  to  sleep,  and  to  speak  with  the  natural  fervour, 
zeal  and  energy  of  his  mighty  heart,  was  one  whom  no  person 
with  any  power  of  appreciating  him  could  listen  to  without  being 
fascinated  and  delighted.  It  was  seldom,  in  truth,  that  the  Ma- 
terialist allowed  himself  to  utter  the  real  sentiments  of  his  bosom, 
which  apart  from  his  Atheistic  and  Epicurean  principles,  were 
noble  and  philanthropic  :  but  then  some  shadow  would  cross  his 
mind  in  the  midst  of  his  Utopian  dreams,  and  he  would  sneer  even 
at  himself. 

Charles  Walsingham  replied — 

"  It  were  well,  I  acknowledge,  if  we  could  establish  universal 
love  and  peace :  but  at  the  same  time,  I  cannot  think,  that  to 
yield  like  the  Sybarite  to  gross  indolence  and  luxury  is  wise.  Like 
the  ancient  Spartans,  I  would  have  the  soul  disciplined  to  scorn 
all  things  for  the  sake  of  virtue  and  patriotism ;  and  having  lived 
well  and  nobly,  continually  sacrificing  self,  and  mortifying  out- 
evil  passions,  how  much  more  glorious  were  our  existence  than 
the  stars  ! — how  much  more  bright  and  like  to  the  angels !  Cm- 
bodies  may  perish ;  but  we  may  live  with  the  wise,  and  great, 
and  good, — among  the  incorruptible  spirits  of  the  blessed!" 


THE  MISER'S  SON.  429 

The  Materialist  gazed  sadly  earthwards:  and  after  a  short 
pause,  exclaimed — 

"  All  visions  :  we  have  both  been  dreaming.  I  know  not  how 
it  is.  I  laugh  at  metaphysics,  believing  they  consist  but  of  ver- 
biage :  yet,  living  as  we  do  among  old  systems,  we  are  obliged  to 
meet  our  opponents  with  their  own  weapons.  Ay,"  he  continued, 
with  increased  mournfulness,  "  this  life,  though  it  have  smiles  of 
entrancing  sweetness ;  though  it  have  radiance  and  ethereal 
glory  ;  though  it  have  music  which  binds  the  heart  with  a  spell 
of  love,  and  passionate  and  thrilling  rapture,  has  nothing  which 
can  endure  for  an  hour.  The  busy  world  goes  round  in  all  its 
panoply  of  pride,  its  restless  energies,  its  ambition,  struggles,  and 
despair.  Beauty  buds  around  us,  and  its  blossoms  are  cut  off. 
Where  shall  we  look  for  them  ?  Go  to  the  tomb,  and  behold  all — 
all  that  remains  of  sweetness  and  freshness  which  were  joy  to  the 
senses.  The  towering  mind  of  genius,  the  tender  breast  which 
once  it  were  transport  to  recline  upon,  love,  hope,  wisdom,  power, 
hushed  in  the  stillness  of  eternal  sleep  !" 

O,  that  voice — those  words !  Never  were  there  any  such  but 
those  which  have  proceeded  from  one  steeped  in  crime,  or  one 
even  like  to  the  Materialist. 

"And  yet  not  so!"  returned  Charles,  the  latent  poetry  and 
enthusiasm  of  his  nature  aroused  by  the  melancholy  and  despair- 
ing ideas  of  his  cousin,  so  chilling  in  themselves,  but  kindling  the 
loftiest  hopes  and  aspirations  in  the  soul  of  faith.  The  Epicurean 
had  spoken,  as  if  soliloquising :  but  the  soldier  replied  with  un- 
conscious elocution  and  fire.  "  There  are  things  which  endure 
for  more  than  an  hour.  There  are  things  which  breathe  of  their 
immortal  origin,  and  flash  celestial  morning  over  the  night  of 
earth.  When  the  icy  hand  of  death  is  laid  upon  the  moral  hero's 
bosom,  when  the  soul  of  greatness  is  struggling  with  the  last 
pangs  of  mortality,  when  the  patriot  dies  in  sacred  freedom's 
cause,  though  the  axe  may  sever  the  head,  and  corruption  destroy, 
and  the  earth  conceal  all  that  is  earthly  in  him,  a  spirit  of  truth 
and  power,  a  spirit  of  admiration  and  love  goes  forth,  and  attests 
the  iudestructibility  of  the  beautiful.  And  though  the  light  of 
truth  may  be  obscured,  though  virtue  may  be  forgotten,  and  hum- 
ble merit  be  buried  in  oblivion,  they  exert  an  eternal  influence, 
transmitted  to  posterity  :  and  their  example  creates  a  religion  of 


430  THE  MISER'S  SON 

charity,  an  atmosphere  of  purity,  an  odour  of  peace,  a  redolence 
of  happiness — which  cause  the  spirit  to  look  upward  for  the  con- 
summation of  hope,  to  trust  intensely,  firmly,  and  meekly  in  the 
beneficence  of  the  All-wise  and  holy :  and  to  endure,  to  soar,  to 
forgive,  to  believe — to  repose  in  the  terrors  of  the  tempest,  and 
remain  serene,  though  all  things  around  may  perish : — to  die  as 
to  be  assured  of  softest  sleep,  and  a  waking  of  unimaginable 
bliss ;  and  in  that  tranquil  death,  to  point  out  fortitude  and  re- 
signation, and  that  of  all-sustaining  love  which  smiles  doubt  and 
fear  to  annihilation." 

Probably  the  Atheist  conceived  that  the  eloquence  which  his 
zeal  and  sincerity  lent  to  his  kinsman  was  the  merest  rhapsody 
and  extravagance :  but  it  was  a  remarkable  feature  in  the  cha- 
racter of  that  youth,  that  if  an  appeal  were  made  to  the  heart 
more  than  to  the  head,  he  heard  it  in  silence  and  respect :  but 
when  a  logical  sequency  of  reasoning  was  directed  against  him, 
he  answered  with  coldness  and  contempt  of  fine  feeling.  Those 
who  argue  with  unbelievers  may  be  assured,  that  if  there  is  any 
of  the  right  staple  of  humanity  left  in  them,  they  may  get  at  the 
head  more  frequently  through  the  feelings  than  either  by  asperity, 
ridicule,  or  hard  arguments  derived  from  facts  or  induction. 

"  Well,'*  he  said,  as  the  soldier  concluded  his  harangue,  "  here 
is  your  destination.  Yonder  old,  dusky  pile  between  the  trees  is 
Walsingham  Hail." 


THE  MISER'S  SON.  431 


CHAPTER  VI. 


What  from  this  barren  being  do  we  reap  ? 

Our  senses  narrow,  and  our  reason  frail, 

Life  short,  and  truth  a  gem  which  loves  the  deep, 
And  all  things  weigh'd  in  custom's  falsest  scale, 

Opinion  on  omnipotence,  whose  veil 
Mantles  the  earth  with  darkness,  until  right 

And  wrong  are  accidents,  and  men  grow  pale 
Lest  their  own  judgments  should  become  too  bright, 
And  their  free  thoughts  be  crimes,  and  earth  have  too  much  light. 

BYRON. 


WALSINGHAM    HALL — FAMILY     MATTERS— THE     CHILD — THE 
HOUSEKEEPER—CHARLES    AND   WILLIAM — DESPAIR. 

WALSINGHAM  HALL  was  a  large,  quadrangular  building,  of 
considerable  strength  and  solidity,  having  formerly  been  castel- 
lated, and  defended  by  a  drawbridge  and  moat.  It  had  originally 
been  built  by  the  founder  of  the  family,  a  valiant  Norman  knight, 
who  came  to  England  with  the  Conqueror :  but  great  additions 
had  been  made  in  the  reign  of  the  Virgin  Queen,  when  its  pos- 
sessor was  ennobled,  and  extensive  lands  attached  to  it  by  a  royal 
grant,  so  thai  its  architectural  appearance  was  of  the  Elizabethan 
era  more  than  of  any  other.  During  the  civil  wars  the  Walsing- 
haiu  who  was  the  head  of  the  family  at  that  time,  being  a  staunch 
Royalist,  his  mansion  was  attacked  by  the  Roundheads,  and, 
although  it  was  stoutly  defended,  taken,  and  its  fortifications 
destroyed.  After  it  was  thus  dismantled,  it  had  been  deserted 
for  many  years ;  and  though,  after  the  Restoration,  occasionally 
visited,  it  remained  in  a  ruinous  condition,  until  a  Walsingham  in 
the  reign  of  William  and  Mary  entirely  repaired  it.  Altogether, 
it  was  comfortable  and  handsome,  though  not  magnificent ;  and 
its  green  lawns,  its  verdant  pastures,  its  noble  parks,  in  which 
herds  of  deer  were  reposing,  its  enclosures,  gardens,  woods  and 


432  THE  MISER'S  SON. 

fertilizing  streams,  formed  a  whole,  which  would  have  pleased  any 
eye,  and,  of  course,  was  peculiarly  gratifying  to  a  person  who 
could  boast  his  lineage  as  belonging  to  one  of  the  most  ancient 
and  honourable  families  in  England. 

Charles  Walsingham,  although  not  a  high  aristocrat,  was 
proud  of  his  ancestry,  and  few  indeed  could  claim  lineal  descent 
from  persons  of  such  exalted  character  as  many  of  the  early  Wal- 
singham's  had  made.  Its  present  possessor — or  rather,  tenant — 
was  a  sister  of  Harriet  Walsingham,  who  had  married  very  early 
in  life  the  head  of  the  family  :  but  having  only  a  daughter,  on 
her  husband's  decease  (which  occurred  many  years  antecedent  to 
the  date  of  our  tale)  she  was  only  permitted  to  reside  in  it  during 
her  life,  the  estates  being  entailed.  Her  husband,  however,  left 
a  competency  behind  him,  which  amply  provided  for  his  daughter, 
while  the  provision  made  by  law  for  his  widow,  if  not  a  splendid, 
was  a  handsome  income. 

In  a  vast,  gothic  apartment — which  was  almost  the  only  one 
in  the  house  which  remained  of  the  original  building — were 
seated  three  persons  of  very  different  ages  and  appearance. 
The  first,  an  extremely  aged  woman,  of  remarkable  exterior, 
was  seated  in  a  huge  arm-chair,  beneath  trophies  of  war,  and 
surrounded  by  portraits  of  haughty  warriors  and  ancient  dames, 
some  of  which  she  bore  a  strong  resemblance  to  herself.  She 
was  dressed  in  an  old-fashioned  manner,  plainly,  but  handsomely, 
and  though  there  was  much  good  nature  in  her  still  fine  features, 
and  though  her  once  tall  form  was  greatly  bent,  so  as  not  to 
reach  the  stature  of  a  short  female,  there  was  courtliness  and 
dignity  in  her  appearance.  She  had  been  a  celebrated  beauty  in 
the  reign  of  Charles  the  Second,  and,  indeed,  anterior  to  the 
accession  of  that  monarch  to  the  throne,  though  that  was 
seventy  years  previous ;  and  had  moved  in  the  court  as  an  atten- 
dant on  royalty  during  the  sovereignties  of  the  merry  monarch,  of 
James  the  Second,  William  and  Mary,  and  Anne  :  and  her  dress 
was  a  heterogeneous  mixture  of  the  fashions  of  the  last  half  cen- 
tury, each  fashion  in  good  taste,  but  contrasting  oddly  with  the 
others,  so  as  to  present,  as  it  were,  an  epitome  of  the  best  modes 
of  dress  for  a  long  time. 

The  second  personage  was  a  lady  of  about  seven-and -twenty, 
lovely,  elegant,  and  exquisitely  formed,  who  was  Lady  Walsing- 


THE  MISER'S  SON.  433 

ham,  Harriet's  sister,  and  the  other,  a  child  of  some  eight  years 
of  age,  who  was  her  daughter.  The  dowager  Lady  Walsingham, 
grandmother  to  the  younger,  both  by  blood  and  marriage,  was 
explaining  some  matter  of  genealogy,  while  she  knitted  away  with 
untiring  zeal ;  her  granddaughter  was  embroidering,  and  appa- 
rently not  very  much  interested  in  what  her  aged  relative  was 
saying :  and  the  young  child  was  endeavouring  to  paint,  not 
without  promise  of  taste  and  skill,  at  a  solid  mahogany  table 
which  was  placed  in  the  centre  of  the  spacious  chamber. 

"  You  see,  my  dear,"  the  old  lady  was  saying,  "  my  grand- 
mother's sister  was  married  to  the  first  Lord  Walsingham  in  the 
year  1605.  Sir  Everard  was  the  only  son  of  the  first  lord  ;  and 
was  knighted  by  Elizabeth  for  his  services  in  battle ;  and  you 
know  I  was  the  youngest  child  of  that  union.  My  father  expired 
in  the  same  year  that  King  Charles  the  Martyr  was  executed — I 
was  then  only  eighteen — and  I  shall  never  forget  his  death.  His 
last  words  to  me  were,  '  My  Eliza,  never,  I  charge  you,  marry  a 
canting  Roundhead,  as  you  value  my  dying  blessing.'  He  was  a 
brave  Cavalier." 

"  So  I  have  often  heard  you  say,"  replied  the  younger  lady. 

"Well,  two  of  my  cousins,  John  and  William,  contended  for 
my  hand.  You  know  I  married  my  poor,  dear  John  :  and  Wil- 
liam, a  gallant  youth,  as  ever  drew  sword,  was  sadly  disappointed, 
but  he  married  in  the  same  year  as  I  did,  Anne,  the  daughter  of 
Sir  Roger  Stevens.  My  eldest  son,  poor  Charles  Rupert,  was 
united  to  his  cousin,  the  second  child  of  William,  and  they  had 
three  children.  The  eldest  of  these,  a  daughter,  you  remember, 
died  in  giving  birth  to  a  child,  the  second  married  your  father's 
sister — the  mother  of  dear  Charles — (who  ought  to  be  here  ere 
now),  and  the  third " 

"  My  dear  grandmother,"  interrupted  the  younger  Lady  Wal- 
singham, "  do  not  fatigue  yourself  by  talking.  I  know  doing  so 
increases  your  cough." 

"  Not  at  all,  child,"  replied  the  old  lady  ;  «'  let  me  see  ;  where 
was  I  ?  O,  I  recollect !  The  third  was  united  to  my  niece,  your 
mother's  aunt.  Your  father  was  my  third  child,  you  know,  and 
your  mother — I  remember  her  a  lovely  girl  of  fifteen,  when  I  was 
at  the  Court  of  William  and  Mary — your  mother  was  the  second 

3  K 


•434  THE  MISER'S  SON. 

cousin  of  your  mother's  aunt's  son's  wife,  the  daughter  of  the 
Duke  of  Leinster " 

"  What  a  memory  you  have  at  your  age !"  exclaimed  the 
young  widow. 

"  Oh,  but  it  fails  me  frequently,"  returned  the  *  fine  old  Eng- 
lish lady.'  "  I  made  a  sad  mistake  the  other  day  when  the  dowa- 
ger Marchioness  of  Clauricarde  called  on  me.  The  Marchioness 
recollects  better  than  I  do.  The  intermarriages  in  our  family  have 
been  numerous,  and  I  sometimes  forget — though  1  was  perfectly 
acquainted  with  them  all.  It  is  singular  that  dear  Charles,  who 
is  but  a  year  younger  than  yourself,  should  be  my  great  grandson ; 
but  my  eldest  child  married  into  another  branch  of  the  family 
when  young,  whereas  your  father  was  middle-aged  when  you 
were  born.  My  eldest  daughter,  then,  Charles's  grandmother, 
whose  son — the  father  of  Charles,  when  he  was  quite  a  boy, 
married — ah  !  I  am  confusing  myself!  Well,  his  wife  died  soon 
after  giving  birth  to  Charles.  She  was  a  pretty,  amiable  woman, 
and  had  a  fortune  of  £3000  per  annum ;  but  the  greater  part  of 
the  money  was  lost  in  an  unfortunate  speculation — I  don't  like 
anything  but  lauded  or  funded  property — and  it  has  dwindled 
down  through  mismanagement,  I  fear,  to  much  less — so  that  poor 
Charles  in  fact  is  anything  but  rich." 

The  younger  Lady  Walsingham  resigned  herself  to  her  fate 
with  a  sigh,  knowing  from  experience,  that  her  grandmother 
never  wearied  on  the  subject  of  their  genealogy,  &c.  But  fortu- 
nately for  her,  there  was  now  a  tap  at  the  door,  and  on  Lady 
Walsingham  saying,  "  Come  in,"  a  female  of  pleasing  appearance, 
somewhat  past  middle  age,  entered.  She  was  a  little,  slight 
woman,  with  grey  hair,  a  gentle  and  pensive  face,  and  neatly  and 
tastefully  attired. 

"  Well,  Mrs.  Oakleigh,  have  you  had  Master  Charles's  bed 
aired  ?"  inquired  the  ancient  lady  of  the  housekeeper, — for  such 
was  the  office  of  the  new  comer. 

"  I  have,  my  lady,"  replied  Mrs.  Oakleigh,  in  a  low,  sweet, 
and  distinct  voice,  which,  although  the  centenarian  was  rather 
deaf,  she  heard  perfectly.  "  I  have  come,"  she  added,  "  to  in- 
fonu  your  ladyships  of  something  which  it  is  painful  to  me  to 
impart;  but  it  is  my  duty  to  do  so.  The  young  woman,  Sarah 
Stokes—" 


THE  MISER'S  SON.  435 

"  Yes,"  interrupted  the  old  lady,  "  your  cousin's  cousin." 

"  Sarah  Stokes,"  continued  the  housekeeper,  her  lip  slightly 
quivering,  "  has  not  conducted  herself  with  the  propriety  I  could 
wish."  She  paused,  as  if  considering  how  to  proceed. 

"  O,  I  hope  it  is  nothing  serious?"  said  Lady  Walsingham. 

"  The  subject  is  one  which  must  be  as  painful  to  your  ladyship 
as  myself;  and  perhaps  Miss  Helen  will  go  and  play  on  the  lawn 
while  1  speak  to  you." 

"  Go,  my  dear,"  said  the  younger  lady  to  her  daughter,  who 
obeyed  immediately. 

"  I  shall  relate  the  facts  at  once,"  proceeded  Mrs.  Oakleigh. 
"  I  hope  she  has  not  acted  criminally,  in  its  worst  sense ;  but 
she  certainly  has  most  imprudently.  A  few  hours  ago,  1  was 
going  up  the  back  stairs  to  the  upper  rooms,  when  I  saw  Sarah, 
permitting  herself  to  be  kissed  by — by  Master  William." 

"  Indeed  !"  exclaimed  both  ladies  at  once. 

"  Some  words  were  spoken,  the  meaning  of  which  I  did  not 
exactly  comprehend  :  but  Sarah  denied  some  imputation  strongly, 
saving,  *  My  mother  knows  nothing,  I  am  sure.'  As  the  words 
were  yet  on  her  lips,  they  both  saw  me,  and  went  away  in  con- 
fusion. I  told  Sarah  to  come  to  me  in  my  room;  and  she  was 
very  impertinent  when  I  addressed  her  seriously  on  the  levity  of 
her  conduct ;  but  I  might  have  passed  it  over,  hoping  she  would 
never  misbehave  again,  if  I  had  not  received  information  from  one 
of  the  other  servants,  which  leads  me  to  suspect  that  such  fami- 
liarities have  before  occurred.  I  would  not  put  the  worst  con- 
struction on  the  affair;  but  I  must  leave  that  to  your  ladyship's 
judgment.  I  can  only  express  my  deep  regret,  my  lady,  that  I 
should  have  been  the  means  of  introducing  into  your  household, 
one  who  seems  to  have  conducted  herself  so  ill.  It  was  from  a 
wish  to  take  her  away  from  her  bad  old  mother,  and  at  the  soli- 
citation of  my  nephew  Smith,  that  I  gave  her,  with  your  lady- 
ship's permission,  the  situation  she  has  now  filled  so  long.  1 
think,  if  1  may  venture  to  give  my  opinion  to  your  ladyships, 
that  Sarah  must  no  longer  remain  in  the  house  with  Master  Wil- 
liam, lest  evil  come  of  it.  And  I  can  only  hope  that  you  will 
forgive  me  for  having  brought  one  into  the  family  who  has  proved 
so  indiscreet." 

"  I  am  sure,  Oakleigh,  you  have  not  been  to  blame,"  said  the 


436  THE  MISER'S  SON 

aged  lady.  "  I  will  speak  both  to  Master  William  and  Sarah  ; 
but  I  will  not — and  I  think  that  my  granddaughter  will  not — dis- 
miss the  girl,  without  giving  her  a  chance  of  retrieving  her 
character.  Without  reputation,  young  women  are  driven  to 
despair.  She  is  related  to  you,  and  I  feel  interested  in  her.  What 
has  become  of  her  old  sweetheart,  Samuel  Stokes,  your  cousin, 
lately?" 

"  I  think  I  saw  him  a  minute  ago,  talking  with  Corporal  Wig- 
gins outside,"  answered  Mrs.  Oakleigh.  "  As  I  have  now  done 
my  duty,  I  will  go  and  speak  to  him  ;  but  I  hope  your  ladyship, 
through  kindness  to  my  feelings,  will  not  extend  too  great  a 
degree  of  lenity  to  Sarah." 

"  You  have  been  a  faithful  servant,  Oakleigh,  and  we  should 
be  most  ungrateful  if  we  were  not  kind  to  you,"  returned  Lady 
Walsingham.  "  For  thirty  years  you  have  been  attached  to  our 
house,  and  I  look  upon  you  as  a  friend.  But  we  must  ponder  well 
before  we  decide.  Ah  !  what  was  that  shout?" 

"  Oh,  mamma,"  exclaimed  little  Helen  Walsingham,  as  she 
rushed  into  the  room,  breathless  with  haste.  "  Here  is  cousin 
Charles,  at  last."  And  while  she  yet  spoke,  a  tall  and  martial 
form  was  seen  at  the  door,  and  the  aged  lady  cried, 

"  What,  can  that  be  Charles  ?" 

"  My  dear  grandmother,"  said  Captain  Walsingham,  advancing 
quickly,  and  embracing  the  venerable  woman,  "  your  hundred 
years  have  visited  you  lightly  indeed.  My  cousin  Fanny,  and  my 
aunt,  right  glad  am  I  to  see  your  sweet  face  again  !  And  is  this 
little  Helen?  Kiss  me,  my  pretty  one!  Ah,  worthy  Oakleigh,  I 
must  kiss  you,  too — the  best-hearted  creature  alive !" 

While  these  greetings  were  going  on,  there  was  one  who  stood 
at  the  threshold — behind  which  numerous  eager  faces  might  be 
seen — who  appeared  not  to  participate  in  the  general  hilarity. 
It  was  William  Walsingham  ;  who  presently  quitted  the  scene 
and  the  house  in  moody  reverie. 

"  What  a  fine  fellow  William  is  grown !"  exclaimed  Charles. 
"  I  forgot  to  ask  about  Francis." 

"  Frank  is  at  sea,  you  know,"  said  Lady  Fanny,  her  cheek 
colouring  slightly  as  she  spoke  to  her  husband's  nephew. 

"  I  have  been  long  coming,  but  you  were  informed  of  the  cause 
of  my  delay  ?"  said  Charles. 


THE  MISER'S  SON.  437 

"  Oh  yes,  but  why  did  you  not  let  us  know  where  you  were, 
that  we  might  send  to  you,  or  come  and  nurse  you  ?" 

Charles  was  taken  aback  at  this  question,  which  he  was  not 
prepared  to  answer ;  for,  indeed,  he  was  not  aware  that  his  re- 
lations were  unacquainted  with  his  recent  abode,  and  had  thought 
it  at  the  time  unkind  that  they  had  not  sent  to  inquire  after  him  : 
he  was,  however,  so  occupied  with  Ellen  that  he  did  not  bestow 
much  thought  on  aught  beside.  But  supposing  that  Ellen's  father 
might  have  some  secret  motive  for  desiring  his  residence  might 
not  be  known  to  any,  he  returned  an  evasive  answer ;  and  had 
no  difficulty  in  turning  the  conversation,  with  the  multiplicity  of 
things  he  had  to  talk  about. 

Meanwhile,  William  Walsingham  had  wandered  forth  without 
any  definite  purpose,  unless  to  indulge  his  gloomy  feelings  unob- 
served. It  was  a  lovely  moonlight,  and  though  it  was  late, 
the  radiance  of  the  planet  compensated  for  the  beams  of  the 
sun,  and  silvered  every  object  with  its  mellow  floods  of  lustre. 
He  observed,  as  he  quitted  the  precincts  of  the  grounds  imme- 
diately attached  to  the  mansion,  Corporal  Figgins  engaged  in 
conversation  with  a  cripple  ;  but  without  stopping  for  an  instant 
even  to  return  the  salutation  of  the  former,  he  strode  onwards, 
many  bitter  and  passionate  things  within  him.  At  length,  having 
reached  an  old  hollow  tree,  which  grew  at  the  extremity  of  a  fine 
park,  he  stopped  and  leant  against  it;  when  without  any  appa- 
rent cause,  he  suddenly  broke  forth  into  a  fit  of  his  strange,  un- 
natural laughter,  which  was  like  nothing  earthly  ;  but  it  was  more 
strange  and  hollow  even  than  usual. 

"  All  the  world  is  mad  at  times,"  he  exclaimed,  "  I  am  con- 
vinced !  What  is  it  to  me  that  this  same  cousin  of  mine  was  born 
after  a  certain  legal  ceremony  had  been  performed  between  his 
father  and  mother?  And  yet,  forsooth,  I  am  troubling  my  dull 
brain  about  it.  Poor  blockhead  that  I  am  !  Let  the  fools  and 
knaves  whom  custom  and  cunning  have  made  rich  and  courted, 
and  noble — save  the  mark  ! — pay  honour  to  the  cant  and  humbug 
whereby  they  live.  But  oh,  it  were  most  vile  for  "one  who  has 
drank  of  the  streams  of  high  philosophy,  to  trouble  his  heart  that 
such  things  are.  Let  Time  perform  its  everlasting  cycle,  and  let 
the  bubbles  which  float  upon  its  tide  burst  as  they  list.  Flow  on, 
dark  river,  flow  on  !  Thou  art  sprung  from  tears,  dreams,  and 


438  THE  MISER'S  SON. 

empty  smiles!  Thou  art  peopled  with  delusions,  falsehood, 
wretchedness,  and  error."  Tears  were  starting  into  the  Atheist's 
eyes,  but  he  suffered  them  to  roll  unheeded  down  his  sallow 
cheeks,  and  continued  his  melancholy  monologue.  "  Millions  of 
years  have  passed,  and  worlds  have  been  destroyed,  and  new 
ones  reproduced.  Thus  will  it  ever  be  !  What  is  it  that  a  soli- 
tary worm  must  hug  the  chain  of  woe  to  his  desolate  bosom  ? 
What  matters  it  that  ail  should  seem  to  him  a  chaos,  a  wilder- 
ness, and  a  void  ?  There  are  smiles  of  love  around,  there  is 
merry  laughter,  and  wild  excitement.  Perhaps  the  wisest,  because 
the  wildest  thing  for  such  as  I  am  to  do,  is  to  plunge  headlong 
into  the  engulphing  ocean,  where  all  is  lost,  sooner  or  later.  Let 
me  bask  in  the  light  of  splendid  beauty,  with  kisses  in  which 
there  may  be  deadly  poison,  but  in  which  there  is  frenzied  joy 
also;  let  me  quaft' to  the  dregs  of  pleasure,  let  me  love,  let  me 
drink  of  the  wine  cup,  until  the  veins  run  with  a  perpetual  lava 
stream,  careless  of  death,  careless  of  annihilation  ;  let  me  see 
the  roses,  but  not  the  thorns,  inflame  my  heart,  debase  my  in- 
tellect ;  crush  all  that  is  lofty,  all  that  is  sublime  within  me ;  and 
when  at  last  the  hand  of  destruction  is  on  my  being,  render  up  my 
breath,  certain  never  to  draw  it  more !" 

Oh,  Walsingham,  thou  erring,  noble,  sinful  being  !  That  one 
so  like  an  angel  in  thy  original  brightness  should  have  fallen  as 
thou  didst  fall !  Not  yet,  indeed,  had  the  Eternal  Night  closed 
upon  thy  spirit : — thou  "hadst  still  thy  mighty  thoughts,  thy 
dreams,  and  aspirations;  and  despite  the  wretched  creed  which 
thou  didst  hold — like  the  divine  creation  of  Milton,  of  which 
thou  art  in  some  degree  a  resemblance  (the  mortal,  instead  of  the 
immortal  fallen!) — thou  appearedst  less  only  than  Archangel 
ruined  !  If  all  the  gushing  tenderness  of  thy  soul  had  been  cen- 
tred in  the  pure  and  beautiful,  though  sorrow  might  have  settled 
on  thee,  and  affliction  crushed  thy  youth's  dear  hopes,  thou 
wouldst  have  soared  to  the  throne  of  Love,  and  reclined  thy 
throbbing  brain  upon  a  pillow  smoothed  by  the  hands  of  guardian 
spirits,  and  sweetened  by  thine  eternal  Father's  smile.  O  blessed 
balm,  which  can  alone  heal  the  bruised  heart,  and  restore  the 
wounded  peace !  Seraphs  would  have  comforted  thee,  Virtue 
would  have  been  present — Heaven  would  have  crowned,  most 
assuredly,  thy  existence. 


THE  MISER'S  SON.  439 

But  it  might  not  be.  There  may  be  pardon  for  all ;  but  thou 

wert  guilty,  debased,  and  lost It  is  the  will  of  God  that 

there  should  be  crime  and  error  in  the  world.  He  did  not  create 
them :  for  He  is  indeed  free  from  all  taint,  or  possibility  of  it. 
But  it  is  evident,  for  some  inscrutable  purpose,  He  does  not 
exert  His  Omnipotence  to  crush  what -is  bad  :  and  therefore  even 
out  of  evil,  such  as  that  of  a  great  mind  overthrown,  good  must 
come.  We  must  solace  ourselves,  when  we  look  abroad,  and  see 
the  awful  calamities  which  the  wretched  passions  of  our  fallen 
nature  occasion,  that  every  thing  must  work  to  an  end  which 
Providence  has  foreseen.  If  not  a  sparrow  fall,  nor  a  lily  of  the 
field  be  clothed  with  beauty,  without  the  hand  of  Divinity  has 
directed  it  should  be  so  ;  surely  the  Uncreated  One  has  a  purpose 
inconceivably  great  in  suffering  these  sad  things  to  be.  The  good 
and  loving  man  who  reflects  on  these  mysteries,  may  deplore  the 
effects  of  guilt,  but  he  is  certain  that  virtue  will  shine  the  brighter 
in  the  darkness  ;  and  worship  what  seemelh  wise  to  him,  the 
more  he  perceives  the  misery  of  vice.  It  may  be,  "  'twere  to  in- 
quire too  curiously,"  to  plunge  into  the  speculative  theories  of 
those  who  have  written  on  the  origin  of  evil.  Nothing  satisfac- 
tory can  be  advanced  either  on  the  one  side,  or  the  other ;  but  it 
is  obvious  that  perfect  beneficence  would  not  have  permitted  evil, 
merely  to  try  a  helpless  creature  whose  actions  he  foresees ;  or  to 
let  him  fall  lower  than  the  brutes,  without  some  ulterior  end, 
unsearchable  and  divine.  Here  let  us  pause.  And  before  we 
venture  to  question  the  existende  of  that  Being  whose  attributes 
are  all  holy  and  perfect,  let  us  look  at  the  state  of  the  Atheist's 
mind  when  he  is  led  to  doubt,  then  to  deny,  and  compare  it  with 
that  of  the  believer. 

The  solemn  stars  were  advancing  from  "  the  vasty  depths" 
wherein  they  abide  immortal,  while  all  other  things  fade  and  die. 
The  Materialist  contemplated  them  with  a  stern  and  mournful 
and  meditative  eye,  and  said,  "  It  is  well — 1  will  weep  no  more, 
I  will  despair  no  more.  I  will  exclude  from  my  mind  every  pain- 
ful sensation,  and  live  and  die  regardless  of  all,  except  myself. 
Myriads  of  miles  divide  us,  oh  ye  stars  !  But  my  career  shall  be 
radiant  as  yours,  while  it  lasts  !  A  few,  brief  years,  and  I  shall 
be  sleeping  quietly  below,  while  the  silent  worm  is  nestling  in 
this  outworn  heart — this  prematurely  destroyed  and  subtile  brain 


440  THE  MISER'S  SON. 

— for  I  feel  I  am  sinking,  and  shall  not  rise  again.  I  dismiss 
from  my  dreams  all  hopes  for  man  ;  let  others  cherish  a  vain 
Utopia ;  but  give  me  the  Actual,  and  I  will  make  an  Ideal  out  of 
it  as  beautiful,  and — as  worthless  as  a  poet's  visions.  I  will  be 
no  more  Walsingham  the  Dreamer ;  but  Walsingham  the  Sen- 
sualist. And  when  the  cold  world  sneers,  I  will  sneer  again  ; 
I  will  laugh  with  it,  jest  with  it,  spurn,  smile,  loathe  with  it — 
return  curse  for  curse,  jeer  for  jeer,  vengeance  for  vengeance': 
and  having  exhausted  all  passions  and  sensations  of  this  stale 
being,  sleep,  to  wake  no  more." 


CHAPTER  VII. 

A  startling  paradox  is  passion,  sir ; — 

Wormwood  and  honey  : — brief  as  mortal  thought, — 

Eternal  as  the  everlasting  word. — GEORGE  STEPHENS. 

FIGGINS   AND   STOKES — THE    DISCOVERY — THE   EPICUREAN — 
SALLY — SAM   STOKES'S   LOVE — THE    REVENGE. 

WHEN  Corporal  Figgins  and  Sam  Stokes  were  conferring  as 
the  Epicurean  passed  by  them,  they  were  engaged  in  a  conversa- 
tion, which  it  is  requisite  to  record. 

"  You  don't  think  as  I've  any  reas'nable  hope,  then,  Corporal?" 
exclaimed  Samuel. 

"  Why,  Stokes !  women  are  odd  creatures,  and  take  funny 
fancies  into  their  heads  sometimes ;  but  I  can't  say  I  think  at 
present  you've  any  chance  with  Sally.  And  I'll  tell  you,  if  you'll 
be  secret,  why.  I  don't  believe  she  cares  much  about  your  legs, 
as  you  suppose  is  the  case ;  but  she's  in  love  with  somebody 
else." 

Poor  Sam  here  heaved  a  sigh  from  the  bottom  of  his  heart ;  and 
then  his  eye  kindled  for  a  moment,  as  he  said — 

"  I'll  fight  the  rogue  as  has  stole  her  love  away  from  me.  My 
eyes !  Who  is  he,  Corporal  ?" 

"  Nay  of  that  I  am  ignorant,"  replied   Figgins.     "  I  would 


THE  MISER'S  SON.  441 

have  been  civil  to  her  myself,  when  it  was  thought  you  had  slipped 
the  cable  ;  but  she  saucily  told  me,  *  she  was  food  for  my  betters.'  " 

"  Did  she  !"  ejaculated  Sam,  thoughtfully.  And  while  he  was 
so  speaking-,  William  Walsingham  passed,  and  the  sailor's  brow 
darkened  ominously  when  they  encountered  him.  "  Food  for 
your  betters  !"  he  muttered,  "  then  I  see  how  the  land  lays.  O, 
my  poor  Sally  !  P'rhaps  she's  been  sedooced  already  by  that 
young  blackguard.  If  so  be  she  has,  thof  he  has  high  and  good 
blood  in  his  veins,  I'll — I'll — well —  !" 

"  Nay,  Sam !"  cried  Figgins,  who  had  his  reasons  for  not 
wishing  the  truth  to  be  then  known,  "you  are  mistaken  there. 
That  Walsingham  lad  is  as  proud  as  the  devil ;  and  he  wouldn't 
stoop  to  what  you  imagine." 

"  Wouldn't  he  !"  exclaimed  Samuel.  "  You  knows  better  nor 
that,  Mr.  Figgins,  sharp  as  you  are,  and  for  this  reason.  Gen- 
tlefolks has  the  same  bad  passions  as  others  has,  and  they  don't 
care  how  they  gratifies  them  ;  but  a  poor  man  is  thought  the 
worse  of  if  he  does  anythink  of  the  kind  with  a  innercent  girl. 
But  a  gentleman  may  go  and  break  a  hundred  hearts,  and  folks 
say,  '  O,  he's  got  lots  of  pluck  !'  and  likes  him  all  the  better." 

Figgins  mused. 

"  if,"  he  thought,  "  I  could  get  rid  of  this  lad  by  exposing 
him,  I  should  lose  a  troublesome  fellow,  who  reads  me  through. 
But  at  present  I  must  keep  terms  with  him  ;  for  he  is  able  to 
undo  me.  Stokes,"  he  said,  aloud,  "  don't  be  rash  in  your  con- 
clusions. The  young  gentleman  is  yet  quite  a  boy,  and  Sally, 
though  still  a  pretty  woman,  almost  old  enough  to  be  his  mother." 

"  She  is  but  nine-and-twenty,"  returned  the  sailor,  "  and  don't 
look  even  that.  No,  no  ;  there's  no  such  vast  difference  in  their 
age,  Corporal,  and  poor  Sally  always  had  high  notions.  But  if 
I  hadn't  led  her  astray,  she  mightn't  have  gone  wrong.  1  shall 
never  forgive  myself,  you  knows  how  she  stands  succumstanced, 
and  you  knows  when  a  gal  has  once  been  imprudent,  she's  likely 
to  be  so  twice." 

There  was  a  native  shrewdness  and  sagacity  in  the  simple  logic 
of  Samuel,  which,  if  Figgins  had  been  a  far  greater  dialectician 
than  he  was,  would  have  puzzled  him  ;  and  truth  even  in  the 
mouth  of  the  ignorant  will  confound  the  sophistry  of  the  wise. 
But  he  replied — 

3  L 


442  THE  MISER'S  SON. 

"  Well,  possibly  she  may  have  been  indiscreet  with  some  per- 
son— nothing  more — but  there  are  many  others  beside  the  youth 
vou  have  fixed  on  as  the  party.  She  has  never  said  anything 
about  him  to  you  ?" 

"  No,"  responded  Sam,  "  but  look  ye  here.  They  lives  in  the 
same  house  together.  The  boy  is  a  handsome  boy,  and,  thof  he 
was  born  on  the  wrong  side  the  blanket,  a  gentleman  bred,  any- 
how. Sally  likes  gentlemen,  and  she's  a  pretty,  saucy  woman. 
They  often  meets  in  coorse,  and  he  says  something  to  her,  and 
she  will  laugh  and  joke  with  him.  He  kisses  her — all  gentlemen 
kisses  pretty  servants,  if  they'll  let  'em, — and  what's  the  conse- 
kence  ?" 

"  You  jump  to  your  conclusions  too  quickly,"  said  Figgins, 
laughing.  "  In  the  first  place,  your  premises  are  false.  All 
gentlemen  don't  kiss  pretty  servants,  even  if  they  would  allow  it ; 
and  this  boy,  I  repeat,  though  a  bastard,  is  deucedly  proud — 
proud  of  his  intellect,  his  science,  and  all  that.  In  addition  to 
which,  he  is  but  eighteen,  and  lads  of  that  age  are  not  up  to  what 
we  old  hands  are.  Sally,  I  own,  is  still  a  young  woman  ;  but 
not  likely  to  attract  the  admiration  of  one  such  as  he  is;  for  he 
would  think  her  coarse  and  vulgar." 

"  Ah  !"  responded  Sam,  "  what  if  so  be  he  is  as  proud  as 
Lucifer?  Pride  won't  make  a  man  more  nor  less  nor  sich.  I've 
remarked  too,  that  women,  when  they  gets  towards  the  sharp 
corner,  is  fond  of  boys.  And,  besides,  look  at  that  youth.  He's 
made  like  a  man — broad,  deep  chest,  and  firm-set  figure  !  He's 
got  a  face  of  genus — I  thinks  they  call  it  genus — sich  lots  of 
thought  there  is  in  it — and  for  the  matter  of  his  not  being  up  to 
snuff,  he's  as  much  so  as  a  chap  of  thirty.  You  and  I,  Corporal, 
has  lived  now  to  middle  age,  as  you  says,  and  know  what  women 
is.  We're  not  angels,  Mr.  Figgins,  if  so  be  we  aint  devils,  and 
flesh  and  blood  is  flesh  and  blood, me." 

"  That's  an  axiom,  as  scholars  would  say,"  Figgins  answered 
when  Sam  had  clenched  his  argument  with  his  favourite  benedic- 
tion on  himself.  "  But  all  I  advise  you  is,  by  no  means  to  be- 
tray what  you  fancy.  1  think  you're  mistaken  :  so,  good  night. 
I've  got  business  to  transact  before  I  go  to  sleep." 

Thus  sa\ing,  the  Corporal  rolled  away,  like  an  elephant,  and 


THE  MISER'S  SON.  443 

Stokes  was  going  into  the  house,  when  he  suddenly  turned,  and 
said — 

"  What  has  become  of  that  there  little  boy,  as  you  took  away 
with  'ee  t'other  day  ?" 

"  O,  he's  safe  with  his  mother,"  replied  Figgijis,  turning  on  his 
heel  for  a  minute,  and  then  continuing  his  way. 

He  took  the  same  path  which  had  previously  been  pursued  by 
the  young  philosopher  ;  and  having  walked  for  about  a  quarter  of 
an  hour,  he  abruptly  came  upon  him,  just  as  he  finished  the  soli- 
loquy which  ends  the  last  chapter,  a  dark,  yet  sublime  expression 
on  the  face,  which  Sam  had  characterised  as  one  of  genus,  which 
the  Corporal  perused  aright. 

A  painter  could  not  have  wished  a  better  countenance  to  study, 
if  he  had  wished  to  delineate  the  Satan  of  Milton  (a  subject  which 
it  seems  all  artists  have  hitherto  shrunk  from)  as  he  pronounced 
the  awful  imprecation  in  the  Address  to  the  Sun,  which  rivals,  if  it 
does  not  surpass,  the  mightiest  poetry  of  the  ancients.  There 
was  power,  and  pride,  and  pain,  and  passion  in  every  line  of  that 
singular  and  intellectual  face  ;  but  not  a  ray  of  hope  or  peace  was 
there  :  all  darkness,  like  a  grand  and  shadowy  night,  when  strange 
phantoms  appear  to  float  over  the  ebon  sky,  starless,  moonless : 
yet  the  very  clouds  were  magnificent  in  their  gloom. 

"  Good  evening  to  you,  Master  William,"  said  the  Corporal, 
putting  on  his  best  manners. 

"  Well,"  returned  the  youth,  gazing  fixedly  into  the  broad, 
red  face  of  Figgins,  who  could  sometimes  affect  sentiment,  though 
the  very  antipodes  of  a  sentimental  person,  and  was  preparing  a 
remark,  to  open  a  conversation.  And  the  Materialist's  eye  was 
yet  brighter  than  the  one  which  glittered  beneath  the  wide,  mas- 
sive forehead  of  the  Corporal. 

"  It  is  a  beautiful  night,"  said  Figgins,  "  and  I  suppose  that 
it's  splendour  has  tempted  you  away  from  the  Hall  ?  I  don't 
wonder,  sir,  that  you,  who  have  such  great  dreams  and  ideas, 
should  love  solitude  in  such  a  spot,  and  to  pour  out  the  heart  in 
deep  abstraction  from  the  world.  Even  I,  when  I  look  up  to 
those  glorious  orbs  that  shine  on  us  so  solemnly,  feel  thoughts 
which  I  cannot  define." 

It  must  be  observed,  that  Figgins  had  caught  the  phraseology 
used  by  scholars,  as  well  as  by  men  of  the  world,  and  with  ready 


444  THE  MISER'S  SON. 

cleverness  could  repeat  sentiments  he  had  heard,  or  adapt  those 
he  had  read. 

"Can  you  describe  aught  of  the  nature  of  those  thoughts?" 
sneered  William,  who  was  convinced  of  the  hypocrisy  of  the  Cor- 
poral's character. 

"  Perhaps  I  can,  better  than  you  think,"  returned  Figgins, 
nettled  at  the  contempt  of  the  youth.  "  When  I  gaze  into  the 
dark  space,  which  is  illuminated  with  more  magnificence  than  the 
halls  of  an  earthly  palace — quenchless  fires,  which  have  glowed 
with  glory  when  the  heroes  and  conquerors  of  the  past  were  in 
the  zenith  of  their  greatness,  I  ask  what  are  they,  and  whence  are 
they?  Who  supports  them  in  that  vast  dome  ?  what  mighty  hand 
guides  them  through  the  firmament  for  ever?  They  may  contain 
men  like  ourselves,  with  great  intellect,  and  petty  aims,  with  a 
soul  which  can  grasp  a  world  ;  and  with  a  heart  which  cares  for 
nothing  but  the  present,  with  its  transient  light,  its  fading  beauty, 
its  waning  pleasures.  Or  they  may  be  the  worlds  of  creatures 
whose  powers  are  proportioned  to  their  aspirings,  who  can  enjoy 
existence,  not  as  we  enjoy  it ;  but  live  among  unfading  raptures, 
with  bright  women,  and  delicious  wine,  like  the  Gods  of  old  ;  all 
beauty  and  passion  theirs ;  revelling  in  scenes  of  luscious  joy, 
without  a  dream  of  pain." 

"Ha,  ha,  ha!"  laughed  the  Epicurean;  "pity  you  have  not 
tried  to  write  poetry,  Figgins.  Pshaw,  man!  I  know  you.  You 
are  a  shrewd,  sordid  rascal,  whose  thoughts  never  wander  from 
their  centre — your  amiable  self — who  cheat  the  fools,  and  laugh 
with  the  knaves, — who  eat,  drink,  wench,  and  are  content.  A 
great  rogue,  but  a  clever  one  !  How  like  you  your  portrait?" 

"  I  thought,"  said  Figgins,  in  some  degree  returning  the  sar- 
casm of  the  Materialist,  "  that  you  consider  there  is  no  such 
thing  as  vice  or  virtue  ?" 

"  Well,  Corporal !  Are  you  going  to  philosophize,  as  well  as 
launch  forth  into  the  poetics  ?  Take  my  advice,  man,  and  slick 
to  the  earth — the  good,  old,  dirty,  foul,  rotten  earth,  which  is 
well  enough  for  such  as  you  are.  Why  were  any  others  ever  born  ? 
You  are  a  most  wonderful  man,  truly.  But  O,  sagacious  Fig- 
gins  !  you  understand  not  the  distinctions  of  science.  A  bad  act 
is  a  bad  act :  you  could  not  help  performing  it ;  but  whatever  is 


THE  MISER'S  SON,  445 

inimical  to  morality  is,  of  course,  a  vile  thing.  All  is  either  foul 
or  fair  in  its  nature." 

"  If  I  were  to  cut  your  throat,  of  course  I  couldn't  help  it," 
returned  the  Corporal.  "  Circumstances,  over  which  I  have  no 
control,  you  know !" 

"  Sly  dog !  you  are  a  wit !"  replied  the  Epicurean.  "  But  if 
I  have  no  control  over  circumstances,  1  can  create  them.  And 
whenever  I  discover  roguery,  I  think  it  incumbent  on  me  to  un- 
mask it." 

"  Of  a  verity,"  responded  Figgins,  assuming  a  sanctimonious 
air.  "  But  look  you,  Master  William  Walsingham," — here  again 
changing  his  manner — "  we  know  each  other.  You  are  an  intel- 
lectual, and  I  a  sensible  man.  We  know  the  world  ;  you  from 
reflection,  I  from  experience.  You  wish  for  pleasure  ; — that  is 
natural  at  your  age.  I  wish  for  money,  being  almost  sick  of  what 
you're  seeking.  We  are  acquainted  with  some  of  each  other's 
doings — " 

"  Do  you  dare,"  cried  William,  fiercely  striding  up  to  Figgins, 
and  hissing  his  words  through  his  clenched  teeth,  with  a  voice 
low,  but  distinct,  in  spite  of  its  suppressed  passion,  "do  you 
dare,  low  scoundrel  that  you  are  !  to  insult  me  ?" 

For  an  instant  the  stout  spirit  of  the  veteran  soldier  failed  him, 
as  he  beheld  the  flashing  eyes,  the  dilated  nostril  and  haughty 
brow  of  the  Materialist,  and  heard  the  fierce  accents  of  his  wrath  ; 
but  he  was  not  a  man  to  tremble  beneath  the  frown  of  breathing 
mortal :  and  he  replied — 

"  Come,  come  ;  don't  let  us  get  into  a  passion  !  That's  never 
of  any  use.  Hear  me  out  calmly.  Not  only  do  I  know ;  but 
others  suspect  your  intrigue  with  Sally — " 

"What!"  exclaimed  William,  seizing  Figgins  by  the  throat 
with  ungovernable  rage,  and  shaking  him,  huge  man  as  he  was, 
as  if  he  had  been  a  stripling,  in  a  convulsion  of  passion. 

The  Corporal,  with  no  slight  exertion  of  his  strength,  shook 
off*  his  boyish  assailant ;  and  said — 

"Now,  becalm,  and  let  us  reason  the  matter  like  men  together. 
If  you  don't  want  it  to  be  known,  well  and  good.  I  won't  blab. 
Only  be  more  prudent  than  you  have  been*  I  myself  have  en- 
gaged in  a  hundred  such  affairs ;  but  have  managed  them  all  with 
perfect  secrecy.  Take  counsel  from  an  old  stager;  and  when 


446  THE  MISER'S  SON. 

you  kiss,  let  it  be  where  none  can  peep  at  you.     The  cook  saw 
you  kissing  Sally  the  other  day." 

"  Excellent !"  cried  the  Epicurean,  in  his  usual  cold,  sarcastic 
way.  "What  a  joke  for  all  the  servants!"  Then  he  added, 
bitterly,  "  To  be  grinned  at  by  a  parcel  of  ignorant  boors,  and 
coarse  country  wenches  !  Well,  you  want  me  to  keep  your  secrets, 
Mr.  Figgins !  But  it  seems  my  secret  is  out !" 

"  O,"  said  the  Corporal,  slyly,  "  I  see  you  are  no  greenhorn  ! 
But  look  you  here.  Every  servant  in  Walsingham  Hall  has  done 
something  which  none  of  them  would  like  known.  It  has  always 
been  my  plan  to  possess  myself  of  those  little  mysteries ;  they 
give  one  more  power  than  you'd  believe.  I  have  all  these  domes- 
tics under  my  thumb,  and  I'll  take  care  they  shall  not  annoy  you." 

The  Epicurean  paced  up  and  down  with  an  uncertain  air,  and 
with  gall  and  aconite  in  his  heart. 

"No;  I  will  leave  the  place,"  he  muttered.  And  without 
saying  another  word  to  Figgins,  he  stalked  away. 

"  He's  a  clever  fellow,  hang  him  '."  said  the  Corporal  to  him- 
self. I  hate  him  from  my  soul ;  but  I  daren't  do  what  I  wish. 
It  isn't  often  that  we  can  :  but  a  time  will  come/' 

While  this  scene  was  acting,  and  determining  the  destiny  of 
the  Materialist,  Sam  Stokes  had  entered  Walsingham  Hall,  in- 
tent on  seeing  his  cousin,  whom  he  found  in  the  kitchen,  saying 
to  the  cook,  "  What  a  fine  man  the  Captain  is,  to  be  sure." 

"  Ah,  I  suppose  he'll  take  master  William's  place  in  your 
heart,"  sneered  the  cook. 

"  Hold  your  tongue,  you  saucy  slut,"  replied  Sally,  angrily. 

While  the  words  trembled  on  her  lips  she  beheld  Sam,  gazing 
mournfully  upon  her.  She  was  a  pretty,  rosy-cheeked  woman, 
with  a  laughing  eye,  dark  brown  hair,  a  low  but  well-formed 
figure,  and  much  impudence  in  her  face.  Though  her  features 
were  not  regular — the  nose  being  inclined  to  the  snub  formation, 
and  the  mouth  being  large,  and  not  finely  moulded — yet  the 
teeth  were  so  white,  and  the  eyes  so  mirthful,  and  the  whole 
countenance  so  bright  and  animated,  that  she  was  exactly  the 
style  of  beauty  calculated  to  attract  the  vulgar,  who  can  admire 
coarseness  and  rude  vivacity. 

"  Can  I  speak  with  'ee  alone,  Sally  ?"  asked  Samuel,  without 
lifting  his  eyes  from  the  ground  on  which  he  had  fixed  them. 


THE  MISER'S  SON.  447 

"  Oh,  if  you  wish  it ;  but  I  wish  you  wouldn't  come  bothering 
me,"  she  replied,  leading  the  way  into  the  pantry,  he  murmur- 
ing, "  I  shan't  bother  her  long,"  as  he  followed  ;  and,  the  door 
being  closed,  he  exclaimed,  with  much  emotion, 

"  Sally,  I  have  been  faithful  to  you,  these  many,  many  years ; 
and,  before  I  lost  my  legs,  women  as  pretty  to  look  on — though 
not  so  pretty  to  me — would  have  been  happy  to  let  me  court 
'em  :  but  I  wouldn't,  Sally  ;  for  I  always  considered  you  my 
wife,  in  all  but  the  name.  I  saw  that  unhappy  creetur  of  ourn 
t'other  day.  And,  wretch  thof  he  be,  I'll  love  him,  Sally,  for 
your  sake,  if  I  can.  He  shall  come  and  live  with  me  :  your  mo- 
ther has  made  him  what  he  is  with  her  deviltries.  But,  oh  !  I 
can't  bear  to  find  as  you've  given  yourself  to  that  young  Wal- 

singham -" 

"  Impudence !"  here  interrupted  the  woman,  "  who  told  you 
that  lie?" 

"  It's  no  use  for  to  deny  it,  Sally, — I  knows  it,"  returned  the 
sailor.  "  In  coorse,  you've  a  right  to  do  as  you  likes  ;  and  since 
I've  met  with  my  misfortin,  1  can't  well  expect  you  should  marry 
me.  But  I'd  have  had  you,  Sally,  without  legs,  or  arms,  or  pre- 
cious eyes.  But  oh,  Sally,  live  decent  and  honest.  I've  got  a 
little  cash,  which  I'll  give  you  as  a  marriage  portion,  if  so  be 
you'll  take  some  worthy  man  for  your  husband,  and  return  to  var- 
tue  once  more.  I  hopes  some  one  will  love  and  cherish  you  as  I 
would  !  I  knows  I  did  very  wrong  to  betray  you,  by  taking  ad- 
vantage of  your  affection  for  me — you  did  love  me  once,  cousin 
dear!  And  I  wish  to  make  some  amends  to  you,  for  I  thinks  it 

may  be  from  having  once  fallen,  you've  done  so  again.  Oh,  Sally, 

dear  Sally!" 

"  Don't  dear  Sally  me !"  exclaimed  the   woman  indignantly, 

turning  away  from  Stokes. 

"  Yes,  dear  Sally,"  continued  Sam,  "  think  how  wrong  it  is ! 

This  here  lad  will  desert  ye, and  you'll  lose  forever  your  k'racter. 

What  can  ye  do  then  ?  Leave  this  house,  Sally  :  and  don't  go  to 

your  mother's — she's  a  bad   un.     But    try    to  get   some  other 

place  ;  and  here's  a  purse  for  ye." 

A  little  affected  by  the  genuine  tenderness  and  kindness  of  the 

poor  sailor,  Sally  answered,  "  Your  fancies   are   wide  of  the 

mark,  Sara.     Put  up  your  purse;  I  won't  take  it.     It  aint  be- 


448  THE  MISER'S  SON. 

cause  you're  so  maimed  I  refuse  to  marry  you.  I  think  you're  a 
good-hearted  chap,  and  I  always  thought  so.  Ah,  there's  the 
bell.  I  must  leave  you*  Ask  the  butler  to  give  you  something 
to  drink,  and  then  go  home.  There,  we  part  friends ;  your  hand; 
good  night.", 

"  Stay  a  moment,  Sally,"  cried  Sam,  despairingly.  "  We  once 
was  all  the  world  to  each  other.  I  love  you  still,  Sally,  far  more 
than  this  old  shattered  hull,  in  which  the  heart  beats  as  warm'ly 
as  ever.  When  I'm  dead  and  gone,  and  the  worms  crawl  in  my 
cold  bussum,  you'll  sometimes  think,  *  Poor  feller,  he  was  true 
to  me.'  Yes,  thof  the  world  called  ye  bad  names,  and  druv  ye  to 
despair,  ye  should  find  a  home  in  my  breast,  a  port  in  my  arms. 
If  I  could  die  for  ye,  I  would  gladly.  Oh,  Sally,  if  ye  feel  any- 
think  still  for  me,  take  my  advice ;  and  you'll  be  happy  yet." 

"  No,  no,"  was  the  reply,  "  I  cannot.  Besides,  if  I  left  my 
place  now,  it  would  seem  as  if  I  was  sent  away ;  and  I  don't 
know  but  what  I  shall  be,  as  it  is.  Sam,  I'm  very  wretched  !" 
And  she  burst  into  a  flood  of  tears.  "  I  feign  what  I  don't  feel 
when  I  speak  so  audaciously.  My  heart  sometimes  seems  as  if 
it  was  breaking." 

"  My  own  Sally !  now  you  are  my  own  loved  girl,"  said  Sam, 
taking  her  hand,  while  his  own  shook  terribly,  strong  as  were  his 
nerves.  "  Listen,"  he  continued,  with  deep  feeling,  "  you,  as 
well  as  me,  believes  there's  a  great  God  aloft,  and  that  He  par- 
dons those  as  repents.  None  as  does  wrong  can  be  happy,  how- 
ever rich  and  great  they  be.  But  if  we  tries  to  do  well,  Sally,  as 
much  as  our  poor  natur  lets,  what  a  sweet  thing  it  is  to  know 
we've  a  friend  in  Heaven  who  loves  us  like  his  children, — when 
all's  sorrow  and  storm  around.  My  dear  cousin,  you've  done 
wrong  like  me ;  I  can't  never  forgive  myself,  'cos  I  feels  that 
I've  been  the  cause  of  all  this  here.  But  you'll  be  forgiven,  as  I 
hopes  I  shall,  and  in  the  arms  of  some  honest  man  you'll  be 
happy — very  happy  !"  And  sobs  heaved  the  broad  chest  of  the 
sailor. 

Fine,  rough  son  of  Nature,  thou  wert  a  nobler  being  far  than 
the  elegant,  accomplished,  polished  slave  of  empty  fashions  and 
hollow  forms,  without  the  heart  to  despise  the  little  follies  of  the 
crowd,  without  a  soul  to  soar  above  the  atmosphere  breathed  by 
the  Helots  of  thy  tribe!  Talk  not  of  munificent  charities,  of 


THE  MISER'S  SON.  449 

splendid  gifts,  of  disinterested  patronage.  Lord  of  a  million,  come 
here,  and  look  upon  this  picture !  The  truth,  fervour,  devotion, 
of  a  brave  single-minded  tar  should  make  thee  sink  into  nothing- 
ness in  thine  own  esteem,  unless  thou  canst  act  and  feel  like  him. 
The  poet  may  eulogize  a  hero's  courage,  a  patriot's  firm  and  un- 
wavering love  of  his  country  ;  but  to  love  like  Samuel  Stokes — 
without  hope,  without  a  thought  of  self — by  heaven,  it  was 
sublime  ! 

The  misguided  Sally  was  also  weeping ;  but  she  checked  her 
tears,  which  gushed  forth  the  more  abundantly  as  she  felt  what 
a  treasure  of  fidelity  she  had  thrown  away,  and  said,  "  I  thank 
you,  Sam,  for  all  your  kindness ;  but  it  is  too  late.  God  bless 
you  !  I  am  a  lost,  guilty  woman  ;  but  I  will  pray  for  you,  if 
ever  I  pray  again." 

The  appeal  of  Sam  had  not  been  vain.  He  had  touched  the 
right  chord,  and  Sally  stood  humbled  and  heart-broken  before 
him.  The  eloquence  of  the  pulpit  would  not  have  availed,  the 
terrors  of  religion  would  not  have  awed  her ;  but  there  is  almost 
always  '  something  of  the  angel  left,'  when  the  soul  has  fallen  from 
the  purity  of  its  heaven. 

"  I  need  your  prayers,"  quoth  Sam  ;  "  but  why  don't  you 
say  them  now  ?" 

"  Of  what  use  is  it  to  pray,  when  you  know  you  are  doing 
evil?  I  have  been  as  much  to  blame  as  him — more  so.  He  was 
a  mere  boy,  and  I,  no  girl ;  but  I  musn't  go  on."  And  with  these 
words,  Sally,  fearful  lest  she  should  reveal  all,  having  unbur- 
thened  her  heart  so  far,  ran  out  of  the  pantry,  and  Sam,  with  an 
aching  heart,  stumped  off. 

There  is  something  calculated  to  move  every  soul  in  the  wi- 
thering of  the  hopes  of  the  young  visionary,  when  he  perceives 
the  fallacy  of  his  early  aspirations,  and  droops  and  dies  of  dis- 
appointment. The  spectacle  of  a  great  man  struggling  with  the 
storms  of  fate,  and  pursuing  the  course  of  rectitude  in  the  face 
of  peril  and  calamity,  until  ingratitude  stabs  home  to  his  central 
life,  is  lofty  and  divine.  But,  if  than  these  less  beautiful  and 
august,  the  desolation  of  a  generous  heart  and  simple  nature,  un- 
supported by  any  philosophy  save  that  derived  from  its  integrity 
and  virtue,  is  not  less  affecting,  and  to  be  commiserated.  Indeed, 
what  has  the  humble,  the  lowly  being,  who  can  never  obtain 

3  M 


450  THE  MISER'S  SON 

posthumous  fame,  to  sustain  him  in  misfortune  like  that  which 
now  visited  the  sailor?  In  many  a  dire  disaster,  his  love  had 
lent  him  strength ;  and  he  had  struggled  on,  when  pain  nearly 
made  life  insupportable,  in  the  hope  of  pressing  a  faithful  mis- 
tress to  his  bosom ;  but  Sam,  like  more  ambitious  men,  was 
doomed  to  experience  all  the  misery  of  blighted  love,  and  to  see 
an  existence  before  him,  uncheered  by  affection,  and  unblessed  by 
sympathy,  maimed  as  he  was,  and  no  longer  young,  the  buoyancy 
of  his  spirit  crushed,  and  not  one  pleasant  ray  to  lend  sunshine 
to  his  breast,  and  impart  the  elasticity  and  hopefulness  he  had 
lost.  The  philosopher  may  call  stoicism  to  his  aid  ;  the  poet, 
like  gentle,  glorious  Keats,  our  well-beloved,  may  see  "  the 
daisies  growing  o'er  his  grave,"  may  behold  maidens  weeping 
over  his  sorrows  and  untimely  death,  and  fine  and  ethereal 
spirits  like  his  own,  not  born  to  rot  in  the  corruption  of  a  dunghill 
worldliness,  mourning  for  him  with,  sincerity  ;  but  one  like  the 
poor  tar,  without  knowledge,  without  the  panting  desire  for 
future  admiration,  could  only  sigh  over  his  departed  dreams,  and 
lament  the  falsehood  which  brought  him  to  such  a  pass. 

"  Poor  soul !"  thought  Sam,  his  thoughts  dwelling  with  pity- 
ing fondness  on  his  unworthy  cousin,  "  after  all,  who  should 
blame  her?  She  was  but  fifteen,  when  I  left  her,  and  it  warn't 
likely  she'd  be  true  to  me,  thinking  as  I  was  dead." 

A  few  words  are  necessary  to  explain  the  exact  position*  of 
Stokes  and  Sally,  at  this  place.  The  sailor  had  formerly  been  a 
carpenter ;  but  not  liking  his  trade,  went  to  sea,  when  quite  a 
youth.  On  returning,  after  a  very  long  absence,  he  found 
Sally,  whom  he  had  left  a  child,  grown  womanly  in  appearance, 
though  a  mere  girl,  and  she  being  pretty,  and  her  cousin's  heart 
of  inflammable  materials,  "  not  being  that  ill-favoured"  then, 
they  formed  an  attach  merit  for  each  other.  They  were  to  have 
been  married  shortly  ;  and,  indeed,  Sam  had  actually  bought  the 
wedding  ring  :  but  fate  ordained  that  they  should  not  then  be 
united.  They  were  imprudent  before  their  union  had  taken 
place,  and  the  week  before  the  proposed  celebration  of  their 
nuptials,  Sam  having  gone  to  a  small  sea-port  to  see  an  old 
messmate,  a  pressgang  bore  him  away;  and  he  was  soon  hun- 
dreds of  miles  distant  from  the  shores  of  England.  A  few 
months  after  his  departure,  Sally  was  delivered  of  the  unhappy 


THE  MISER'S  SON.  451 

being  whom  we  have  seen  in  the  monster ;  and  intelligence 
reached  her  that  the  ship  in  which  Sam  was,  had  foundered. 
Sally  was  much  grieved  at  this  news ;  but  she  was  then  a  light* 
hearted  girl ;  and  she  soon  got  over  her  loss,  and  entered  into  the 
service  of  Lady  Walsingham.  But  few  were  acquainted  with  the 
indiscretion  of  which  she  had  been  guilty,  her  mother  living  at 
some  distance  from  any  habitation,  and  the  miserable  offspring, 
who  was  at  this  time  more  hideously  misshapen,  if  possible,  than 
afterwards,  was  seldom  seen  abroad,  when  able  to  go  alone. 
Sally  had  conceived  such  a  horror  to  her  unhappy  child,  that  no 
persuasions  could  induce  her  to  nurse  it;  and  the  ape  of  which 
mention  has  been  made  several  times  (<i  present  of  Sam's — who 
brought  the  creature  from  abroad — to  his  aunt)  being  with 
young,  she  suckled  the  boy,  who  grew  very  strong,  and  before  he 
had  attained  the  age  of  three  years,  was  at  least  equal  in  vigour 
to  children  of  double  his  age,  running  about  in  the  woods  with 
his  wet-nurse,  and  climbing  enormous  trees  with  no  less  agility 
than  the  monkey. 

But,  to  return  to  Sally.  She  conducted  herself  with  perfect 
propriety  for  many  years,  in  the  service  of  Lady  Walsingham, 
and  though  she  was  what  is  termed  a  flirt,  nothing  was  observed 
in  her  which  could  excite  even  the  animadversion  of  the  worthy 
housekeeper.  At  the  age  of  fourteen,  William  Walsingham 
quitted  school,  his  master  asserting  that  he  had  discovered  him 
delivering  lectures  in  favour  of  atheism  to  the  other  boys,  and 
that  he  was  quite  unmanageable.  A  man  in  mind,  and  almost 
one  in  appearance,  even  at  that  early  age,  with  violent  passions, 
and  such  principles  as  he  had  adopted,  he  was  thrown  in  the  way 
of  Sally  Stokes,  and  it  was  not  likely  he  should  resist  temptation. 
Sally  and  he  were  equally  culpable  :  and  the  result  of  their  inti- 
macy was  now  fast  approaching  to  a  crisis. 

Sam  stumped  along  briskly,  considering  the  loss  of  his  legs, 
and  soon  left  the  Hall  at  a  great  distance  behind  him ;  when, 
just  as  he  was  about  to  get  over  a  gate,  midway  between  the 
mansion  of  the  Walsinghams  and  his  own  little  cabin,  he  beheld 
the  being  through  whose  instrumentality  all  his  jo\s  had  been 
wrested  from  him,  and  all  his  hopes  in  life  defeated,  engaged  in 
moody  thought  at  the  distance  of  a  few  yards.  The  dark  demon 
which  lurk  in  the  breast  even  of  the  most  virtuous,  was  busy 


452  THE  MISER'S  SON. 

within  the  heart  of  Stokes  at  this  encounter,  inflamed  as  his  pas- 
sions were,  after  his  recent  interview  with  his  old  sweetheart,  and 
seizing  the  Epicurean  by  the  arm,  as  he  came  up  to  him,  he  ex- 
claimed in  a  hoarse  voice,  half-choked  with  wrath  and  vehe- 
mence— 

"  We  have  met,  have  we,  Master  William  Walsingham !  I 
want  to  speak  to  ye." 

William  raised  his  hand,  with  the  intention  of  striking  the 
rude  person  who  had  thus  grasped  him,  to  the  earth ;  but  when 
he  beheld  his  maimed  condition,  merely  said,  "  What  would 
you  have  with  me?"  And  he  remained  motionless,  in  expectation 
of  the  rejoinder  of  the  sailor. 


CHAPTER  VIII. 

Come,  then,  my  masters,  let's  be  merry  all ! 

If  Life  is  short,  'tis  best  we  make  the  best 

Of  what  we  can ;  and  drink,  and  jest,  and  sing. 

Old  Play. 

THE    STRUGGLE — DANVERS     IN     DISGUISE — THE    CAPTURE — 
MOTHER   STOKES   AND   THE   SAVAGE. 

"  LOOK  ye,"  returned  Samuel.  "  After  an  absence  of  fourteen 
years,  I  came  back  to  England,  with  Mr.  Spenser.  Mayhap 
you've  heard  of  Sam  Stokes — mayhap  not ;  but  that's  no  mat- 
ter. I  knew  your  father,  the  Admiral — as  brave  and  true  a 
heart  as  ever  lived,  and  I've  dandled  you  in  my  arms,  when  you 
was  a  babby.  But  listen.  My  cousin,  Sally  Stokes,  was  my 
sweetheart ;  and  I  loved  her  more  than  all  this  airth — loved  as 
you  never  could  have  done,  by !" 

"  Ha  !  Well?"  exclaimed  William,  with  stifled  emotion. 

"  Yes,  I  thought  she  should  be  my  wife ;  and  we  should  have 
pretty  children  to  comfort  us  in  old  age ;  and  when  I'd  got 
enough  to  make  us  comfortable,— when  there  wasn't  any  reason 
why  she  shouldn't  be  my  wife,  for  she  ivould  have  taken  me,  I 


THE  MISER'S  SON. 


453 


know,  even  as  I  am  now — I  find  you've  crossed  my  path  like  a 
dark  sarpent,  and  here  I  am,  riding  at  the  marcy  of  the  gale, 
without  mast,  sail,  or  compass.  You've  made  this  wreck  of  me  ! 
Oh,  Master  Walsingham,  it  may  seem  a  small  matter  to  you,  to 
crush  a  honest  heart — to  bring  a  woman  to  shame. ..."  Here 
Sam's  voice  became  inarticulate  from  suffocating  passion  ;  but  at 
length  he  was  able  to  add,  "  You  have  your  laming,  your  wis- 
dom, and  all  that  which  rules  this  world  in  cleverness  and  under- 
standing, and  power  and  mind.  But  I  have  no  parts,  I  have  no 
knowledge  ;  and  I  only  thinks  as  my  conscience  pilots  me,  and 
acts  as  I  thinks  right,  without  argufying ;  but  if  I  could  act  as 
you've  acted,  I  should  think  myself  one  of  the  blackest-hearted 
villains  as  ever  lived.  You  may  frown  and  colour — well  you 
may  blush  for  your  misdeeds  ;  but  I  don't  care." 

"  Release  me !"  cried  William  Walsingham,  in  his  deep,  calm, 
thrilling  voice,  "  or  I  may  commit  murder.  Man,  I  caution  you 
that  what  you  say  is  rousing  terrible  things  within  me.  I  will  not 
be  held  thus  by  you  !" 

"  You  shall  hear  me  out,"  said  the  sailor,  with  suppressed 
fierceness  in  his  tone  ;  "  great  thof  you  think  yourself,  you  shall 
hear  my  mind.  We  are  here,  man  and  man,  with  the  great  God 
above  us,  and  stand  equal  in  his  sight.  I  don't  care  for  your 
threats.  I  have  stood  against  a  hundred  bristling  pikes,  and  have 
got  as  many  scars  on  my  breast."  * 

Ay,  there  they  were,  with  awful  human  passions,  in  the  holy 
stillness  of  that  lovely  evening,  and  the  stars  shone  as  sweetly  and 
tenderly  on  them  as  on  the  spirit  soaring  to  beatitude. 

The  face  of  the  Epicurean  grew  livid,  then  white,  then  red,  and 
then  again  pale  as  death,  as  he  struggled  in  the  grasp  of  Stokes, 
who  seemed  now  to  possess  the  strength  of  a  Hercules,  as  he 
tightened  his  iron  grasp. 

"Death!"  shouted  Walsingham,  the  proud  and  impetuous 
blood  of  the  haughty  Mormans  from  whom  he  was  descended  con- 
quering all  his  philosophy,  and  boasted  love  of  equality.  "  Death  ! 
I  will  not  be  restrained  by  a  low  dog,  like  you !' 

And  he  dealt  Stokes  a  blow  which  would  have  struck  him  down 
on  the  instant,  had  not  the  tar  averted  it  with  his  fist.  The  pas- 
sions of  both  men  were  furiously  excited,  and  they  hardly  knew 
what  they  did.  A  struggle  ensued  :  but  Stokes  laboured  under 


454  THE  MISER'S  SON. 

the  disadvantage  of  want  of  height  from  the  loss  of  his  legs,  as 
well  as  being  less  firm  on  his  stumps  than  he  would  have  been,  of 
course,  on  his  feet ;  and  by  a  great  effort  William  dashed  him  to 
the  earth,  when  he  struck  his  head  against  the  gate  so  desperately 
as  to  stun  himself.  In  an  instant  the  expression  of  the  young 
man's  face  altered. 

"  Poor  wretch  !"  he  cried  ;  "  what  have  I  done  ?  Base  villain 
that  I  am  !  O,"  he  continued,  as  Sam  recovered,  "forgive  me, 
Stokes !  1  am  indeed  a  scoundrel !  I  hope  you  are  not  much 
hurt. — Begone  all  pride  of  intellect,  of  birth  and  education — be- 
gone my  principles  of  necessity — everything — gallant  fellow,  for- 
give me !" 

"  Nay,  nay,"  exclaimed  the  tar.  "  I  didn't  intend  to  do  what 
I've  done.  You  haven't  wronged  me ;  but  you've  wronged  Sally, 
and  yourself,  and  society,  and  God." 

"  Well,  well !"  returned  William,  "  I  wish  you  good  night.  Can 
I  make  you  any  reparation  for  the  injury  I  have  done  you  ?  1  will 
go  to  Sally — she  told  me  you  wished  to  marry  her — and  plead 
your  cause,  if  you  will  let  me." 

"  No,  no,"  answered  the  sailor,  his  weather-beaten  face  flush- 
ing, "  not  that.  Pray  to  the  Lord  to  pardon  you  ; — for  such  a 
worm  as  me  has  nothing  to  pardon." 

"  I  would  do  so,"  replied  William,  "  even  at  your  suggestion,  if 
I  believed  such  a  Being  existed.  Once  more,  good  night." 

"What!  You  don't  think  there's  a  God!"  ejaculated  Sam. 
"Ah,  sir!  Then  I  can  easy  account  for  all  you've  done.  From 
my  soul  I  pity  ye." 

"  Pity  me,  good  fellow  !  But  you  are  right,  lam  to  be  pitied — 
I  accept  even  your  pity.  You  know  not  how  I  have  sunk  in  my 
own  esteem  to-day.  Farewell !  May  you  be  happy  !" 

Thus  the  Atheist  left  Stokes,  who  gazed  after  him,  and  thought, 
"  There's  a  fine  heart  in  him  yet !  Not  believe  in  a  God  !  Then 
he  thinks  as  how  there's  no  heaven,  and  when  we  die  we  perish, 
like  brutes.  What  a  strange  belief  in  what  is  to  make  one  mise- 
rable. I'm  glad  I'm  not  larned." 

Leaving  Sam  Stokes,  and  his  humble  feelings,  our  chronicle 
must  now  resume  the  thread  which  had  been  broken  off,  and  re- 
turn to  more  important  personages. 

So  necessary  had  the  papers  which  he  had  entrusted  to  little 


THE  MISER'S  SON.  465 

George  become  to  Danvers,  that  he  resolved  to  risk  everything 
to  ascertain  their  fate ;  and  convinced  of  the  fidelity  and  trust- 
worthiness of  his  clever  little  friend,  he  was  fearful  that  his  share 
in  effecting  his  own  liberation  had  been  discovered,  and  he  was  in 
consequence  imprisoned.  Old  Quirk,  the  lawyer,  had  been  taken 
suddenly  ill,  but  he  had  sent  him  a  letter,  (though  how  he  dis- 
covered his  whereabouts  was  a  mystery),  in  which  he  made  great 
promises  of  assistance  to  him,  in  clearing  his  character  from  the 
stigma  of  the  murder  he  had  been  condemned  for.  Mother  Stokes, 
added  the  attorney,  was  lying  concealed,  but  he  should  be  able  to 
find  means  to  communicate  with  her  ere  long. 

Some  days  after  the  occurrences  narrated  in  the  foregoing 
chapter,  after  having  visited  all  the  influential  Jacobites  in  the 
country,  Danvers  repaired  at  a  late  hour  to  the  inn  where  his 
daughter  was  ;  having  given  up  the  house  he  had  previously 
occupied,  on  receiving  intimation  that  it  was  known  as  his  to  the 
authorities.  Mrs.  Haines  had  returned,  after  removing  various 
articles  of  furniture ;  and  they  only  waited  for  Harry  ere  they  de- 
parted to  another  residence  at  the  distance  of  a  few  miles  from 
the  quarters  they  occupied  at  this  time.  It  was  dusk  when  Dan- 
vers, once  more  having  donned  his  female  attire,  entered  the  inn, 
and  proceeded  to  his  daughter's  apartment.  Not  unseen  did  he 
enter  the  place  ;  for  a  smartly,  but  vulgarly  dressed  lad  of  about 
sixteen,  was  standing  at  a  few  paces  from  the  door  by  which 
he  made  his  ingress,  and  gazed  at  him  scrulinizingly.  Danvers 
did  not  see  him,  or  he  would  have  noticed  the  same  boy  he  had 
bound  hand  and  foot  some  days  before,  though  much  better  attired. 
But  the  disguise  Walter  wore  was  good,  and  might  have  baffled 
even  the  keen  eyes  of  young  Isaac  Quirk — for  he  it  was — if  other 
circumstances  had  not  militated  against  him. 

"  Betty,  my  dear !"  said  Isaac,  to  a  red-cheeked  chamber- 
maid of  about  his  own  age, — to  whom  he  used  to  make  love 
when  a  stable-boy  at  the  Britannia — entering  the  house,  "  1  want 
to  speak  with  ye  a  minute.  Haven't  ye  got  two  ladies  staying 
here?" 

"  Ay,  to  be  sure.     They've  been  here  ever  so  long." 
"  Very  good.     Does  any  one  come  to  them,  my  love  ?" 
"No,  not  as  I  knows  of.     But  I'll  tell  you  a  cur'ous  sucam- 
stance.     T'other  morning  I  see  the  prints  of  a  man's  shoe— which 


THE  MISER'S  SON. 

Boots  says  as  how  he  don't  believe  was  mortal — from  their  room 
door  down  the  back  stairs.  Now  our  young  Boots  says  he  see  a 
ghost  the  night  afore  pass  out  o'  that  there  door  to  which  the 
steps  lead.  But  I've  an  idea  ther's  no  sich  thing  as  ghosts;  and 
they're  no  better  nor  they  should  be." 

"  O,  indeed  !     How  did  he  describe  the  ghost,  my  love?" 

"  Why,  it  were  something  like  a  man,  and  something  like  a 
woman,  but  in  a  woman's  dress,  he  says." 

"  Ah !  /  never  see  a  ghost,"  returned  Isaac,  "  and  I  never 
heard  of  a  ghost  leaving  the  mark  of  a  dirty  step  behind.  You 
didn't  see  that  there  female  as  went  up  the  back  stairs  just  now?" 

"No,  I  didn't,"  answered  the  chamber-maid. 

"  So  :  there's  a  shilling,  and  there's  a  kiss  for  you,"  said  Isaac. 

"  Impudence !"  giggled  Betty,  who  was  very  civil  to  her  old 
lover,  now  that  he  was  rising  in  the  world. 

Young  Quirk  left  Betty,  and  put  the  thumb  of  his  right  hand 
to  his  nose.  The  nose  and  the  thumb  were  moulded  much  alike, 
only  that  the  former  had  a  comical  twist  upwards,  \et  there  was 
something  in  that  fat  snub  indicating  a  keen  scent. 

"  There's  no  reason  as  I  knows  of  why  I  shouldn't  do  a  job  on 
my  own  account,"  he  muttered.  He  produced  a  paper  from  his 
pocket,  and  read,  '  Walter  Danvers — description  of.  He  is  of 
middle  height,  but  strongly  made,  with  a  scar  on  the  forehead.' 
"Jist  so!"  said  Isaac  to  himself.  "'  Prominent  features  ;  age, 
about  eight-and-thirty.'  It  must  be  him,"  thought  Mr.  Quirk, 
junior.  "'In  addition  to  the  original  reward  of  £100  offered 
for  his  apprehension,  Captain  Norton  promises  the  sum  of  £1000 
for  his  person.'"  Isaac  chuckled.  "  I'll  have  him!"  heexclaimed, 
"  before  he  be  one  hour  older." 

Accordingly,  young  Isaac  strutted  away :  and  leaving  him  for 
the  present,  our  narrative  must  return  to  Danvers. 

After  answering  the  anxious  inquiries  of  Ellen  and  Elizabeth, 
he  announced  his  intention  of  going  in  disguise  to  the  Britannia, 
and  endeavouring  to  discover  the  whereabouts  of  little  George ; 
and  though  his  resolution  was  strongly  opposed,  Mrs.  Haines 
offering  to  repair  to  the  inn  herself,  and  gather  what  intelligence 
she  could,  Danvers  replied  that  he  should  run  no  risk,  and  at  that 
hour  the  Britannia  was  not  a  place  fit  for  a  decent  woman  to 
enter.  Its  character,  indeed,  had  become  notoriously  bad,  and  it 


THE  MISER'S  SON.  457 

was  nearly  deserted  by  all  respectable  persons.  In  addition  to 
this,  Danvers  thought  he  should  more  easily  trace  George  than 
Mrs.  Haines  could  ;  so  he  substituted  for  his  female  attire  a  new 
disguise,  which  he  had  sent  to  Elizabeth  from  a  neighbouring 
town  the  day  before  in  a  parcel.  This  dress  consisted  of  an  old- 
fashioned  suit,  such  as  was  worn  twenty  years  before,  a  large 
wig,  a  slouching  hat,  which  concealed  the  upper  part  of  his  face  ; 
with  sundry  other  articles  of  minor  importance  ;  and  when  he  had 
placed  some  patches  on  his  cheek,  and  assumed  the  gait  of  an 
elderly  man,  it  would  have  been  difficult  to  recognise  the  stout, 
bold,  Walter  Danvers  in  any  light  less  broad  than  that  of  day  ; 
and  even  then  none  but  those  intimate  with  him  could  have  de- 
tected the  cheat.  As  it  was  now  nearly  dark,  Walter  sallied  forth, 
promising  to  return  in  the  course  of  an  hour,  and  assuming  the 
airs  of  a  faded  beau,  who  had  flourished  in  the  preceding  century, 
hastened  to  the  Britannia. 

As  he  approached  the  inn,  he  could  hear  shouts  of  boisterous 
laughter,  accompanied  by  oaths  and  screams,  and  on  entering 
the  tap-room,  where  he  thought  he  should  be  able  to  procure  the 
desired  information  of  the  landlord,  he  beheld  a  scene  of  confusion 
and  uproar  which  baffles  all  description. 

It  was  the  annual  meeting  of  an  association  called  the  "  Jolly 
Boys,"  and  consisting  of  all  the  rustic  Roues,  and  sporting  cha- 
racters for  some  miles  around.  Of  these,  some  were  already 
drunk,  and  lying  under  the  table,  chairs  having  been  overset,  and 
candles  and  mugs  dashed  down,  with  crockery  and  wine  bottles. 
Others  were  roaring  snatches  of  hunting  songs ;  and  some,  with 
loose  women  seated  on  their  knees,  were  playing  off  practical 
jokes,  exceedingly  relished  by  the  spectators,  which  were  re- 
taliated with  interest ;  while  a  few,  whose  brains  were  not  so  ex- 
cited by  liquor,  were  talking  and  laughing  and  looking  around, 
much  diverted,  and  smoking,  and  drinking,  and  eating  with  little 
interruption,  by  turns. 

At  the  head  of  a  huge  table,  distinguished  by  his  size,  and 
jolly  visage,  sat  an  individual,  in  whom  Danvers  had  no  difficulty 
in  recognising  Figgins.  His  stentorian  lungs  could  be  heard  dis- 
tinctly above  all  the  din  ;  and  he  was  amusing  the  company  with 
some  indecency,  which  set  them  all  in  a  roar. 

"  Come !  I'll  give  you  a  song,  my  lads,  if  you'll  make  a  little 

3  N 


458  THE  MISER'S  SON. 

less  noise !"  vociferated  the  Corporal,  who  was  chairman  on  th€ 
occasion — not  because  he  was  the  wealthiest  or  most  important 
person  there  (for  the  "Jolly  Club"  admitted  of  no  such  distinc- 
tions)— but  from  his  well-known  convivial  qualities.  "  I'll  make 
a  song  on  you  all,"  cried  Figgins,  commencing — 

"  Here  are  gathered  the  young,  and  the  old,  and  the  hright ; 
How  delighted  they  all  are  this  glorious  night ! 
How  they  talk  and  they  laugh,  drink,  kiss,  smoke,  smile,  and  swear. 
And  with  shouts  of  good  fellowship  rend  all  the  air ! 
Tis  the  Night  of  good  fellows,  the  Night  of  all  joys  ! 
Come,  then,  join  in  the  chorus,  my  own  Jolly  Boys ! 
There  is  time  hoth  for  singing,  for  swearing,  and  love ! 
Ev'ry  thought,  every  feeling  is  brilliant,  by  Jove ' 

"  Look  at  yonder  old  fellow  who  reels  in  his  chair ! 
We'll  give  him  sweet  thunder  to  rouse  him  up  there  ! 
How  he  turns  up  his  eyes,  like  a  duck  in  a  storm — 
Hoist  him  up,  Boys !  Ha !  ha !  what  a  big-bellied  form ! 
There's  a  gallon  of  old  ale,  I  bet,  'neath  his  vest ! 
Give  him  more !  give  him  more  !  Make  him  drunkenly  blest ! 
There  ne'er  was  a  sinner  so  fond  of  the  stuff! 
By  St.  Thomas !  for  once  we  will  give  him  enough ! 

"  Look  at  yonder  young  fellow,  his  girl  on  his  knee  ! 
I'Jl  warrant  he'd  go  to  old  Nick,  sirs,  for  she " 

"  None  of  your  jokes  on  me  !"  here  interrupted  the  last  person 
alluded  to  in  the  extemporaneous  efTusion  of  the  Corporal's  genius, 
— who  was  a  strapping  farmer,  noted  for  his  pugilistic  powers, 
and  his  prowess  in  drinking  and  every  other  vice, — with  an  oath. 
"  I'll  beat  the  breath  out  of  your  big  body,  Tom  Figgins " 

"  Ah  !  give  it  him !"  exclaimed  several  of  the  assembly  who 
were  pot-vaiiant :  but  as  soon  as  the  redoubtable  farmer  fixed  his 
eyes  firmly  on  those  who  wished  Figgins  to  fight,  they  became 
suddenly  mute. 

"  Nay,  an  ye  threaten,  fighting  Tim,  I'm  your  man  !"  quoth 
the  Corporal,  coolly  tossing  off  a  bumper,  while  the  young  far- 
mer, inflamed  with  copious  libations,  and  knowing  that  Figgins 
intended  another  practical  joke,  similar  to  that  which  had  been 
played  off  on  the  old  fellow  who  had  been  drenched  with  his 
favourite  beverage,  on  himself,  strode  up  to  him,  and  shook  his 
fist  in  his  face.  The  Corporal  rose  up  in  a  moment,  seized  the 


THE  MISER'S  SON.  469 

sturdy  farmer  by  the  neck  and  breech,  and  tossed  him  to  the 
other  end  of  the  room. 

"  Bravo,  Corporal !"  shouted  the  admirers  of  Figgins,  after 
he  had  made  this  prodigious  display  of  strength,  as  they  clustered 
round  him,  and  patted  him  on  the  back,  although  they  had  not 
previously  dared  to  brave  the  wrath  of  '  fighting  Tim/ 

Meantime,  Danvers  looked  vainly  for  the  landlord,  who  was, 
in  fact,  overcome  with  his  own  powerful  liquor,  and  snoring 
beneath  the  table,  and  Walter  meditated  a  retreat,  in  order  to  see 
if  he  could  not  find  some  one  who  could  satisfy  his  anxiety  about 
George,  when  the  keen  eye  of  Figgins  perceived  him,  and  he  ex- 
claimed— 

"  That's  a  specimen  of  the  fashion  of  Queen  Anne's  day  \ 
Bring  him  here,  my  masters,  and  we'll  have  some  sport  with  him ! 
I  see  '  fighting  Tim'  has  broken  his  thick  head  in  his  fall." 

"  Nay,"  said  Danvers,  as  several  persons  were  about  to  put 
the  wishes  of  Figgins  into  execution  ;  and  drawing  a  pistol  from 
his  coat  pocket,  "  I  always  return  practical  jokes,  and  if  any  one 
touches  me,  I  shall  shoot  him." 

One  man,  who  was  a  sporting  character,  and  was  considered 
the  best  wrestler  in  the  county,  desirous  of  imitating  the  example 
Corporal  Figgins  had  set,  here  shouted— 

"  Leave  the  old  chap  to  me,  lads !  What  say  you  to  a  tussle, 
my  ancient  cock?  You've  got  a  broad  pair  of  shoulders,  anyhow. 
Put  that  cursed  bull-dog  up,  and  let's  see  if  you've  got  the  manli- 
ness to  stand  up  for  yourself  without  making  it  bark." 

"  O,  if  you  wish  it !"  responded  Danvers,  still  speaking  in  the 
voice  of  an  elderly  personage,  and  suiting  the  word  to  the  deed. 
"  Now,  Sir  Bully,  though  I'm  no  longer  a  young  man,  I'll  wrestle 
with  you." 

A  space  was  cleared,  and  the  sporting  character  advanced* 
thinking  to  serve  his  opponent  in  the  same  way  Figgins  had 
treated  his  man  ;  but  to  the  astonishment  of  all  present,  the  appa- 
rently antiquated  beau  raised  the  sturdy  wrestler  in  his  arms,  and 
bumped  him  against  the  wall,  as  if  he  had  been  a  child.  A  shout 
of  laughter  succeeded  the  discomfiture  of  the  boasting  fellow,  who 
having  overthrown  a  great  numbers  of  stalwart  antagonists,  was 
wont  to  play  the  bully  over  all ;  and  Danvers,  having  punished 


460  THE  MISER'S  SON. 

his  insolence  sufficiently,  threw  him  down,  and  was  about  to  leave 
the  tap-room,  when  several  individuals  cried — 

"  You  must  drink  one  bumper  with  us  !  We  will  give  you  a 
draught  fit  for  a  king." 

"  I  thank  you,  no,"  returned  Danvers,  once  more  about  to  quit 
the  place,  much  disgusted  with  the  vice,  excess  and  extravagance 
he  had  witnessed,  when  he  was  met  by  two  constables,  accompa- 
nied by  Isaac  Quirk  ;  and  the  latter  exclaimed — 

"  That  must  be  him !     Seize  him  !" 

"  Ha !"  ejaculated  Figgins,  who  had  been  watching  Danvers 
closely,  but  could  not  penetrate  his  disguise,  springing  instantly 
to  the  doon  He  was  just  in  time  to  frustrate  the  escape  of 
Walter,  who  had  knocked  down  the  constables  with  his  fists,  and 
was  rushing  away,  though  Isaac  Quirk  attempted  to  catch  him  by 
the  leg,  when  the  Corporal  grasped  his  arm.  "  Now,  then,  brave 
Master  Walter  Danvers!"  he  said,  straining  every  muscle  to  hold 
him,  "now  we've  got  you  !" 

It  was  in  vain  that  Danvers  struggled  to  release  himself,  for 
Isaac  had  got  between  his  legs,  to  which  he  clung  with  dogged 
tenacity,  despite  the  terrible  kicks  he  received,  and  Figgins  had 
pinioned  his  arms  behind  :  but  though  numbers  swarmed  like  bees 
around  him,  and  he  was  clutched  on  every  side,  it  was  not  without 
a  desperate  struggle  that  he  was  secured. 

"  Remember,"  cried  Isaac  Quirk,  when  the  prisoner  was  at 
length  overcome,  "  I  gave  the  information,  and  I  claim  the  reward." 
Danvers  was  led  away  handcuffed  ;  and  Figgins  quitting  the  fes- 
tive scene,  mounted  a  horse  which  he  had  brought  with  him,  and 
galloped  from  the  inn. 

As  the  crowd  which  followed  Danvers  and  the  constables  from 
the  Britannia  passed  through  the  village  it  was  located  in,  an  old 
woman,  who  had  ensconced  herself  behind  a  hedge,  and  who  was 
accompanied  by  a  misshapen  being,  hardly  human  in  form, — was 
gazing  through  a  hedge  which  concealed  her  from  view  in  the 
gloom  of  night ;  and  by  the  light  of  a  torch,  carried  by  a  consta- 
ble, she  descried  Danvers  a  prisoner.  As  soon  as  she  beheld  him, 
she  rubbed  her  hands  with  unutterable  glee,  and  pointed  out  the 
captive  to  the  strange  creature  she  was  accompanied  by,  who 
answered  her  look  of  exultation  with  a  grin  of  savage  malice.  As 
soon  as  the  crowd  had  disappeared,  the  female  and  her  companion 


THE  MISER'S  SON.  461 

crept  under  the  hedge,  and  walked  away ;  but  they  had  not  pro- 
ceeded above  a  mile,  and  were  crossing  a  field  which  led  away 
from  the  Britannia  in  a  westerly  direction,  when  they  were  met 
by  a  youth,  whose  face  denoted  abstraction  and  gloomy  reverie, 
and  whom  the  savage  no  sooner  beheld,  than  he  ran  up  to  him, 
knelt  down,  and  pointed  towards  a  heath  which  could  be  dimly 
seen  in  the  distance  ;  at  the  same  time  making  violent  gesticula- 
tions, and  attempting  to  speak.  His  whole  hideous  face  was  im- 
ploring and  earnest ;  and  the  young  man  he  attempted  to  make 
understand,  looked  at  him  with  commiseration  and  interest,  and 
addressing  the  female  he  was  with,  said — 

"  Well,  Mother  Stokes  !  what  is  it  that  this  poor  wretch  would 
say  to  me  ?" 

"  Why,"  answered  the  woman,  "  the  fact  is,  my  poor  ape  has 
been  very  ill  ever  since  she  was  brutally  treated  by  a  villain — who 
I  hope  will  soon  be  at  the  devil! — and  is  at  the  point  of  death. 
I  can  hardly  get  this  boy  to  leave  her  ;  and  you  having  once  doc- 
tored her  before,  he  thinks,  I  suppose,  you  can  do  so  again." 

William  Walsingham — for  it  was  no  other  now  in  conversation 
with  Mother  Stokes — seemed  to  muse  deeply  on  what  had  been 
said.  "  He  is  human  still,"  he  muttered. 

"  Ay,"  cried  the  woman,  overhearing  what  William  said,  "  and 
a  great  deal  better  than  many  other  human  devils.  Human ! 
I  don't  know  why  we  should  think  better  of  men  than  of  beasts. 
Except  that  we've  more  mind,  we're  just  the  same." 

The  Epicurean  looked  down,  and  thought,  "  Exactly !  but  I 
hate  to  hear  this  woman  say  so.  ...  I  will  walk  with  you,"  cried 
William,  plunging  into  inward  metaphysics. 

"  If  you  like,"  replied  the  amiable  lady,  "  you  can  come,"  and 
on  they  went. 

"  Have  you  seen  your  daughter  lately  ?"  asked  the  Epicurean, 
after  a  pause. 

"  Yes,  you  know  she  has  left  the  Hall ;  but  I  don't  know 
where  she  is  now." 

"  Indeed  !  I  have  been  absent  for  some  days,  and  did  not  know 
it.  So,  this  wretched  creature  is  Sally's  child  ?"  said  William. 

"  Yes ;  but  she  won't  own  the  fact,"  returned  Mother  Stokes. 

"  I  must  see  Sally,  if  I  can,  once  more.  Do  you  think  she 
would  like  me  to  take  the  boy  under  my  protection  ?  She  might 


462  THE  MISER'S  SON. 

never  see  him  again  ;  but  he  should  go  wherever  I  went,  and  I 
would  clothe  and  feed  him,  and  do  what  I  could  to  cultivate  the 
little  intellect  he  has." 

The  monster  started  at  this  proposition,  and  made  gestures  to 
his  grandmother. 

"  Well,"  exclaimed  mother  Stokes,  "  Sally  would  have  no 
objection  ;  and  I  find  he's  in  my  way  sometimes.  But  what  can 
you  possibly  want  with  such  a  one  as  he  is  ?  I  shouldn't  like  him 
to  be  made  a  show  of." 

"  What  does  he  wish  you  to  understand  by  his  signs?"  asked 
William,  paying  no  attention  to  what  the  reputed  witch  said. 

"  He  means  to  say,  he  would  go  with  you ;  but  he  would  not 
leave  his  mother — so  he  calls  the  ape,  who  was  his  wet-nurse,  and 
has  been  his  companion  from  childhood." 

"  Theu  he  is  capable  of  strong  affection  ?  I  should  like  to  try 
the  experiment!"  he  muttered  to  himself. 

"  I  would  not  part  with  the  boy,  if  I  thought  you  would  not 
treat  him  well." 

"  I  will  pledge  myself  to  that ;"  was  the  reply.  "  I  am  going 
to  quit  England — perhaps  never  to  return — and  I  should  like  to 
take  this  strange  being  with  me.  In  the  cultivation  of  his  intel- 
lect, I  should  be  able  to  trace  the  nature  of  man  from  its  lowest 
state." 

While  thus  speaking,  they  arrived  at  a  hovel,  the  door  of 
which  opening  with  a  latch,  Mother  Stokes  entered,  and  motioned 
to  the  Epicurean  to  do  likewise.  He  did  so,  and  beheld  a  female 
of  considerable  personal  attractions,  though  past  the  prime  of 
beauty,  her  dress  in  a  state  of  dishabille,  with  an  infant  in  her 
arms. 


THE  MISER'S  SON. 


463 


CHAPTER  IX. 

Heav'n  help  us  all  from  mothers,  still  say  I ! 

Why  can't  we  come  into  the  world  without 

Thus heing  visited  for  others'  sins? 

A  plague  on  honesty  !     If  all  were  rile, 

My  birth  would  not  thus  foully  reck.— The  Bastard. 

WILLIAM   WALSINGHAM    DISCOVERS  HIS  MOTHER — THE   MON- 
STER'S DESPAIR  — HARRIET — THE   ATHEIST'S   AVOWAL. 

MOTHER  STOKES  whispered  something  to  this  person,  who 
gazed  on  the  young  man  with  manifest  curiosity,  and  said,  "  He 
is  like  his  father  !"  The  pale  cheek  of  William  flushed  at  this 
allusion  to  him ;  but  the  crimson  disappeared  from  his  face 
immediately,  and  he  spoke  not  a  word. 

"  Your  worthy  husband  is  safe  in  prison  by  this  time,"  said 
Mother  Stokes  in  a  low  voice  to  the  other  woman.  "  They'll 
keep  him  safe  this  time,  I  warrant." 

The  attention  of  the  young  philosopher  meanwhile  was  directed 
to  a  wretched  ape,  who  was  lying  on  some  straw  at  the  farther 
end  of  the  room,  evidently  in  a  dying  state,  while  the  savage  was 
standing  beside  the  animal,  and  making  a  sad  moaning  in  answer 
to  the  feeble  groans  of  the  poor  brute.  The  spectacle  was  one 
intensely  interesting  to  William  ;  and  occupied  in  watching  the 
mournful  countenance  of  the  monster,  he  forgot  that  there  were 
any  in  the  lowly  dwelling,  except  himself  and  the  object  of  im- 
mediate perception.  But  the  two  females  were  making  their  re- 
marks upon  him,  the  younger  one,  it  was  evident,  with  some 
peculiar  interest,  whispering  to  and  questioning  mother  Stokes 
repeatedly.  Their  conversation  was  interrupted  by  the  sound  of 
the  Materialist's  voice ;  for  in  his  absence  of  mind,  as  usual,  he 
embodied  his  thoughts  in  words. 

"  Yes,"  he  said,  "  thus  the  chain  of  being  extends  through 


464  THE  MISER'S  SON. 

the  sentient  world.  The  highest  mind  only  differs  from  the 
lowest  in  the  scale  of  intelligence  in  degree — it  is,  in  fact,  only 
the  most  sublimated  portion  of  matter.  This  poor  creature  now 
here,  differs  from  the  expiring  brute  in  little  but  the  feelings  of 
the  heart,  and  even  these  are  exhibited  but  in  different  phases; 
and  a  sagacious  dog  will  manifest  the  same  affection  towards  its 
master  as  he  does  to  the  beast.  See !  now  the  mortal  agony  is 
upon  the  ape.  It  pants,  it  struggles :  and  the  wild  being  who 
once  derived  sustenance  from  her  breast,  is  weeping  over  her ! 
No  doubt  his  feelings  are  as  strong  as  those  of  a  child  mourning 
the  death  of  his  parent.  Ah !  the  ape's  limbs  stiffen  ;  its  eyes 
are  glazed  :  now  all  is  over  !" 

A  wild  scream  from  the  savage  now  rang  through  the  place  ; 
and  throwing  himself  on  the  dead  ape,  he  lavished  embraces  on 
her,  mingled  with  tears  and  groans :  then  he  arose,  and  motioned 
to  Walsingham  to  approach  still  nearer  to  the  body,  and  looked 
up  beseechingly  into  his  face. 

"  I  can  do  nothing,"  replied  the  Epicurean,  "  the  poor  ape's 
life  is  annihilated." 

The  savage  uttered  a  dismal  howl,  which  died  away  in  a  low 
moan,  and  Mother  Stokes  going  to  him,  attempted  to  soothe  his 
despair  and  agony.  By  degrees,  the  violence  of  his  grief  sub- 
sided ;  and  at  length  he  made  signs  to  his  grandmother,  which 
she  interpreted  to  William,  as  purporting  that  now  the  ape  was 
dead,  he  was  ready  to  go  with  him. 

"  I  will  befriend  the  wretched  being  to  the  best  of  my  ability," 
said  the  Materialist,  preparing  to  depart. 

"  You  don't  know  who  that  is,"  said  Mother  Stokes  to  the 
youth,  pointing  to  the  other  female. 

"  I  have  not  the  pleasure  of  her  acquaintance,"  answered 
William  indifferently. 

The  woman  alluded  to  burst  into  a  fit  of  laughter.  "  I  have 
often  heard,"  she  said,  "  '  that  it  is  a  wise  child  that  knows  its 
own  father ;'  but  no  one  ever  said,  '  it  is  a  wise  child  that  knows 
its  own  mother !  You  are  one  of  my  numerous  sons,  I  believe." 

The  Materialist  started  as  if  stung  by  a  serpent,  and  his  face 
became  very  pale.  "  You!  my  mother  !"  he  cried.  "Impos- 
sible! Quite  impossible  !  I  thought  she  was  dead  ;  and  you  — 
you?" 


THE  MISER'S  SON.  465 

"No;  all  that  I  know  about  it  is,  that  if  you  are  the  son  of 
Admiral  Walsingham,  you  are  mine,  too?" 

"  I  am  proud  of  my  maternity,"  said  William,  with  a  bitter 
smile.  "  You,  my  mother !  Well!  what  does  it  matter?  How 
many  children  have  you,  may  I  ask  ?" 

"  A  few  days  ago,"  replied  the  abandoned  woman,  in  whom 
will  be  recognised  the  wife  of  Danvers,  "  I  had  six,  with  this 
babe  here4.  But,  Percy  Norton  having  been  killed  by  my  hus- 
band, I  have  but  five  now." 

"  What !  Percy  Norton  ?  Great  Heaven  !  He  also  your  child  ? 
Then,  he  was  my  brother!  I  always  loved  him  as  such." 

*'  Why  not,  my  dear  son  ?  My  handsome  second-born  !  Do 
you  see  anything  so  unprepossessing  in  my  appearance,  that  I 
should  not  be  the  mother  of  a  goodly  progeny  ?" 

"  No,  no,"  replied  William,  hastily.  "  And  so  you  are  still 
leading  a  life  of  infamy?  Here,  take  this  purse — quit  your  para- 
mour, whoever  he  be,  and  amend  if  possible — farewell.  You 
have,  in  me,  given  birth  to  one  of  the  most  miserable  wretches 
that  ever  breathed."  The  Epicurean  covered  his  brow  with  his 
hands,  compressing  it  tightly,  as  if  with  great  pain,  and  hastily 
stepped  toward  the  threshold  ;  but  stopped  abruptly,  and  said, 
"  Can  that  poor  savage  go  with  me  now  ?" 

"Yes,"  answered  Mother  Stokes.  Then  turning  to  her  grand- 
son, she  added,  "  Good  bye,  boy  ! — There,  you've  been  long 
enough  crying  over  the  ape.  Your  howling  won't  bring  it  back 
to  life.  Go  along  with  the  gentleman — he  is  your  third  cousin ; 
and  1  hope  he'll  be  kind  to  you."  But  the  monster  still  lingered, 
and  made  signs  to  his  grandmother.  "  It  shall  be  as  you  wish," 
she  answered  impatiently. 

"What  does  he  say?"  asked  the  Materialist,  who,  notwith- 
standing the  unwelcome  and  unexpected  disclosure  which  had 
j-ust  been  made,  was  deeply  interested  in  the  exhibition  of  the 
savage's  feelings, 

"  He  asks  me  to  bury  the  ape  in  some  pretty  spot,"  replied 
Mother  Stokes,  "  aud  where  he  may  find  the  grave,  if  he  should 
ever  return." 

"  Poor  thing  !  poor,  poor  thing  !"  ejaculated  Walsingham. 

"  I  am  much  obliged  to  you  for  this  purse,  William,"  began 
Mrs,  Danvers.  "  1  never  received  money  before  except  from — " 

3  o 


466  THE  MISER'S  SON. 

But  the  Epicurean  cut  her  short.  "  Come  along-,"  he  said  to 
the  monster  in  a  gentle  tone,  and  the  unhappy  being  moved 
away  from  the  corpse,  as  if  Jo  obey  his  new  master  ;  but  returned 
to  it  again  instantly,  gazed  fondly  on  the  mutilated  features  of  the 
only  creature  that  had  ever  loved  him  and  regarded  not  his  de- 
formity, and  kissed  them  repeatedly  :  then  bursting  into  a  passion 
of  agonized  sorrow,  he  embraced  the  motionless  form,  and  tearing 
himself  away,  rushed  out  of  the  hut. 

William  walked  from  the  hovel  with  rapid  strides,  a  chaos  of 
whirling  thoughts  in  his  brain  ;  but  in  the  course  of  a  few  minutes, 
he  reached  a  vehicle,  in  which  a  man  was  seated,  waiting  for 
him. 

"  Take  this  poor  creature  with  you,"   said  the  young  man  to 
the  driver,  "  and  convey  him  to  the  Inn  where  I  slept  last  night, 
and  where  the  coach  to  London,  if  I  mistake  not,  starts  from,  at 
noon  to-morrow."     So  saying,  the  Epicurean  departed. 
******** 

Seated  in  an  antique  arm  chair,  with  open  window,  her  eyes 
raised  to  the  calm,  dark,  starless,  firmament,  with  a  lamp  diffus- 
ing a  soft  and  subdued  light  through  the  apartment,  was  Harriet 
Walsingham.  She  looked  more  beautiful  than  ever;  and  so 
passionless  was  the  lofty  expression  of  her  surpassing  countenance, 
and  so  unearthly  the  elevation  of  its  character,  that  it  was  hardly 
possible  to  think  of  her  as  one  of  the  race  of  weak,  sinful  mortals, 
who  are  continually  tempest-tossed  by  their  errors  and  misdoings. 
On  a  table  before  her  were  a  lute,  some  papers  and  drawings, 
together  with  books,  writing  materials,  and  a  few  flowers  which 
were  dying  fast.  The  papers  consisted  of  some  beautiful  poetry, 
which  none  but  a  woman  could  have  written,  imbued  with  all  that 
fervour,  feeling,  and  imagination  which  constituted  the  chief 
charm  of  our  lamented  Hemans'  verses,  to  which  they  were  equal 
in  power,  and  not  inferior  in  composition.  The  drawings  were 
executed  with  masculine  grandeur  of  conception,  and  delicacy  of 
style ;  some  on  sacred  subjects,  some  on  historical  ones,  and 
others  purely  fanciful.  They  also  were  from  the  hand  of  the 
poetess.  The  books  consisted  of  the  works  of  those  great  minds 
which  attest  the  immortality  they  are  the  exponents  of,  by 
thoughts  and  feelings  which  are  not  of  this  world  ;  but  there  were 
some  also  of  human  interest,  pathetic,  lovely,  and  tender.  Why 


THE  MISER'S  SON.  467 

are  not  more  of  them  composed  ?  Why,  when  we  attempt  to 
imitate  a  Milton,  who  is  so  immeasurably  above  us  that  we  can 
never  hope  to  rival  him,  do  we  not  strive  to  follow  in  the  steps  of 
those  sweet  bards,  who  are  the  pride  of  England,  and  the  plea- 
sure of  the  world  ?  Who  touch  the  human  part,  "  and  with  the 
lofty  dignify  the  low." 

A  few  faint  stars  were  now  visible  in  the  purple  heaven,  and 
gradually  became  more  and  more  bright  and  glorious.  Having 
contemplated  those  ethereal  orbs  for  a  minute  or  two,  with  that 
pure  delight  which  such  high  spirits  know  in  meditating  on  the 
eternal  and  the  infinite,  Harriet  turned  her  eyes  towards  the 
drooping  flowers  on  the  table,  and  said — anticipating  a  fine  idea 
of  a  fine  modern  poet — "  Stars  are  the  flowers  of  Heaven,  and 
they  fade  not  like  those  of  Earth."  It  is  a  pleasant  thing  (it 
may  here  be  remarked,  digressively)  to  all  but  an  author,  to  find 
we  share  the  .same  sensations  and  aspirations  as  the  mighty  dead, 
or  the  illustrious  living  ;  and  even  though  a  person  who  has 
adopted  literature  as  a  profession  may  be  mortified,  when  he  dis- 
covers, like  the  Hibernian,  that  "  the  rascals  have  stolen  all  one's 
best  ideas  before  they  came  into  his  head  ;"  to  know  that  the 
dignity  of  our  nature  necessarily  leads  to  the  same  trains  of 
thought  and  association  in  all  reflecting  minds,  is  a  fine  and  ex- 
alting feeling. 

Harriet  was  a  musician,  as  well  as  a  poetess ;  and,  taking  up 
her  lute,  she  ran  her  white  fingers  over  the  strings  with  careless 
skill;  and  presently  her  voice  was  heard  mingling  with  the 
symphony.  Never  was  a  voice  more  clear  and  sweet  and  thrilling, 
as  it  ascended  joyous  and  passionate,  like  the  morning  lark's, 
then  sunk  into  a  sweet  and  solemn  lament,  resembling  the  last 
notes  of  the  nightingale,  and  embodied  her  fine  aspirations  in 
words  and  music  prompted  by  the  emotions  which  were  then 
swelling  in  her  bosom.  The  melody  was  simple,  and  the  words  by 
no  means  equal  to  those  she  had  often  composed ;  but  it  is  im- 
possible to  describe  their  blended  effect,  as  they  poured  in  a  gush- 
ing flood  of  harmony  through  the  lonely  chamber,  in  that  still  and 
solemn  hour,  almost  seraphic  in  their  intense  pathos  and  sublime 
earnestness.  They -appeared  the  emanations  of  a  loving  spirit 
soaring  through  the  interstellar  space,  at  first  elate,  then  plaintive, 
faint,  or  triumphant. 


468  THE  MISER'S  SON. 

"  Breath  of  my  being,  Hope !  What  wouldst  thou  whisper  me? 
Thou  tellest  of  the  raptures  which  can  never,  never  be  ! 
Thou  tellest  of  the  words  of  Love,  whose  presence  is  a  dream, 
And  the  wild,  the  glowing,  and  divine,  which  are  a  meteor  gleam  I 

"  Life  of  my  heart  [  whose  symphony  is  sweeter  than  the  gale 
On  which  is  borne  the  dying  swan's  all  passion-breathing  wail, 
While  zephyrs  hang  enamoured  on  the  strain  they  hear  above, 
Floating, — dispersing  in  the  sky,  why  whisper  ye  of  Love  ? 

"  I  tell  thee,  oh,  deluding  Hope  !  Love  was  net  form'd  to  die ; 
A  nd  therefore  cannot  leave  its  own  bright  immortality  ! 
Some  rays  may  fall  upon  us  here,  like  Heaven's  approving  smile,, 
But  we  are  drooping,  dying,  lost,  in  too  great  bliss  the  while ! 

"  Tell  me  no  more  of  Love,  false  Hope,  beneath  the  stars :  but  ohr 
Let  me  not  droop  in  blank  despair,  and  in  envenomed  woe. 
Still  speak  to  me :  thine  eloquence  should  raise  the  fainting  heart' — 
A  friend,  a  balm,  a  melody,  a  comforter  thou  art. 

"  But  whisper  not  those  words  again,  and  linger  not,  sweet,  here? 
The  empyrean  is  alone  thy  true,  befitting  sphere ; 
Lend  me  but  wings  to  soar  above  the  sad,  dark  path  I've  trod, 
And  I  will  call  thee  '  ANGEL'  sent  to  help  me  up  to  God  !" 

"  If  there  be  an  angel,"  exclaimed  a  deep  and  scarcely  less 
thrilling  voice  than  the  minstrel's,  when  she  had  finished  her 
song,  and  with  parted  lips,  and  eyes  which  seemed  to  swim  in 
their  sea  of  liquid  light,  permitted  imagination  to  paint  the  glories 
and  wonders  of  that  spiritual  universe  which  she  had  heen  allud- 
ing to,  "  if  there  be  an  angel,  then  thou  art  one." 

"  What,  William  !"  cried  Harriet  Walsingham.  "  Why  have 
you  absented  yourself  so  long  from  home  ?  1  saw  my  sister  a 
little  while  ago,  and — and — she  said  that  all  should  be  buried  in 
oblivion " 

"  You  know  then  what  has  happened  ?"  interrupted  the  Epi- 
curean quickly,  "  you  know  it  all !  Well,  I  deserve  to  be  despised, 
hated,  pointed  at !  The  Universe  is  now  my  home — or  rather,  I 
shall  have  none."  And  he  paced  up  and  down  the  room,  strug- 
gling violently  to  master  the  fearful  passions  within,  but  nearly 
convulsed  with  them.  "  Yes,"  he  continued,  with  rising  vehe- 
mence, "  spurn  me,  if  you  will,  hate  me,  deem  me  all  that  is 
accursed,  vile,  and  despicable.  Look  you,  Harriet  Walsingham  I 
If  you  think  I  am  the  meanest  thing  that  ever  trod,  and  contami- 


THE  MISER'S  SON.  469 

nated  the  earth,  you  do  not  think  worse  of  me  than  I  do  myself. 
Yet,  if  you  cast  me  from  you  with  loathing,  I  shall  go  mad — I 
am  almost  mad  already  !  Feel  my  brow,  how  it  hums !  There  is 
living  fire  within  my  brain,  and  the  blood  is  boiling  like  the 
fabled  streams  of  Hell !  Yet  there  is  ice  crawling  over  me,  and 
freezing  life.  O  agony  !" 

"  Be  calm,  William  !  I  do  not  hate  you.  I  feel  you  have  done 
very  wrong  ;  but  if  you  repent  of  evil " 

"  What  can  repentance  do?"  exclaimed  the  young  man  wildly. 
"  Can  it  tear  from  my  memory  the  ignominious  stamp  written  in 
characters  of  flame  upon  it,  like  a  felon's  brand?  Can  it  restore 
me  to  my  own  good  opinion — which  is  the  only  God  I  acknow- 
ledge? But  I  could  not  have  done  otherwise!  How  is  it  conceiv- 
able that  I  could  ?  There  is  no  virtue,  and  no  vice.  Why  do  you 
prate  to  me  of  things  you  understand  not?  Rend  the  spheres  of 
Heaven  and  show  me  infinity  !  Demonstrate  the  possibility  of 
the  mind  not  acting  in  conformity  to  certain  eternal  laws  which 
govern  the  universe  ;  each  atom  convulsed  or  quiescent  according 
to  unalterable  Necessity  ?"  and  he  seemed  to  forget  he  was 
speaking  to  another,  and  addressed  some  imaginary  being  in  his 
mind.  "  I  laugh  you  to  scorn,  hollow  bugbear!  which  fools  and 
madmen  have  erected  to  awe  the  great  spirit  of  liberty  and  strong 
thought.  Poor  Phantom  Conscience  ! — the  idlest  breath  of  super- 
stition and  ignorance!  Ha,  ha!  avaunt ! — Hear  me,  Harriet!  I 
have  much  to  tell  you — much  that  may  in  your  opinion  palliate 
— and  yet  I  know  not — but  hear  me.  You  know  not  what  I 
have  been — none  know  what  1  have  been  from  my  early  child- 
hood." 

He  approached  close  to  his  aunt,  and  continued,  with  sup- 
pressed excitement  in  his  looks  and  accents,  thus — "  I  was  born  a 
bastard — the  child  of  a  low  woman,  without  one  feeling  of 
modesty,  or  decency.  I  speak  to  you  in  the  common  parlance  of 
mankind.  I  adore  universal  love  ;  but  prostitution  of  the  person 
I  abhor  from  my  very  heart.  Why  is  it  that  we  must  check  the 
natural  impulses  we  feel,  and  restrain  all  that  can  conduce  to  the 
small  amount  of  pleasure  man  may  experience  ?  I  had  fearful 
passions,  which  consumed  me  when  I  was  little  beyond  an  infant. 
I  could  love,  and  I  could  hate  as  mortal  never  loved,  nor  hated 
before,  at  such  an  age.  If  I  were  punished  for  a  bad  action,  I 


470  THE  MISER'S  SON. 

cherished  deep,  bitter  vengeance  against  the  person  who  punished 
me.  If  treated  with  affection,  I  used  to  think  I  could  endure 
damnation  for  the  sake  of  those  who  were  kind  to  me.  My  father 
died  when  I  was  a  child  ;  and  I  was  placed  under  the  protection 
of  his  mother.  I  was  sent,  when  young,  to  school,  and  was  tyran- 
nized over,  and  beaten,  until  my  whole  nature  was  perverted.  I 
began  to  hate  the  world,  and  to  ask  myself  the  cause  of  the 
wretchedness  I  saw  and  felt.  But  I  had  strength  and  intellect 
beyond  my  years;  and,  by  degrees,  I  emancipated  myself  from 
the  cruel  despotism  of  my  schoolfellows.  Thought  was  ripening 
too  fast,  and  character  developing  too  early.  And  now  I  come  to 
the  point,  on  which  all  my  fate  has  turned.  By  some  means  it 
became  known  that  I  was  a  bastard — though  the  fact  had  been 
concealed  from  me — and  I  was  taunted  on  my  illegitimacy  by  one 
I  hated.  Oh,  the  agony  of  despair  and  shame  I  felt!  I  almost 
meditated  self-destruction ;  for  my  schoolmates,  finding  how 
sensitive  I  was  on  the  subject  of  my  birth,  on  every  occasion 
sought  to  torment  me — for  such  is  the  bias  of  the  mind  in  the 
present  state  of  things — until  I  thought  all  the  world  my  foes.  I 
used  to  seek  some  solitary  spot  and  sit  for  hours  together  buried 
in  deep  and  gloomy  reverie,  regardless  of  the  fair  face  of  nature, 
and  of  every  thing  but  my  own  unhappiness.  I  struggled  on, 
however,  though  the  iron  had  entered  into  my  inmost  being  ;  I 
resolved  on  conquering  all :  but  neglected  first  to  subdue  myself, 
until  it  was  too  late.  My  companions  began  to  shun  and  fear 
me ;  for  I  beat  them  all  into  utter,  abject  subjection,  and  the 
power  of  my  arm  was  felt  by  the  strongest.  They  used  to  whisper 
whenever  then  saw  me  ;  and  I  laughed  inwardly  as  I  beheld  their 
cowardice,  and  knew  their  slavish  spirits.  From  that  school  I 
went  to  another :  and  now  I  felt  that  I  was  no  longer  a  boy, 
though  in  fact  but  thirteen.  I  was  vigorous  in  body  as  well  as  in 
mind,  and  I  began  to  reflect  more  and  more  intensely.  After  six 
months'  hard,  unintermitting  study,  to  which  I  dedicated  all  my 
leisure  hours,  after  pondering  over  the  works  of  various  authors, 
and  frequent  inward  meditation,  during  the  hours  others  devoted 
to  sleep,  I  embraced  the  opinions  which  I  now  hold :  and  was  in 
the  habit  of  collecting  my  elder  schoolfellows  together,  and  invit- 
ing discussions  on  religion,  for  I  conceived  that  to  be  the  bane  of 
society,  and  exerted  all  my  powers  to  show  its  fallacy.  Well,  I 


THE  MISER'S  SON.  471 

was  sent  away  from  school  on  account  of  my  Atheism,  my  master 
admitting  at  the  same  time  that  he  could  teach  me  nothing  more 
— that  I  was  as  good  a  scholar  as  himself.  I  came  to  Walsing- 
ham  Hall,  and  continued  my  studies  with  greater  avidity  than 
ever.  I  exercised  mind  and  body  with  violent  action,  and  always 
until  exhausted.  At  length  I  became  weary  of  this  incessant 
thought,  and  new  feelings  and  passions  took  possession  of  me.  The 
woman  I  seduced — for  I  did,  I  suppose,  seduce  her — was  thrown 
in  my  way.  Though  I  felt  t  was  doing  wrong,  I  had  no  motive 
for  exertion,  and  yielded  to  temptation  ;  excusing  my  conduct  to 
myself  by  the  usual  sophistries  of  men  ;  but  the  more  I  reflected, 
the  more  I  was  ashamed  of  that  low  connexion." 

"  Feeling  so,  why  did  you  continue  it  ?"  inquired  Harriet,  in 
accents  of  mild  reproof,  perceiving  her  nephew  paused. 

*'  Because  I  yielded  myself  up  to  fatalism,  a  doctrine  1  am  now 
induced  to  think  as  an  philosophical  as  demoralizing ;  and  per- 
suaded myself  that  it  was  all  in  the  course  of  that  blind  necessity 
against  which  it  is  useless  to  strive.  My  mind  was  then  in  a 
chaotic  confusion  ;  and  the  elements  had  not  mingled,  so  that  1 
adopted  many  absurd  notions,  and  many  crude  hypotheses  of  my 
own  without  sufficient  investigation.  I  admit  that  I  knew  the 
pretexts  which  I  invented  to  excuse  my  actions  to  myself  were  so 
flimsy  that  a  child  would  laugh  at  them.  But  I  became  disgusted 
with  all  things.  For  me  there  was  no  longer  freshness  in  the  air 
of  spring,  in  the  perfumed  flowers  no  sweetness,  in  the  cooling 
breezes  no  invigoration.  Even  my  books  were  neglected  by  me. 
Occasionally  I  took  lessons  in  Mathematics,  and  other  branches 
of  science  ;  but  I  cared  not  for  them.  1  was  a  man  almost  before 
I  was  a  boy,  and  seemed  to  have  exhausted  every  enjoyment  of 
existence.  Your  society  alone  afforded  me  pleasure.  I  have  met 
with  men  of  learning  and  ability,  and  discussed  abstruse  questions 
with  them,  in  some  cases  coming  off  victorious  ;  but  in  you  alone 
are  united  all  the  qualities  of  feeling  and  intellect,  which  I  can 
admire  with  all  my  heart.  In  you  alone  I  found  something  beyond 
that  poor  humanity  which  I  pity  while  I  despise,  knowing  how 
vile  a  thing  I  am  myself.  But  gradually,"  continued  William,  in 
a  hollow  voice,  "  strange  thoughts  and  sensations,  and  a  flood  of 
perpetual  excitement  entered  my  bosom.  I  loved,  Harriet  Wal- 
singham,  and  I  knew  loved  vainly,  wildly*  I  struggled  with  all 


472  THE  MISER'S  SON. 

my  strength  against  this  fatal  passion — I  in  some  measure  sub- 
dued, but  could  not  extinguish  it.  I  even  sought  the  society  of 
the  low  woman  I  never  cared  for,  in  order  to  divert  my  mind 
from  brooding  on  that  image  which  was  despair.  You  told  me  of 

Walter  Danvers It  will  come,!'  he  muttered  to  himself,  "  and 

yet  she  will  think  the  worse  of  me  !  No  matter.  I  shall  see  her 
no  more." 

"  What  has  Walter  Danvers  to  do  with  the  subject  of*  your 
love  ?"  asked  Harriet,  with  emotion,  no  suspicion  of  the  truth 
entering  her  pure  heart,  "  you  never  told  me  that  you  felt  an 
attachment  for  any  one.  Tell  me  who  it  was  ;  and  if  it  be  in  my 
power  to  make  you  happy,  I  will'  beggar  myself  to  do  so.  I 
should  not  consider  any  sacrifice  too  great  for  your  sake.  If  you 
but  loved  and  were  happy,  I  know  it  would  reclaim  you.  Say, 
who  was  the  object  of  your  hopeless  passion  ?" 

"  You  /"  exclaimed  the  Epicurean  with  startling  quickness. 
"  I  knew  it  would  come  to  this — I  felt  it  must  be  so.  i  am  going 
away  from  you  for  ever,  and  it  boots  not  whether  you  curse  or 
commiserate  me.     When  I  found  your  whole  heart  was  given  to 
another  irrevocably  ;  when  I  found  that  your  soul's  beloved  had 
appeared  to  you,  the  last  refuge  of  my  hope  disappeared.     I 
said  to  myself,  she  will  abhor  me  for  this  feeling  which  she  will 
deem  so  guilty  and  unnatural,  and  I  determined  never  to  whisper 
a  word  of  it.  Turn  not  from  me  with  such  lofty  disdain;  but  hear 
me  out.     '  Why,'  said  I  to  myself,  '  may  I  not  purify  and  ethere- 
alise  this  love  I  bear  for  her,  until  it  become  the  realization  of  the 
old  Platonic  Idea  ?  If  my  love  be  not  sensual,  it  cannot  be  offensive 
even  to  her.    I  will  adore  her  as  some  pure  being  of  the  mind — a 
nympholepsy — a  dream  of  no  earthly  passion.'  I  liked  the  notion  ; 
but  while  I  cherished  an  adoring  admiration  of  your  mind,  I  saw 
not  that  I  was  deluding  myself  into  desperate  error.  *  *  *  You 
have  heard  my  confession — you  despise  me.     You  think  I  have 
uttered  words  so  gross  that  they  are  the  foulest  insult  and  injury 
ever  offered  to  woman.  I  tell  you  that  I  love  you  ;  but  I  say  it  in 
despair.     If  it  had   been  possible  to  have  possessed  you,  I  might 
indeed  have  been  reclaimed.     I  know  your  worship  of  the  Idols 
which  ignorance  and  superstition  have  set  up  :  and  so  farewell, 
Harriet.     We  shall  never  meet  again.     Never,  never,  never !" 
And  he  clasped  his  hands  and  groaned  deeply. 


THE  MISER'S  SON.  473 


CHAPTER  X. 

Pause  yet  awhile — oh  pause,  misguided  heart! 

Angels  deplore  the  fallen  thing  them  art ! 

Turn  from  the  gulf — oh,  see,  it  yawns  beneath  ! 

And  fly  from  sin,  from  agony,  and  death ! 

Come  to  the  home  where  all  are  safe  and  blest, 

And  let  the  seraph's  pen  record  the  rest. 

Oh,  quit  the  threshold  ere  'tis  not  too  late, — 

The  key  is  dropp'd and  Mercy  shuts  her  gate. — MS. 

HARRIET'S  REPLY  —  THE  EPICUREAN  DEPARTS — CAPTAIN 
NORTON  ORDERS  HARRIET  TO  BE  TAKEN  TO  PRISON. 

OH,  the  wretchedness  that  man  may  feel !  To  think  of  parting 
for  ever  from  the  object  of  all  the  spirit's  worshipped  visions, 
and  to  believe  in  annihilation  !  That  thought  continually  recurs 
to  my  mind,  and  I  see  in  it  the  dull  torpor  which  may  possess  the 
soul  of  one  wandering  through  eternity,  hopeless  of  Heaven.  To 
be  parted  for  ever  from  the  Alpha  and  Omega  of  desire !  The 
Atheist  ended  thus, 

"  Forget  that  such  a  wretch  as  I  am  exists : — but  yet  remem- 
ber the  bitterness  of  my  misguided  life,  remember  my  sufferings, 
my  passions,  my  principles,  and  try,  O  try  !  to  pardon  me." 

The  changes  on  Miss  Walsingham's  splendid  face,  during  the 
confession  of  her  nephew,  were  manifold.  Now  haughty  pride 
and  anger  flushed  her  white  cheek  and  brow,  dilated  her  nostril, 
and  imparted  a  loftier  grandeur  to  her  perfect  form,  whose  swel- 
ling outlines,  whose  majestic  and  statuesque  proportions,  were 
those  of  a  Grecian  Goddess,  erect  in  immortal  beauty,  and  then 
pity  mingled  with  her  resentment,  and  she  looked  more  like  a 
seraph  reproving  a  fallen  mortal.  She  spoke,  after  a  long  pause, 
which  he  interpreted  as  emanating  from  hate  and  scorn,  and  was 
moving  slowly  away  with  drooping  head,  when  she  prevented  him 
by  laying  her  hand  on  his  arm,  and  thus  speaking — 

3  P 


474  THE  MISER'S  SON. 

"  I  do  pardon  you,  weak  and  sinful  young  man !  I  have  heard 
you  with  patience,  and  will  reply  without  indignation,  wrath,  or 
contempt :  though  such  feelings  have  been  strongly  excited  in  my 
breast  by  your  frenzied  words,  I  will  speak  to  you  as  a  friend, 
and  forget  that  I  am  the  object  of  your  avowal.  William,  I  have 
loved  you  as  my  son — as  my  brother ;  and  have  endeavoured  to 
be  mother,  sister,  and  counsellor  to  you.  I  have  seen  your  noble 
mind  bound  in  darkness  by  the  errors  of  a  vile  and  false  philoso- 
phy ;  and  while  I  have  deplored  the  perversion  of  your  judgment, 
1  have  sought,  in  some  measure,  to  counteract  the  influence  of  it 
on  your  intellect,  by  appealing  to  the  originally  excellent  heart 
you  possessed.  You  stand  now  upon  the  verge  of  an  awful  abyss  ; 
and  I  must  subdue  my  natural  feelings  as  a  woman,  which  must 
be  those  of  repugnance  toward  you,  after  that  horrid  confession, 
to  reason,  to  expostulate  with  you,  and  strive,  ere  it  be  too  late, 
to  induce  you  to  renounce  the  immorality  and  iniquity  to  which 
your  detestable  creed  conducts  of  necessity.  Oh,  if  mine  were 
the  inspired  breath  which  reaches  the  depths  of  the  secret  spirit, 
if  mine  were  the  profound  wisdom  which  exposes  the  hollowness 
and  sophistry  of  the  theories  of  scepticism  and  unbelief,  you  would 
not  leave  me  without  being  convinced,  for  I  would  strain  every 
nerve  to  save  you  ;  but  I  have  no  eloquence,  no  wisdom.  My 
words  are  those  of  a  feeble  woman  ;  my  understanding  cannot 
pierce  the  subtleties  of  logic,  and  wrestle  with  the  difficulties  of 
sophists,  which  perplex  themselves,  and  cannot  enlighten  others. 
I  can  only  hope  to  attain  my  object  by  touching  those  latent 
feelings  which  are  the  holiest  and  highest,  while  they  meekly 
confess  themselves  the  humblest  portion  of  our  complicated 
being.  To  your  best  feelings  then  suffer  me  now  to  appeal. 
Consider,  William,  how  many  you  may  make  wretched  by  indulg- 
ing in  your  sensuality ;  how  many  fond  hopes  you  may  blight  by 
giving  way  to  your  vices  and  your  libertinism.  It  is  impossible 
not  to  create  misery  by  yielding  to  unbridled  passion,  as  it  is  cer- 
tain by  treading  the  path  of  virtue,  and  rooting  out  from  the 
heart  all  that  is  corrupt,  infinite  benefit  must  accrue  to  the  mass 
of  mankind.  I  will  not  speak  to  you  of  religion;  but  I  will  of 
morality.  You  acknowledge  the  first  great  principle  of  ethics  is, 
that  every  man  is  bound  to  do  nothing  which  can  create  wretched- 
ness in  another.  Pause  then,  I  beseech  you,  that  you  may  not 


THE  MISER'S  SON.  475 

hav.e  a  death-bed  of  unavailing  remorse  ;  that  you  may  not,  when 
the  parting  hour^  come,  behold  a  ghastly  array  of  victims  re- 
proaching you  as  the  cause  of  their  crimes — spectres  that  will 
haunt  you  in  life,  and  if  there  be  another,  cause  perdition  to  all 
felicity.  What  is  this  existence,  William  ?  Is  it  not  all  vanity 
and  sorrow  ?  To  what  does  it  tend,  if  there  is  nothing  beyond  the 
grave  ?  Behold  a  scene  of  tears  and  lamentation,  bright  dreams 
dispersed,  and  goodness  trampled  upon,  and  vice  triumphant ! 
Behold  famine,  pestilence,  war,  and  every  appalling  shape  of 
pain.  Is  it  wise  to  reject  the  belief  of  a  hereafter,  which  shall  re- 
compense mortality  for  suffering  ?  Is  it  wise  to  scoff  at  the 
idea  of  an  eternity  of  happiness,  when  we  know  that  temporary 
enjoyment  is  so  fleeting  and  uncertain  ?  Is  it  well  to  take  this 
consolatory  anticipation  from  others,  and  trample  all  the  opinions 
which  the  best  and  noblest  hold,  under  foot?" 

"  I  know  not,"  answered  the  Materialist,  without  raising  his 
eyes.  "  I  have  thought  that  if  the  dogmas  of  antiquity  were  ex- 
ploded, there  would  be  a  dawning  of  beauty  and  felicity  for  all 
the  earth.  I  have  thought  that  a  state  might  arrive,  when  the 
universal  mind  would  be  free  from  prejudice  and  superstition  ; 
and  all  be  united  in  love,  truth,  and  charity.  But  I  distrust  my- 
self, my  principles — all  things.  I  am  wretched,  but  have  no  haven 
to  seek  shelter  in,  and  snakes  are  gnawing  my  vitals ;  but  there  is 
nothing  for  me  save  endurance.  If  I  turn  to  your  religion  for  an 
instant,  I  am  sickened  at  its  ghastly  terrors :  if  I  embrace  the 
religion  of  philosophy,  I  am  involved  in  endless  anomalies  and 
difficulties.  Yet  I  confess  I  am  not  satisfied  with  my  present 
negation  ;  I  confess  that  annihilation  is  painful  to  aiy  contem- 
plations— scarcely  less  so  than  eternal  condemnation." 

"  True,"  said  Harriet,  "  the  natural  religion  which  is  vaunted 
by  metaphysicians  is  empty  and  unsatisfactory.     Take  that  of 
Plato,  the  best  of  all  human  systems  ;  and  behold  its  continual 
problems,  its  inextricable  mazes,  its  speculations,  and  absurdities. 
It  is  to  draw  the  mind  to  virtue,  most  undoubtedly,  that  religion 
was  instituted  ;  and  if  it  have  the  power  of  Meliorating  the  heart, 
its  value  as  a  means  to  an  end  cannot  be  disputed." 
"  And  what  has  it  been  able  to  effect  for  humanity  ?" 
"  I  thank  you  for  that  question,  William.    I  myself  have — oh, 
how  much— to  thank  Heaven  for  its  sweet  solace.     It  has  raised 


476  THE  MISER'S  SON. 

the  sinking  spirits  of  those  who  pine  beneath  accumulated  mis- 
fortune's, and  beaconed  with  certain  radiance  to  the  rock  of  safety, 
which  has  withstood  the  desolations  and  destruction  of  ages. 
Upon  that  rock  it  has  placed  the  foot  of  the  penitent,  and  guided 
him  upwards  when  he  would  have  sunk  with  diffidence  and  des- 
pondency. In  the  night  of  unutterable  anguish,  it  has  poured 
supernal  light  into  his  soul ;  it  has  raised  him  above  doubt,  it  has 
dispelled  the  gloom,  it  has  opened  a  world  of  light  more  pure 
than  all  of  human  origin,  and  stores  of  wisdom,  of  poetry,  and 
beauty  which  could  not  have  been  constructed  by  the  thought  of 
man.  In  the  power  of  Faith  lies  the  secret  of  patience ;  and 
while  the  efforts  of  the  greatest  minds  are  unable  materially  to 
alleviate  the  calamities  to  which  humanity  is  exposed,  has  it  not 
poured  balm  into  all  wounds,  and  aftbrded  a  certainty  of  an  in- 
corruptible inheritance — mansions  of  glory  and  skies  of  unclouded 
loveliness,  transcending  all  the  dreams  of  enthusiasm,  and  the 
wild  imaginations  of  love  and  passion  ?  There  is  no  uncertainty 
for  the  believer  :  the  speculator,  even  though  not  an  Atheist,  can 
be  assured  of  nothing.  Judge  of  all  things  by  their  fruits.  If 
religion  conduce  to  the  happiness,  or  virtue  of  mankind,  then  it 
must  be  an  essence  necessarily  opposed  to  falsehood.  For  is  it 
not  an  absurdity  to  assert  that  it  promotes  the  morality,  and 
sustains  the  framework  of  society,  if  it  is  composed  of  fallacy,  if 
its  foundations  are  infirm,  and  fabric  unsubstantial  ?  Yet  states- 
men, irreligious  as  yourself,  have  considered  this  system  requisite 
to  maintain  order,  and  to  conserve  the  laws.  And  it  were  as 
reasonable  to  say  that  the  material  world  could  be  sustained  by 
laws  unfixed  and  inadequate,  as  that  the  moral  universe  can  be 
governed  by  false  and  evil  principles.  It  is  not  yet  too  late  for 
you  to  avert  your  steps  from  the  precipice,  beneath  which  there 
is  a  stupendous  eternity,  it  is  not  yet  too  late  for  you  to  worship 
what  you  now  despise,  and  seek  all  truth,  fortitude  and  hope." 

The  Epicurean  shook  his  head.  "No,"  he  said  slowly,  "I 
can  renounce  nothing,  and  receive  nothing — I  shall  die  as  1  have 
lived.  Belief  or  unbelief  is  no  effort  of  what  you  call  volition.  I 
confess  I  have  done  very  wrong ;  and  I  repent  me  of  the  past. 
But  it  is  of  no  avail  to  stay  longer  with  you.  Bless  you,  glorious 
woman !  A  few  little  years,  and  you  will  be  dust,  and  1  shall  be 
rotting  among  the  worms.  There,  the  breath  of  this  foul  world 


THE  MISER'S  SON.  477 

will  not  trouble  me,  and  the  veil  of  external  darkness  will  be 
drawn  over  my  misdeeds  and  woes !  To  tell  you  how  I  loved, 
would  be  disgusting  to  your  pure  ears.  But  I  have  suffered 
greatly,  if  you  think  I  have  sinned  deeply.  Once  more  then  fare- 
well. I  shall  leave  England  in  a  very  few  days." 

"  Whither  would  you  go,  my  poor,  deluded  boy  ?"  asked  Har- 
riet, moved  to  tears  by  the  inexpressible  dejection  in  her  nephew's 
looks  and  words. 

"  I  shall  visit  the  mighty  monuments  of  the  past,  and  my 
thoughts  shall  be  with  the  great  dead — and  you.  I  will  write  to 
you,  when  I  reach  London  ;  but  I  must  never  return  to  your 
presence." 

The  youth  pressed  his  aunt's  cold  hand  to  his  parched  lips, 
and  dropped  one  tear — one  bitter  tear — upon  it.  He  relinquished 
it,  and  moved  away ;  and  when  Harriet  lifted  her  eyes  from  the 
floor,  he  was  gone. 

"  Lost !  lost !"  she  exclaimed,  with  a  sob.  "  Oh,  what  a 
mind,  what  a  mind,  is  ruined  for  ever  here  !  God  pity  him  !  Poor, 
poor  mortality  !"  She  watched  the  retreating  form  of  the  Atheist 
from  her  window,  until  it  was  lost  in  darkness  and  distance  ;  and 
then  she  knelt  and  prayed. 

Though  all  her  holy  and  angelic  feelings  had  been  outraged  by 
hearing  she  was  the  object  of  a  guilty  and  degrading  passion, 
though  she  abhored  from  her  soul  the  principles  of  the  Materialist, 
and  was  indignant  at  his  actions  and  sentiments,  it  were  difficult 
to  describe  her  anguish  at  thus  parting  from  one  she  had  loved, 
when  she  herself  had  scarcely  entered  her  girlhood  ;  and  for  whom 
her  tenderest  solicitude  had  been  excited  during  the  years  in 
which  he  was  advancing  towards  man's  estate.  As  for  opposing 
the  course  which  William  Walsingham  had  marked  out  for  him- 
self, though  he  was  only  eighteen,  no  person  acquainted  with  him 
would  have  attempted  such  a  thing  by  coercion ;  and  she  felt 
persuasion  would  have  been  vain.  Indeed,  she  acknowledged  to 
herself  that  she  could  never  admit  him  to  her  presence  again,  on 
the  same  terms  of  intimacy  as  heretofore  ;  and  therefore  his  ab- 
sence, while  it  pained,  would  relieve  her  from  constraint.  But 
still  there  was  so  much  to  love  and  admire  in  William,  despite  his 
errors,  despite  his  hatred  of  all  the  religion  and  morality  which 
Harriet  deemed  so  sacred,  so  firmly  had  those  fine  qualities  of 


478  THE  MISER'S  SON. 

mind  and  heart  entwined  themselves  around  her  warm  enthusiastic 
spirit,  that  she  could  not  have  grieved  more  profoundly  over  any 
affliction  that  could  now  befal  her — save  one — than  she  did  over 
his  fall,  his  irretrievable  error  and  misery.  She  could  only  pray 
that  the  intervention  of  a  power  greater  than  any  earth  could 
supply  would  yet  accomplish  all  her  hopes  for  him  :  and  earnestly 
did  she  implore  Omnipotence  to  make  him  wiser,  better,  and 
happier.  Whether,  when  we  pray  for  others,  our  intercessions 
are  heard,  we  know  not :  but  in  imploring  forgiveness  for  our 
enemies,  and  beseeching  drops  of  consolation  to  visit  the  afflicted, 
and  requesting  rectitude  to  the  erring  and  guilty,  so  much  beau- 
tiful philanthropy,  love  and  piety  are  evolved,  that  it  cannot  be 
displeasing  to  the  Creator  that  we  should  do  so. 

About  an  hour  had  been  consumed  in  this  painful,  and  dis- 
tressing interview  with  her  nephew ;  and  Harriet  was  preparing 
to  retire  to  rest — though  after  the  excitement  she  had  undergone, 
she  could  hardly  hope  to  sleep — when  her  intention  was  diverted 
by  the  galloping  of  a  horse  at  a  short  distance  from  her  house ; 
and  surprised,  in  the  retired  spot  where  she  lived,  that  any  per- 
son should  be  passing  so  late — for  it  had  struck  ten  o'clock — 
she  again  looked  out  of  window,  with  a  presentiment  that  some- 
thing extraordinary  was  about  to  happen.  She  was  far  from 
being  a  superstitious  woman — one  so  fervently,  yet  rationally 
religious  as  she  was,  could  not  be  so — but  still  sometimes  a  fore- 
boding will  enter  the  bosom,  and  she  trembled  with  a  vague  fear 
that  some  dire  misfortune  was  about  to  happen.  It  was  so  dark, 
that  she  could  not  recognise  the  horseman  ;  but  presently  her  ear 
distinguished  the  trampling  of  the  hoofs  of  another  horse  ;  and 
as  the  first  person  she  descried  hastily  alighted  at*  her  door,  a 
second  became  dimly  visible  in  the  distance. 

Before  another  minute  had  elapsed,  a  quick  step  was  heard  on 
the  stairs,  the  door  of  her  apartment  was  thrown  open  ;  and 
Captain  Norton  (but  so  wild  and  haggard  that  she  could  scarcely 
believe  his  identity)  entered,  and  stood  before  her.  The  image 
of  Walter  Danvers  instantly  rose  to  her  mind.  She  had  heard 
of  his  escape,  and  thanked  Heaven  most  devoutedly  for  it :  but  a 
thousand  terrors  now  assailed  her  fancy  ;  and  she  gasped — 

"  What— what  of  him  ?  Pray,  speak  !" 

Norton  had  been  glaring  round  the  chamber  like  a  tiger,  and 


THE  MISER'S  SON.  479 

exclaimed  sternly  and  savagely,  "  You  will  not  deceive  me  now 
by  your  dissimulation,  woman  !"  And  a  wild  fire  was  gleaming 
in  his  eye,  which  indicated  the  species  of  suspicion  ordinarily 
exhibited  by  incipient  insanity,  as  he  added  in  a  sepulchral  voice, 
which  struggled  with  intense  passion.  "You  had  better  deliver 
him  up  to  justice  at  once.  I  am  convinced  you  have  concealed 
him  here." 

"  What !  Walter  Danvers!"  cried  Miss  Walsingham. 

"  Ay,  even  that  miscreant  of  hell !"  cried  the  officer  fiercely. 
"  I  have  been  seeking  for  him  day  and  night,  and  a  spirit  whis- 
pered to  me  in  a  dream,  which  I  had  a  few  hours  ago,  « Seek 
him  at  the  house  where  he  hid  himself  before.'  Again  I  command 
you  to  render  him  up  to  justice.  Resistance  will  be  vain.  See, 
here  is  a  soldier ;  and  there  are  two  constables  at  hand." 

"  On  my  word  of  honor,  he  is  not  here !"  exclaimed  Harriet 
earnestly. 

"  You  told  a  deliberate  lie  once,  and  1  doubt  not  would  do  so 
again,"  returned  Norton,  directing  the  soldier,  who  now  made 
his  appearance,  to  search  every  corner  of  the  house.  By  this 
time,  the  constables  also,  to  whom  he  had  alluded,  were  heard 
below,  and  it  was  manifest  that  nothing  Miss  Walsingham  could 
say  would  deter  the  officer  from  acting  as  he  had  determined,  for 
his  whole  appearance  and  actions  were  so  wild  and  incoherent, 
that  reasoning  with  him  would  have  been  useless. 

"  As  you  will,"  said  Harriet.  "  I  can  only  repeat  that  Walter 
Danvers  is  not  in  this  house." 

"  We  shall  see  that,  speedily,"  replied  Norton.  "  If  he  be  not 
forthcoming,  I  warn  you,  a  warrant  for  your  committal  to  prison 
will  be  put  in  execution.  I  am  a  magistrate,  and — Ha  ! — Isn't 
he  in  that  room,  Williams?  Well,  we  shall  find  the  villain  pre- 
sently, I'll  bet  a  hundred  pounds.  Ha,  ha  !  The  spirit  told  me  it 
should  be  so.  He  was  a  spirit  sent  from  on  high,  and  would  not 
dare  to  deceive  me  !  Here,  Constables,  enter  and  do  yonr  duty. 
Never  mind  a  woman's  presence — no,  nor  an  angel's !" 

"  Poor  man  !  he  is  mad  !"  exclaimed  Harriet,  "  his  affliction 
has  driven  reason  utterly  from  his  brain." 

Norton  overheard  these  words,  and  glaring  terribly  on  her,  said, 
"  You  shall  find  if  I  am  mad.  I  am  quite  sane  enough  to  expose 
your  infamous  conduct  in  harbouring  a  murderer — the  murderer 
of  my  boy,  my  Percy  !  He  is  to  be  buried  to-morrow — and  he 


480  THE  MISER'S  SON. 

must  be  avenged  before  then,  or  he  would  not  lie  in  the  earth. 
He  smells  foully  now.  I  thought  for  a  long  time  corruption 
would  not  seize  upon  him — he  is  so  very  beautiful  ;  but  it  has 
come  at  last !  Well,  cannot  you  find  him?"  he  cried  impatiently, 
addressing  the  men  he  had  brought  with  him.  "  He  must  be  here, 
I  tell  you.  I  will  look  for»him,  myself." 

Accordingly  Captain  Norton  resumed  the  search  in  person  ; 
but  he  was  no  more  successful  than  his  followers  :  and  his  resent- 
ment kindling  against  Harriet  by  the  conviction  that  she  was 
acquainted  with  the  place  where  Danvers  was  lurking,  he  said, 
"  If  you  will  not  confess  where  he  is  concealed,  we  shall  find 
means  to  force  you  to  speak.  Constables,  do  your  duty.  Here 
is  your  warrant.  Take  her  hence." 

"  Surely,"  exclaimed  Harriet,  as  the  officials  advanced  to  ex- 
ecute their  orders,  "  you  perceive  he  is  distracted,  that  he  knows 
not  what  he  does." 

But  the  constables  attended  not  to  her  expostulations. 
"  To  prison  with  her,"  cried  Captain  Norton.     "  We  shall  be 
able  to  extort  the  truth  from  her.     Oh,  that  the  rack  were  not 
abolished  in  England  !" 

The  constables  led  Miss  Walsingham  down  stairs,  and  shutting 
their  ears  to  all  her  arguments  on  this  most  unjustifiable  seizure, 
they  placed  her  on  one  of  their  horses  ;  and  accompanied  by  the 
officer  and  the  soldier,  the  latter  riding  behind  their  beautiful 
prisoner,  they  rode  from  the  cottage.  Harriet  resigned  herself  to 
her  fate  without  further  effort,  and  was  soon  far  away  from  that 
peaceful  home,  where  for  long  and  dreary  years  she  had  buried 
her  sorrows.  Forgotten  by  a  world  for  which  she  was  too  lofty 
and  too  good,  devoting  herself  to  Heaven  and  to  study,  pouring 
comfort  into  the  hearts  of  the  sorrowful,  and  denying  herself  all 
the  luxuries  to  which  she  had  been  accustomed,  in  order  to  mi- 
nister to  the  necessities  of  the  poor,  had  lived  the  gifted,  the  bril- 
liant, the  glorious  Harriet  Walsingham.  Oh,  Woman,  woman! 
without  thee  our  divine  aspirations  would  find  no  ark  on  earth  ; 
but  would 

"  Convulse  us  and  consume  us,  day  by  day, 

And  cold  hopes  swarm  like  worms  within  our  living  clay." 

END    OF    BOOK    VII. 


BOOK   VIII. 


"  This  is  the  history  of  man  1 
He  wanders  forth  amid  enormous  wilds, — 
No  star  his  guide, — save  one  he  will  not  see  ; 
He  gazes  hopeless  on  the  darksome  scene, 
And  wonders  if  'twas  Heaven  that  placed  him  there  ; 
Until  at  length  black  shadows  close  upon  him, 
And  on  the  Desert's  verge  th'  eternal  night 
Disperses,  and  the  STAR  gives  light— he  dies! — MS. 


c.e.s« ^ 


3  Q 


CHAPTER  I. 

Thus  may  you  see  successive  Vice  and  Virtue  5 

The  one  is  acted  by  material  things 

That  breathe  in  Time,  and  die  like  brutish  swine ; 

The  other  breathes  the  atmosphere  divine 

Of  its  own  high  eternity. — Old  Play. 

THE    CHILD    RESCUED  —  THE    LETTER  —  ISAAC    QUIRK    AND 
CORPORAL   FIGGINS — DIAMOND    CUT    DIAMOND. 

HELP,  help !"  screamed  a  female,  in  accents  of 

agonized  distress.  "  My  child  !  my  child,  God  of 

mercy,  save  my  child  !" 

These  words  proceeded  from  a  lovely  woman,  who 

stood  wringing  her  hands  on  the  bank  of  a  deep 
and  rapid  stream.  But  nothing  was  to  be  discerned  in  the  water, 
and  all  was  as  bright  in  the  ethereal  sky,  and  all  as  tranquil  on 
the  beautiful  earth,  the  birds  sang  as  blithely,  as  if  that  scene  of 
horror  and  dismay  had  not  been.  Verily,  the  heart  of  Nature  is 
of  stone ! 

A  few  minutes  previously  a  young  child  had  been  walking  by 
the  side  of  the  lady  whose  distress  was  so  heart-rending ;  and 
attracted — as  children  ever  will  be — by  the  radiant  glories  of  a 
butterfly,  she  chased  the  splendid  insect  to  the  verge  of  the  river, 
when  her  foot  slipped,  and  she  was  precipitated  into  the  water. 

And  now  she  rose  to  the  surface  in  the  middle  of  the  river. 
There  stood  her  mother,  helpless  and  frantic,  and  apparently  no 
human  aid  at  hand.  What  tongue  shall  utter,  what  peri  describe 
the  feelings  of  a  parent  at  such  a  moment  ?  She  looks  up  to 
Heaven,  and  there  is  the  firmament  calm  and  holy,  looking  as 
full  of  happiness  as  an  angel's  face  ;  but  no  answer  to  the  appeal. 


484  THE  MISER'S  SON. 

She  accuses  Providence  of  indifference  to  her  agony,  because  there 
is  no  special  interposition  in  her  behalf.  The  current  bore  the 
child  away,  and  in  another  minute  she  must  have  been  irrecover- 
ably lost,  when  a  little  boy  ran  up,  beheld  the  drowning  child,  as 
her  fairy  form  rose  for  a  second  time,  and  plunged  in  without  a 
moment's  hesitation.  Bravely  done,  young  swimmer  !  He  grasps 
the  child  by  her  long  hair,  and  in  spite  of  the  swiftness  of  the 
tide,  buffets  the  waters,  and  reaches  land  with  his  burthen. 
•'  She's  saved  I  she's  saved  I"  exclaimed  the  mother  of  the  little 
girl,  and  rushing  up  clasped  her  in  her  passionate  embrace.  Oh, 
that  joy;  the  despair  changed  into  ecstasy,  the  anguish  into 
transport !  Is  it  not  almost  worth  while  to  suffer  such  pain,  to 
enjoy  transcend  ant  bliss  ? 

The  boy  who  had  so  gallantly  rescued  the  little  girl,  stood 
panting,  and  shaking  himself,  but  perfectly  collected,  as  if  he  had 
done  the  commonest  thing  possible,  though  he  was  a  mere  child 
in  years ;  but  she  whom  he  had  preserved  as  yet  exhibited  no 
symptoms  of  returning  consciousness,  the  powers  of  life  being 
suspended.  The  boy  then  exclaimed,  "  Let  us  lose  no  time. 
Something  must  be  done  directly." 

"  Ah  !"  exclaimed  the  lady,  who  in  her  joy  noticed  not  that  her 
kisses  were  unreturned,  "  run  for  help,  for  God's  sake.  Oh,  she 
will  die  !  Is  there  no  aid  near?" 

"  None,"  returned  the  boy.  "  Do  you  think  you  could  open 
a  vein  in  her  arm  ?" 

"  Oh,  no,  no,"  was  the  reply. 

The  boy  produced  a  pen-knife  from  his  pocket,  and  tearing  his 
handkerchief  into  strips,  cried,  "  I  think  I  can  do  it !" 

"  You  /"  ejaculated  the  lady,  "  you  are  little  alder  than  my 
child." 

"  It's  a  case  of  life  and  death,"  returned  the  resolute  little 
fellow,  "  not  even  a  barber  lives  within  three  miles.  Will  you  let 
me  try  to  bleed  her,  or  do  so  yourself?" 

"  I  cannot,  you  cannot?"  answered  the  distracted  mother,  all 
her  agony  returning  with  aggravated  intensity. 

"  I  am  certain  I  can  do  it.  I  have  often  seen  persons  bled. 
You  see  she  shows  no  sign  of  life  !  Another  minute  may  be  too 
late." 

Well,"  said  the  lady,  who  after  witnessing  the  extraordinary 


THE  MISER'S  SON. 


485 


courage  and  presence  of  mind  displayed  by  the  young  boy  could 
not  but  feel  some  confidence  in  him.  Without  waiting  for  further 
permission  than  was  implied  by  the  monosyllable  the  little  fellow 
took  the  round  and  dimpled  arm  of  the  child. 

"  I  saw  a  man  recovered  from  drowning,  by  being  bled  the 
other  day,"  he  said.  "  Now,  ma'am,  we'll  bandage  the  arm  very 
tight,  and  then  I'll  cut  this  vein  a  little  just  here — so,  that's  well. 
Luckily  this  pen-knife  is  sharp."  And  he  made  a  slight  incision, 
from  which  blood  lazily  trickled  and  presently  the  patient  gasped, 
and  opened  her  large,  lustrous  eyes  with  a  wondering  look.  She 
sighed  painfully  and  murmured,  "  I  thought  I  was  in  Heaven 
with  rny  dear  mamma.  Oh  !  what  is  it  that  pains  me  ?" 

"  Thank  God  !"  ejaculated  the  little  doctor.  And  he  tied  up 
the  wound  quite  scientifically,  and  stood  gazing  with  deep  interest 
on  the  beautiful  being  he  had  saved  from  a  watery  grave.  "  It  is 
the  very  same,"  muttered  he,  "  the  young  lady  who  gave  me  the 
cake  a  few  weeks  ago,  when  the  savage  attacked  me." 

The  child  spoke  once  more.  "  Oh,  my  dear,  dear  mamma  !" 
she  exclaimed,  "  I  have  been  so  happy  !  I  was  up  there  (pointing 
to  the  skies)  with  you." 

Beautiful — altogether  beautiful  and  pure  is  the  love  of  a  child 
for  its  mother,  and  it  is  a  human  instinct,  after  infancy ;  the  af- 
fection of  a  believer  for  his  God,  without  the  awe  of  adoration, 
trusting,  hoping,  looking  for  all  joy  from  that  sacred  source.  The 
mother  covered  her  beloved  child  with  kisses.  She  murmured  a 
prayer  of  gratitude,  and  silence  spake  the  rest. 

"  Now,  ma'am,  hadn't  we  better  carry  the  young  lady  home  ?" 
asked  the  prompt  and  stout-hearted  boy,  who  had  throughout 
acted  with  the  decision  of  a  man,  and  of  a  brave  man  too.  "  She 
is  so  light  we  can  easily  manage  to  do  it."  While  these  words 
were  being  spoken,  a  young  man  approached,  and  the  lady  recog- 
nising him  uttered  an  exclamation  of  surprise. 

"  What !  my  nephew  Frank  ?"  she  cried.  The  individual  thus 
apostrophized  advanced,  and  took  the  lady's  hand. 

"  What  has  been  the  matter  here  ?"  he  inquired,  looking  at 
the  little  girl  so  marvellously  saved  from  death. 

"  This  is  my  daughter.  She  fell  into  the  water,  and  was  only 
rescued  by  Heaven's  interposition.  Will  you  carry  her  for  me  ?" 
The  young  man  immediately  took  up  the  slight  burthen  in  his 
strong  arms. 


486  THE  MISER'S  SON. 

"  Which  way  shall  I  carry  her  ?"  he  asked. 
"  Towards  Walsingham  Hall — Noble  boy,"  (to  the  preserver 
of  the  young  child)  "  you  will  come  with  roe  !    Henceforth  you 
shall  be  to  me  as  a  son." 

But  the  little  fellow  shook  his  head.  "  I  cannot  go  with  you 
now,  ma'am,"  he  said. 

"  What  is  your  name,  then  ?  Where  do  you  live  ?"  said  the 
lady. 

"  My  name  is  George.  If  you  live  at  Walsingham  Hall  I'll  call 
'on  you  very  soon,  as  you  are  kind  enough  to  wish  to  see  me." 
And  with  these  words  the  boy  disappeared.  Of  course  the  reader 
has  established  in  his  own  mind  his  identity  with  the  "  George" 
who  has  acted  so  conspicuously  before  in  our  chronicle. 

"  And  how  came  you  here,  Francis?"  questioned  the  lady,  as 
she  walked  on,  holding  one  of  the  child's  tiny  hands  with  the 
pressure  of  a  mother,  loving  and  rejoicing.  "  I  thought  you  were 
far  away  at  sea  ?" 

"  The  facts  are  these  ?"  was  the  reply.  "  About  two  months 
ago,  when  cruising  in  the  Mediterranean,  I  had  a  quarrel  with 
the  first  lieutenant  of  my  ship.  You  are  acquainted  with  my 
position  as  far  as  this  ;  that  I  ran  away  from  school  about  six 
years  ago,  and  became  a  common  sailor.  You  also  know  that  I 
was  raised  to  the  rank  of  midshipman  not  very  long  afterwards 
for  some  unworthy  services  of  mine,  in  action.  Subsequently  my 
name  and  rank  were  discovered  by  my  Captain,  who  was  an  old 
friend  of  my  father,  and  he  was  very  kind  to  me.  But  this  man 
with  whom  I  quarrelled  was  jealous  of  the  notice  taken  of  me, 
and  seized  every  opportunity  to  annoy  and  insult  me.  My 
Utopian  dreams  of  what  a  sailor's  life  may  be — so  full  of  liberty, 
so  bright  and  joyous — have  certainly  not  been  realised  hitherto  ; 
for  in  no  position  of  life  is  tyranny  so  odious  and  perfect — one  can 
never  escape  from  it.  I  bore  the  enmity  and  petty  malice  of  my 
foe  uncomplainingly  for  years  ;  but  on  one  occasion  the  vile 
scoundrel  taunted  me  on  the  circumstance  of  my  unfortunate 
birth.  My  hanger  was  in  my  hand,  and  I  called  on  him  to  draw. 
We  fought,  and  he  was  wounded.  I  was  instantly  put  in  irons  : 
but  I  had  a  friend  in  the  surgeon's  mate.  He  told  me  he  feared 
the  injury  my  foe  had  sustained  would  prove  mortal,  and  advised 
me  to  attempt  an  escape.  I  believe  the  Captain  winked  at  my 


THE  MISER'S  SON.  487 

departure,  and  I  leapt  overboard  (my  fetters  having  been  removed 
by  the  surgeon's  mate)  and  swam  to  a  merchant  vessel  bound  for 
England.  By  means  of  a  bribe  I  induced  the  commander  to  aid 
me,  and  I  arrived  in  safety  at  Portsmouth  ;  but  was  unwilling  to 
make  my  appearance  at  Walsingham  Hall,  for  several  reasons." 

By  this  time  the  young  sailor  and.  his  companions  had  arrived 
at  a  small  cottage,  which  was  no  other  than  that  of  Stokes,  and 
here  they  resolved  on  staying  while  they  sent  Sam  to  Walsingham 
Hall  for  a  vehicle.  The  little  girl  was  placed  in  the  hammock 
which  our  friend  Stokes  had  slung  in  his  snug  cabin,  and  he  being 
at  home  was  very  willing  to  perform  the  service  required,  and 
stumped  off  without  delay  to  bring  the  carriage  for  Lady  Wal- 
singham and  her  daughter. 

Meanwhile  the  boy  who  had  rendered  so  important  a  service 
to  them  pursued  his  way  along  the  sinuous  banks  of  the  river 
until  he  reached  a  rudely  constructed  bridge,  over  whick-he  was 
about  to  pass,  when  his  eyes  fell  on  a  horseman.  He  uttered  an 
exclamation  of  pleasure,  and  ran  up  to  him. 

"  Ah !  my  brave  lad,"  said  the  youth  to  whom  he  so  eagerly 
went  up  extending  his  hand. 

"  I  am  very  glad  to  see  you,"  said  George  ;  "  but  I  must  tell 
you  bad  news.  Your  father  is  taken  again,  and  is  now  in  prison, 
and  I  was  going  to  him  when  I  saw  you.  I  have  been  put  into 
confinement  by  my  mother,  and  could  only  make  my  escape  this 
morning." 

"  Where  is  my  father  now  then  ?"  asked  Harry  anxiously. 
"  By  what  ill  fate  was  he  taken  ?" 

"  I  can  tell  you  but  little,"  replied  George.  "  I  will  get  up 
behind  you,  if  you  have  no  objection,  and  then  we  can  ride  to- 
wards the  place  where  Mr.  Dauvers  now  is."  Accordingly  the 
youth  took  him  up,  and  they  proceeded  at  a  trot  while  George 
added.  "A  fellow  named  Figgins  who — lives  with  my  mother"  (he 
stammered  and  blushed  deeply  when  he  said  this,  and  tears  started 
into  his  eyes)  "  found  out  the  part  I  had  taken  in  helping  your 
father,  which  you  may  have  heard  of;  and  I  was  confined  so 
strictly,  that  I  thought  it  would  have  been  impossible  to  getaway. 
Last  night  I  overheard  a  conversation  between  my  mother  and 
Figgins,  and  among  other  things  which  I  didn't  clearly  under- 
stand they  talked  about  some  murder,  and  mentioned  the  name 


488  THE  MISER'S  SON. 

of  Walsingham.  Then  my  mother  went  away,  and  an  old  woman 
named  Stokes  came  and  talked  with  Figgins,  and  I  thought  that 
they  mentioned  you  and  a  cave  where  you  had  been  taken ;  and 
they  thought  you  were  starved  to  death ;  but  I  could  not  over- 
hear all.  Figgins  and  this  mother  Stokes  are  going  to  the  cave 
to-night,  at  all  events,  for  some  purpose." 

"  Ha !"  cried  Harry,  "  then  I  will  be  there  too." 
"  And  here  are  some  papers,  which  I  have  managed  to  conceal.- 
They  were  given  to  me  by  your  father  to  keep  safe.     Several 
times  I  feared  they  would  have  been  discovered." 

"  Thank  you,  my  young  hero  !  a  thousand  times  thank  you  ! 
We  owe  you  more  than  we  can  ever  repay.  I  shall  now  go  to 
Mrs.  Haines  and  my  sister.  If  you  like  to  accompany  me  we  will 
protect  you,  and  you  shall  never  want  a  home  while  we  have 
one." 

"  Oh  !  will  you  take  me  to  live  with  you !"  exclaimed  George, 
with  sparkling  eyes  and  joyous  voice.  "  I  will  serve  and  love  you 
with  all  my  heart  and  soul !"  But  a  gloom  overshadowed  his 
face  when  he  had  finished  speaking,  and  he  muttered.  "  She  is 
still  my  mother."  Poor  fellow !  He  is  not  an  isolated  instance 
of  that  beautiful  spring  of  life  which  never,  never  can  return 
being  blighted  by  the  withering  frowns  of  coldness  and  unkind- 
ness.  "Ah!"  he  ejaculated,  "there  is  Mrs.  Haines  coming  this 
way.  Perhaps  she  has  heard  of  what  has  befallen  your  father." 

Harry  put  his  horse  into  a  gallop,  and  hastened  to  meet 
Elizabeth.  She  had  just  heard  the  same  news  as  he  had,  and  was 
proceeding  to  visit  Danvers  in  prison.  So  they  sent  George  on 
to  Ellen,  and  Mrs.  Haines  mounting  behind  Harry,  they  hastened 
in  the  direction  of  the  gaol  where  Walter  was  confined. 

"  I  fear  it  will  be  impossible  for  my  father  to  escape  again," 
said  Harry  to  Elizabeth." 

"  He  must  attempt  to  do  so  at  all  events,"  answered  Mrs. 
Haines,  "  otherwise  he  will  assuredly  die.  A  government  founded 
on  usurpation  is  always  merciless." 

They  proceeded  at  a  gallop,  and  had  left  a  couple  of  miles  be- 
hind them,  when  in  turning  out  of  a  lane  they  met  a  cripple  and 
Elizabeth  exclaimed — 

"  Ah  !  my  worthy  Stokes  !  This  is  a  person  to  whom  we  are 
much  indebted,"  she  said  to  Harry.  "  There  is  not  an  honester 
heart  alive." 


THE  MISER'S  SON.  489 

Stokes  returned  the  salutation  of  Elizabeth  and  inquired  after 
Ellen.  A  thought  struck  Harry  relative  to  the  communication  of 
George  he  had  resolved  to  act  on,  and  he  cried,  "  Perhaps  this 
good  fellow  will  accompany  me  a  few  hours  hence  to  a  place  not 
far  distant  from  this  spot.  1  want  to  gain  some  insight  into  a 
dark  affair,  and  cannot  trust  the  execution  of  my  scheme  to  the 
laws.  There  is  a  cave  in  the  vicinity,  and  two  persons  are  going 
there  for  what  purpose  I  can  only  guess.  But  we  must  be  very 
cautious  and  take  arms  with  us.  I  only  want  a  witness." 

"  I'll  go  with  'ee  with  all  my  heart,"  returned  Sam. 

"  Then  meet  me  here  as  soon  as  it  is  dark,"  said  Harry.  "  I 
will  bring  a  lantern  with  me,  and  provide  myself  with  arms." 

"  What  are  you  going  to  do  ?"  inquired  Elizabeth  solicitously. 
"  You  had  better  take  more  assistance  with  you.  I  must  go  to 
some  of  our  friends  immediately  and  can  engage  some." 

"  No,"  answered  the  youth,  "  we  must  not  let  the  business  get 

wind.  Come,  now  let  us  proceed  to .  A  deed  of  blood  shall 

be  brought  to  light  ere  many  hours  have  passed." 

As  they  continued  their  progress  Harry  intimated  to  Elizabeth 
the  intelligence  he  had  received  from  George,  and  concluded  by 
saying  that  he  trusted  a  new  light  would  be  thrown  on  that  deed 
of  darkness  of  which  his  father  had  been  unjustly  found  guilty. 

"  Even  if  we  could  accomplish  such  a  thing,"  returned  Mrs. 
Haines  moodily,  "  your  father  would  suffer  death  as  a  rebel.  But 
I  know  how  it  would  rejoice  his  heart  to  be  proved  innocent  of  a 
crime  so  diabolical." 

"  We  must  now  consider  what  steps  it  is  expedient  to  take  in 
order  to  secure  my  father's  escape,"  said  Harry.  "  Do  you  know 
the  place  in  which  he  is  imprisoned  ?" 

"  No  ;  but  I  have  heard  it  is  a  gaol  of  great  strength.  We 
are  now  fast  approaching  it.  I  fear,  however,  we  shall  not  be 
allowed  to  see  him." 

"  Perhaps  we  may  be  able  to  get  a  letter  to  him.  I  have  some 
ink  which  cannot  be  discerned,  that  I  brought  from  France,  but 
which  may  be  seen  when  it  is  exposed  to  fire,  and  my  father 
knows  the  secret.  But  here  we  are  at  the  entrance  to " 

Here  Mrs.  Haines  and  Harry  dismounted  and  put  up  the  horse 
at  an  obscure  ale-house.  A  letter  was  written  forthwith  with  the 
ink  Harry  had  alluded  to,  containing  some  sort  of  plan  for  his 

3  R 


490  THE  MISER'S  SON. 

deliverance,  and  the  rest  in  the  usual  way  and  of  such  a  nature  as 
was  probable  to  come  from  a  son  to  his  father.  Having  taken 
this  precaution  they  hastened  to  the  prison,  but  as  they  expected 
were  refused  admittance  to  Danvers.  The  prisoner,  it  seemed, 
from  the  intimation  of  the  turnkey  was  to  see  no  one  until  after 
his  examination  on  the  morrow.  By  administering  a  bribe,  and 
showing  the  man  that  the  letter  which  had  been  written  contained 
merely  inquiries  after  his  health  &c.,  the  great  object  of  their 
going  there  was  accomplished,  and  they  departed  perfectly  satis- 
fied with  the  success  of  their  stratagem.  As  they  left  the  gaol, 
they  were  remarked  by  a  vulgar,  flashy,  cunning-looking  young 
fellow,  who  appeared  particularly  struck  with  the  appearance  of 
Harry,  and  when  he  was  out  of  sight  he  rang  the  prison  bell  and 
asked  to  speak  with  the  turnkey. 

"  Ah,  Master  Quirk  !"  said  that  functionary  making  his  appear- 
ance, after  having  delivered  the  letter  to  Danvers.  "  How's  the 
old  buck  to-day  ?" 

"  The  old  boy's  nigh  well,"  responded  the  youth.  "  It  has  been 
touch  and  go  with  him.  But  I  want  to  speak  with  you  about 
those  people  there  who  just  left  the  gaol  (Mr.  Isaac  Quirk's 
phraseology  was  rapidly  improving).  Did  you  remark  how  un- 
common like  the  young  man  is  to  Danvers  ?" 

The  man  colored  and  stammered  something  in  the  affirmative. 

"Take  care  he  don't  play  you  none  of  his  d — d  tricks,"  said 
Quirk  junior.  "Ah,  what!  Corporal  Figgins !  Good  morning." 

It  was  no  less  a  personage  than  the  redoubtable  Corporal  who 
now  entered  the  place  where  young  Quirk  and  the  turnkey  were 
conferring. 

"  I  bring  you  an  order,  Mr.  Gaoler,"  said  Figgins,  "  for  the 
person  of  Walter  Danvers,  signed  by  Captain  Norton.  He  is  to 

be  removed  to  A and  kept  in  the  guard-house  till  to-morrow  ; 

when  he  will  in  all  probability  be  consigned  to  the  hangman's 
hands,  after  it  has  been  proved  he  is  the  person  who  was  con- 
demned for  murder.  There  is  a  guard  outside  and  in  half-an-hour 
we'll  set  off.  Well,  Isaac,"  addressing  the  ex-stable  boy.  "  I  con- 
gratulate you  on  your  good  fortune,  lad." 

"  Thank'ee,  Corporal !  I  would  advise  you  to  take  precious 
good  care  of  Danvers  or  he'll  slip  through  your  hands." 

"  Don't  teach  your  grandmother  to  suck  eggs,"  responded 
Figgins  with  supreme  disdain. 


THE  MISER'S  SON.  491 

"  I  should  like  to  talk  with  you  a  bit,  Corporal,"  returned 
Isaac.  "  I  know  a  few  things  which  might  astonish  you,  clever 
chap  though  you  be.  Do  you  think  that  this  here  Danvers  com- 
mitted that  murder,  eh  ?" 

"  Of  course,"  replied  Figgins,  coolly. 

"  Indeed  !"  said  Isaac  Quirk,  laying  an  emphasis  on  the  word. 
"  But  I'll  see  you  before  evening,  and  then  we'll  have  some  jaw." 
And  the  very  precocious  young  gentleman  turned  on  his  heel  and 
departed. 


CHAPTER  II. 

How  wonderful  is  Death  ! 
Death,  and  his  brother,  Sleep  ' — SHELLEY. 

MEETING    OF     HARRIET    WALSINGHAM     AND     DANVERS — THE 
CORPSE — CHARLES    AND    ELLEN. 

HARRIET  WALSINGHAM  was  in  prison.  jCaptain  Norton 
having  given  directions  to  a  constable  to  lodge  her  in  safety,  had 
galloped  away  before  reaching  the  gaol,  and  thus  missed  the 
news  of  Danvers's  capture.  No  questions  were  asked  by  the 
governor  of  the  prison — a  drunken,  stupid  beast — about  Miss 
Walsingham,  though  such  a  vision  surprised  for  a  moment  even 
that  low  sot ;  but  having  glanced  at  the  signature  of  a  magistrate 
in  the  warrant  for  her  detention,  caused  her  to  be  conducted  to  a 
cell,  which  happened  to  be  the  only  one  unoccupied,  and  there 
she  was  left  alone. 

How  majestically,  how  sublimely  beautiful  did  she  look  in  that 
dreary  place,  her  calm  and  serene  countenance,  like  nothing  in 
earth  or  heaven,  upturned  to  the  firmament,  of  which  she  could 
catch  but  a  slight  glimpse,  her  lips  moving,  but  otherwise  mo- 
tionless as  death.  The  faint  light  of  the  moon  streamed  through 
the  grated  window  of  the  prison,  and  revealed  the  stone  walls 
and  pavement,  the  straw,  and  the  massive  chains,  which  made  it 
look  so  gloomy;  but  that  lofty  presence  with  its  living  light,  its 
faultless  loveliness,  seemed  like  "  the  splendour  of  the  sun,"  to 
cast  a  glory  upon  all. 


492  THE  MISER'S  SON. 

"  How  many,"  thought  Harriet,  "  have  entered  this  cell  with 
a  load  of  guilt  on  their  hearts,  which  has  pressed  more  heavily  on 
the  conscience  than  manacles  on  the  body.  I  might  have  been 
here  a  criminal,  weighed  down  to  death  with  remorse  !  I  believe 
I  could  sleep  even  now  !" 

The  bell  of  a  church  tolled  the  hour  of  midnight,  and  its  deep, 
heavy  sound  boomed  dismally  in  the  silence.  What  an  isolation 
must  it  appear  to  be  confined  in  prison,  not  a  voice,  not  a  breath 
to  be  heard  !  The  feelings  of  a  wicked  man  so  circumstanced 
must  be  an  antepast  of  perdition  !  Show  me  a  guilty  wretch,  who 
can  be  calm  when  he  is  left  alone,  when  he  thinks  none  can  be- 
hold him,  and  I  will  acknowledge  he  may  be  courageous,  not  till 
then.  Any  villain  may  die  boldly  if  he  have  iron  nerves  ;  but  to 
live  alone  bravely — I  cannot  conceive  it  possible. 

Harriet  sank  upon  the  straw,  and  although  she  did  not  sleep 
she  fell  into  a  species  of  doze,  from  which  she  was  startled  by 
hearing  the  rattling  of  chains.  A  moment  before,  those  brief  and 
radiant  shapes,  which  sometimes  come  upon  us  ere  we  drop 
asleep  :  scenes  of  joy,  and  music,  and  melancholly  lulling  fancies, 
had  peopled  her  .spirit ;  but  that  grating  sound  disturbed  her 
rest.  "  Poor  wretch  !"  she  murmured,  a  tear  gathering  in  her 
eye ;  for  she  had  sympathy  for  all  men. 

She  arose,  and  looking  around  her,  perceived  there  was  a  door 
at  the  extremity  of  the  cell.  Singularly  enough  this  door  had  a 
small  sliding  panel,  which  on  that  side  it  was  possible  to  push 
aside;  for  the  place  in  which  Miss  Walsingham  was  confined 
was  not  commonly  used  as  a  prison,  although  very  secure,  and 
the  gaolers  were  in  the  habit  of  passing  the  scanty  food  allowed 
to  prisoners  in  the  next  cell  through  this  panel.  Again  the  chains 
rattled.  The  sound  touched  a  chord  in  Harriet's  heart  which 
vibrated  deeply*  "  Shall  I  try  and  speak  comfort  to  the  poor 
creature"?"  she  murmured.  "  If  he  is  guilty,  he  needs  consola- 
tion !"  A  third  time  the  fetters  were  heard,  and  this  time  the 
noise  was  accompanied  by  the  sound. of  a  voice  which  electrified 
the  heart  of  Harriet.  Was  it  possible  that  Walter  Danvers  was 
imprisoned  there  ?  She  listened  in  breathless  silence.  You  might 
have  heard  the  pulsations  in  her  breast.  Hush  !  what  says  he  ? 

"  A  few  short  hours,  and  I  shall  know  more  than  the  wisest  of 
mortals  ever  knew.  Science  cannot  acquire  the  wisdom  beyond 


THE  MISER'S  SON.  493 

the  grave  ;  philosophy  can  teach  us  nothing,  even  religion  reveals 
not  the  great  mystery.  But  the  veil  will  be  torn  asunder,  and 
the  vast  secrets  of  existence,  the  wheels  of  the  universe,  the 
enigma  of  eternity  be  made  clear  as  day.  Oh,  Harriet,  my  lost 
Harriet !  In  that  better  world  may  .1  be  forgiven,  and  be  loved 

by  thee  once  more  !" 

There  broke  a  sob  on  the  stillness  of  that  hour — a  low  stifled 
sob,  such  as  we  hear  not  in  mourning  and  desolation,  but  yet  the 
relief  of  a  bursting  heart — a  woman's  sob.  The  prisoner  fancied 
he  heard  a  sound  of  woe,  but  he  was  not  certain,  and  muttered, 
"  How  many  are  still  more  miserable  than  myself  in  this  accursed 
place.  There  is  the  feeble,  worn-out  wretch,  clenching  his  bony 
hands  and  groaning  in  bitterness  of  spirit  that  he  may  not  drag 
on  a  few  months  of  vile  being.  There  is  the  brawny  ruffian 
thinking  of  the  joys  of  a  carousal,  and  starting  from  sleep  with 
blasphemies,  because  he  has  been  dreaming  of  death.  I  do  not 
fear  to  die  ;  yet  I  would  I  were  on  the  battle-field,  that  I  might 
meet  the  enemy  of  life  like  a  soldier  !  But  I  have  little  to  make 
me  cling  to  earth  !  I  have  robbed  myself  of  a  heaven — have  been 
the  suicide  of  my  being's  hope." 

He  became  silent.  Burying  his  face  in  his  hands  he  gave  him- 
self up  to  despondent  thought,  and  heard  and  saw  nothing  in  the 
visible  Universe.  What  worlds  of  feeling  and  conception  rush  like 
a  torrent  through  the  brain  of  the  unhappy  captive,  who  is  in  ex- 
pectation of  being  launched  into  eternity !  How  memory  recurs 
to  scenes  of  deep  felicity,  to  haunting  visions  of  boyhood,  to 
smiles  and  pleasures,  and  the  busy  brain  conjures  up,  like  a  magi- 
cian, all  that  has  been,  all  that  may  be.  And  then  the  anguish 
of  thinking  what  might  have  been  accomplished  so  easily  ;  but 
which  can  never  now  be  done !  Forwards,  backwards  flies  the 
spirit !  There  are  the  friends  of  infancy,  there  are  the  placid  hours 
that  flew  on  wings  of  serene  delight,  the  spots  which  were  so 
dear  and  sanctified  by  the  steps  of  those  beyond  expression  loved, 
the  familiar  voices,  the  lovely  forms — gone  for  ever !  And  then 
arise  from  their  tombs  the  passionate  and  brief  excitement — a 
very  dream  then,  but  now  how  strangely  real — the  wild  enthusiasm, 
the  intense,  and  burning,  and  aspiring  ardours  of  youth.  All  is 
a  phantasm  ;  but  how  vivid,  how  more  than  actual !  The  Ideal 
invests  the  past  with  a  glory  not  its  own;  at  such  a  time  the 


494  THE  MISER'S  SON. 

pinions  of  imagination  have  the  swiftness  of  light,  and  rush 
through  Time  and  Space  as  if  they  were  not.  Innumerable  forms 
people  the  void,  schemes  of  ambition,  aspirations  after  happiness 
projects  for  exaltation,  and  thoughts  of  things  cherished  beyond 
life,  flashing  upon  the  swift  and  whirling  soul,  and  going  as  rapidly 
as  they  came.  What  joy  and  anguish  alternately  rise  to  view — 
now  all  as  vain,  as  empty  as  if  they  had  never  been.  Memory  is 
the  house  of  death,  and  all  it  brings  are  spectres  that  come  and 
go  we  know  not  how  nor  whither. 

"  Walter !"  cried  a  voice  close  to  the  ear  of  Danvers. 

"  Ah  !  whence  that  sound  ?"  he  exclaimed,  starting  from  the 
floor,  and  gazing  wildly  about  him.  "  Answer,  whatever  thou 
art !  It  must  have  been  a  phantasy  !  Oh,  that  I  could  see  and 
hear  her  truly  once  more  ere  I  depart." 

"  It  is  I,  Harriet  Walsingham,  Walter,  who  thus " 

"  God  of  Heaven  !"  interrupted  Danvers.  "Where  are  you  V 

"  Give  me  your  hand,"  replied  Miss  Walsingham.  "  You 
cannot  see  me — there  is  no  light." 

•«  I  cannot  move  my  hand  :  but  touch  me  that  I  may  know  my 
sense  cheats  me  not." 

"  Ah !  you  are  manacled  !"  Harriet  stretched  forth  her  arm 
through  the  panel,  and  placed  her  ringers  on  the  hot  brow  of 
Walter.  They  lingered  there  for  a  moment,  like  the  touch  of  an 
angel,  and  were  then  withdrawn. 

"  Oh,  Harriet !  My  last  and  only  love,"  exclaimed  Danvers,  in 
tones  tremulous  with  tenderness,  and  grief,  and  passion.  "How 
came  you  here  ?  God  has  heard  my  prayer  that  I  might  see  you 
once  more  before  I  die." 

"  Talk  not  of  death,"  returned  Harriet,  with  deep  emotion. 
"  Walter,  I  did  not  think  to  find  you  here.  I  have  been  brought 
to  this  place  for  abetting  your  escape." 

"  How  !  have  they  dared  ?"  said  the  prisoner,  fiercely.  "  Hea- 
ven and  earth !  that  you  should  suffer  this  indignity  on  my 
account !" 

"  I  am  glad  that  it  has  so  chanced  ;  for  now  we  can  converse 
freely  together.  Probably  this  is  the  last  time  we  shall  ever  meet 
on  earth,  Walter.  But  you  must  not  die — oh,  no,  no,  no!  that 
would  drive  me  mad,  were  you  to  perish  on  the  scaffold." 

"  Bless  you,  adored  !  pardon  me  that  I  speak  so.     My  love 


THE  MISER'S  SON.  495 

has  grown  unearthly.  Oh,  that  I  might  press  your  hand  to  these 
parched  lips — not  with  passion  !  Extend  it  to  me  once  again,  in 
token  of  forgiveness.  God  reward  you  !  They  will  release  jou 
immediately,  of  course?" 

"  Yes,  now  that  you  are  taken  ;  but  I  wish — " 

"  What  do  you  wish,  sweet  saint?'  Why  do  you  not  reply?" 

"  I  wish,  then,  that  I  might  take  your  place.  Is  it  not  possible 
that  I  could  get  to  you,  and  that  you  might  pass  from  prison, 
wrapped  in  my  cloak  ?" 

"Not  for  ten  thousand  worlds!"  ejaculated  Danvers,  abso- 
lutely shaking  with  emotion.  "  Noble  woman,  1  feel  like  a  rep- 
tile when  I  think  on  what  has  been  ;  when  the  purity  and  radiance 
of  your  presence  abases  my  soul,  and  1  curse  the  villany " 

"  Hush,  hush,  Walter!  Not  to  a  poor,  wretched  mortal,  sinful 
as  yourself,  must  such  words  be  addressed.  Let  us  forget  the  past 
and  think  only  of  the  present." 

"  Forget  the  past !  Bid  me  to  forget  Heaven  and  Eternity  !  I 
loved  you,  Harriet — I  must  speak — I  swear  I  loved  you  better 
than  my  life — my  spirit.  My  very  iniquity  proved  the  extent 
of  my  love.  I  sacrificed  the  honor  I  prized  so  highly  for  the  sake 
of  that  guilty  passion.  Oh,  pardon  me  !"  Sobs,  convulsing  sobs 
heaved  the  mighty  chest  of  Walter  Danvers;  and  he  hid  his  face 
— though  it  was  pitchy  dark  in  his  dungeon — in  his  manacled 
hands,  almost  suffocated  with  emotions,  better  conceived  than 
described.  That  a  woman  should  be  able  to  crush  that  stern 
spirit  to  dust  with  words  of  kindness. 

"  1  pardon  you  from  my  heart  of  hearts,  Walter !"  answered 
Harriet,  much  moved.  She  mastered  her  feelings,  however,  won- 
derfully and  added,  "  Let  us  not  talk  on  this  subject.  It  must  be 
painful  to  both  of  -us." 

"  But  you  believe  me  guiltier  even  than  I  am.  You  think  I  am 
a  murderer?" 

"  No,  Walter,  of  that  dreadful  deed  I  am  now  convinced  you 
are  guiltless." 

"  Joy  !"  shouted  Danvers  vehemently,  till  the  echoes  of  the 
prison  reverberated  with  that  unusual  cry  of  exulting  rapture. 
"  Joy,  joy  !  If  you  think  me  innocent,  let  the  harsh  world  load 
me  with  infamy  and  shame,  and  let  my  memory  be  execrated  : 
let  the  finger  of  scorn  and  hate  be  pointed  at  me  as  I  writhe  in 


496  THE  MISER'S  SON. 

death,  yet  I  will  smile  as  proudly  as  if  God  himself  proclaimed 
my  guiltlessness  aloud." 

"  I  beseech  you,  speak  not  thus,  Walter !  You  distress  me 
more  than  I  can  tell  you.  I  hope  to  prove  to  all  men  you  are  no 
murderer.  But  you  have  done  wrong,  very  wrong  in  much.  Why 
did  you  kill  that  poor  boy  who  so  rashly  attacked  you?" 

"  It  was  a  foul  and  bloody  deed  ;  but  I  meant  it  not.  I  would 
give  my  life  to  undo  it." 

"  Oh,  that  we  could  recal  the  past  I"  said  Harriet.  "  But  that 
is  beyond  Omnipotence."  She  was  silent  for  a  little  time,  but 
added,  "  You  must  try  and  escape,  Walter,  if  all  other  means  fail. 
I  would  not  have  you  die,  to  be  assured  myself  of  eternal  joy." 

Danvers  groaned  audibly.  "  I  have  cast  this  treasure  from  me 
with  wanton  madness  !"  he  exclaimed.  "Heaven  was  within  my 
grasp,  and,  maniac-like,  I  chose  damnation." 

"  These  are  wild  words,  Walter,  wild  and  sinful.  I  beseech 
you  be  calm  ;  let  us  discuss  your  present  position  calmly." 

But  Danvers  heard  her  not.  There  are  states  of  mind  when  the 
past  is  more  vividly  felt  than  the  present,  and  he  was  absorbed  in 
the  gone,  murmuring,  "  She  came  upon  me  like  a  passionate 
dream  on  the  poet's  thought,  and  while  in  her  presence  I  recked 
not  of  ought  beside.  She  was  my  world,  my  idol,  and  I  locked 
up  every  feeling  in  her.  I  lived  as  in  a  vision,  and  it  was  only 
when  alone  that  I  awoke  to  my  crime.  Ah,  Harriet !  my  soul  is 
not  here.  It  is  buried  with  those  blest  scenes  of  thrilling,  mad- 
dening transport,  when  it  hung  enamoured  on  thy  pure  breath, 
and  heard  the  sweet  accents  which  made  me  imperil  eternity  for 
the  sake  of  dwelling  on  them.  Dost  thou  remember  when  thou 
didst  first  make  the  confession  of  mutual  love,  while  we  went 
along  the  banks  of  that  stream  whose  music  never  was  so  har- 
monious as  thy  tongue's .?  Oh,  God  !  oh,  God  !  Thou  didst  give 
unto  me  a  jewel  more  priceless  than  the  universe ;  thou  didst 
entrust  the  brightest  gem  in  thy  crown  into  a  villain's  keeping, 

and  he " 

"Stop,  I  conjure  you,  Walter!"  interrupted  Harriet,  in  a  voice 
of  stifled  agony,  large  drops  of  perspiration  bitterer  than  blood 
standing  on  her  marble  brow.  "  Why  will  you  needlessly  harrow 
up  the  wounds  of  our  weak  hearts  with  these  awful  memories — 
for  they  are  awful,  because  unholy.  How  vain  to  regret  !  How 


THE  MISER'S  SON.  497 

vain  to  weep  !  I  thought  I  was  beyond  earthly  passion  :  but  I 
feel,  now,  how  feeble,  frail  a  thing  I  am.  You  pour  poison  into 
my  spirit,  speaking  thus." — O,  Love  !  O,  Death  !  Time  cannot 
conquer  ye  !  Yet  Love  is  stronger  than  Death,  and  weaker  than 
weakness ; 

"  Wormwood  and  honey;  brief  as  mortal  thought, 

Eternal  as  the  everlasting  word." 

"Forgive  me,  blessed  woman,"  answered  Danvers.  "  I  know 
not  what  I  say.  I  am  almost  distracted.  God  grant  I  may  die 
— that  all  recollection  of  me  may  be  blotted  from  earth.  I  had 
thought  of  making  a  fame  which  might  outlast  this  perishable 
frame,  and  glow  with  light  when  ages  had  elapsed.  When  this 
mortality  was  mouldering  to  ashes,  I  thought  my  deeds  might  be 
a  beacon  to  light  a  world.  But  I  dismiss  such  fancies  now  as 
vainest  vanity*  All  is  worthless  that  man  can  do.  Come,  let  us 
talk  calmly,  if  possible.  If  I  die,  Harriet,  shed  no  tear  for  me. 
Visit  my  grave,  if  you  will,  sometimes,  and  murmur  a  prayer  or 
blessing  ;  say,  '  The  misguided  heart  is  silent,  and  corruption 
clings  about  him,  and  may  the  immortal  in  him  find  peace — and 
oblivion.'  " 

"  Father  of  mercy  !"  ejaculated  Harriet  Walsingham,  clasping 
her  hands,  and  restraining  the  tears  which  swelled  her  bosom 
almost  to  bursting,  "  to  this  poor,  stricken  penitent  send  thine 
angel  now  to  speak  comfort  which  /cannot  speak.  Pity  our  in- 
firmity, kind  Heaven,  and  give  us  strength  and  hope.  Let  us 
pray,  Walter !  You  know  not  the  unspeakable  blessedness  and 
felicity  which  prayer  has  ever  infused  into  my  being."  And  she 
knelt  and  offered  up  a  petition  to  the  Throne  of  Grace,  simple 
short,  and  earnest,  to  this  effect.  "  We  ask  Thee,  our  Creator  ! 
to  help  us.  We  implore  Thee  to  be  present  to  our  secret  souls ! 
Pardon  the  poor  sinners  who  would  return  into  thy  bosom,  and 
open  the  fold  once  more  to  the  strayed  sheep.  Bless  us,  Thou 
eternal  one  !  Make  us  purer,  wiser,  happier !  And  grant  these 
supplications  for  the  sate  of  Him  whose  sacred  name  we  join 
with  Thine,  our  hope,  our  assurance,  and  salvation." 

She  ceased  to  speak  ;  Juut  her  lips  still  moved,  the  inspired 
breath  (the  inspiration  of  sincerity)  seemed  to  hover  on  them,  her 
eyes  were  still  raised,  her  hands  clasped  ;  and  the  deep  and 
solemn  "  Amen,"  of  Danvers  was  heard.  He  then  remained  mute 

3  s 


498  THE  MISER'S  SON. 

and  hushed  ;  but  liis  mind  was  active,  and  thronging  thoughts 
replaced  those  which  had  occupied  him  a  few  minutes  before. 
He  was  not  a  religious  man,  he  was  not  of  that  enthusiastic  and 
poetic  temperament  which  makes  a  species  of  natural  religion  ; 
he  was  of  the  world  :  but  the  sound  of  that  musical  voice  which 
had  ceased,  and  the  fervour  of  that  pure  and  profound  devotion, 
the  simplicity  of  that  exalted  piety,  in  the  loneliness  and  silence  of 
that  dreary  prison,  had  an  indescribable  effect.  Those  who  think 
what  has  been  written  here  hyperbolical,  must  place  themselves 
in  the  same  circumstances,  must  listen  to  that  sublime  earnestness, 
in  idea — which  Milton  thinks  the  secret  of  eloquence — and  in 
the  solitary  night  communing  with  themselves,  they  will  perceive 
no  extravagance  in  it.  The  watches  of  the  night  sublimate  even 
the  earthly  :  for  there  is  a  deep  melancholy  in  the  beauty  of  the 
stars,  in  the  darkness  of  the  moveless  vault,  and  the  stillness  of 
nature,  which  raises  us  to  the  immortal  and  the  infinite.  Yes, 
Danvers  prayed,  and  tears  rolled  down  his  brown  cheek  ;  but 
they  were  not  tears  of  gall.  The  bitterness  of  remorse  had  passed 
away,  and  he  felt  calm,  collected,  and  resigned  to  all  things.  At 
length  Harriet  arose. 

"  What  did  you  add  that  I  could  not  hear?"  inquired  Walter 
in  an  altered  voice. 

"  I  will  tell  you,"  she  replied.  "  I  prayed  that  the  love  I  feel 
for  you  may  never  more  be  such  but  as  the  Angels  might  not 
deem  impure.  My  prayer  has  been  heard  ;  and  now  I  can  con- 
verse as  freely  with  you  as  if  that  which  has  been  had  not.  What 
can  I  do  for  you,  Walter  ?  Is  there  any  one  whom  you  wish  to 
know  of  your  fate  ?" 

"  I  have  two  children,  Harriet.  They  are  the  son  and  daughter 
of  that  wretched  woman  who  was  once  my  wife :  but  they  are 
mine  also.  They*are  good,  they  are  all  1  could  wish.  Should  I 
leave  them,  will  you  extend  a  friendly  hand  to  them  for  my  sake? 
I  hardly  liked  to  ask  this  of  you ;  but  I  know  your  angelic 
nature." 

"  I  will  love  them  as  my  children,"  interrupted  Harriet,  "  if 
you  die.  But  hark  !  I  hear  a  step.  Itmust  close  the  panel  for 
some  one  is  coming.  Farewell,  Walter,  farewell." 

"  God  in  Heaven  bless  you !"  cried  Walter,  as  the  panel  was 

j  t 


THE  MISER'S  SON.  499 

shut,  seeming  to  close  the  gate  of  Paradise  on  him.     "  I  am 
happy,  now." 

The  gaoler  had  come  to  bring  Danvers  some  water,  and  hav- 
ing given  it  to  him,  proceeded  to  the  place  where  Miss  Walsing- 
ham  was  confined. 

"  An  order  has  just  come  from  Captain  Norton  for  your  libe- 
ration, madam,"  said  the  man.  "  But  he  wishes  to  see  you  be- 
fore you  go.  His  messenger  informed  me  that  the  Captain  had 
received  the  information  of  Mr.  Danvers's  capture  half  an  hour 
ago,  and  sent  off  immediately  to  bid  us  release  you.  He  requests, 
however,  as  a  favor,  that  you  will  wait  a  short  time  in  some  other 
place  than  this.  Some  military  business  detains  him." 

Harriet  bowed  her  head,  and  followed  the  gaoler  into  another 
part  of  the  building,  when  he  left  her  in  an  apartment  belonging 
to  the  governor  of  the  prison.  He  had  hardly  departed,  when 
a  quick,  irregular  step  was  heard,  the  door  was  thrown  open,  and 
the  haggard  form  of  Norton  appeared.  He  removed  his  hat, 
and  made  a  reverential  bow  in  his  old  fashion  to  the  lady,  his 
face  expressing  much  contrition.  He  seemed  to  expect  that 
Harriet  would  return  a  stately  and  female  salutation  ;  but  with- 
out hesitating  an  instant  she  advanced  and  took  his  withered  hand 
in  hers,  and  said — 

"  I  am  sorry,  Captain  Norton,  that  by  one  action  I  have  made 
you  doubt  my  sacred  word  ;  but  1  do  not  wonder  that  it  is  so." 

"  Nay,  Miss  Walsingham  !"  exclaimed  the  old  man,  "  I  must 
supplicate  your  forgiveness  for  a  rash  and  cruel  deed.  But  my 
misery  has  almost  driven  me  mad.  You  know  I  had  a  son — such 
a  son  '.  Ah,  me!  I  will  net  talk  of  it;  for  I  am  old,  and  weak, 
and  lonely.  He  is  going  to  be  buried.  I  would  not  part  with 
him  until  corruption  had  commenced  its  work ;  and  for  long, 
death  seemed  afraid  to  touch  aught  so  beautiful !  Yes,  I  am 
going  to  part  with  him  for  ever.  I  shall  never  look  upon  his  face 
again.  Forgive  me,  madam  !  I  am  grown  a  poor  old  driveller — 
and — and  my  brain  is  outworn.  Percy  was  my  life,  my  heart, 
my  hope.  A  few  hours  more,  and  all  will  be  over  for  me  on  this 
side  the  grave.  I  shall  walk  the  earth  like  a  ghost !" 

Captain  Norton  passed  his  hands  across  his  forehead,  as  if  to 
clear  his  mind,  and  Harriet,  deeply  affected,  offered  a  few  words 
of  consolation,  but  he  heard  her  not. 


500  THE  MISER'S  SON. 

"  I  am  going  to  see  him  once  more  !"  cried  the  veteran,  ab- 
ruptly. "  Should  you  like  to  gaze  on  him  ?  You  will  not  see 
such  a  work  of  art,  if  all  the  treasures  of  ancient  genius  were 
restored. — God's  own  statuary  without  His  living  breath  !— -There 
is  a  vehicle  at  the  gate,  which  I  ordered  for  your  convenience. 
O,  forgive  me  that  I  treated  you  with  such  rude  indignity  ;  but 
over  my  brain  is  a  dark  cloud,  and  on  my  heart,  despair!" 

And  the  officer  led  Miss  Walsingham  out  of  the  prison,  and 
handed  her  into  one  of  those  huge  coaches  our  ancestors  rumbled 
about  in.  He  followed  her  into  the  vehicle,  and  they  rolled  away 
in  the  direction  of  Harriet's  house.  But  in  the  course  of  half  an 
hour  they  stopped  at  the  residence  of  Norton,  which  was  but  a 
little  out  of  the  parallel  road  to  her  home. 

"  Will  you  come  ?"  said  he  to  his  beautiful  companion. 

She  silently  assented,  and  they  were  soon  in  a  darkened  room 
of  large  size,  in  which  there  was  a  solitary  lamp  placed  beside  a 
bier. 

"  There !"  exclaimed  the  old  man,  raising  the  lid  of  a  coffin, 
and  exposing  all  that  remained  of  the  young,  the  bright,  the  glo- 
rious Percy.  "  You  see  that  the  Destroyer  has  not  been  able  to 
efface  the  stamp  of  the  Everlasting  on  that  high  brow,  so  full  of 
candour,  and  mind,  and  courage !  Ah !  a  worm  is  crawling  in 
the  hair  !  Foul  thing  !"  and  he  stamped  it  under  foot,  and  kissed 
the  luxuriant  curls  of  his  boy.  "  Why  is  it,"  he  continued, 
"  that  decay  can  overtake  beauty  which  is  all  of  the  soul  ?  He 
smells  now — O,  horrible  !"' 

The  remains  of  the  ill-fated  youth  were  now,  indeed,  offensive, 
having  been  kept  several  weeks.  As  he  had  died  in  perfect  health, 
however,  decomposition  had  proceeded  very  slowly,  and  even 
now,  though  "  worms  were  alive  in  his  golden  hair,"  he  retained 
much  of  his  singular  and  exquisite  beauty. 

"  O,  thou  !"  murmured  Captain  Norton,  "once  so  loved  !  Am 
I  about  to  consign  thee  to  the  loathsome  chamber  of  death  ? — I, 
who  gave  thee  life,  and  deemed  thee  a  more  precious  part  of 
mine  own  !  But  it  must  be — it  must  be  !" 

So  saying,  the  old  man  proceeded  to  cut  a  single  lock  of  those 
luxuriant  ringlets,  and  to  place  it  in  his  bosom.  He  had  scarcely 
done  this,  when  a  messenger  arrived  in  haste,  requiring  his  im- 
mediate presence  on  some  affair  of  great  importance ;  and,  as  it 


THE  MISER'S  SON. 


501 


was  yet  feared  there  might  be  a  powerful  rising  of  the  Jacobites, 
though  the  government  affected  to  make  light  of  the  recent  dis- 
turbances, Captain  Norton,  apologizing  hastily  to  Miss  Walsing- 
ham  for  not  accompanying  her  home,  gathered  up  his  energies 
and  departed  with  the  messenger.  She  did  not  follow  him  from 
the  chamber  of  death,  but  taking  up  a  pencil  and  paper  approached 
closer  to  the  corpse.  All  were  asleep  in  the  house,  and  not  a 
sound,  a  breath  could  be  distinguished.  Calmly  did  she  contem- 
plate those  perfect  and  beautiful  features  for  some  minutes,  scan- 
ning the  fair  wreck  with  the  eye  of  poet,  painter,  Christian. 

"And  art  thou  all  then  left,"  she  said,  "  of  buoyant  youth, 
and  elastic  life,  and  intellect  ?  I  gaze  upon  thee,  and  methinks 
I  hear  that  voice,  for  ever  silent,  singing  blithely  as  the  lark  that 
carols  in  the  sky.  But  the  troubled  stream  of  life  thou  hadst 
scarcely  entered,  thou  hast  left  behind,  and  art  gliding  down  the 
river  of  infinitude  !"  She  paused  a  moment  ere  she  added — "The 
mysteries  of  life  and  death  what  human  heart  can  feel,  what  tongue 
can  utter  ?  The  argument  of  the  inspired  thinker  of  Greece  for 
the  indestructibility  of  the  soul,  is  this — *  A  contrary  cannot  re- 
ceive a  contrary.  Life  is  the  contrary  of  death  ;  and  therefore 
cannot  receive  death.'  It  may  be  death  is  nothing  but  a  name  : 
the  soul  lives  not  in  Time  ;  and,  therefore,  when  dissolution  takes 
place,  it  is  only  the  separation  of  Time  from  Eternity." 

Thronging,  deep  and  religious  feelings  filled  the  mind  of  the 
Christian  poetess,  as  she  proceeded  to  her  self-imposed  task. 
Whatever  scepticism  may  say  to  the  contrary,  there  are  thoughts 
and  sensations  which  philosophy  cannot  embody,  because  they  do 
not  belong  to  the  external ;  they  are  the  shadows  of  things  un- 
seen, mystic,  lofty  and  ethereal.  Though  the  smell  of  the  dead 
body  was  powerful,  and  disgusting,  Harriet  proceeded  with  her 
strange  labour  unshrinkingly,  her  face  irradiated  with  a  divine 
tenderness  from  the  workings  of  her  spirit.  And  the  night  wore 
away,  and  the  faint  beams  of  early  morning  streamed  through  the 
half-closed  shutters,  ere  she  had  finished.  There  is  something  in 
the  look  of  the  dead  which  tranquillizes  while  it  saddens,  and  as 
Harriet  put  down  her  pencil  and  murmured — 

"What  a  wreck  is  here!"  she  inwardly  exclaimed,  "and  when 
this  dust,  this  animated  dust  around  my  soul  is  like  this  senseless 


502  THE  MISER'S  SON. 

form,  God's  smile  will  be  on  me!"     She  closed  the  coffin  gently, 
saying — "  Poor  boy  !  sweet  is  his  sleep  !" 

And  she  glanced  from  the  motionless  clay,  while  the  lid  of  the 
coffin  was  not  quite  shut,  to  the  portrait  she  had  drawn.  A  low 
sob  startled  her,  and  turning  round  she  beheld  Norton  contem- 
plating her.  He  advanced  eagerly,  and  seizing  her  hand,  de- 
voured it  with  kisses.  Tears  relieved  him,  while  he  cried — 

"  O,  Miss  Walsingham  !  This  is  more  than  kind  of  you  !  And 
not  only  to  forgive  the  wrong  1  did  you,  but  thus  to  undertake 
such  a  work.  I  understand  it  all.  Angel !  bless  you  !" 

Harriet  gave  the  drawing,  which  was  replete  with  matchless 
beauty  and  fidelity,  into  the  old  man's  hands ;  and  then  pro- 
ceeded homewards.  To  return  good  for  evil  is  the  Christian  doc- 
trine, but  among  a  million  professed  followers  of  Christ,  who 
practises  his  precept  ?  The  business  on  which  Captain  Norton 
had  been  called  away  proved  a  false  alarm,  caused  by  the  report 
of  another  insurrection ;  and  on  his  return,  he  found  the  driver 
of  the  coach  he  had  procured  for  Harriet  asleep  on  the  box,  and 
repaired  to  the  room  where  he  had  left  her. 

On  reaching  her  house,  Harriet  sat  down  and  wrote  several 
letters,  one  of  which  she  dispatched  to  a  neighbouring  town  by  a 
trusty  messenger,  and  then,  unaccompanied,  sallied  forth.  She 
was  met  by  Sam  Stokes,  who  was  returning  from  Walsingham 
Hall,  and  who  knew  her  but  by  sight — though  well  acquainted 
with  her  family — having  witnessed  some  of  the  numerous  acts  of 
charity  she  constantly  performed.  He  made  a  profound  inclina- 
tion of  his  head  to  her,  and  she  gave  him  a  kind  "  good  morn- 
ing," and  a  smile  which  did  the  honest  sailor's  heart  good.  The 
poor  and  the  sorrowful  used  to  say  that  that  smile  rested  like  a 
sunbeam  in  their  hearts,  when  she  visited  them. 

"  She's  a  mortial  angel,  that  there  lady  !"  muttered  Stokes,  as 
he  trudged  on.  "I  wonders  who  she  be !" 

Harriet  continued  her  walk ;  and  after  some  time  reached  a 
secluded  cottage,  which  is  already  known  to  the  reader  as  that 
of  Henry  Spenser,  the  philosopher.  Entering  without  ceremony 
she  found  the  contemplatist  in  a  small  room  which  he  made  his 
study,  with  open  books,  and  scattered  papers  before  him.  He 
rose  to  give  her  greeting  with  some  surprise,  and  taking  her  hand 


THE  MISER'S  SON.  503 

in  his  own — which  was  quite  as  small  and  delicate — he  pressed 
it,  saying — 

"  This  is  kind  of  you,  Harriet.  I  was  thinking  of  walking  to 
your  house  this  morning." 

There  was  something  in  the  eye  of  the  philosopher  when  he 
regarded  Harriet,  at  variance,  perhaps,  with  the  serenity  and 
calmness  of  his  ordinary  demeanour,  and  his  hand  shook  a  little 
when  it  touched  hers ;  but  he  resumed  his  usual  quiet  air,  and 
she  addressed  him  thus — 

"  I  am  come  to  ask  a  great  favour  of  you,  Henry.  You  were 
going  to  London  in  the  course  of  a  few  days :  will  you  hasten 
your  departure  and  proceed  thither,  now?" 

"  I  will  go  wherever  you  wish  rue,"  returned  Spenser.  "  What 
can  I  do  to  serve  you  ? 

"  You  know  my  history,  Henry  ;  and  you  know  Walter  Dan- 
vers."  She  coloured  slightly  as  she  mentioned  him  dearest  to 
heron  earth,  and  the  philosopher  half  turned  away  from  her: 
but  he  looked  her  full  in  the  face  again,  with  steadfast  eyes,  when 
she  proceeded — "  Walter  Danvers  is  now  in  prison  ;  and  his  life 
is  forfeited.  But  he  must  not  die — O,  no — he  must  not  die!  I 
had  once  powerful  friends,  and  I  have  written  to  some  of  them  to 
-  ask  them  to  interest  themselves  in  his  behalf.  Will  you  plead 
my  cause  with  these  people,  whom  I  have  not  seen,  nor  commu- 
nicated with  for  many  years  ?" 

"  That  will  I,"  replied  Spenser,  with  alacrity.  "  I  would  I 
had  eloquence  which  could  avail  you  ;  but  I  have  little  confidence 
in  my  persuasive  powers.  I  fear  these  persons  will  not  be  very 
ready  to  serve  you,  although  they  once  professed  so  much  ;  but 
I  can  endeavour  to  strike  a  spark  out  of  them." 

"  Yes,  even  flint  gives  fire  ;  here  are  the  letters,"  said  Harriet. 
"  If  you  can  procure  an  interview  with  the  King,  do  so.  Repre- 
sent to  him  that  there  are  circumstances  connected  with  the  crime 
of  which  Walter  Danvers  has  been  found  guilty,  which  in  justice 
should  be  investigated  ;  and  endeavour  to  obtain  an  immediate 
reprieye.  On  my  sacred  word  he  is  innocent.  If  you  spoke  with 
him  you  could  not  doubt  the  fact." 

"  We  cannot  look  into  the  soul,"  returned  Spenser,  musingly  ; 
"  but  the  soul  will  manifest  itself.  If  I  should  fail  in  effecting 
what  you  desire,  you  must  go  in  person,  Harriet ;  for  a  woman's 


504  THE  MISER'S  SON. 

eloquence  is  most  irresistible  with  men,  and  you  might  do  almost 
anything.  How  long  will  it  be  ere  the  authorities  think  of  putting 
the  sentence  of  the  law  on  Danvers  in  execution  ?" 

"  He  will  probably  be  examined  to-morrow  :  but  as  yet  I  am 
in  ignorance  of  all.  There  is  an  old  lawyer  of  the  name  of  Quirk 
who  has  promised  to  do  much  :  but  what  he  has  revealed  to  me 
is  vague  and  unsatisfactory.  I  am  quite  convinced,  however,  that 
he  knows  more  than  he  will  tell." 

"  I  will  go  to  him  before  I  proceed  to  London.  I  am  so  little 
a  man  of  the  world  that  I  hardly  know  how  to  set  about  doing 
you  any  service ;  but  I  will  try  to  make  up  in  zeal  for  what  I 
want  in  discretion." 

"  You  are  all  kindness,  and  are  the  most  valued  and  valuable 
friend  I  have.  No  time  is  to  be  lost ;  but  neither  must  we  be 
hasty.  Write  to  me  immediately  after  you  reach  London,  if  you 
think  my  presence  can  be  of  use.  You  cannot  conceive  the  state 
of  suspense  and  dread  I  am  now  in." 

"  Yes  I  can,"  said  Spenser.  "  I  know  full  well  that  those  who 
love  vainly,  often  love  the  most  intensely.  Danvers  was  a  noble 
fellow  once,  with  all  his  faults :  and  1  wonder  not  that  he  gained 
even  such  a  heart  as  yours." 

"  O,  there  is  still  much  good  left  in  him,"  replied  Harriet.  "  I 
have  seen  him  within  these  last  few  hours,  and  conversed  with 
him  for  a  long  time." 

"  Indeed  ! — I  hope  that  I  may  return  with  his  pardon  ;  but  do 
not  buoy  yourself  up  too  much  with  that  notion,  Harriet.  I  dread 
lest -" 

"  Nay,"  interrupted  Miss  Walsingham,  "  I  have  made  up  my 
mind  to  all  things.  Only,  he  must  not  die,  if  all  I  have  on  earth 
— reputation,  health,  life,  can  save  him.  All  but  that  God  would 
help  me  to  bear.  How  I  have  loved  that  man  He  alone  can  tell. 
I  can  confess  this  to  you,  Henry,  without  a  blush,  for  you  under- 
stand me.  But  let  us  not  waste  precious  time.  Seek  out  Quirk, 
and  elicit  what  you  can  from  him.  Take  this  purse ;  for  the  sor- 
did wretch  cares  for  nothing  but  gold  ;  and  then  make  ready  for 
your  journey  to  London.  My  very  existence  hangs  on  the  issue 
of  this  event." 

Spenser  sighed  deeply,  took  up  his  hat,  and  having  received 
Quirk's  direction,  instantly  set  off.  Harriet  resolved  to  await  his 


THE  MISER'S  SON.  505 

return  where  she  was,  and  utterly  exhausted  with  all  she  had  un- 
dergone during  the  last  few  hours,  lay  down,  and  attempted  to 
snatch  a  few  minutes  sleep  to  enable  her  to  endure  the  fatigues 
that  might  yet  await  her.  And  she  did  fall  into  an  uneasy  slum- 
ber, which  continued  for  a  short  time :  but  was  startled  from  it 
by  an  occurrence  which  shall  be  presently  narrated. 

It  is  now  necessary  to  leave  her  fortunes,  and  to  return  to 
Charles  Walsingham.  A  little  while,  and  the  curtain  will  descend, 
and  these  our  actors  fall  into  oblivion.  We  are  all  hastening 
from  this  troubled  stage  of  life,  having  performed  our  part  in  its 
brief  pageant,  and  shall  be  no  more  soon,  even  than  these  beings 
of  the  mind  who  strut  and  fret  their  little  hour  so  vainly  !  There 
is  to  my  heart  something  solemn  in  the  conclusion  of  all  things. 
We  hope,  we  fear,  aspire,  despair ;  and  after  all  (as  in  life)  the 
whole  "  signifies  nothing." 

"  To  CAPTAIN  CHARLES  WALSINGHAM. 

"  O,  Charles  !  My  poor  father  !  All  disguise  is  now  useless. 
Help  him,  if  you  love  me.  His  name  will  put  you  in  possession 
of  all  I  have  to  say.  He  is  Walter  Danvers.  That  you  love  me 
I  am  certain  :  fly,  then,  to  his  succour.  He  is  innocent ;  but  the 
facts  are  strong  against  him ;  and  man  judges  by  what  seems, 
and  not  what  is.  God  knows  my  dear  father's  innocence ;  ap- 
pearances are  as  nothing  to  him;  and  if  you  knew  my  father  you 
would  say  he  must  be  guiltless  of  such  a  deed.  You  know  he 
was  condemned  to  death  many  years  ago.  He  made  his  escape 
to  France,  and  entered  the  service  of  that  country.  He  was  in- 
duced some  months  since  to  undertake  a  secret  mission  to  Eng- 
land ;  and  at  my  entreaty  1  came  with  him.  Death  stares  him 
in  the  face  on  every  side :  and  if  he  perish,  how  shall  I  survive  ? 
He  has  been  so  kind,  so  fond  a  father  to  me  : — never  denied  me 
a  wish.  He  has  supplied  the  place  of  both  parents — for  my  mo- 
ther died,  I  believe,  when  I  was  an  infant.  I  have  missed  you 
very  much,  dear  Charles,  (I  write  as  my  heart  dictates,  though  I 
know  not  if  it  is  right),  and  would  have  addressed  a  letter  to  you 
had  I  dared.  But  I  promised  my  good  nurse,  when  she  gave  me 
the  letter  you  sent  by  her,  not  to  answer  it.  You  ask  me  to  be- 
come your  wife;  but  that  can  never  be,  until  the  unjust  stigma 

3  T 


506  THE  MISER'S  SON. 

on  my  father's  name  is  removed.     I  would  not  bring  the  shadow 
of  disgrace  on  you  for  the  universe — you  are  my  universe,  noblest, 
loftiest,  best!     This  is  a  cold,  heartless  world,  and  everything 
evil,   I  have   heard,   is  believed,    while  nothing  that  is  good  is 
allowed.     I  can  hardly  believe  this,  though  ;  for  / can  scarcely 
credit  what  is  bad; — you  know  what  I  mean,  but  want  words  to 
express.     You,  I  am  certain,  are  not  one  of  those  more  ready  to 
condemn  than  pity,  to  suspect  than  confide.    You  will  believe  my 
father's  innocence  without  proof ;  but  Heaven  in  its  own   good 
time  will  clear  the  dreadful  mystery  which  hangs  over  the  fate  of 
your  murdered  relative  up.     I  know  not  where  I  shall  be  when 
you  receive  this  letter;  but  will  let  you  know  how  to  find  me  in 
a  few  hours.  Strain  every  nerve,  for  my  sake,  to  save  my  father. 
He  will  be  examined,   I  hear,  to-morrow.     It  is  of  the  utmost 
importance  we  should  get  time  to  collect  proof.     But  even  if  it 
should  be  made  apparent  that  he  is  guiltless  of  the  crime  of  mur- 
der imputed  to  him,  I  fear  his  life  will  be  forfeited  on  account  of 
the  part  he  has  taken  in  the  recent  insurrection.     Let  me  hear 
from  you  without  delay.     O,  Charles  !  1  would  that  I  were  queen 
of  all  this  earth,  that  I  might  give  you  the  fairest  lands  and  the 
brightest  spots  upon  it !     But  I  am  poor  and  helpless,  and  can 
give  nothing  to  you  but  my  weak,  foolish  heart.     It  is  not  worth 
your  having,  Charles  ;  but  I  will  cultivate  it,  as  you  would  possess 
it.     How  very  incoherent  and  ill- written  this  letter  is  !     How  it 
is  blotted  with  my  tears !     Our  loves  have  not  begun  under  happy 
auspices  ;  but  a  fairer  day  may  dawn.     To  all  good  angels  I  now 
commend  you.     I  have  thought  of  you,  I  have  prayed  for  you, 
day  and   night.     While  the  breath  of  life  warms  my  heart,  you 
will  be  dear  to  Ellen. — None  know  I  have  written  to  you  ;  but  I 
could  not  refrain  from  doing  so ;  my  heart  is  nearly  breaking !" 


THE  aJISEU'S  SON.  607 


CHAPTER  III. 

In  this  old  rascal  world,  my  friend,  we  see 
At  every  turn  some  treachery  or  guile ; 
At  every  winding  Sorrow  meets  the  ear, 
And  Truth  and  Virtue  weep,  and  Vice  elate 
Looks  to  the  skies  and  swears  Jove  is  not  there ! 

Old  Play. 

CHARLES    FINDS    A     MYSTERY — THE   SECRET    CONFERENCE — 
FRANK    AND    HIS   MESSAGE — A    SURPRISE — ELLF.N. 

"  MY  own,  own  Ellen  !"  exclaimed  Charles  Walsingham,  kiss- 
ing the  simple  and  affectionate  letter  he  had  just  received  from  the 
maiden  of  his  heart  repeatedly.  "I  will  go  to  thee,  instantly, 
and  will  never  be  divided  from  thee  more !  What  an  age  it  seems 
since  we  parted  !" 

Our  old  friend,  Charles,  had  just  returned  from  a  long  walk, 
which  he  had  taken  for  the  purpose  of  discovering  the  present 
dwelling  of  Ellen  ;  but — as  was  the  case  every  day  since  he  had 
left  the  house  of  Danvers — fruitlessly.  He  was  almost  in  despair 
of  ever  hearing  more  of  her ;  when  a  servant  put  this  letter  into 
his  hand,  and  informed  him  that  a  little,  ragged  urchin  left  it  a 
few  minutes  before,  but  ran  away  as  soon  as  he  had  put  it  into  his 
hand.  But  the  joy  of  Charles  was  soon  damped,  when  he  re- 
flected on  the  contents  of  the  epistle.  His  Ellen  was  the  daughter 
of  a  malefactor  condemned  for  the  murder  of  a  near  relative  of 
his  own  !  His  opinion  had  always  been  strongly  against  Danvers, 
though  his  judgment  was  formed  by  report;  and  the  pride  which 
was  almost  the  strongest  passion  in  his  nature — a  just,  and  ho- 
nourable pride — revolted  at  the  idea  of  uniting  himself  with  a 
felon's  child  :  but  the  image  of  the  helpless  and  unprotected  girl, 
so  young,  so  innocent,  so  lovely  and  forlorn,  rose  to  his  mind  and 
he  exclaimed — 

"  I  care  not !  I  will  seek  some  desert  with  her  as  my  bride, 
and  forget  there  are  any  others  than  ourselves  in  existence." 

How  different  is  the  love  of  man  from  that  of  woman  !     Ellen, 


508  THE  MISER'S  SON. 

if  Charles  had  been  placed  in  a  position  similar  to  herself,  would 
have  dared  the  scorn  and  ignominy  of  the  world,  gentle,  timid 
thing  as  she  was.  Men  have  more  physical  bravery  than  women  ; 
but  the  very  delicacy  of  a  woman's  soul — her  tenderness  and  de- 
votion— appear  to  gift  her  with  moral  courage.  Yet  the  soldier 
was  an  excellent  fellow  in  his  way  ! 

It  was  now  evening,  and  the  young  officer  sallied  forth  again  j 
for  there  was  a  weight  on  his  heart,  which,  it  seemed,  could  not  be 
relieved  in  the  atmosphere  of  a  house.  In  sorrow  and  felicity  do 
we  not  seek  solitude?  But  in  sorrow  we  feel  all  things  irksome, 
in  felicity  the  dumb  woods  have  voices  deep  and  thrilling ; — all  is 
beauty.  Heeding  not  the  path  he  took,  Charles  walked  rapidly 
on,  and  in  the  course  of  an  hour  found  himself  in  a  secluded  spot, 
where  the  brushwood  grew  thickly  :  and  leaning  his  back  against 
a  low  tree,  satisfied  that  none  could  see  him,  he  resigned  himself 
to  dreamy  thought. 

"  Ah !"  ran  his  reverie,  "  I  could  be  happy  with  her  in  an  un- 
inhabited island,  even  if  it  were  dreary  and  sterile,  and  the  bare 
necessaries  of  life  must  be  earned  with  toil  and  wearisomeness. 
What  real  pleasures  are  there  in  the  wreathed  smiles  of  the  crowd, 
in  the  false  and  artificial  usages  of  the  world. — No ;  I  am  resolved 
on  this,  if  Ellen  consent  to  embrace  such  a  step  I — And  yet,  why 
should  I  be  ashamed  of  presenting  her  to  society  as  my  wife  ? 
The  gold  is  not  the  less  valuable  because  it  has  come  from  the 
dark  bowels  of  the  earth  encrusted  with  dirt,  and  she  is  not  to 
suffer  for  the  sins  of  her  father.  Out  on  this  proud  spirit  I  bear ! 
Am  I  such  a  moral  coward  as  to  fear  the  reproaches,  the  sneers 
and  the  sarcasms  of  the  cold,  the  vile,  and  heartless  ?  But  then, 
to  shield  her  from  the  misery  of  being  pointed  at.  Ah,  there  it 
is!  I  could  not  endure  that!  No,  we  will  leave  the  haunts  of 
men,  and  be  the  world  to  each  other !  Fair  children  shall  spring 
up  unto  us,  and  we  will  train  them  in  the  paths  of  virtue.  Their 
endearments  will  be  ample  amends  for  all  the  sweet  flattering 
things  man  can  say  !" 

The  soldier's  meditations  were  interrupted  by  a  confused  sound 
of  voices,  but  looking  around  he  could  see  no  one.  The  spot  in 
which  he  found  himself  was  remote  from  every  human  dwelling, 
and  the  pleached  boughs  of  the  trees  formed  an  impenetrable 
barrier  to  further  progress  in  the  direction  he  had  unconsciously 


THE  MISER'S  SON.  509 

taken.  But  diverging  somewhat  to  the  left,  at  the  distance  of  a 
few  paces,  was  a  path,  by  pursuing  which  it  was  possible  to  thread 
the  intricacies  of  the  labyrinth — which  was  the  same  already 
alluded  to  in  a  former  portion  of  the  narrative. 

There  was  a  little,  ruinous  building,  of  about  ten  feet  in  height, 
long  since  deserted,  and  which  was  dose  to  the  spot  where 
Charles  heard  the  sound  of  voices ;  but  so  dense  was  the  under- 
wood, that  it  was  hardly  possible  to  catch  a  glimpse  of  this  ruin 
through  the  intertwined  branches.  The  curiosity  of  the  soldier 
was  in  some  measure  excited  :  but  it  is  most  likely  he  would  have 
overmastered  it,  had  he  not  distinguished  the  name  of  Danvers. 
It  was  impossible,  however,  to  catch  more  than  a  word  here  and 
there  by  the  intensest  listening,  where  Charles  stood  :  and  insti- 
gated by  some  presentiment  that  he  should  discover  something 
of  importance  connected  with  Ellen,  he  smothered  the  high-minded 
scruples  which  deterred  him  from  acting  any  part  that  had  a  sha- 
dow of  meanness,  and  cautiously  treading,  he  went  round  to  the 
ruin,  and  stationed  himself  outside  (for  the  voices  now  came  from 
the  interior  of  the  building)  so  that  it  was  not  probable  he  should 
be  seen,  if  those  who  were  now  conferring  came  out,  and  passed 
near  him.  There  was  a  small  hole  in  the  wall  of  the  ruin,  by 
looking  through  which,  Charles  could  see  two  men  engaged  in 
earnest  conversation.  One  of  them  was  very  old  and  rather  de- 
crepid  ;  but  he  could  not  see  his  face,  which  was  turned  from  him. 
The  other  was  a  person  a  trifle,  perhaps,  his  own  senior,  of  slight, 
but  not  ungraceful  figure,  and  low  stature,  with  a  face  in  which 
there  was  some  shrewdness  and  power,  mingled  with  dark  and 
gloomy  passion  ;  and  he  was  speaking  in  a  harsh,  suppressed 
voice  to  the  other  person,  when  the  soldier  first  saw  him. 

"  You  shall  have  the  money,"  old  man,  he  said  ;  "  but  not  be- 
fore you  have  fulfilled  your  portion  of  the  contract.  I  cannot 
trust  you,  if  I  pay  you  the  reward  at  once ;  but  I  will  give  you  a 
promise  in  writing,  if  you  wish." 

"  Nay,  Master  Freestone,"  was  the  reply,  "  that  were  of  no 
use  to  me.  Rogues  must  be  content  to  pay  for  what  they  want 
at  once — excuse  me.  Ha,  ha !  I  will  do  nothing  for  you,  I  re- 
peat, if  you  do  not  pay  me  down  £300  on  the  instant.  If  you 
like  the  terms  on  which  I  am  willing  to  serve  you,  well  and  good  : 


510  THE  MISER'S  SON. 

if  not,  say  so,  and  I  will  go  my  way  ;  for  it  is  getting  late  and  I 
have  business  to  transact." 

"  Three  hundred  pounds  is  a  large  sum,"  returned  the  younger 
individual.  "  What  assurance  have  I,  if  I  give  you  the  money, 
that  I  can  depend  on  you  ?" 

"  None,  whatsoever ;  except  the  word  of  a  rascal ;  but  mv 
motto  is — *  Honesty  among  thieves  !'  Ha,  ha!  But  it  matters 
not  to  me.  I  shall  be  paid  well,  if  I  get  him  off." 

"  That  must  not  be.  Three  hundred  pounds  is  more  than  I 
can  well  afford  to  lose  for  nothing  ;  but  if  you  can  show  me  that 
there  is  a  rational  prospect  of  my  finding  the  agreement  fulfilled, 
here's  the  sum." 

"  Three  hundred  pounds,  as  you  remark,  fa  a  good  bit  of 
money  ;  but  nothing  less  would  satisfy  my  conscience.  Well, 
then,  loqk  you  here,  sir.  I  engage  to  perform  what  you  want  for 
a  stipulated  amount ;  and  am  retained  on  the  other  side  at  the 
same  time.  You  pay  me  beforehand  :  well.  It  is  evident  to 
you  that  if  I  can  get  more  by  being  honest  than  a  scoundrel,  I 
shall  cheat  you.  Very  good.  I  will  let  you  know,  if  I  am  likely 
to  do  so  ;  but  if  not,  it  is  plain  I  have  no  interest  to  defraud  you. 
I  have  a  conscience,  Master  Freestone,  though  it  is  a  rogue's 
conscience.  It  has  got  a  d — d  ugly  twist,  I  admit,  but  still  there 
it  is.  Are  you  satisfied,  or  not  ?" 

"I  suppose  1  must  be  satisfied.  There,  take  the  money.  I 
must  now  quit  this  part  of  the  country — but  shall  be  present  at 
the  examination  to-morrow,  and  narrowly  watch  you — and,  if  you 
fail  to  fulfil  your  promise,  as  the  Lord  liveth,  I  will  return  and 
slit  your  ears  directly.  If  I  am  satisfied  with  you,  I  will  not  stint 
the  remuneration  even  to  what  I  have  given  you.  You  know 
something  of  my  character,  perhaps,  and  if  not,  may  form  some 
estimate  of  it  by  what  has  already  passed." 

"  Ah  !  1  can't  feel  or  understand  that  desire  of  vengeance  to 
no  purpose.  For  my  own  part,  I  always  make  my  feelings  and 
passions  secondary  to  my  interest.  But  every  man  according  to 
his  humour !" 

"  I  have  an  interest  beyond  the  gratification  of  hate,  here," 
was  the  rejoinder.  "  This  man  has  stolen  from  me  the  rewards 
and  praises  which  of  right  belong  to  me.  Besides,  if  I  did  not 


THE  MISER'S  SON.  511 

hate  him  from  my  soul,  and  had  no  other  motive  to  urge  me  on, 
his  life  is  justly  forfeited." 

"  How  do  you  make  that  out,  sir  ?" 

"  He  has  been  guilty  of  innumerable  crimes.  I  am  convinced 
he  is  a  traitor  to  the  cause  he  pretends  to  serve,  and — and — d — n 
him!  He  has  crossed  me  in  my  path,  like  a  serpent;  he  is  a 
clever  devil ;  and  so  no  more.  Good  night.  Remember,  if  you 
fail  me,  I'll  take  your  miserable  life  !" 

"  Ha,  ha !  Take  matters  coolly,  master  Freestone,  and  don't 
threaten  ;  it's  a  bad  practice,  depend  on't !  Good  night. — Ah, 
Isaac  !  What  do  you  want  with  me  ?" 

While  the  old  ma»  had  been  speaking,  the  personage  he  called 
Freestone,  wrapping  a  cloak  around  him,  apparently  for  the 
purpose  of  disguise,  walked  moodily  away ;  and  a  lad  of  about 
sixteen  entered  the  place,  and  exclaimed, 

"  Mother  Stokes  wants  to  see  ye  as  soon  as  possible  ;  she's  in 
a  great  quandary.  I  met  her  by  accident  arter  you  left  me,  and 
she  says  she's  afraid  there'll  be  old  Nick  to  pay,  and  wants  your 
advice.  She'll  pay  you  a  guinea." 

"  I'll  go  to  her,"  said  the  old  man,  and  immediately  moved 
away,  followed  by  the  boy. 

"  What  can  this  mean  ?"  thought  the  soldier  to  himself.  "  j 
certainly  heard  the  name  of  Danvers ;  and  if  coupled  with  what 
I  have  overheard,  there  is  something  mysterious  lurking  beneath 
the  affair  of  that  murder.  Yet  I  fear  the  murderer  was  Ellen's 
father.  £he  a  murderer's  child  !  It  seems  as  probable  an  angel 
should  proceed  from  a  devil." 

And  resolved  to  sift  the  business  to  the  bottom  he  followed  the 
retreating  forms  of  the  aged  man  and  the  lad.  But  night  was 
fast  falling,  and  he  was  unacquainted  with  the  locality  to  which 
he  had  wandered,  so  that  not  being  able  to  follow  close  on  the 
heels  of  those  he  pursued,  lest  he  should  be  seen,  he  mistook  a 
turning  they  had  taken,  and  was  speedily  involved  in  the  mazes 
of  the  wood.  Provoked  with  himself  at  having  missed  an  oppor- 
tunity of  discovering  an  affair  teeming  to  him  with  the  intensest 
interest,  he  made  violent  efforts  to  extricate  himself  from  the 
labyrinth  ;  but  the  more  he  did  so,  was  he  bewildered.  There 
was  no  clue  to  the  Daedalian  mystery  of  the  place  ;  and  he  had 
resigned  himself  to  despair,  and  made  up  his  mind  to  passing  the 


512  THE  MISER'S  SON. 

night  in  the  open  air,  when  he  distinguished  voices  at  no  great 
distance,  and  presently  a  struggle  ensued.  Hastily  pushing  his 
way  through  the  trees  which  impeded  his  sight,  he  found  a  young 
man  defending  himself  against  half-a-dozen  fellows  in  sailors' 
dresses  ;  but  he  was  knocked  down  and  pinioned  as  he  arrived  on 
the  scene  of  action. 

"  Ha!"  cried  Charles  Walsingham,  striding  up  to  the  men  who 
were  busy  securing  the  captive,  with  that  generous  impulse  which 
prompts  us  to  take  part  with  the  weaker  side,  without  inquiring 
into  the  merits  of  the  case.  "  What  is  this  ?" 

The  youth  who  had  so  vainly  struggled  against  overpowering 
numbers  turned  to  Charles  at  this  query,  and  it  would  seem  in- 
stantly knew  him,  for  he  said, 

"  Do  not  interfere  in  my  behalf,  Captain  Walsingham.  These 
men  have  authority  for-  what  they  do,  and  you  would  only  get 
yourself  into  trouble  by  helping  me." 

"  What !  my  cousin  Frank  ?  It  can  be  no  other.  By  Heaven  ! 
If  you  say  the  word  I  will  rescue  you,  or  die." 

"  Strike  him  down,"  cried  the  leader  of  the  sailors,  raising  a 
cutlass  against  the  soldier  ;  but  the  prisoner  exclaimed, 

"  No,  for  God's  sake  let  the  laws  take  their  course,  Charles ; 
your  whole  future  prospects  would  be  bfighted  for  ever  by  your 
unthinking  generosity.  I  submit  to  my  fate.  But  will  you  take 
a  message  for  me  to  a  lady  who  lives  at  yonder  house  you  ma^' 
see  at  the  distance  of  a  mile  on  the  acclivity  ?" 

"  Certainly  ;  but  if  you  are  taken,  Frank,  I  fear  death  awaits 
you.  My  cousin  Fanny  told  me  your  story  a  few  hours  ago." 

"  Fear  not  for  me ;  but  proceed  to  that  cottage  and  state  the 
predicament  I  am  in  to  the  young  lady  you  will  see,  and  say  that 

I  have  been  to  her  father " 

"  We  can't  allow  you  to  jaw  no  more,"  interrupted  the  warrant 
officer  who  had  previously  spoken.  "  If  you  won't  heave  anchor 
at  once,  we  must  take  you  in  tow." 

"  Only  another  word.  Say  for  me  I  have  been  to  her  father 
and  he  may  see  her  to-morrow." 

The  young  man  thus  having  spoken  was  led  away,  and  Charles 
murmured, 

"  Poor  fellow  !  1  fear  it  will  go  hardly  with  him.  But  1  will 
hasten  to  London,  and  see  what  I  can  do  both  for  him,  and 


THE  MISER'S  SON.  513 

Ellen's  guilty  parent.  What  a  thought  of  horror  it  is  that  she 
whom  I  adore  should  have  sprung  from  such  a  wretch.  I  cannot, 
will  not  believe  it.  But  he  is  guilty  ;  yes,  I  must  not  allow  myself 
to  be  led  away  by  passion.  I  will  marry  her  if  she  will  consent 
to  become  mine ;  but  perfectly  aware  that  by  doing  so  I  must 
forfeit  my  place  in  society.  It  is  a  cruel  thing  that  erring  man 
should  make  the  innocent  pay  the  penalty  of  the  guilty  !  Oh, 
Ellen,  Ellen  !  Have  I  then  found  thee  at  last !  Poor,  gentle 
flower  !  this  heavy  blow  will  crush  thy  frail  existence,  unless 
a  careful  hand  guard  thee  from  the  chilling  blasts  with  which  thou 
wilt  shortly  be  assailed,  unless  there  be  one  devoted  to  thee  who 
will  pillow  thy  head  upon  his  bosom  !  I  were  a  wretch  to  hesitate 
in  what  way  to  act.  I  will  sacrifice  my  station,  and  despise  all 
the  icy  maxims  6f  the  vulgar  crowd,  and  attach  myself  undivi- 
dedly  to  thee.  This  proud  heart  will  have  to  struggle  greatly  yet; 
but  when  I  see  her,  when  I  hear  her  sweet  voice,  and  look  on  her 
fair  and  innocent  face,  I  shall  rejoice  in  the  evils  I  encounter  for 
her  sake.  Yes,  Ellen  !  I  will  dry  thy  tears,  and  soothe  thy  sor- 
rows, continually  whisper  fondest  words  into  thine  ear ;  and 
while  others  shrink  from  the  murderer's  daughter,  will  clasp  thee 
to  my  heart  as  a  treasure  vaster  than  all  God's  radiant  universe. 
Hear  my  vow,  O  ye  stars  !  that  now  come  glistening  into  your 
soft  evening  life,  looking  so  holy  that  ye  purify  what  is  corrupt 
within  our  souls  !  hear  me,  O  ye  woods,  that  speak  a  language  of 
divine  accents  in  still,  trembling  whispers  !  I  will  make  my 
existence,  my  passions,  my  dreams  and  aspirations  hers  only.  Oh, 
thou  eternal  cause  of  all !  help  me  to  pour  balm  into  my  pure 
angel's  stricken  breast,  and  direct  me  how  to  keep  her  free  even 
from  a  breath  of  pain." 

In  the  constitution  of  the  mind  of  man  innumerable  elements 
are  eternally  at  work  :  and  there  is  not  a  single  moment  of  exist- 
ence that  a  change  is  not  effected — however  imperceptible  it  may 
be — in  the  individual.  Yet  the  "  Ego"  remains  the  same,  while 
the  building  is  piled  up  ;  it  is  as  unchangeable  in  essence  as  God. 
Charles  Walsingham  was  not  a  man  of  extraordinary  intellect ; 
and  though  his  resolution  was  not  vacillating,  his  feelings  were  so 
ardent,  that  while  his  mind  remained  firm,  his  heart  was  always 
galloping  as  fast  as  it  could  go,  carried  away  along  rocks  and 
precipices  by  its  enthusiasm  and  poetry.  But  the  strife  within 

3  u 


514  THE  MISER'S  SONT. 

him  at  this  moment  was  great — love  and  pride  were  contending 
against  each  other  most  ferociously  :  but  the  heart  against  the 
head  in  such  a  nature  "  all  the  world  to  nothing."  Oh,  Love  ! 
sacred  Love  !  How  sublime  thou  canst  make  our  low  humanity  ! 
Thou  art  no  poet's  unattainable  vision,  no  idealist's  beautiful  ab- 
straction :  but  continually  liftest  up  the  soul ;  and  from  the  well- 
spring  of  thy  pure  life  pourest  most  precious  waters  into  the 
channels  of  our  secret  being.  If  the  character  of  Charles  was  not 
of  that  exalted  kind  which  unassisted  soars  above  the  weaknesses 
of  mortality,  and  he  clung  with  the  ardour  of  honorable  ambition 
to  fame  and  reputation  ;  yet  what  were  they  in  the  balance  with 
that  supreme  affection  which  truth  and  innocence  had  inspired  ? 
The  wise  man  said  well,  surely  :  "  Love  is  strong  as  death,"  it 
must  be  stronger  than  life,  stronger  than  all  save  death,  the  arch- 
victor  over  us  !  •'  Ah,"  says  the  man  who  has  loved  in  vain,  "it 
is  an  illusion ;  it  is  selfish,  HUMAN."  The  happy  lover  replies, 
"  It  is  true,  unselfish,  DIVINE  !"  It  is  ALL  these  !  Paradox  of 
paradoxes  !  The  false  and  the  true,  selfish  and  unselfish,  human 
and  divine,  commingled.  What  a  splendid  fellow  the  soldier  then 
looked,  as  the  lofty  aspirations  of  his  spirit  painted  with  the  glory 
of  enthusiasm  his  flashing  face,  and  his  noble  form,  so  full  of  life 
and  strength  and  fiery  manhood,  dilated  to  its  fullest  stature  with 
the  fervor  of  his  heart !  Never  did  a  conqueror  flushed  with 
triumph  after  some  bloody  field,  never  did  warrior  crowned  with 
laurel  after  leaving  the  scene  of  '  the  red  pestilence'  exhibit  such 
proud  majesty  of  bearing,  as  the  passionate  lover  then  did,  his 
face  turned  up  to  Heaven,  and  his  soul  discoursing  with  invisible 
spirits  that  seemed  to  throng  the  air,  and  approve  his  high 
resolve ;  and  when  the  mind  is  in  such  a  condition  it  seems  to 
delight  in  recurring  to  what  is  beyond  "the  reaching  of  our 
souls." 

"  Beautiful  beings !"  he  exclaimed,  his  excited  fancy  (fancy 
and  feeling  are  nearly  identical)  evoking  the  unseen  and  spiritual 
into  actuality,  "  ye  are  blessed  with  immortality,  with  nothing  to 
•cloud  your  happiness  ;  but  ye  are  not  more  joyous  than  I  shall 
be  with  my  Ellen,  more  felicitous  than  we  will  be  with  God  !" 

By  this  time  Charles  had  arrived  at  the  house  to  which  he  had 
promised  to  bear  a  message  from  Frank  ;  and  for  the  first  time 
descending  from  those  imaginative  heights,  he  bethought  himself 


THE  MISER'S  SON.  515 

that  he  had  omitted  to  inquire  the  name  of  the  lady  to  whom  the 
message  was  to  be  delivered.  "  I  suppose  she  is  some  flame  of 
my  young  cousin,"  he  muttered  ;  "  but  how  am  I  to  inquire  for 
her?  Ah,  there  is  a  light  in  that  room,  and  the  door  is  ajar.  I 
will  enter,  and  trust  to  chance." 

Taking  his  resolution,  Charles  approached,  and  after  some 
hesitation  on  the  threshold,  lest  he  should  be  mistaken  for  a  thief, 
proceeded  into  the  house.  He  almost  repented  he  had  adopted 
such  a  course  when  he  reached  the  door  of  the  chamber  from 
which  he  had  seen  the  light ;  but  he  had  gone  too  far  to  recede. 
This  door  also  was  not  closed,  and  looking  into  the  apartment  he 
saw  a  female  form  in  the  attitude  of  prayer.  A  murmur  reached 
his  ear,  at  first  indistinct,  but  which  grew  into  an  articulate 
sound.  He  had  been  unwilling  to  disturb  the  fair  suppliant  at 
such  a  time  ;  but  when  he  heard  that  voice,  he  with  difficulty 
suppressed  a  loud  exclamation  of  astonishment. 

"  Preserve  my  father,  gracious  Lord,"  were  the  accents  which 
reached  the  soldier's  ear,  "  and  shield  him  from  the  dreadful  fate 
impending  over  him !  Strengthen  me  to  bear  all  things,  and  help 
me,  for  I  am  very  weak.  But,  oh,  in  all  the  trials  I  am  doomed 
to  sustain,  let  me  never,  never  know  that  he  I  love  is  unhappy  ; 
but  give  him  all  the  felicity  Thou  canst  give,  and  shower  bless- 
ings, blessings — "  ,- 

The  prayer  abruptly  terminated  in  a  shriek  of  terror,  but  it 
speedily  changed  to  a  cry  of  transport,  for  she  found  herself  en- 
circled in  those  arms  where  she  fancied  no  grief  could  reach  her. 
And  burning,  passionate  kisses  were  pressed  upon  her  lips,  pure 
and  devoid  of  all  sensuality  as  ever  such  kisses  were  ;  but  "  with 
other  eloquence  than  words,"  conveying  the  depth  and  intensity 
of  the  love  that  glowed  in  the  soldier's  bosom. 

"  My  life,  world,  angel !"  said  Charles,  while  Ellen  suffered 
his  warm  caresses  with  trembling  frame,  and  then  throwing  her- 
self on  his  breast  indulged  in  copious  floods  of  tears.  Poor 
child  !  trustful  and  simple  as  an  infant  clinging  to  a  mother! 

"  Look  up,  my  own  Ellen,"  said  Walsingham,  in  the  most 
thrilling  voice  that  love  inspires,  "  look  up,  my  own,  my  beauti- 
ful !  Why  were  you  silent  so  long,  sweet  ?  Oh,  it  has  seemed  a 
dreary  time  since  I  last  beheld  you!  Yet,  though  you  have  not 
been  present,  bodily,  love,  you  have  haunted  my  spirit  day  and 


516  THE  MISER'S  SON. 

night,  like  some  strain  of  blessed  music  not  of  earth."  — - 
Still  she  wept  on ;  but  was  ever  ringing  laughter,  were  ever 
joyous  smiles  fraught  with  so  deep  a  burthen  of  transporting 
bliss  ?  Give  me  such  tears  in  heaven  !  There  are  fountains  in  our 
nature  which  manifest  themselves  in  the  most  opposite  ways — 
there  are  streams  which  course  through  the  centre  of  our  being, 
and  are  seen  not  in  the  light  of  their  beauty,  not  visible  "  from 
extreme  loveliness"  but  in  the  deep,  deep  holiness  of  their  eter- 
nity ;  mystic,  spiritual,  incomprehensible,  assuring  us  of  a  heaven 
removed  from  grief  and  mortality.  For  in  this  our  life  the  earthly 
and  divine  are  separated  by  so  slight  a  barrier,  that  when  we 
spring  elate  into  blessedness  the  mortal  weeps  for  the  immortal's 
power.  Thus  a  tear  and  a  smile  may  emanate  from  the  same 
cause.  The  ebullition  of  joy  and  woe  is  a  manifestation  of  the 
spiritual  and  material,  and  when  the  feelings  are  overwrought 
how  can  they  be  relieved  by  smiles  ?  Oh,  no ;  tears  proceed 
from  the  deepest  springs  of  joy ;  smiles  are  the  April  beams, 
happy,  not  overflowing.  If  it  were  possible  such  ecstasies  could 
endure,  however,  the  feeble  powers  of  vitality  would  be  soon 
exhausted  ;  and  the  lovers  lapsed  into  a  medium  state  of  felicity, 
in  some  degree  overshadowed  by  the  uncertainty  in  which  they 
were  involved. 

"  You  will  be  my  wife  now,  Ellen  ?"  said  Charles,  as  the 
maiden,  in  the  guilelessness  of  her  young  heart,  clung  to  the 
being  who  supported  her. 

"  Ah,  no,"  returned  Ellen,  "  that  cannot  be.  My  father's  life 
is  in  peril,  and  I  would  not  desert  him  to  be  the  happiest  mortal 
that  ever  lived.  But  he  is  innocent,  I  am  certain ;  you,  too, 
believe  him  innocent?" 

Walsingham  evaded  the  direct  question  of  his  beloved.  "  I 
will  proceed  to  London  immediately,  and  use  all  my  influence  to 
procure  his  pardon,"  he  said. 

There  was  something  in  the  tone  he  spoke  in  which  caused  a 
pang  of  disappointment  to  shoot  through  the  maiden's  breast ; 
but  she  would  not  suspect  that  her  Walsingham  could  believe  her 
father  guilty  of  the  darkest  crime  in  the  decalogue.  Alas,  she 
was  soon  to  be  undeceived. 

"  You  will  go  and  see  my  father,  Charles — you  will  go  with 
me  ?"  said  Ellen.  "  Mrs.  Hain'es — she  who  nursed  you  in  your 


THE  MISER'S  SON.  617 

illness — has  told  me  that  he  would  never  consent  to  our  union, 
because  your  political  principles  are  so  widely  different  from  his. 
But  she  knows  not  his  noble  nature ;  and  when — and  when  I  tell 
him  that  my  happiness  depends  on  his  blessing  our  marriage,  I 
am  sure  he  will  do  so  ;  for  he  loves  me  so  fondly  !  He  will  be 
acquitted,  and  then  there  will  be  no  bar  to  my  becoming  yours, 
provided  your  relations  will  receive  a  lowly  maid  into  their  house." 
The  soldier  averted  his  eyes  uneasilv.  "  What  are  you  thinking 
of,  Charles  ?"  asked  Ellen.  "  Do  you  not  think  that  my  father — " 

"  Yes,  yes,  I  hope  all  wilKbe  well,  love.  I  have  been  thinking 
we  may  spend  our  lives  in  some  fair  spot,  where  the  din  and  tur- 
moil of  the  world  cannot  disturb  the  serene  happiness  of  our 
lives." 

"  But  my  father,  Charles — my  poor  father.  Your  manner  fills 
me  with  apprehension.  You  think  there  is  not  a  chance  of  saving 
his  life?" 

"  I  will  save  him,  or  perish  !"  cried  the  soldier.  «'  Oh,  Ellen, 
to  preserve  you  from  sorrow  I  would  throw  rank,  fame,  and  con- 
nexions from  me  as  worthless  gauds  in  comparison  with  thy  well- 
being.  But  the  facts  were  strong  against  him,  you  are  aware — " 

"  Ah,"  ejaculated  Ellen,  a  new  light  breaking  in  upon  her, 
and  striking  her  brain  with  anguish,  "  you  are  among  those  who 
have  doubted  his  innocence.  But  I  tell  you,  if  you  had  watched 
him  for  years  as  I  have,  you  would  feel  assured  he  could  not 
have  been  the  criminal — " 

"  Speak  no  more  of  this,  my  beloved,"  interrupted  Charles. 
"  Let  us  think  of  the  best  measures  to  save  him." 

'*  But  assure  me  you  believe  now  he  is  innocent,"  said  the 
young  girl,  anxiously. 

"  I  will  try  to  do  so,  dearest.  I  have  doubted,  I  own ;  but 
think  not,  if  he  were  the  greatest  wretch  that  ever  walked  this 
earth,  his  crimes  could  create  any  diminution  in  my  love  for  you. 
But  I  had  forgotten  something.  Do  you  know  a  youth  named 
Francis  Walsingham,  who  has  just  sent  a  message  by  me  to  the 
effect  that  he  had  been  to  your  father,  and  that  you  might  see 
him  to-morrow?"  A  slight,  a  very  slight  degree  of  jealousy 
sprang  up  in  the  soldier's  bosom  as  he  said  this. 

"  Ah,  yes,  we  will  go  together,  Charles.  You  will  tell  my 
father  you  believe  he  is  not  guilty  ?" 


518  THE  MISER'S  SON. 

One  of  the  strongest  traits  in  Walsingham's  high  character  was 
his  love  of  truth,  without  the  most  distant  prevarication.  He  had 
already  outstepped  the  boundary  which  he  thought  he  might  with 
a  strict  regard  to  conscience ;  and  he  was  silent.  Ellen  gazed 
intently  into  her  lover's  face,  and  then  turned  away  to  conceal  the 
silent  tears  that  were  trickling  down  her  cheek.  The  cup  of  bliss 
was  thus  in  a  few  moments  dashed  away  from  their  lips,  and 
during  the  long  hours  they  spent  in  each  other's  society  they  were 
grave,  sad,  and  dejected.  O  earth,  O  earth !  Must  all  thy 
matchless  fruition  end  in  this  ?  First,  the  elysium,  all  bright,  all 
heavenly.  Then  the  dark  shadow  stealing  over  the  ethereal  sky, 
until  at  last  the  whole  vanishes  into  thin  air,  and  of  passion  and 
rapture,  and  thrilling  bliss  is  left  not  "  a  wreck  behind  !" 


CHAPTER  IV. 

There's  wisdom  to  be  gather'd  from  the  dead.— MS. 
THE   CAVE    AND   THE    STRUGGLE — MYSTERY — FIGGINS. 

AT  length,  Charles  Walsingham  quitted  Ellen,  promising  to 
return  in  a  short  time  and  accompany  her  to  the  examination  to 
which  her  father  was  about  to  be  subjected.  It  was  midnight 
when  he  quitted  the  cottage  where  dwelt  the  treasure  of  his  heart, 
and  the  weather  had  greatly  cfianged  since  he  entered  the  dwell- 
ing. A  thick  black  cloud  concealed  the  moon,  and  huge  masses 
of  vapour  floated  across  the  sable  heaven  ;  while  ever  and  anon 
the  summer  lightning  darted  athwart  the  sky  in  transient  blazes, 
and  the  distant  thunder  rumbled  mournfully.  At  such  a  time, 
Creation  appears  to  weep,  and  the  very  beauty  of  the  scene  is 
like  a  dream  of  lovely  desolation.  But  Walsingham  heeded  not 
the  elements,  absorbed  as  he  was  in  his  own  meditations,  and 
walked  onwards  with  rapid  strides,  his  temples  throbbing,  and 
his  blood  feverish.  Charles  could  not  but  perceive  how  sharp  a 
pang  he  had  inflicted  on  the  sensitive  heart  of  Ellen  by  refusing  to 
declare  what  he  did  not  feel — a  conviction  of  her  father's  inno- 


THE  MISER'S  SON.  519 

cence :  but  for  years  he  had  made  up  his  mind  to  the  guilt  of 
Danvers,  and  it  was  not  possible  that  so  rooted  an  opinion  could 
change  in  a  moment.  As  for  the  conference  he  had  accidentally 
overheard,  it  made  but  little  impression  on  him  now  ;  and  he 
was  inclined  to  think  his  ear  had  cheated  him  when  he  fancied  he 
heard  the  name  of  Danvers  pronounced.  "  O  truth !  truth!" 
exclaimed  the  soldier,  "  brightest  of  essences — what  an  inexora- 
ble tyrant  thou  art !  When  by  one  little  word  I  might  have  made 
the  being  I  adore  happy,  why  could  I  not  do  so  ?  I  will  study 
casuistry,  and  persuade  myself  that  thou  art  stern  and  unlovely, 
when  thou  wouldst  check  the  warm  impulses  of  the  heart,  and 
create  pain  to  the  good  and  pure !" 

While  engaged  in  this  train  of  thought,  the  soldier  had  reached 
the  skirts  of  the  wood  where  he  overheard  the  conference  just 
alluded  to.  The  rain  was  descending  rapidly,  and  instead  of 
taking  the  direct  road  Charles  preferred  pursuing  the  way  through 
the  wood,  as  he  might  there  be  sheltered,  while  he  continued 
walking.  It  was  so  dark,  however,  that  but  for  the  lightning  he 
would  have  again  become  entangled  in  the  labyrinth,  and  he 
half  repented  him  of  having  chosen  the  path  he  now  pursued. 
He  wished  to  return  to  Walsingham  Hall,  to  relieve  any  uneasi- 
ness that  might  be  felt  at  his  absence,  and  then  ride  back  to 
Ellen,  and  proceed  with  her  to  the  town  in  the  prison  of  which 
Danvers  was  confined.  But  having  scarcely  recovered  from  the 
effects  of  his  recent  severe  illness,  the  excitement  he  had  under- 
gone created  a  feeling  of  sickness  and  exhaustion  such  as  he  was 
unaccustomed  to  experience  in  the  hardest  campaigns.  He  paused 
to  recover  himself,  and  leaning  against  the  withered  trunk  of  a 
gnarled  oak  he  looked  up  to  the  immeasurable  vault,  which  was 
illuminated  with  splendour  every  minute  by  the  lambent  light- 
ning, that  seemed  to  fly  like  a  winged  horse  over  the  pathless 
ether,  and  measured  the  dark  space  with  a  sensation  of  insignifi- 
cance in  the  immensity  of  the  stupendous  universe.  But  not 
long  did  the  soldier  fix  his  gaze  on  the  magnificent  dome  above, 
not  long  did  his  soul  cleave  the  immensity  of  space,  for  the 
sound  of  footsteps  and  voices,  and  the  light  of  a  lantern  at  no 
very  great  distance  excited  his  surprise.  "  Perhaps,"  he  thought, 
"  here  may  be  some  solution  of  the  enigma  which  bullied  me  a 
few  hours  ago,"  and  retiring  behind  the  tree,  he  watched  the  per- 


520  THE  MISER'S  SON. 

sous  who  were  advancing.  But  the  lightning  ceased,  and  the 
dark  lantern  was  turned  away  from  him,  so  that  he  only  saw  the 
outlines  of  the  figures  that  approached.  The  first  form  was  that 
of  a  large,  powerful  man,  wrapped  in  a  cloak,  who  carried  some- 
thing of  considerable  size  underneath  his  mantle,  and  the  other  was 
a  decrepid^woman's ;  but  more  than  this  Charles  was  unable  to 
discover.  They  conversed  in  a  smothered  tone,  so  that  he  could 
only  catch  a  word  here  and  there ;  but  he  fancied  the  name  of 
Walsingham  once  reached  his  ear.  Determined  that  he  would 
sift^this  business  to  the  bottom,  in  the  vague  hope  that  his  own 
happiness  would  be  secured  thereby,  he  cautiously  followed  the 
man  and  woman  :  but  fearful  lest  he  should  lose  them  in  the 
darkness,  as  he  had  previously  lost  the  others,  he  did  not  allow 
them  to  get  beyond  pistol-shot  from  him  ;  and  it  was  difficult  to 
make  his  way  through  the  crackling  boughs  which  interposed, 
without  betraying  his  proximity.  Thus  he  proceeded  for  about  a 
furlong  and  a  half,  when  the  individuals  he  followed  suddenly 
turned  into  a  path  which  diverged  from  that  they  had  hitherto 
pursued,  and  then  took  another  turning,  ere  Walsingham  was  pre- 
pared. Fearful  lest  he  should  be  again  too  late,  he  quickened  his 
pace,  and  in  another  second  he  was  convinced  he  saw  some  one 
descending,  as  it  were,  into  the  bowels  of  the  earth,  when  the 
light  disappeared.  But  he  had  seen  enough  to  guide  him  to  the 
spot,  and  he  found  a  huge  stone  beneath  some  brambles,  which, 
after  some  difficulty,  he  was  successful  in  removing  entirely, 
and  discovered  a  flight  of  steps,  which  he  descended  instantly. 
He  had  pistols  with  him,  and  cocking  one  of  them,  and  drawing 
his  sword,  he  advanced  quickly  in  the  direction  of  the  retreating 
footsteps.  But  the  cave  he  had  entered  presented  as  many  diffi- 
culties as  the  labyrinth  ;  and  he  found  he  was  going  away  from 
the  persons  he  pursued,  having  advanced  into  a  passage  from 
which  there  was  tlo  outlet.  But  as  he  was  retreading  the  way  a 
sound  greeted  his  ear.  He  stopped  and  listened. 

"  This  way,"  said  a  voice  in  a  whisper,  which  rang  through 
the  subterranean  passage,  "  I  heard  a  step  go  this  way." 

The  crisis  was  at  hand,  and  Charles  conceiving  it  probable 
that  a  mortal  struggle  might  ensue  if  his  suspicions  were  correct, 
stood  prepared  for  action  behind  a  projection  that  was  found  in 
the  excavation. 


THE  MISER'S  SON.  521 

"  I  thinks  as  how  you  be  mistaken,  sir,"  said  a  second  voice, 
"  but  your  hearing  maybe's  quicker  than  mine." 

"  Hark  !"  returned  the  other.  "  Hush  !  what  noise  was  that  ?" 

There  was  a  distant  sound,  as  of  the  falling  of  some  heavy 
substance,  and  then  all  was  still,  strangely  still.  The  individual 
in  the  vicinity  of  the  soldier  was  now  within  arm's  length  of  him  ; 
but  what  was  his  astonishment  as  the  light  of  the  lantern  which 
the  foremost  carried  fell  upon  his  face,  to  perceive  the  youth  who 
had  pistolled  the  robber  when  he  was  attacked  after  leaving  Dan- 
vers's  house,  and  who,  from  his  resemblance  to  that  person,  he 
had  concluded  was  nearly  related  to  him.  But  he  had  mentioned 
nothing  of  that  affair  to  Ellen,  for  reasons  which  may  be  guessed. 
The  other  man  was  a  cripple,  who  had  a  naked  cutlass  in  one 
hand,  and  he  had  no  difficulty  in  recognising  Sam  Stokes  in  him. 
A  dark  suspicion  entered  the  mind  of  Walsingham,  which  induced 
him  to  remain  motionless,  and  the  young  man  and  the  tar  passed 
by  without  noticing  his  presence.  He  followed  close  at  their 
heels,  and  presently  they  stopped  before  a  door  which  resisted 
their  efforts  to  open  it  for  some  time;  but  by  their  united  strength 
th«y  succeeded  in  forcing  a  passage. 

But  they  were  now  at  fault  evidently,  for  they  held  a  whispered 
consultation  together.  It  was  at  this  juncture  a  heavy  footstep 
was  heard  in  a  passage  adjoining  that  they  were  in,  and  hurrying 
in  the  direction  of  it,  they  stumbled  against  some  person,  who 
uttered  a  scream,  and  fled. 

"  That  was  my  cursed  aunt's  voice  !"  exclaimed  Stokes.  "  You 
go  arter  her,  as  you're  the  most  nimble,  and  I'll  foller  t'other — 
Whew  !  there's  another  behind  us !" 

But  the  youth  sprang  away  without  heeding  his  companion, 
and  poor  Sam,  in  his  haste,  stumbled  and  fell.  Charles  rushed 
past  him  with  great  rapidity,  and  bounded  away.  He  heard  the 
sound  of  water,  and  then  a  heavy  plash,  close  beside  him  ;  then 
there  was  a  brief  struggle,  and  a  curse,  and  a  groan — and  a  fall. 
Another  second,  and  Charles  Walsingham  seized  a  brawny  fellow 
by  the  throat,  and  cried, 

"  Move  but  a  step,  and  I  will  kill  you." 

But  before  he  was  prepared,  the  fellow  struck  him  with  some 
sharp  weapon,  which  wounded  him  in  the  shoulder,  and  by  a 
mighty  effort  succeeded  in  freeing  himself  from  his  powerful 

3  x 


522  THE  MISER'S  SON. 

grasp.  Ere  he  had  fled  a  dozen  paces,  however,  Charles  dis- 
charged a  pistol  after  him,  which  evidently  took  some  effect,  as 
it  was  succeeded  by  a  slight  cry  of  pain.  Walsingham  again  pur- 
sued, but  totally  unacquainted  with  the  place,  which  was  pitchy 
dark,  although  a  more  active  man  than  the  fugitive,  he  could  not 
overtake  him.  He  reached  the  open  air  with  some  puzzling,  and 
perceived  some  recent  marks  of  gore  in  the  direction  of  the  maze;, 
but  they  soon  terminated,  and  he  gave  up  the  pursuit. 

He  returned  to  the  cave,  and  entered  it  for  a  second  time,  de- 
termined that  he  would  not  allow  the  opportunity  which  presented 
itself  of  clearing  up  the  mystery  to  pass  by  ;  but  he  found  it  aban- 
doned, and  finally  relinquished  the  hope  he  had  entertained,  and 
quitted  the  cavern.  The  wound  which  he  had  received,  though 
not  material,  was  now  bleeding  profusely,  and  he  was  unable  to 
staunch  it.  He  looked  about  him  for  some  house  to  enter ;  but 
it  was  now  so  dark,  that  he  could  distinguish  no  object  at  any 
distance.  He  walked  on,  somewhat  faint  and  exhausted,  and  at 
last  was  obliged  to  slop,  from  weakness.  Scarcely  had  he  done 
so,  when  he  heard  the  sound  of  a  muffled  drum,  and  presently 
the  trampling  of  horses.  He  next  distinguished  a  dead  march, 
and  in  the  course  of  a  few  minutes  a  funereal  military  procession 
swept  past  him,  and  proceeded  towards  a  churchyard,  at  the  dis- 
tance of  a  few  hundred  yards. 

In  the  person  of  the  chief  mourner  he  recognised  Captain  Nor- 
ton, whom  he  had  known  years  before.  He  was  acquainted  with 
the  melancholy  facts  connected  with  Percy's  death  :  and  instiga- 
ted by  a  feeling  higher  than  mere  curiosity,  he  followed  the  pro- 
cession into  the  burial-place.  The  family  vault  of  the  Nortons 
was  in  the  church,  but  the  ashes  of  the  ill-fated  boy  were  to  be 
deposited  in  the  burying  ground,  and  when  they  arrived  there  the 
troop  dismounted,  and  walked  slowly  to  the  church.  Many  a 
rough  heart  was  subdued,  and  many  a  weather-beaten  cheek  wet 
among  the  troop  that  followed  the  remains  of  the  young  officer 
to  their  last  long  home,  and  hands  which  had  not  trembled  when 
grasping  the  sabre  in  the  deadly  charge,  shook  as  they  loosened 
the  matchlocks  preparatory  to  firing  over  the  grave. 

Captain  Norton  had  induced  the  clergyman  of  the  place  to 
officiate  at  night :  for  he  had  an  invincible  repugnance  to  see  a 
vulgar,  gaping  crowd  attracted  by  the  military  display  which 


THE  MISER'S  SON.  523 

accompanied  the  solemnity.  And  where  was  he  during  the  cere- 
mony in  the  sacred  edifice,  previous  to  depositing  the  corpse  in 
the  earth  ?  The  bereaved  father  then  stood  calm  and  motionless, 
his  white  hair,  his  wrinkled  brow,  his  shrivelled  form  all.. seeming 
to  belong  not  to  a  living  man,  every  function  of  animal  existence 
seeming  suspended  while  the  words  of  faith  and  consolation  were 
being  uttered  by  the  officiating  minister  in  a  solemn  tone.  A  su- 
perficial observer  would  have  thought  he  was  an  unmoved  spec- 
tator of  the  scene,  if  he  had  not  been  so  very  close  to  the  coffin  : 
but  those  fixed,  glassy  eyes,  those  contracted  brows,  and  that 
compressed  mouth  told  a  world  of  agonized  and  voiceless  suffer- 
ing to  the  student  of  man. 

Not  for  one  instant  did  the  veteran  remove  his  eyes  from  the 
coffin  which  contained  all  that  was  left  on  earth  of  the  beloved 
and  lost.  It  was  a  piteous  spectacle  to  behold  the  withered 
figure  of  the  hopeless  old  man,  those  snowy  hairs  which  a  few 
weeks  had  changed  from  grey  to  silver,  and  the  deep  furrows 
that  short  interval  had  made  in  his  blanched  cheek,  together  with 
the  unspeakable  gaze  of  mingled  love  and  despair  which  appeared 
to  pierce  through  the  obstacles  that  interposed  between  him  and 
the  being  who  was  beyond  sorrow. 

Close  by  Captain  Norton's  side  stood  a  figure  muffled  in  a 
cloak,  which  was  that  of  his  brother  John,  who  had  requested  to 
be  present  on  the  occasion  :  and  it  was  with  difficulty  the  honest 
John  stifled  the  sobs  which  rose  to  his  throat.  But  to  the  last, 
while  they  remained  in  the  church,  the  chief  mourner  maintained 
his  preternatural  composure — but  now  they  moved  to  the  grave, 
and  the  awful  obsequies  drew  to  a  close.  The  coffin  was  lowered 
slowly  ;  and  then  a  change  came  over  the  appearance  of  Captain 
Norton.  He  advanced  to  the  brink  of  the  grave. 

"O  God  !"  he  cried,  "  oh  God,  why  must  I  bear  this?" 
His  brother  attempted  to  whisper  some  words  of  comfort  into 
his  ear,  but  they  reached  not  the  stony  sense.  Every  fibre  of  his 
being  was  drawn  up,  every  sensation  and  thought  fixed  with  ex- 
cruciating tension  in  the  engrossing  idea  of  being  separated  for 
ever  from  his  boy ;  and  he  gasped,  staggered,  and  would  have 
fallen,  had  he  not  been  supported.  "  Dust  to  dust ;  ashes  to 
ashes !"  Hark,  the  musketry  !  But  the  wretched  Norton  heard 
it  not.  The  rattling  of  the  gravel  on  the  coffin-lid  seemed  to 


524  THE  MISER'S  SON. 

strike  like  an  ice-bolt  to  his  heart.  He  stamped,  he  raved,  and 
tore  his  .white  hair  like  a  maniac — that  cold,  formal  man — and 
then,  with  one  long,  protracted  cry,  one  fearful  scream — once 
heard,  never  to  be  forgotten — a  scream  that  rose  above  the  din 
of  the  musketry,  and  thrilled  the  blood  of  the  most  apathetic 
present,  he  threw  himself  out  of  the  arms  of  his  brother,  and  fell 
without  sense  or  motion  to  the  earth.  A  man's  scream,  a  coura- 
geous man's  scream  is  the  most  fearful  thing  in  nature,  and  for 
years  many  of  those  present  heard  it  in  their  dreams,  and  shud- 
dered. But  he  was  insensible:  happy  oblivion  I  and  he  was 
carried  away  by  some  troopers.  The  heart-rending  scene  was 
over. 

Charles  Walsingham  departed,  full  of  grave  and  saddening 
feelings.  The  grey  dawn  was  on  the  point  of  breaking  when  he 
reached  his  house.  AH  was  hushed  around  him,  and  but  for  the 
unquiet  beatings  of  his  heart  he  could  almost  have  imagined  that 
those  stormy  human  passions  and  convulsions  of  nature  he  had 
left  behind  were  chimerical.  As  Walsingham  was  crossing  the 
lawn  before  the  house,  he  noticed  a  figure  at  a  short  distance, 
and  knew  it  to  be  that  of  Corporal  Figgius. 

"Ah,  Corporal,"  he  cried,  "  1  want  to  say  a  few  words  to 
you/* 

Figgins  somewhat  unwillingly  obeyed,  and  Charles  spoke  a 
few  words  to  him,  requesting  him  to  inform  Lady  Walsingham  in 
the  morning  that  he  was  absent  on  unavoidable  business.  "  What 
is  the  matter  with  your  hand,  Figgins?"  he  said,  as  the  Corporal 
was  about  to  leave  him. 

"  I  had  a  casualty,  your  honour,"  replied  Figgins,  "  while 
cleaning  a  pistol,  which  went  off  and  shattered  one  of  my  fingers." 

"  Strange  !"  muttered  Charles  to  himself,  when  having  entered 
the  house  he  sat  down  to  write  a  few  lines  to  an  influential  friend 
in  London  in  behalf  both  of  Danvers  and  Frank.  "  It  is  very 
strange!  But  I  do  .the  Corporal  injustice  to  harbour  such  a 
doubt  against  him.  Why  must  we  suspect  all  things  in  this 
world  ?" 

Charles  soon  completed  his  letter,  and  having  snatched  a  hasty 
repast,  proceeded  to  the  residence  of  Ellen.  She  had  not  been  to 
bed,  but  was  sitting,  pale  and  anxious,  on  a  conch,  the  traces  of 
recent  tears  on  her  wan  check.  Charles  advanced  and  kissed 


THE  MISER'S  SON.  525 

her.  He  then  gave  her  a  hasty  sketch  of  his  adventures  in 
the  cavern,  and  sat  down  to  write  a  note  to  the  nearest  magis- 
trate ;  when  he  had  finished  it,  Ellen  took  his  arm,  and  they 
quitted  the  cottage. 


CHAPTER  V. 

Madness  and  Passion !   Frenzy  lives  and  dies 

In  this  wild  whirl  when  Reason  trembling  flies. — MS. 

THE   IDIOT — THE   MONSTER — THE   ATHEIST'S   LETTER. 

WE  left  Harriet  Walsingham,  a  few  hours  before  the  period 
when  the  last  chapter  concludes,  at  the  habitation  of  Spenser  the 
philosopher,  a  circumstance  having  happened  which  shall  now 
be  chronicled.  But  in  order  to  present  the  scene  clearly  to  the 
reader,  we  must  quit  Harriet's  side  for  a  few  minutes,  and  relate 
the  events  in  due  sequency.  At  the  distance  of  a  stone's  throw 
from  the  abode  of  the  metaphysician  was  an  immense  tree  of 
great  age,  which  from  time  immemorial  had  afforded  a  grateful 
shade  from  the  summer  heats  to  the  foot-sore  wayfarer,  or  the 
passing  rustic.  Beneath  this  venerable  giant  of  the  forest  was 
lying  a  singular-looking  personage.  He  was  young,  it  was  evi- 
dent ;  but  in  some  respects  he  looked  much  older,  in  others 
younger  than  he  really  was.  There  were  white  hairs  in  his  long, 
light  brown  tresses,  though  he  had  not  long  left  very  childhood 
behind  him  ;  but  his  form  was  that  of  a  little  boy.  Yet  it 
seemed  probable  that  he  had  attained  the  greatest  stature  he 
would  ever  reach  ;  and,  indeed,  "  Mad  Willy,"  as  he  was  called, 
had  on  a  sudden  ceased  to  grow  when  a  child  of  eleven  or 
twelve ;  and,  except  that  his  face  was  more  pensive,  and  his 
hair  streaked  with  grey,  he  was  in  no  respect  altered  since  that 
age.  There  was  something  sweet  and  gentle  in  his  countenance, 
although  the  light  of  reason  but  seldom  beamed  in  it :  but  occa- 
sionally a  ray  of  intelligence  Jit  up  his  soft  blue  eye,  and  then  he 
looked  the  ideal  of  a  poet.  He  wandered  about,  sometimes 


526  THE  MISER'S  SON. 

singing,  sometimes  dancing,  or  playing  wild  antics :  but  he  was 
more  frequently  to  be  found  dull  and  torpid,  and  all  had  pity  on 

the  poor  lunatic But  as  he  was  enjoying  the  fragrant 

breeze  which  fanned  his  thin  face,  gazing  with  lack-lustre  eye  up 
at  the  sun-lit  heaven,  he  was  on  a  sudden  ferociously  seized  upon 
by  a  monstrous  creature,  who  seemed  delighted  to  have  thus 
caught  him,  and  proceeded  to  pull  his  long  hair,  and  to  plague 
him  in  various  *  ways,  while  the  poor  idiot  boy  uttered  cries  of 
terror  or  of  pain,  without  attempting  to  struggle  with  his  power- 
ful tormentor.  But  as  the  savage  was  about  to  inflict  severer 
punishment  on  the  unhappy  being,  who  lay  unresisting  but  with 
imploring  eyes,  a  noble  dog  of  enormous  size,  uttering  a  deep- 
mouthed  bark,  sprang  over  the  fence  that  guarded  Spenser's  cot- 
tage, and  fastened  on  the  monster,  who  was  obliged  to  relinquish 
his  hold  of  the  lunatic,  to  defend  himself  from  the  fangs  of  the 
dog.  He  succeeded  in  extricating  himself  from  the  jaws  of  the 
formidable  animal,  and  taking  up  a  huge  stone  was  hurling  it  at 
him,  when  Harriet,  accompanied  by  Spenser's  daughters,  ap- 
peared, drawn  to  the  scene  of  action  by  the  cries :  and  the 
savage,  throwing  down  the  stone,  produced  a  letter,  and  put  it 
in  her  hand.  With  a  growl  as  angry  and  full  of  defiance  as  that 
which  the  dog  barked  forth  when  he  turned  his  back  upon  him, 
that  ugly  and  monstrous  phemonenon  disappeared.  Not  a  little 
astonished  was  Harriet  at  this  affair,  and  at  the  behaviour  of  the 
savage  ;  and  on  looking  at  the  superscription  of  the  letter  he  had 
given  her,  was  surprised  beyond  measure  to  perceive  the  hand- 
writing of  William.  She  opened  it,  and  read  as  follows  : — 

"  It  is  past !  1  have  taken  an  eternal  farewell  of  her  to  whom 
this  weak  and  wretched  heart  clung,  as  others  cling  to  the  faith  in 
immortality.  I  have  looked  upon  her  for  the  last  time;  and  the 
dull,  heavy  torpor  of  despair  weighs  like  lead  upon  my  conscious 
brain.  Alive,  and  hopeless  ! — well,  let  it  be  so.  The  struggle  is 
over,  and  the  passionate  dream  vanished  in  black  night  for  ever ! 
....  Harriet !  1  wanted  to  have  written  much  that  I  could  not 
speak  :  but  now  I  can  scarcely  conceive  anything  ;  the  power  of 
thought  seems  numbed  within,  and  the  fierce  tides  within  my 
breast  are  frozen  ;  so  that  I  am  like  a  dead  man,  over  whose 
body  the  worms  creep ;  for  even  my  griffs  touch  me  not  so  as  to 


THE  MISER'S  SON.  527 

affect  the  sense.  I  can  feel  nothing  noxv.  This  may  seem  to  you 
the  language  of  exaggeration  ;  but  it  is  not  so.  J  never  lied,  nor 
dissembled.  The  vile  Atheist,  at  all  events,  worshipped  truth  as 
his  God.  I  wish  I  were  a  brute  beast,  to  exist  in  the  light  of 
your  presence,  and  to  be  caressed  by  your  hand.  Of  what  advan- 
tage to  us  is  this  boasted  Reason,  which  instinct,  in  fact,  sur- 
passes in  its  degree,  since  beasts  of  lowest  intellect  are  so  much 
happier  than  we  ?  It  is  night — but  I  shall  not  sleep ;  for  the 
calm  and  apathy  have  left  me,  and  I  am  feverish  and  restless. 
What  a  strange  thing  it  is  that  our  feelings  thus  alternate !  I  see 
you  before  me — distinctly,  powerfully  :  were  I  not  a  Materialist, 
by  Heaven!  I  could  believe  it  is  you.  Your  image  haunts  me 
like  a  ghost»  wherever  I  turn  my  eyes.  If  I  look  up  to  the  burn- 
ing stars,  that  glow  with  ethereal  poetry,  that  face  is  there  : 
those  orbs,  so  pure,  and  bright,  arid  melancholy,  are  more  beau- 
tiful than  the  Host  of  Lights  that  have  shone  in  the  dark  immen- 
sity before  our  thought  can  shape  that  which  we  call  Time — a 
name  for  nothing.  But  all  is  a  dream,  all  is  a  phantom.  I 
wanted  to  have  told  you  many  things,  and  they  have  vanished 
from  my  memory,  or  present  themselves  in  such  chaotic,  whirling 
masses  that  to  abstract  and  generalise  out  of  their  crude  elements 
is  impossible.  You  once  said  to  me,  *  Your  genius,  William,  is 
not  your  own.  It  is  a  shadowy  demon  that  leads  you  over  the 
great  universe,  and  you  follow  like  the  blind.  You  want  a  strong 
WILL.'  But  I  have  a  strong  will,  as  you  term  what  you  cannot 
define  ;  and  so  I  will  struggle  like  a  hero  against  these  oppressive 
feelings,  and  address  you  as  rationally  as  if  1  were  arguing  against 
Spenser's  abstruse  metaphysics.  Mot  death  could  separate  us 
more  widely  than  the  great  gulf  I  myself  have  placed  betwixt  us. 
This  I  know  :  but  I  must  write  to  you  sometimes,  and  you  must 
receive  my  letters  as  if  they  came  from  the  dead  to  the  living.  If 
I  could  embody  all  the  passions,  the  pangs,  the  dreams,  thoughts, 
and  mighty  feelings  which  urged  me  to  become  what  I  did,  I 
think  I  could  plead  an  extenuation  for  myself,  which,  anti- 
necessitarian  as  you  are,  you  must  admit  to  be  valid.  But  I  can- 
not do  it  now.  And,  besides,  to  what  purpose  if  I  could  ?  No, 
Harriet,  though  I  wish  not  to  stand  so  low  in  your  esteem,  as  you 
would  place  me,  were  I  to  allow  you  to  think  that  I  have  acted, 
without  attempting  to  stem  the  tide  of  my  passions,  I  will  not 


528  THE  MISER'S  SON. 

debase  myself,  like  your  fabled  Adam  in  the  garden  when  asked 
why  he  had  taken  the  forbidden  fruit,  by  laying  the  onus  of  the 
matter  on  a  weak  woman.  You  think  we  are  stronger  than  cir- 
cumstances :  but  if  you  could  anatomize  my  nature  your  opinion 
might  alter.  I  used  ta  impose  on  myself  the  task  of  thinking  of 
you  in  the  light  of  a  mother — sister — oh,  vainly  !  Where  am  I 
wandering?  My  curse  on  this  maddened  brain,  dull  block! 
which  will  reel  like  a  drunkard's !  I  do  not  often  take  wine,  but  now 
I  will  quaff  the  sweet  poison,  and  see  whether  it  will  not  appease 
the  fever  ;  for  as  when  we  are  cold  we  take  ice  in  our  hands,  fire 
to  fire,  perhaps,  may  extinguish  the  lava  flames !  .  .  .  .  Ay,  the 
wine,  the  wine  !  the  honest,  friendly  wine  !  Light  of  the  tombs  ! 
Burn  in  this  outworn  heart,  and  give  it  vitality.  Ha,  ha !  Now 
I  am  mad.  I  mean  to  be  happy.  I  will  drink  and  eat,  and  shout, 
and  live  like  a  good  old  Epicurean.  I  will  become  a  drunkard, 
and  roar  and  laugh  like  the  merriest  devil  that  ever  rejoiced  in 
Hell  over  the  queer  antices  of  his  victims  in  the  fires.  The  heart 
of  a  Nero  is  in  my  bosom  now  ;  I  could  hug  the  red  pestilence,  and 
fight  like  a  savage  !  Well,  I  have  drunk  myself  mad  !  .  How  do 
you  like  me  now  ?  I  see  you  with  that  mild  and  majestic  face,  so 
like  one  of  your  Saints,  looking  sorrowfully  on  me,  reproaching 
me  with  looks,  not  words.  Oh,  I  could  weep,  yes,  weepy  to 
think  that  I  have  lost  that  love  I  prized  beyond  life ! — No  more  !" 

"Unhappy  being!"  murmured  Harriet.  "  I  will  go  to  him  ; 
for  I  fear  his  brain  is  turning.  What  an  awful  letter  !  But  there 
is  more  here." 

" 1  have  seen  you  enter' the  house  of  Spenser.     After 

I  concluded  what  I  wrote  last  night,  I  lay  down  and  slept.  Oh, 
such  a  sleep  !  I  thought  I  was  in  the  infernal  regions,  and  ages 
had  passed,  and  ages  still  went  on.  It  was  pain,  pain,  pain ! 
No  cessation  for  an  instant!  And  all  this  was  crowded  into  a 
few  hours !  Then  you  came  and  wept  over  me,  and  the  briny 
drops  from  your  eyes  moistened  my  blistered  tongue ;  and, 
though  it  was  still  agony,  it  was  comparative  Heaven. ...  I  arose 
at  last,  as  if  from  a  bed  of  sickness,  and  the  pain  1  felt,  the 
racking  pain,  equalled  that  of  my  dreams.  I  would  not  have  you 
see  me.  You  would  hardly  know  me  after  that  cursed  debauch. 
I  wrote  something  then  in  addition  to  what  is  now  before  you, 


THE  MISER'S  SON.  529 

which  I  could  kill  myself  for  having  penned.  The  wildest  licence 
of  the  Bacchanals  never  equalled  it.  But  that  shall  not  offend 
your  eye.  I  hurry  away,  I  know  not  to  what !  I  shall  plunge  into 
the  ocean  of  pleasure,  perchance,  and  drink  of  it  to  satiety.  I 
shall  pursue  the  phantom  of  science. — write  a  work  which  may 
make  me  immortal,  it  may  be  ;  and  then — welcome  annihilation  ! 
It  has  no  dread  for  me  now.  Were  I  happy,  were  I  only  less 
wretched  than  I  am,  I  should  shrink  from  death ;  but  I  will  now 
believe  it  is  the  greatest  good.  Once  more,  farewell !  In  a  few 
minutes  I  shall  be  gone.  But  write  to  me,  I  beseech  you,  write 
to  me.  I  shall  stay  some  days  in  London." 

When  Harriet  finished  reading  this  frenzied  letter  she  concealed 
it,  resolved  that  none  but  herself  should  ever  see  it,  and  as  she 
did  so,  beheld  Spenser  returning.  He  had  sought  Quirk  in  vain. 
"Then  I  must  myself  seek  him,"  said  Harriet.  "  He  told  me 
of  a  place  where  I  might  always  hear  of  him  in  case  of  emer- 
genc}',  but  he  forbade  me  to  take  or  direct  others  thither." 

Harriet,  quitting  her  friend,  bent  her  steps  in  the  direction 
Spenser  had  previously  taken,  regardless  of  his  remonstrances  on 
her  imprudence  in  exposing  herself,  totally  defenceless,  to  the 
power  of  such  a  known  rascal  as  the  lawyer.  He  was  hesitating 
whether  to  follow  Miss  Walsingham,  or  not,  when  the  form  of  an 
old  man  approaching  caught  his  eye. 

"  I  should  know  that  person,"  he  thought.  "  Who  can  it  be  ? 
What!  Is  it  possible?  Old  Roger  Sidney !  It  caw  be  no  other." 
While  the  philosopher  was  speaking,  our  old  friend  of  the  rod 
ascended  a  hill  to  the  right  of  Spenser's  cottage,  and  was  now 
within  musket-shot  of  him.  Spenser  hastened  to  meet  him  with 
out-stretched  arms.  «'  Where  have  you  been  all  these  years,  my 
dear  cousin,"  he  said.  "  I  am  very,  very  glad  to  see  you  once 
more." 

"  Ah,  Henry,  you  are  as  much  changed  in  aspect  as  I  am.  It 
was  by  the  merest  accident  I  heard  you  were  living  here,  a  few 
minutes  since.  I  was  certain  it  could  be  no  other  than  yourself, 
from  the  description  of  your  *  wonderful  bright  eye.'  The  light  of 
that  is  not  dimmed  at  all  events." 

While  this  conversation  was  going  on,  Spenser's  little  daughters 
were  intent  on  watching  the  poor  lunatic  the  noble  dog  had  res- 
cued from  the  savage.  He  was  uttering  wild,  but  hardly  articu- 

3  Y 


530  THE  MISER'S  SON. 

late  sounds,  and  muttering  much  in  the  intervals  between  his 
cries,  having  picked  up  something  from  the  ground,  which  had 
been  dropped  by  the  monster  inadvertently.  It  was  the  head  of  a 
riding  whip,  curiously  formed,  in  which  there  was  a  whistle,  used 
probably  for  recalling  dogs  in  the  chase ;  and  presently  Mad 
Willy  began  blowing  at  it  with  might  and  main, 

"  Yes,  yes,  it  is  the  very  same  !"  he  exclaimed,  speaking  cohe- 
rently. "  I  heard  him  whistling  before  the  light  had  left  my 
brain  quite — and  I  am  certain  of  everything  before  that  time.  I 
must  tell  it  before  I  forget.  Who  shall  I  tell  ?"  The  poor  crea- 
ture's eye  fell  on  Henry  Spenser,  and  hastening  up  to  him,  he 
cried  breathlessly,  "  I  pray  you,  attend  to  me,  sir.  I  am  not 
crazed  now.  Look  at  this  handle  with  a  crest  upon  it — isn't  it 
called  a  crest?  This  belonged  to  a  person  I  saw  murdered.  I 
recollect  it  all ;  but  it  is  fast  melting  from  me.  I  was  a  child 
when  it  happened — a  young  child.  Ah,  the  veil  is  coming  over 
my  brain.'*  He  pressed  his  little  girlish  hands  across  his  fair 
low  forehead,  and  then  the  expression  of  hopeless  idiotcy,  which 
for  a  minute  or  more  had  given  place  to  a  look  almost  of  intelli- 
gence, vanished,  and  he  gazed  vacantly  around,  seeming  not  to 
be  aware  he  had  spoken. 

The  philosopher  examined  the  handle  of  the  whip  curiously. 
"This  is  the  crest  of  the  Walsinghams,"  he  said.  "  I  wonder 
how  this  poor  creature  obtained  the  handle." 

His  eldest  child  was  by  his  side,  and  was  able  to  afford  an  ex- 
planation of  the  matter,  having  seen  the  whistle  fall  from  the 
breast  of  the  savage,  where  it  had  been  concealed  in  a  skin  he 
wore.  Sidney  turned  to  the  maniac,  and  attempted  to  extract  a 
rational  answer  from  him,  but  he  only  looked  him  vacantly  in  the 
face,  and  broke  into  a  monotonous  chaunt. 

"  I  was  almost  in  hopes  that  this  circumstance  might  afford 
some  clue  to  the  murder  of  poor  Walsingham.  This  unhappy 
being,  little  more  than  an  infant  at  the  time,  surely  appears  to 
recollect  dimly,  as  in  a  vision,  something  connected  with  that 
dark  deed.  But  come,  let  us  enter  the  house.  I  must  present 
my  children  to  you.  Come  hither,  Lolah !" 

"  They  are  pretty  creatures ;  but  I  was  not  aware  you  had 
married,"  said  Sidney. 

The  colour  rose  to  the  pale  cheek  of  Spenser,  but  immediately 


THE  MISER'S  SON.  531 

subsided,.  "  I  will  relate  my  history  to  yo^nfesently,"  he  re- 
plied. "  I  have  undergone  many  vicissitudes  since  we  parted. 
Captivity,  slavery,  and  suffering  have  weighed  heavily  on  me," 

Sidney  occupied  himself  with  the  beautiful  children  of  Spenser, 
'  and  their  engaging  prattle  rejuvenated  the  old  man's  heart. 
Blessed  are  the  feelings  excited  by  the  innocent  questions  and 
remarks  of  those  bright  young  beings,  with  their  freshness,  their 
purity,  and  freedom  from  all  the  chilling  convention  and  austerity 
practised  in  this  heartless  world  ;  where  all  that  is  sweetest  and 
holiest  in  us  is  enslaved  by  "  the  law  of  fools,"  who  feel  not  the 
gushing  poetry,  who  practise  not  the  tenderness  and  cordiality, 
the  human,  natural  feelings  which  lend  a  charm  even  to  this  earth. 
"  Ah,"  said  Roger  Sidney  to  Spenser,  as  he  entered  the 
dwelling  of  the  latter,  "  happy  indeed  is  childhood.  To  me  there 
is  an  atmosphere  sacred  as  religion  itself  in  their  gentle  presence  ! 
I  have  often  longed  to  be  a  father !  How  exquisite  and  delicious 
u  feeling  it  must  be,  when  you  see  the  fair  bud  expand,  the 
sweet  blossom  open,  and  reveal  the  bright  consummate  flower ! 
But  I  was  not  ordained  to  experience  such  joys  as  these." 

In  familiar  conversation  the  old  friends  passed  the  day,  and 
when  the  shades  of  night  were  falling,  and  the  children  had  gone 
to  bed,  Spenser  was  reminded  by  the  worthy  Sidney  of  the  pro- 
mise he  had  given  him  of  relating  his  history.  The  philosopher 
gazed  mournfully  earthwards. 

"  1  will  fulfil  that  promise,"  he  said,  "  since  you  wish  it;  but 
to  do  so  I  must  draw  aside  the  curtain  which  hangs  over  the  past, 
and  reveal  things  that  will  cost  me  a  pang  to  tell." 

As  Spenser  was  on  the  point  of  commencing  his  narrative,  he 
was  interrupted  by  the  abrupt  entrance  of  the  idiot,  who  ap- 
proached him  with  eager  eyes  and  parted  lips,  ejaculating, 
"  I  have  found  it!  I  have  found  it!" 
"  Ah,  well,  proceed  !"  said  Spenser. 

"  Yes,"  returned  the  lunatic,  "  an  angel  came  down  and  whis- 
pered it  into  my  ear.  He  bade  me  come  unto  you  and  say " 

The  unhappy  boy  paused  :  and  added  at  length,  "  Yes,  he  bade 
me  say,  '  There  are  tears  on  earth  which  bedew  the  softest 
cheeks  ;  but  there  is  a  sun  in  Elysium  to  dry  them/  " 

"  Poor  thing!"  murmured  Spenser.  "  Many  cry  '  Eureka,' 
and  light  not  on  anything  so  true  as  this.  I  must  have  him  with 


532  THE  MISER'S  SON. 

me,  and  see  if  I  cannot  elicit  something,  in  his  momentary  lucid 
intervals,  about  that  murder.  This  matter  his  mind  always  recurs 
to  when  his  feeble  brain  is  in  healthy  action,  it  would  seem.  It 
should  have  been  a  fine  instrument — that  mind, — but  a  string 
has  been  broken  ;  and  it  produces  faint  and  broken  sounds, 
Instead  of  continuous  harmony." 

The  lunatic  retired  as  suddenly  as  he  came,  and  might  be  ob- 
served making  mouths  at  the  moon  when  he  was  in  the  open  air 
again.  Mysterious  principle  of  mind !  what  art  thou  ?  Mate- 
rialist !  show  me  what  it  is ;  analyse  its  component  parts,  if  it 
have  such.  It  was  a  hopeless  case.  He  had  always  been  a 
strange  child :  and, some  occurrence,  the  nature  of  which  none 
could  precisely  understand,  quite  destroyed  the  equipoise  of  his 
intellect,  when  he  was  too  young  to  have  acquired  any  stock  of 
ideas.  But  sometimes  he  would  utter  things  a  poet  might  not 
have  blushed  to  enunciate ;  and  he  was  not  devoid  of  the  liveliest 
feelings  of  gratitude  and  affection,  when  a  gleam  of  reason  flashed 
on  him.  He  was  the  child  of  poor  parents,  who  died  when  he 
was  a  child,  and  he  had  been  nurtured  on  charity  ;  but,  previous 
to  his  insanity  becoming  confirmed,  he  had  manifested  a  quick- 
ness of  capacity  really  astonishing. 

"  I  should  like  to  see  if  I  could  not  open  the  doors  of  this  lad's 
mind,"  said  Spenser  to  Sidney.  "  I  think  I  could  do  much  to 
remove  the  mists  that  hang  over  his  poor  brain.  In  my  opinion, 
the  mental  physician  (so  to  speak)  might  effect  more  than  any 
other,  if  he  would  direct  his  attention  to  the  phenomena  of 
insanity." 

"  Very  probably,"  returned  Sidney.  "  But,  for  the  most  part, 
you  metaphysicians  are  too  apt  to  contemn  the  actual  for  the 
ideal.  It  is  a  great  thing  to  discover  a  faculty  of  the  mind  ;  but 
a  yet  greater  privilege  to  remove  an  evil,  and  make  an  intelligent 
and  rational  being  out  of  one  organically  diseased." 

The  philosopher  resumed  the  seat  he  had  left  when  the  lunatic 
entered,  and  then  began  the  narration  which  will  be  found  in  the 
next  chapter. 


END   OF    BOOK   VIII, 


BOOK   IX. 


The  Tragedy  here  ends.    The  truly  tragic 
Is  not  the  seal  of  death,  when  grief  is  o'er. 
Life  is  the  solemn,  melancholy  theme, 
Which  should  excite  our  tears ;  beyond,  there  is 
Sweet  Silence— awful,  but  yet  passing  sweet. 

Old  Play. 

Mutinous  passions,  and  conflicting  fears, 
And  hopes  that  sate  themselves  on  dust,  and  die ! 

HELLAS. 


CHAPTER  I. 

Men  convinced 

That  Life  is  love  and  immortality. 

This  is  the  genuine  course,  the  end  and  aim 
Of  prescient  Reason  ;  all  conclusions  else 
Are  abject,  vain,  presumptuous,  and  perverse. 

WORDSWORTH. 

THE    HISTORY   OF   A   MIND. 

II  £  history  of  the  Individual  Mind  affords  as  vast 
a  scope  for  thought  and  analysis,  as  that  of  an 
epoch,  a  nation,  an  universe.  It  has  its  eras  and  its 
cycles ;  and  each  atom  of  the  sentient  being  is  in 
itself  a  world  in  miniature.  I  hold,  therefore,  that 
every  history  is  imperfect  and  worthless,  which  does  not  embrace 
the  minute  philosophy  of  the  one  being  it  pretends  to  elucidate. 
I  compare  myself  to  a  fabric  erected  by  no  earthly  hands,  each 
part  of  which  is  in  the  abstract  sense  a  whole ;  and  therefore  I 
shall  endeavour,  as  I  proceed,  to  give  you  some  insight  into  the 
manner  in  which  God  has  built  me  up  to  be  what  I  am.  O,  that 
stupendous  Architect !  What  intellect  shall  conceive  the  infinity 
of  his  resources,  what  study  enable  us  to  arrive  at  a  just  estimate 
of  what  we  are,  when  considered  in  relation  to  that  which  has 
made  us  ?  But  the  dignity  of  our  nature  transcends  our  finite 
comprehension.  We  are  told  in  that  Book  which  contains  the 
secrets  of  the  divine  economy,  that  we  were  created  by  the  Eter- 
nal in  his  own  image ;  by  which  I  am  persuaded  we  are  to  un- 
derstand we  are  each  of  us  possessed  in  our  finity  of  the  qualities 


536  THE  MISER'S  SON. 

possessed  by  God  in  his  infinity :  the  infinite  in  the  Creator  ne- 
cessarily perfect,  the  finite  in  the  creature  necessarily  imperfect. 
Thus  He  is  wisdom  and  love  in  the  immensity  of  their  signifi- 
cance ;  we  are  will  and  understanding  in  the  finity  of  their 
essence ;  wisdom  comprehending  perfect  will,  but  not  subject  to 
the  sovereignty  of  law  (for  law  is  in  time,  not  in  eternity),  only  to 
love,  or  its  own  liberty,  without  which  infinite  mind  would  be  in 
thraldom.  For  will  is  nothing  without  love,  and  love  is  a  mere 
abstraction  without  wisdom.  Take  one  away  and  you  destroy 
all.  But  by  will,  which  raises  man  so  high  that  he  is  God  to 
himself,  as  much  as  God  is  to  God,  love  is  caused  to  flow  into 
its  just  activities,  understanding  is  directed  into  truth;  and  so,  by 
the  union  of  the  human  and  divine,  by  the  everlasting  flow  of 
thought,  by  the  creativeness  of  mind,  and  the  illimitability  of 
faculties,  there  is  a  likeness  of  the  imperfect  to  the  perfect,  of 
humanity  to  divinity.  We  shall  return  to  the  source  whence  we 
came,  and  be  transformed  ALTOGETHER  into  a  spiritual,  instead 
of  a  material  and  spiritual  existence.  Image  of  Deity  !  What  a 
thought  is  that?  And  yet  it  must  be  so ;  for  God  in  creating 
must  stamp  his  own  likeness  on  his  creation,  even  as  we  do  on 
ours  !  This  philosophy,  the  germs  of  which  are  floating  on  the 
ocean  of  thought  everywhere,  has  enabled  me  to  overcome  many 
difficulties  in  metaphysical  theology,  and  has  had  a  powerful  in- 
fluence in  forming  the  elements  of  my  mature  character.  I  am 
both  less  mystic  and  more  so  than  I  was,  when  young. 

"  You  know  that,  at  one  time,  when  I  was  a  mere  boy,  I  em- 
braced the  theory  of  Berkeley  :  but  though  I  still  believe  there  is 
much  beautiful  truth  in  idealism,  I  see  my  error  in  confusing 
thought  and  sensation  ;  I  cannot  consider  it  as  a  perfect  system  ; 
and  am  now  writing  a  work  which  is  to  reconcile  the  apparent 
irreconcilability  of  the  two  great  philosophers  of  the  soul  and  the 
senses,  and  trying  to  erect  a  theory  on  the  bases  of  Locke  and 
Berkeley.  They  have  embodied  nearly  all  the  arguments  for 
matter  and  for  mind,  but  have  totally  neglected  to  analyse  the 
reasons  which  may  be  adduced  for  their  co-existence.  I  am  also 
attempting  to  show  the  connexion  between  the  science  of  mind 
and  morality,  a  branch  of  philosophy  which  by  some  strange 
oversight  has  hitherto  been  disregarded,  and  to  vindicate  abstract 
thought  from  the  charge  of  inutility.  What  is  useless  that  God 


TOE  MISER'S  SON.  537 

has  made  ?  How  idle  is  it  to  say  that  we  are  not  to  investigate 
the  nature  of  the  subtle  principle  of  intelligence  and  the  range  of 
its  powers,  because  such  knowledge  is  not  revealed  to  us  from 
above  ;  when  neither  is  there  a  single  science  we  have  not  to  dis- 
cover, and  we  know  just  as  much  of  .intellect  as  of  matter!  I 
wish  you  to  understand  that  I  am  not  now  anatomizing  the  for- 
mation of  my  character,  and  the  progress  of  my  mind  from  one 
opinion  to  another,  but  laying  bare  some  of  the  secrets  of  the  soul 
as  well  as  the  heart — giving  you  my  whole  history  in  analysis* 
Materialism  had  made  immense  progress  when  Locke  carried  out 
the  system  of  Descartes,  and  as  a  mischievous  tendency  down- 
wards— for  the  effects  of  materialism  are  demoralizing  to  the 
masses — was  manifesting  itself  in  our  metaphysics,  Berkeley  was 
raised  up  to  give  a  check  to  the  dogmatism  of  the  Cartesians ; 
and  1  among  many  others  was  carried  away  by  the  re-action  that 
ensued,  into  a  sea  of  error.  Creation  1  doubted  to  be  possible, 
because  mind  perceives  (so  says  Berkeley),  and  does  not  create  : 
but  I  did  not  consider  that  what  in  the  finite  is  perception,  in 
the  infinite  is  creation.  I  looked  upon  this  colossal  universe  as 
the  phantasm  of  the  brain,  and  all  design  and  intelligence  which 
are  visible  in  it  as  but  in  ideas — that  neither  space  nor  time  are 
in  themselves  entities,  and  that  matter  can  only  be  a  shadow  im- 
pinged on  sense — in  fact  an  optical  illusion.  I  now  consider  space 
in  this  view,  namely  that  it  is  in  the  mind,  and  out  of  it;  that 
although  the  ordinary  idea  of  it  is  incorrect,  it  is,  it  must  be. 
Time  is  rather  the  mutation  ourselves  undergo  than  that  of  out- 
ward change,  or  in  other  words  it  is  duration  with  succession, 
while  eternity  is  duration  itself. 

"  You  perceive  that  my  opinions  have  undergone  a  great  trans- 
formation since  I  was  a  young  man  ;  and  I  shall  show  you  pre- 
sently how  this  change  affected  my  other  feelings  and  sentiments. 
My  father,  your  old  companion  and  schoolfellow,  you  will  re- 
collect was  a  Socratic  Theist.  He  was  a  good  man,  a  nobleman, 
a  man  with  great  deep  passions,  but  a  soul  to  subdue  himself  to 
reason  ;  but  his  errors  of  judgment  at  one  time  exerted  a  great 
influence  over  me,  and  led  me  into  deadly  peril.  I  was  educated 
for  Theism  ;  but  I  ended  in  Scepticism  the  most  universal,  a 
state  of  mind  infinitely  more  unhappy  than  that  of  total  unbelief. 
My  father  was  a  correspondent  of  the  great  thinkers  of  his  time, 

3  z 


538  THE  MISER'S  SON. 

and  their  society  was,  when  I  was  a  boy,  my  chief  delight.  How 
eagerly  I  used  to  listen  to  the  long  arguments  which  were  carried 
on  in  my  father's  house,  on  the  most  abstruse  questions  of 
philosophy,  before  I  had  well  mastered  the  meaning  of  the  terms 
employed  in  such  controversies !  I  cannot  describe  to  you  the 
pleasure — the  more  than  mere  pleasure — which  I  felt  in  associat- 
ing with  those  great  men,  who  command  the  stream  of  Time  to 
flow  in  the  channels  which  the  Immutable  has  appointed  ;  and 
before  I  was  eighteen,  I  had  argued  nearly  all  the  problems  of  the 
most  abstract  science  in  agitation  at  the  period  among  the  most 
enlightened  artificers  of  civilisation  and  opinion.  I  burned  to  be- 
come another  Plato  :  and  my  father  fed  the  ardor  within  my 
heart,  until  it  overleapt  the  boundaries  of  moderation.  He  was  as 
enthusiastic  a  worshipper  of  metaphysical  truth,  though  past 
middle  age,  as  in  his  early  manhood :  and  we  often  used  to  sit 
up  whole  nights  when  we  entered  into  a  discussion  on  some  im- 
portant point,  until  fairly  exhausted  with  intense  elaboration  of 
ideas. 

"  Probably  never  did  boy  become  man  in  thought  so  early  as  I 
did  ;  but  in  many  respects  my  character  was  unformed  and  feeble. 
While  my  intellect  was  occupied  with  the  great  problem  of 
human  destiny,  I  forgot  the  moral  in  the  mental,  instead  of  pur- 
suing them  together— which  is  the  solution,  to  my  mature  judg- 
ment, of  the  mystery.  Scepticism  certainly  indicates  a  tendency 
towards  irresolution,  if  it  do  not  manifest  some  weakness  of  un- 
derstanding. 

"  There  are  truths  which  do  not  admit  of  demonstration,  which 
we  must  receive,  or  remain  for  ever  ignorant ;  —  a  child- like  faith 
generally  marks  the  true,  powerful  thinker  :  he  never  doubts 
except  on  good  grounds,  while  ihe  shallow  sciolist  denies  every- 
thing at  once  which  cannot  be  proved  to  his  satisfaction.  I  was 
continually  renouncing  some  untenable  position,  and  attacking 
some  prominent  dogma  of  theorists.  But  in  the  course  of  time— 
the  rectifier  of  all  things — I  saw  my  error,  and  determined  on 
adopting  a  system  for  myself.  Thought  has  a  necessary  tendency 
to  correct  itself,  provided  a  man  be  sincere.  I  searched  antiquity, 
I  pored  over  the  inspired  sages  until  my  eyes  were  dim  and  my 
brain  seething,  and  I  was  weary  with  the  inward  communing  they 
excited.  Alas  !  for  the  man  who  has  no  pilot  to  guide  the  vessel 


THE  MISER'S  SON.  539 

of  his  thoughts  into  a  harhour  of  safety.  Better  not  to  think  at 
all,  than  never  to  trust,  to  believe.  1  was  dissatisfied  with  all 
things,  and  most  of  all  with  myself.  My  father  strove  to  reason 
with  me.  He  saw  I  was  not  happy,  and  warmly  endeavoured  to 
draw  me  to  the  religion  of  Socrates  :  .but  I  pointed  out  so  much 
that  is  incongruous  and  absurd  in  that  wonderful  but  most  pre- 
posterous chain  of  reasoning  for  which  we  are  indebted  to  Plato, 
that  I  made  him  almost  as  sceptical  as  myself.  He  might  have 
been  a  great,  as  he  was  a  fine  and  lofty  character,  if  his  thoughts 
had  taken  the  turn  which  the  Creator  has  turned  mine  into, 
giving  me  peace  and  hope.  At  this  time,  you  know,  you  were 
absent  from  England,  having  left  it  to  be  a  wanderer  when  I  was 
little  more  than  a  child  ;  and  when  you  returned  I  was  at  college. 
I  then  went  abroad,  and  we  were  separated  for  years. 

"  You  are  aware  that  my  father  was  the  guardian  of  Harriet 
Walsingham  and  her  sister,  having  been  a  dear  friend  of  their 
father.  After  having  studied  man  and  nature  in  the  most  glorious 
countries  of  the  world,  imbuing  my  soul  with  more  poetry  than  I 
would  once  have  confessed  to,  I  came  back,  and  found  Harriet 
had  grown  into  womanhood.  I  had  known  her  from  her  infancy, 
and  often  carried  her  in  these  arms,  heaping  endearments  on  her 
in  those  unruffled  days  when  I  was  a  quiet,  dreamy  boy,  loving 
solitude  and  silence.  I  once  loved  her  as  I  should  a  sister  ;  and 
now  that  I  was  thrown  into  her  society,  new  and  thrilling  feelings 
entered  into  my  soul.  I  asked  myself  if  love  were  not  the  object 
of  life.  For  the  first  time,  I  deplored  my  poor,  miserable  appear- 
ance, when  I  found  she  had  become  much  taller  than  myself:  for 
the  first  time  since  boyhood,  I  gave  up  my  books  and  devoted 
myself  to  a  woman.  My  intercourse  with  her  taught  me  what  a 
fine  creature  God  has  given  man  for  his  helpmate,  and  what  bliss 
and  elevation  passion  can  impart  to  the  spirit.  I  must  not  dwell 
on  this  portion  of  my  life ;  suffice  it,  that  I  found  too  late  Har- 
riet loved  Walter  Danvers :  and  then  resigned  myself  to  all  the 
bitterness  of  black  despair. 

"  How  vain  is  our  boasted  philosophy  to  support  the  heart  in 
those  trials  which  Heaven  has  ordained  for  our  purification  and 
exaltation  !  I  despised  it — nay  laughed  at  it,  and  rushed  into 
pleasure  to  steep  my  soul  in  oblivion.  From  a  Platonist  I  became 
an  Epicurean.  But  deserting  the  foul  haunts  of  vice  with  disgust 


540  THE  MISER'S  SON. 

— though  I  sought  not  a  brighter  element,  I  listlessly  went  from 
place  to  place,  seeking  peace,  and  finding  none*  until  at  last  I 
proposed  to  myself  to  write  a  work  exposing  popular  errors  in 
religion  and  philosophy,  exploding  Christianity,  which  I  con- 
sidered the  bane  of  free  inquiry,  and  setting  up -a  better  morality 
in  its  stead.  Strange  inconsistency !  When  I  found  that  no  hu- 
man wisdom  was  efficient  in  relieving  my  own  sorrows,  what 
could  I  substitute  for  religion  ? 

"  I  have  opened  to  you,  my  dear  old  friend,  the  arcana  of  my 
spirit :  but  you  must  strictly  preserve  my  confidence  as  regards 
Harriet  Walsingham.  That  is  all  over  now,  and  I  love  her  as  a 
dear  friend,  a  sister.  The  struggle  has  been  deep,  but  salutary — 
as  what  struggle  is  not  ?  To  return  to  my  narrative. 

"  My  new  pursuit,  of  course,  obliged  me  to  apply  myself  dili- 
gently to  the  study  of  the  Christian  system  ;  and  to  my  astonish- 
ment, after  a  period,  I  found  myself  unable  to  answer  some  of  the 
difficulties  that  presented  themselves  to  my  mind  on  the  negative 
side.  Why  was  this  ?  I  never  experienced  the  same  labor  in  over- 
throwing any  of  the  hypotheses  of  philosophers.  I  became  sud- 
denly interested  in  this  new  occupation  :  it  assumed  an  import- 
ance in  my  eyes  that  I  thought  nothing  human  again  could  ;  and 
finally,  instead  of  attacking  the  grounds  of  religion,  1  wrote  an 
essay  unequivocally  in  favor  of  them,  contra-distinguished  from 
ethics.  But  I  was  only  half  a  believer,  for  all  this.  The  pride  of 
intellect  had  to  be  subdued  within  me,  fostered  as  it  was  for  years 
by  speculation.  I  looked  on  the  Bible  as  partly  true  and  partly 
false  ;  some  doctrines  I  received,  and  some  I  repudiated  ;  1  was 
strongly  inclined  to  Socinianism.  The  humanly  moral  I  did  not 
sufficiently  separate  (if  at  all)  from  the  divinely  moral,  much  as  I 
was  inclined  to  believe  Theology  is  not  Ontology.  But  I  found 
after  some  time  that  this  humanized  religion  was  cold  and  formal 
and  unsatisfactory;  and  I  set  myself  to  inquire  why  it  was  so. 
Was  the  imperfection,  I  asked  my  soul,  in  myself,  or  the  religion  ? 
1  could  not  reply  to  this  self-interrogatory,  and  began  a  diligent 
examination  of  my  own  mind.  After  long,  deep,  laborious  research 
I  found  the  secret  out.  1  was  very  proud,  and  preferred  the  de- 
vices of  my  own  fallible  reason,  to  the  infallible  revealings  of 
God.  My  philosophy  became  subservient  to  my  religion,  instead 
of  the  converse,  I  adored  the  supernal  brightness,  and  wondered 


THE  MISER'S  SON.  541 

at  my  previous  infatuation.  I  was  at  last  the  only  rational  believer 
— the  entire  one.  Blessed  be  that  great  Being  who  has  sustained 
me  by  the  faith  1  have  chosen  for  so  long  a  time ;  blessed,  thrice 
blessed  the  creed  that  opens  immortality  to  all. 

.  "  Thus  far  I  have  devoted  my  confession  to  the  history  of  mind 
rather  than  human  action  ; — oh,  the  biography  of  the  soul  ren- 
ders all  other  stale,  and  earthly  ! — but  1  shall  now  have  to  take  up 
my  narrative  from  the  period  when  1  quitted  England,  which  was 
the  month  preceding  that  reported  as  fixed  for  the  nuptials  of 
Harriet  Walsingham.  I  could  not  endure  to  see  her  the  wife  of 
another,  even  though  I  had  that  to  support  me  which  1  had  not 
formerly  possessed,  and  accordingly  I  embarked  for  the  East,  in 
order  to  pursue  some  inquiries  connected  with  religion  in  Pales- 
tine. I  was  wrecked  off  the  coast  of  Algiers ;  and  found  myself  a 
wretched  slave,  tasked  beyond  my  powers  of  body,  with  no  hope 
of  deliverance.  But  I  yielded  not  to  despair,  convinced  that  this 
misfortune  was  to  terminate  in  my  good,  if  I  availed  myselfofthe 
opportunities  it  afforded. 

"  If  I  had  remained  a  sceptic,  or  even  a  speculator,  I  should 
have  sunk  under  the  burthens  imposed  on  me  by  a  severe  task- 
master ;  but  1  was  resigned,  contented,  cheerful ;  and  my  sub- 
missive-ness procured  me  in  the  course  of  time  some  degree  of 
favor  in  the  eyes  of  the  barbarian  I  was  compelled  to  serve.  He 
availed  himself  of  my  knowledge  and  understanding  to  effect  some 
projects  he  wished  consummated  ;  and  I  at  length  became  his 
favorite  slave,  so  that  1  hoped  he  would  restore  me  to  liberty. 
But  by  doing  so  he  would  have  deprived  himself  of  a  valuable 
servant,  and  therefore  I  was  subjected  to  the  closest  imprisonment, 
while  I  shared  all  the  delicacies  of  my  master's  table.  An  un- 
expected circumstance,  however,  occurred,  which  I  will  at  once 
relate. 

"  The  only  daughter  of  my  tyrant,  a  lovely  creature  betrothed 
to  a  powerful  prince  of  the  country,  fell  ill ;  and  the  physicians 
who  attended  her  despaired  of  her  recovery.  Her  father,  confiding 
deeply  in  my  universal  science,  bade  me  prescribe  for  her.  I  pos- 
sessed some  slight  medical  knowledge,  for  I  always  thought  it  a 
moral  duty  to  study  the  preservation  of  health,  as  well  as  to  be 
able,  in  case  of  emergency,  to  afford  help  to  others :  so  I  went  to 
the  young  girl,  and  perceiving  the  nature  of  her  malady,  gave  her 


542  THE  MISER'S  SON. 

some  medicine.  The  effect  of  this  was  happy,  and  after  some 
weeks  I  had  the  satisfaction  of  seeing  my  beautiful  patient  con- 
valescent. The  interest  that  she  excited  in  me  by  her  fortitude 
and  resignation  in  illness,  was  strong ;  and  I  found  her  so  intel- 
ligent and  warm-hearted,  in  spite  of  her  ignorance  and  supersti- 
tion in  some  respects,  that  I  wished  to  enlighten  her  with  the 
beams  of  truth.  Her  mother,  who  was  a  Greek  captive,  was 
dead  ;  and,  when  a  child,  she  had  imbibed  from  her  some  crude 
notions  of  Christianity,  which  she  had  mixed  up  with  the  religion 
of  her  country.  At  no  time,  and  amongst  no  people,  has  there 
existed  a  state  of  utter  darkness  with  regard  to  the  destiny  of  man  : 
the  idea  of  an  eternity  is  evidently  stamped  on  the  mind,  to  afford 
consolation  to  the  savage  as  to  the  philosopher.  1  was  able  to  im- 
part to  my  master's  child  some  of  the  religious  opinions  1  had 
but  recently  adopted  ;  and  she  was  so  eager  for  information,  par- 
ticularly on  this  all-important  subject,  that  I  had  some  difficulty 
in  answering  all  the  questions  she  put  to  me.  I  believe,  if  1  had 
never  seen  Harriet  Walsingham,  I  should  have  loved  with  my 
whole  soul  this  beautiful  and  tender-hearted  creature  ;  for  she 
clung  to  me  in  such  an  endearing  way,  that  I  could  not  but  feel 
affection  towards  her,  although  the  pas&ion  I  had  cherished  for 
Harriet  was  not  extinguished.  If  there  be  such  a  thing  as  second 
love,  it  can  never  resemble  the  first  in  its  intensity  and  power ; 
first  love  is  like  waking  to  the  loveliness  of  being,  things  we  never 
dreamed  of  flash  upon  us. 

"  Isolated  as  I  was  from  all  I  knew,  and  severed  from  all  the 
ties  which  bound  me  to  the  civilized  portion  of  mankind,  my  in- 
terest and  feelings  were  centred  in  my  patient,  whose  health 
daily  improved,  insomuch  that  it  was  intimated  to  me  I  must  no 
longer  visit  her — in  a  short  time  she  was  to  become  a  bride.  The 
young  girl  was  in  despair,  when  she  found  she  was  to  see  me  no 
more,  and  besought  her  stern  father  to  admit  me  to  her  presence ; 
but  taking  alarm  when  he  found  that  her  gratitude  was  ripening 
into  a  warmer  sentiment  towards  his  slave,  he  was  inexorable  to 
her  tears  and  entreaties.  A  week  passed  ;  and  one  night,  as  I 
was  sitting  alone  in  the  place  appropriated  to  me,  engrossed  with 
melancholy  thoughts,  I  was  surprised  to  hear  my  name  breathed 
in  a  soft  tone  close  beside  me ;  and,  looking  up,  beheld  her  in 
whom  I  was  so  much  interested. 


THE  MISER'S  SON.  543 

"  *  Christian/  she  said,  '  I  am  come  to  bid  you  an  eternal 
farewell.  To-morrow  1  am  to  leave  my  father's  roof  to  wed  a 
hated  lord  ;  but  I  would  not  depart  without  speaking  once  more 
to  him  to  whom  I  owe  life  itself.' 

"  Sobs  choaked  her  utterance,  a4id  hiding  her  face  in  her 
hands  she  indulged  her  grief.  1  could  say  little  to  comfort  her ; 
but  her  despair  wrought  on  me  to  suggest  a  plan  to  her  which  I 
thought  feasible.  '  Hear  me,  my  sweet  sister,'  I  said ;  '  if  we 
could  pass  the  guard  stationed  at  the  gate  of  the  garden,  we  might 
seize  on  a  galley  and  put  out  to  sea.  If  you  prefer  incurring  such 
a  risk  to  becoming  the  wife  of  this  barbarian,  I  am  ready  to  ac- 
company you.' 

"  The  young  girl  eagerly  embraced  this  proposition,  and  I  was 
successful  in  introducing  an  opiate  into  the  supper  of  the  guard. 
The  drug  soon  took  effect,  and  shortly  after  midnight  we  went 
forth,  I  and  my  beautiful  friend.  We  reached  the  sea-shore  un- 
seen, and  entered  a  galley  ;  but  the  wind,  which  had  been  rising 
for  a  long  time,  now  blew  so  violently  that  I  hesitated  to  put  out 
to  sea.  I  pointed  out  the  peril  to  her,  but  added  I  was  ready  to 
brave  death  for  her  and  freedom. 

"  '  Light  of  my  soul !'  she  exclaimed,  passionately,  '  death  has 
no  terrors  while  thou  art  near  me !' 

"  With  reluctance  I  consented  to  the  wishes  of  my  companion, 
while  the  gale  lashed  the  billows  into  fury  indescribable.  Never 
shall  I  forget  that  night.  The  Spirit  of  the  Storm  was  abroad, 
and  the  winds  became  so  awful  that  the  ocean  seemed  lashed 
into  one  universal  mountain  of  foam  ;  and  it  was  miraculous  that 
our  frail  bark  could  live  for  a  single  minute  in  such  a  sea.  On, 
on,  we  swept,  the  vivid  lightning  illuminating  the  whole  extent  of 
the  ocean,  and  the  thunders  uttering  their  giant  voices  almost 
without  intermission.  And  the  maiden  clung  to  me,  her  large 
meek  eyes  turned  up  to  heaven,  and  questioned  me,  when  her 
voice  could  be  heard,  on  the  mysteries  of  the  Great  Hereafter. 
We  prayed  together,  in  momentary  expectation  of  death.  Per- 
haps at  these  times,  more  than  any  other,  we  catch  glimpses  of 
most  majestic  truth ;  we  know  our  material  insignificance,  \ve 
feel  our  spiritual  glory.  The  veil  is  rent  from  before  our  eyes, 
and  we  know  death  and  time  are  but  as  the  portal  and  the  ves- 
tibule of  life  and  immortality. 


544  THE  MISER'S  SON. 

"  Gradually,  the  violence  of  the  storm  abated,  and  we  were 
saved.  But  we  were  snatched  from  one  form  of  destruction,  only 
to  be  exposed  to  it  in  another  yet  more  fearful.  Our  little  stock  of 
provisions  was  soon  exhausted,  and  I  saw  no  hope  of  the  expec- 
tation I  had  formed  of  meeting  some  friendly  vessel  being 
realised.  I  repented  greatly  of  my  precipitation  in  taking  away 
the  poor  girl ;  but  she  looked  up  into  my  face,  and  smiled  like 
morning. 

"  'Am  I  not  with  you,  beloved?'  she  cried.  '  Behold,  the 
skies  are  blue,  and  the  air  serene,  and  the  great  God  is  looking 
down  upon  us.  You  have  taught  me  faith,  and  love  supports  me, 
as  it  sustains  the  world.  Let  death  come,  if  I  can  expire  in  the 
radiance  of  your  presence,  and  the  peace  of  your  arms.  Talk  to 
me  of  heaven,  as  you  alone  can  speak.' 

"  Then  I  knew  how  I  was  loved — not  with  a  childish,  feeble 
passion,  but  with  all  the  pure  depth  of  a  devoted  woman's  heart, 
and  I  made  an  inward  vow,  that  if  we  were  spared,  since  I  had 
been  the  means  of  depriving  her  of  kindred,  I  would  be  all  the 
world  to  her.  Ay,  home  and  wealth,  friends  and  country  may 
all  be  supplied  by  the  richness  of  true  passion,  which  is  a  light 
of  inextinguishable  purity,  when  affection  supplies  the  fuel.  We 
were  almost  starving,  while,  around  and  above  us,  all  was  ex- 
ceeding tranquillity  and  beauty,  as  if  to  mock  our  pangs;  and 
my  courage  forsook  me  when  I  thought  of  the  horrors  of  our 
doom.  But  the  maiden  threw  her  arms  round  my  neck,  and  said, 

"  '  It  is  sweet  to  die  in  hope — as  sweet  as  to  live  in  joy  :  if  we 
pass  through  this  ordeal  without  distrusting  the  Providence  of 
God,  we  shall  be  in  Elysium  in  another  night." 

"  So  strong  was  that  simple  child's  belief!  Woman's  faith  is 
more  perfect,  loving,  pious,  than  man's.  But  on  a  sudden  we 
descried  land  at  no  great  distance,  and  our  parched  tongues 
moved  in  thanksgiving.  We  hoped  that  all  our  difficulties  would 
now  be  over,  and  I  said, 

"  '  Dearest,  you  will  now  become  my  wife,  and  I  will  take  you 
to  that  England  you  have  so  often  heard  me  mention.  Can  you 
consent  to  be  the  partner  of  such  a  poor,  wretched  being  as  my- 
self?' 

"  '  You,  poor  and  wretched  !'  was  her  reply.  '  I  would  take 
you  for  my  husband,  joyfully  take  you,  though  I  should  see  no 


THE  MISER'S  SON.  545 

other  during  my  whole  life,  and  you  were  the  most  hideously 
deformed  of  men.  I  love  your  sou/,  breath  of  my  spirit! — it  is 
the  soul  alone  which  is  God's  high  likeness,  and  His  inspiration 
burns  and  glows  within  thee  ! '  And  she  clasped  me  in  her  arms, 
with  her  wild,  eastern  passion,  and  nestled  to  my  bosom — poor 
thing ! 

"  Could  I  be  insensible  to  such  intense  devotion  as  this  ?  No, 
though  I  loved  her  not  with  that  passion  which  filled  her  being, 
she  was  inexpressibly  dear  to  me ;  and  for  years  she  was  my  all 
of  happiness.  We  reached  the  shore  in  safety  ;  but  we  discovered 
it  was  an  uninhabited  island,  and  many  were  the  privations  and 
sufferings  we  endured.  Can  you  wonder  that  under  such  circum- 
stances, without  a  hope  of  being  rescued  from  our  predicament, 
I  became  a  husband  to  her?  I  myself  was  the  priest  who  im- 
plored a  blessing  on  our  union;  and  it  was  not  withheld.  Two 
children  'were  born  unto  us ;  but,  from  the  time  the  youngest 
came  into  the  world,  the  health  of  my  sweet  wife  declined.  She 
lingered  on,  month  after  month  :  but  I  felt  the  fiat  had  gone 
forth,  and  that  she  was  to  be  taken  from  me.  I  was  surprised 
one  day,  when  addressing  me  she  said, 

"  '  I  wish  I  could  behold  your  native  land  before  I  die.  What 
say  you,  my  beloved  ?  The  boat  in  which  we  came  hither  can 
easily  be  repaired  ;  and  we  can  store  it  with  provisions.  Let  us 
trust  in  God,  who  has  been  so  good  to  us,  and  depart.  If  you 
were  to  die  also,  what  would  be  the  condition  of  our  helpless 
babes  r 

"  After  some  deliberation  I  agreed  to  put  to  sea,  though  I 
could  have  been  contented  to  live  on  in  that  lonely  isle,  far  from 
the  sight  of  crime  and  woe.  For  many  days  the  weather  was 
favourable ;  but  I  perceived  indications  of  a  coming  tempest,  and 
knew  we  were  at  a  great  distance  from  any  land.  Fortunately, 
however,  this  storm  was  less  violent  than  that  we  had  once  en- 
countered ;  but  my  gentle  partner's  death  was  accelerated  by  the 
soaking  of  the  waves  and  rains,  possibly.  I  knew  that  she  must 
be  soon  taken  from  me,  and  I  wept.  Oh,  she  was  so  kind,  so 
fervent,  so  simple,  I  must  have  been  a  brute  if  I  had  not  loved  her ! 

"  '  Why  do  you  weep?'  she  asked,  while  she  fondled  our  chil- 
dren, who  had  slumbered  through  the  tempest.  '  Have  you  not 
told  me,  and  do  I  not  feel  I  shall  soon  reach  that  bright  and 

4  A 


546  THE  MISER'S  SON. 

happy  shore,  the  spirit  of  whose  holy  radiance  is  our  great  Father's 
smile !' 

*'  '  Beautiful,  thrice  beautiful  was  thy  piety,  my  truest,  my  la- 
mented ;  and  perfect  as  ever  angel's  was  thy  love — how  unde- 
served !  She  expired  without  a  sigh,  like  an  infant  dropping 
asleep.  The  breath  had  scarcely  left  the  body  of  my  wife,  when 
I  descried  a  vessel  bearing  down  upon  us.  I  hailed  it  with  plea- 
sure for  my  children's  sake ;  but  as  for  myself,  I  then  felt  weary 
of  my  life,  and  longed  to  enter  the  eternity  beyond.  My  gentle 
wife  had  been  so  much  my  companion  in  the  utter  isolation  in 
which  we  had  been  placed,  and  had  entwined  herself  around  my 
heart  by  such  innumerable  endearing  ties,  that  I  felt,  when  she 
was  gone,  as  if  the  better  part  of  my  being  were  departed  from 
me.  But  small  time  was  left  me  to  indulge  my  sorrow  ;  for  the 
ship  I  had  seen  soon  arrived  within  a  few  cables'  length  of  my 
boat,  and  I  found  too  late  it  was  a  pirate  vessel.  ' 

"  I  was  sold  to  slavery  again  ;  but  now  my  feeble  powers  were 
not  overtasked,  and  as  we  had  all  been  purchased  of  the  pirates 
by  the  same  person,  my  children  were  not  taken  from  me.  Years 
rolled  on,  and  the  fierce  passions  which  had  threatened  to  wreck 
my  peace  while  I  was  in  the  world,  were  thoroughly  subdued. 
The  last  thing  that  we  learn  is  submission  to  the  Divine  will,  and 
we  cannot  acquire  perfect,  uncomplaining  obedience  to  Omnipo- 
tence except  by  passing  through  the  fire  which  is  ordained  for 
such  a  purifying  purpose.  But  I  had  a  fellow-slave  in  an  honest 
British  sailor  named  Samuel  Stokes,  who  wished  me  to  attempt 
to  escape ;  and  as  my  children  were  now  old  enough  to  miss  the 
blessings  of  liberty,  I  was  induced  to  comply  with  his  solicitations. 
We  laid  our  plans  successfully  ;  but  we  had  not  long  put  out  to 
sea  in  an  open  boat,  when  a  vessel  gave  us  chase  ;  and  we  must 
inevitably  have  been  taken,  if  an  English  merchantman  had  not 
noticed  the  signal  of  distress  we  raised,  and  made  sail  to  our 
succour.  The  galley  which  pursued  us  was  directed  towards  the 
vessel  which  afforded  us  protection,  and  our  preservers  were 
menaced  with  death  if  we  were  not  delivered  up.  At  the  same 
time  we  saw  a  large  vessel  bearing  down  upon  us  from  shore  ; 
and  our  only  hope  was  in  flight.  We  crowded  on  every  stitch  of 
canvas  we  could  carry  ;  and  for  hours  the  chase  was  continued, 
when  the  enemy  visibly  gained  on  us.  A  fearful  contest  ensued, 


THE  MISER'S  SON.  547 

our  brave  countrymen  being  determined  to  defend  us  with  their 
lives  :  but  it  was  to  the  skill,  the  courage,  and  energy  of  Stokes, 
the  seaman  I  have  mentioned,  that  we  were  indebted  for  freedom. 
Seeing  that  the  British  were  falling  fast,  and  there  was  but  slight 
chance  of  their  successfully  opposing  the  numbers  of  the  foe,  lie 
managed  to  set  fire  to  the  privateer,  and  by  a  clever  manoeuvre 
to  get  clear  off  from  it :  but  the  gallant  fellow  had  hardly  accom- 
plished this — even  as  we  heard  an  awful  explosion  in  the  enemy's 
ship — when  a  ball  took  off  his  legs,  and  he  fell  close  to  my  side. 
But  every  man  on  board  the  privateer  was  destroyed,  and  although 
our  own  vessel  was  greatly  crippled,  and  the  crew  terribly  reduced, 
we  were  able  to  continue  our  homeward  course,  and  finally  reached 
England  in  safety.  The  noble-hearted  Stokes  recovered  in  spite 
of  his  dreadful  injuries,  and  I  had  the  satisfaction  of  placing  him 
in  a  cottage  at  no  great  distance  from  my  own,  a  few  months 
since.  I  have  thus,  my  dear  friend,  hastily  sketched  my  auto- 
biography ;  and  now,  as  it  is  midnight,  let  me  show  you  to  your 
chamber.  I  shall  rise  with  the  dawn,  and  we  will  proceed  to- 
gether to  the  examination  of  Danvers."  Thus  the  old  friends 
separated. 


CHAPTER  II. 

These  our  actors 

Are  melted  into  air,  into  thin  air. 

We  are  such  stuff 

As  dreams  are  made  of;  and  our  little  life 
Is  rounded  with  a  sleep. — SHAKESPEARE. 

A    LONG    HISTORY    OF    THE  PAST,  EXPLAINING  MANY  THINGS 
THAT  HAVE  HITHERTO  REMAINED  IN  THE  SHADE. 

THE  Reader  must  now  permit  his  imagination  to  wander  back 
to  the  peopled  past,  when  "  these  our  actors  "  were  in  the  hey- 
day of  youth  and  beauty,  when  all  was  bright,  all  was  joyous, 
and  none  dreamed  of  the  dreary  shadows  which  now  stretched 
across  the  sky. 


548  THE  MISER'S  SON. 

About  eighteen  years  ere  the  date  of  this  history's  commence- 
ment, Walter  Danvers  was  a  dashing,  light-hearted  young 
fellow,  with  great  animal  spirits,  much  cleverness,  and  kindness 
of  heart,  but  without  that  decision  and  depth  of  mind  which  it 
has  been  my  aim  to  delineate  when  he  was  on  the  verge  of  mid- 
dle age.  His  passions  were  strong,  and  unregulated  by  those 
high  principles  of  morality  which  can  alone  afford  a  check  to 
the  ebullitions  of  such  a  nature ;  worshipping  pleasure  above 
rectitude,  and  immersed  in  dissipation,  he  seemed  to  consider 
such  enjoyment  as  it  could  afford  the  sole  object  of  existence. 
The  iron  of  his  character  had  not  yet  manifested  itself;  but  there 
were  times  when  he  panted  to  break  the  bondage  of  the  senses, 
and  to  distinguish  himself  in  some  honourable  path  of  life :  but 
the  force  of  habit  was  too  strong  for  the  counter-force  of  ambi- 
tion, and  he  became  deeply  and  more  deeply  the  slave  of  vicious 
and  demoralizing  enjoyments. 

The  parents  of  Danvers  had  died  when  he  was  young,  and 
there  was  no  one  to  control  his  inclinations,  or  to  remonstrate 
with  him  on  his  depraved  habits.  His  father  was  the  son  of  a 
farmer  of  moderate  fortune,  and  had  from  a  private  soldier  risen 
to  be  a  distinguished  officer.  He  married  a  lady  somewhat  above 
himself  in  rank,  and  Walter  was  the  sole  fruit  of  their  union.  Mrs. 
Haines  supplied  the  place  of  a  mother  to  him,  she,  previous  to  her 
becoming  a  wife,  having  lived  as  housekeeper  with  his  maternal 
parent.  So  much  for  the  birth,  disposition,  andjnode  of  life  of 
Danvers.  Among  his  gay  companions  were  the  brother  of  Har- 
riet Walsingham,  and  Everard,  who  was  of  a  very  opposite  cha- 
racter to  that  he  had  become  when  first  known  to  the  reader. 
The  former  of  these  persons,  a  young  man  at  the  period  in  ques- 
tion, was  possessed  of  considerable  wealth,  a  fine  person,  a  good 
understanding,  and  many  other  advantages ;  but  he  was  at  least 
as  dissipated,  with  less  nobility  to  redeem  his  vices,  as  Walter 
Danvers.  Everard,  the  younger  brother  of  the  head  of  the  family 
at  the  time,  though  but  a  youth,  was  initiated  in  all  the  vices  of 
manhood.  Nine-tenths  of  the  gentry  of  the  day,  if  Fielding  and 
Smollett  are  right,  were  men  of  pleasure.  To  be  ignorant  was 
no  stigma ;  to  be  virtuous  was  to  be  ridiculed,  as  a  natural  conse- 
quence of  prevailing  ignorance. 

Everard  was  a  gamester  and  a  libertine  ;  but  his  cousin,  John 


THE  MISER'S  SON.  549 

Walsiiigliain,  as  he  shall  be  called,  was  the  most  depraved  of  the 
two.  Indeed,  at  that  time,  before  the  sordid  love  of  money  had 
taken  possession  of  Everard's  soul,  he  was  generally  liked  in 
society  ;  for  he  was  courteous,  gentlemanly,  of  a  pleasing  exte- 
rior, and  if  not  intellectual  and  high-minded,  he  was  gallant  and 
accomplished.  John  Walsingham  had  a  taste  for  theatricals,  and 
infused  a  love  of  them  into  the  minds  of  his  kinsman  and  Dan- 
vers.  They  were  all  three  of  them  good  actors  in  their  relative 
ways ;  and  from  the  love  of  novelty  played  in  various  theatres 
under  assumed  names.  There  was  a  fair,  gentle  creature  among 
the  company  of  a  provincial  establishment,  who  acted  the  heroines 
of  tragedy,  and  was  considered  to  possess  merit.  Everard  Wal- 
singham became  enamoured  of  her,  and  made  dishonorable  pro- 
posals, which  were  indignantly  rejected.  His  love  conquered  his 
pride,  and  ultimately  he  privately  made  her  his  wife,  but  with 
strict  injunctions  not  to  reveal  their  marriage. 

Meanwhile  the  fortunes  of  Walter  Danvers  were  at  a  low  ebb, 
from  his  having  lost  considerable  sums  of  money  to  John  Walsing- 
ham at  the  gaming-table ;  and  his  friend  (Heaven  save  the 
mark !)  advised  him  to  repair  his  losses  by  marrying  a  woman 
with  property.  He  added  that  he  was  acquainted  with  a  lady, 
who  was  a  widow,  with  great  personal  attractions,  and  of  good 
fortune,  to  whom  he  would  introduce  him,  if  he  wished.  Danvers 
accepted  the  proposal,  and  proceeded  with  his  friend  to  a  hand- 
some house,  at  which  the  latter  asked  for  "  Mrs.  Williamson," 
and  they  were  ushered  into  a  room  elegantly  furnished,  where, 
reclining  on  a  sofa,  was  a  lady  of  some  nine-and-twenty.  She 
was  very  beautiful,  but  it  was  evident  she  had  recently  been  suf- 
fering from  severe  illness.  Danvers  was  enchanted  with  the 
handsome  widow,  who,  if  not  very  refined,  was  one  of  all  others 
to  captivate  the  senses  of  such  a  youth  ;  and  he  appeared  to 
make  a  favourable  impression  on  her.  Not  to  dwell  on  particu- 
lars, at  the  end  of  a  fortnight  he  was  an  accepted  lover ;  and 
they  were  united  in  wedlock  at  the  expiration  of  a  month. 

John  Walsingham  then  went  to  sea,  having  first  procured  a 
commission  in  the  army  for  Danvers.  But  Walter  soon  discovered 
he  had  been  miserably  duped,  and  that  his  wife  did  not  possess 
a  farthing ;  so  that — embarrassed  with  debt  as  he  was — he  saw 
no  prospect  but  that  of  a  prison  before  him.  Yet  he  never  said 


550  THE  MISER'S  SON. 

an  unkind  word  to  his  partner,  who  pretended  great  afiection  for 
him,  and  only  lamented  to  her  he  could  not  support  her  in  the 
way  to  which  she  had  been  accustomed.  When  at  length  Dan- 
vers  was  compelled  to  hide  himself  from  his  creditors,  his  wife 
suggested  to  him  that,  since  their  finances  were  so  low,  she  might, 
perhaps,  better  their  condition  by  going  on  the  stage,  adding  that 
at  one  time  she  had  studied  for  such  a  profession,  when  Mr.  Wil- 
liamson became  enamoured  of  her,  and  made  her  his  wife.  Dan- 
vers  at  first  objected  to  this  proposition,  well  knowing  what  the 
profession  of  an  actress  then  was ;  but  his  scruples  were  over- 
ruled, and  his  wife  became  a  leading  actress  of  comedy  in  the 
country ;  while  he,  having  sold  his  commission  in  the  army, 
entered  into  theatrical  speculations.  Fortune  favoured  him,  and 
for  some  years  he  sailed  prosperously  on  the  sea  of  life,  having 
become  the  father  of  two  children. 

After  a  long  absence  from  England,  John  Walsingham  came 
back,  with  an  addition  of  rank  and  fortune.  He  sought  out  Dan- 
vers,  regretted  he  had  misled  him  with  regard  to  the  fortune  of 
his  wife,  but  said  with  a  laugh,  "  she  was  a  fortune  in  herself." 
During  this  time  Everard  Walsingham  had  travelled  on  the  con- 
tinent with  his  wife — whom  all  persons  believed  to  be  his  mis- 
tress— and  returned  to  England  about  the  same  time  as  his 
cousin.  They  all  resumed  their  former  intimacy,  and  played  high, 
with  various  success.  Mrs.  Danvers  had  been  absent  from  her 
husband  for  several  months,  fulfilling  some  engagements  in  distant 
parts  of  the  country  ;  and  Walter  having  satiated  of  her  society 
experienced  no  regret  that  she  was  not  inclined  to  remain  with 
him,  and  he  never  urged  her  to  do  so.  She  was  once  seen  casually 
by  him  some  months  after  she  had  left  him  ;  but  eventually  they 
scarcely  ever  met,  and  when  they  did  so,  their  intercourse  was 
cold  and  formal. 

"  Some  years  rolled  on ;  and  at  length  Danvers  like  all  other 
gamesters  found  himself  a  ruined  man,  with  no  hope  of  retrieving 
his  fortunes.  About  this  time  an  accident  introduced  him  to  the 
family  of  the  Walsinghams,  and  he  beheld  Harriet,  then  a  lovely 
girl  iii  her  teens.  Sudden  and  violent  was  the  change  this  circum- 
stance created  in  the  heart  of  Walter  Danvers.  He  deserted  his 
old  haunts,  his  old  companions  ;  his  mind  rose  above  the  low 
pursuits  which  had  hitherto  engrossed  him  :  but  a  darker  crime 


THE  MISER'S  SON.  551 

than  he  had  ever  committed  in  the  heat  of  passion  and  excess — 
the  deepest  stain  on  his  character — was  prompted  by  the  feelings 
Harriet  excited.  John  Walsingham  had  never  introduced  Danvers 
to  his  family  ;  and  his  services  being  required  in  a  distant  part  of 
the  world  (for  he  was  in  the  Navy),  Jie  quitted  England  without 
knowing  that  his  associate  had  become  the  friend  of  his  family. 
Many  were  the  struggles  in  the  heart  of  Danvers  against  the 
iniquity  of  winning  the  affections  of  such  a  being  as  Harriet  Wal- 
singham,  when  he  was  irrevocably  tied  to  another :  but  he  was 
disgusted  with  his  wife,  with  all  things  in  which  he  had  hitherto 
found  pleasure ;  and  hurried  away  by  passion,  he  committed  one 
of  the  greatest  crimes  not  contained  in  the  decalogue.  He  did 
not  for  an  instant  contemplate  attempting  the  virtue  of  Harriet: 
the  sanctity  of  her  pure  presence  was  such  that  a  demon  could 
hardly  have  been  so  malignant  as  to  harbour  a  thought  of  wrong- 
ing in  such  a  way  so  exalted  a  creature ;  but  he  sophistically 
disguised  to  himself  his  real  feelings,  and  friendship  was  the 
pretext  he  invented  to  cover  his  designs  from  his  conscience  and 
God.  But  he  could  only  be  satisfied  with  the  love,  the  utter,  un- 
divided love  of  Harriet.  He  was  not  interrupted  by  F<verard 
Walsingham,  for  he  never  visited  his  relations,  nor  had  any  com- 
munication with  them ;  and  months  rolled  on,  and  the  heart  of 
that  divine  woman  was  his  for  ever. 

Wonderful  indeed  was  the  alteration  effected  in  the  nature  of 
Danvers  by  his  intercourse  with  this  matchless  being  ;  and  his 
remorse  at  the  villany  of  his  conduct  was  sometimes  so  great, 
that  he  was  on  the  point  of  confessing  all  to  her :  but  then  he 
could  not  bear  the  idea  of  becoming  an  object  of  hatred  and  con- 
tempt to  her.  But  he  made  a  determination,  when  all  the  mischief 
was  done,  to  tear  himself  away  from  his  beloved  ;  and  instigated 
by  his  foster-mother  joined  the  inauspicious  insurrection  which 
broke  out  about  this  time  in  favor  of  the  Pretender.  His  fortunes 
were  desperate,  his  love  unhallowed,  and  he  hoped,  to  win  a 
soldier's  grave  as  the  happiest  consummation  of  his  fate.  But  he 
survived,  and  rose  high  in  the  estimation  of  his  generals ;  and 
after  the  total  destruction  of  the  hopes  of  the  Jacobites,  he  was 
offered  a  commission  in  the  service  of  the  king  of  France  ;  which 
he  accepted. 

He  wrote  a  letter  to  Harriet,  telling  her  he  was  a  ruined  man, 


552  THE  MISER'S  SON. 

beseeching  her  to  pity  and  forget  him  ;  and  then  repaired  to 
France,  leaving  his  wife  and  children  in  Britain.  But  the  devotion 
and  love  of  Harriet  assumed  a  deeper  and  more  manifest  character, 
when  she  learned  the  calamities  of  Walter ;  and  in  a  letter 
breathing  with  all  that  bright  poetry  which  raises  woman  almost 
to  the  angel  (only  it  is  better  to  be  a  perfect  woman  than  an  in- 
different seraph),  she  besought  him  to  return,  and  informed  him 
she  had  procured  his  pardon  for  the  part  he  had  taken  in  the 
rebellion.  But  he  remained  stedfast  in  his  resolution  of  remaining 
away  from  her,  though  he  could  not  make  up  his  mind  to  break 
off  all  communication  with  her,  and  sometimes  wrote  and  received 
answers  in  return.  At  length  he  came  back  to  England  on  a  secret 
mission  in  some  degree  corresponding  to  that  in  which  he  was 
engaged  in  after  years.  Once  more  he  beheld  Harriet ;  and  all 
his  good  resolutions  vanished  like  mists  before  the  sun,  when  the 
magic  of  her  presence  was  upon  him.  His  passion  had  been  fed 
by  absence  and  despair,  and  she  loved  him  more  than  ever :  for 
woman's  love  is  made  more  strong  by  pity,  it  grows  more  pas- 
sionate by  sympathy.  How  Walter  cursed  with  bitterness  of  heart 
his  imprudent  marriage,  which  debarred  him  from  uniting  himself 
with  the  only  woman  his  spirit  ever  worshipped.  But  it  was 
vain. 

News  now  arrived  that  John  Walsingham  was  about  to  return 
to  England,  and  Danvers  feared  discovery  would  be  inevitable. 
Racked  with  uncertainty  what  course  of  action  to  pursue,  he 
quitted  Harriet,  and  repaired  to  London,  where  he  encountered 
Everard  Walsingham.  They  renewed  once  more  their  broken  in- 
timacy, and  Danvers  was  taken  by  Everard  to  a  house  he  had 
hired  a  few  miles  from  town,  where  his  wife  had  been  recently 
delivered  of  a  boy.  To  distract  his  mind  from  brooding  on  the 
agonizing  thought  that  Harriet  would  soon  know  all  his  hypocrisy 
and  guile,  he  again  became  a  gamester.  For  some  time  his  star 
was  in  the  ascendant,  and  he  won  considerable  sums,  while 
Everard,  who  generally  accompanied  him  to  the  gaming-table, 
was  fortunate  in  his  play.  But  this  luck  began  to  fluctuate  ;  and 
it  was  at  this  precise  time  that  John  Walsingham  arrived  in 
England  :  and  on  the  first  night  of  his  return  went  to.  the  place 
where  Everard  and  Walter  were  staking  large  sums  of  money. 
The  love  of  play  was  a  ruling  passion  still  with  John  Walsingham  ; 


THE  MISER'S  SON.  553 

and  his  cousin,  Danvers  and  himself  were  soon  engaged  with  the 
dice,  when  Everard  and  Walter  lost  to  him  the  greater  part  of  all 
they  possessed.  As  John  Walsingham  had  business  in  London, 
he  accepted  the  offer  of  Danvers  to  share  his  lodging ;  and  it  may 
be  supposed  that  Walter,  like  a  drowning  wretch  catching  at 
every  straw,  was  anxious  to  detain  him  from  Harriet,  who  was  at 
this  time  with  her  sister,  then  recently  married.  They  played  on 
with  various  success,  and  John  Walsingham,  on  the  plea  of 
business,  put  off  his  visit  to  his  relations  in  the  country.  But  he 
had  another  motive  besides  that  of  gaming  for  remaining  in  the 
metropolis  :  he  had  become  enamoured  of  the  wife  of  Everard — 
who  would  never  allow  the  legality  of  his  marriage — and  made 
her  the  most  splendid  offers  if  she  would  live  with  him.  He  was 
repulsed  ;  but  under  the  impression  she  was  only  the  mistress  of 
Everard,  he  redoubled  his  efforts  to  win  her.  Everard  had 'con- 
tracted a  debt  to  the  amount  of  several  hundred  pounds  to  his 
cousin,  and  was  unable  to  pay  it ;  so  that  he  invited  him  to  his 
house,  and  paid  him  all  attention,  while  his  gentle  wife,  fearful  of 
producing  the  effusion  of  blood,  if  she  communicated  to  her  hus- 
band the  conduct  of  his  kinsman  towards  her,  was  necessitated  to 
endure  his  society.  But  the  climax  was  at  hand. 

The  wife  of  Danvers,  now  past  the  first  bloom  of  youth,  endea- 
vored to  gain  the  attention  of  John  Walsingham,  now  a  very  rich 
man,  who  met  her  advances  with  contempt.  Stung  to  the,  quick 
by  this  disdain,  she  inwardly  vowed  revenge  against  him.  The 
reader  must  now  be  informed  that  this  woman  was  in  fact  the 
sister  of  Everard 's  wife  :  but  her  disposition  was  the  very  antithesis 
of  hers.  There  never  existed  a  creature  more  utterly  infamous ; 
for  she  had  lived  as  mistress  to  John  Walsingham  previous  to 
her  marriage  with  Danvers,  and  bore  him  two  children,  Francis 
and  William,  and  he  being  weary  of  her  imposed  the  trick  on  his 
friend,  which  he  had  not  in  the  generosity  of  his  nature  suspected 
him  of.  But  it  was  not  merely  before  her  union  with  Danvers 
that  this  truly  infamous  woman  had  prostituted  herself.  For 
during  her  absence  from  him  in  the  provinces,  Captain  Norton 
having  conceived  a  passion  for  her,  and  ignorant  of  whom  or  what 
she  was,  she  intrigued  with  him,  and  the  consequence  of  their 
illicit  amour  was  the  birth  of  poor  Percy.  But  this  fact  did  not 

4  B 


554  THE  MISER'S  SON. 

reach  the  ear  of  Danvers,  or  he  might  have  sued  for  a  divorce. 
To  proceed. 

Mrs.  Danvers  discovered  that  John  Walsingham  had  transferred 
the  passion  he  entertained  at  one  time  for  herself  to  her  own  sister, 
whom  she  had  not  seen  for  many  years  :  and  one  of  the  most 
diabolical  plots  ever  concocted  out  of  hell  entered  her  foul  mind. 
She  frequently  saw  Everard,  and  artfully  worked  upon  him,  to 
believe  that  his  wife  encouraged  the  advances  of  John  Walsing- 
ham :  but  persuaded  him  to  adopt  some  scheme  of  revenge  which 
should  be  more  sure  and  deadly  than  any  he  could  accomplish  in 
a  duel.  Hating  her  sister  cordially,  as  she  had  ever  done,  envious 
of  her  loveliness,  and  feeling  her  virtuous  superiority  (forsAe  knew 
she  was  married)  she  advised  E\'erard  to  take  his  child  away  from 
its  mother,  and  promised  to  take  charge  of  it  herself.  This  was 
what  she  called  "  killing  two  birds  with  one  stone."  So  the  child 
was  torn  from  its  mother's  arms,  without  any  cause  being  assigned 
for  such  a  cruel  measure  (the  infant  not  having  been  weaned) ; 
for  Mrs.  Danvers  advised  him  not  to  breathe  a  word  of  his  sus- 
picions to  any — not  even  to  the  principal  delinquent  herself — in 
order  that  he  might  have  proof  of  the  guilt  of  the  parties.  Everard 
was  easily  worked  upon  to  believe  anything,  and  the  artifice  of  the 
abandoned  Mrs.  Danvers  was  consummate.  Her  object  was  to 
cause  Everard  to  murder  his  cousin,  and  to  break  her  sister's 
heart* for  having  been  the  innocent  cause  of  winning  the  affections 
of  the  man  to  whom  she  had  first  surrendered  her  virtue. 

Well,  John  Walsingham,  Everard,  and  Danvers  were  assembled 
together  at  the  gaming-table,  the  second  of  those  persons  being 
anxious  to  clear  himself  of  his  debt  to  his  cousin  :  the  fortunes  of 
the  two  latter  were  at  the  lowest  ebb,  while  those  of  the  former 
were  flourishing.  They  drank,  they  staked — though  Everard  and 
Danvers  played  on  credit — and  they  quarrelled.  Everard  quitted 
die  hell  in  a  state  of  desperation  and  semi-intoxication,  and  went 
to  the  house  of  Mrs.  Danvers.  But  John  Walsingham,  flushed 
with  wine,  resented  an  expression  of  Danvers  dropped  in  the  heat 
of  the  moment,  and  called  him,  "  Cuckold  !"  Danvers  stalked  up 
to  his  insulter,  and  grasping  his  arm,  with  his  brow  crimsoned 
and  the  veins  swoln  like  whipcord,  commanded  him  to  unsay  the 
word.  Those  who  saw  the  flushed  forehead,  and  heard  the  voice 
of  Danvers,  were  fully  persuaded  he  would  only  be  satisfied  with 


THE  MISER'S  SON.  655 

Walsingham's  blood.  «'  Prove  the  truth  of  what  you  say,  if  you 
will  not  retract,"  said  Walter,  who  would  have  been  content  to 
have  borne  any  ignominy  to  obtain  a  legal  separation  from  the 
woman  he  now  loathed  with  bitterness. 

John  Walsingham  was  mad  with  drink  and  passion,  and  he 
answered  Danvers  that  previous  to  his  marriage  his  wife  had  been 
the  mother  of  two  children,  and  had  not  recovered  from  her  last 
confinement  when  he  saw  her  as  Mrs.  Williamson,  adding  in- 
sultingly, he  thought  he  had  proved  he  was  cajoled,  and  might 
guess  it  was  he  who  had  fooled  him.  This  was  in  a  public  room, 
before  a  dozen  persons,  and  swords  were  drawn  between  John 
Walsingham  and  Walter ;  but  Danvers  slipped,  and  was  wounded 
in  the  right  arm  ere  he  could  make  a  lunge. 

"By  —  !  John  Walsingham,"  said  Danvers,  as  he  was  sepa- 
rated from  his  antagonist,  "  you  shall  repent  this."  And  he 
quitted  the  gaming-house  with  his  blood  on  fire. 

But  he  was  secretly  rejoiced  to  find  that  his  wife  was  such  an 
atrocious  character,  and  flattered  himself  he  should  be  able  to 
procure  a  divorce  from  her,  and  marry  Harriet.  Elated  with  this 
hope  he  resolved  on  visiting  the  idol  of  his  heart,  and  within  an 
hour  after  parting  from  John  Walsingham  he  was  on  his  road  to 
Harriet,  resolved  to  see  her  again  before  her  brother  could  do  so. 
John  Walsingham,  still  inflamed  with  liquor,  now  determined  to 
put  in  execution  a  scheme  he  had  for  some  time  entertained,  and 
proceeding  to  Everard's  house  he  procured  admittance,  and  stole 
up  to  the  chamber  of  his  cousin's  wife.  He  entered,  and  found 
her  asleep ;  but  his  passions  were  somewhat  cooler,  and  that 
look  of  innocence  mingled  with  sadness  occasioned  by  Everard's 
harsh  conduct,  which  the  poor  creature's  face  wore,  so  subdued 
and  touched  him,  vile  libertine  as  he  was,  that  his  purpose 
changed,  and  he  crept  away  ;  but  Everard,  who  had  returned 
home,  saw  him  leave  the  chamber,  and  gnashed  his  teeth  with 
rage.  Mrs.  Danvers,  however,  had  so  wrought  upon  his  mind 
that  he  suppressed  the  ebullition  of  his  wrath  towards  John,  and 
rushing  to  his  wife  he  violently  reproached  and  brutally  struck 
her,  when,  without  waiting  to  hear  aught  she  could  say  in  excul- 
pation of  the  supposed  crime,  he  swore  never  to  see  her  again, 
and  quitted  the  house.  He  virtually  murdered  her  :  for  she  died 
of  a  broken  heart  within  three  weeks  of  that  time. 


556  THE  MISER'S  SON. 

John  Walsingham  meanwhile  had  taken  horse,  determined  to 
abandon  his  pursuit  of  his  cousin's  wife,  and  Everard  doing  like- 
wise, in  an  admirable  disguise  tracked  the  man  whom  he  believed 
to  have  so  grossly  wronged  him.  It  so  happened,  from  accidental 
occurrences,  that  at  every  inn  where  John  Walsingham  stopped, 
Danvers  had  stopped  also ;  and  on  the  subsequent  trial,  this 
was  one  of  the  arguments  adduced  to  prove  that  he  had  waylaid 
Walsingham,  and  murdered  him.  But  of  this  more  anon.  Eve- 
rard on  the  contrary  took  his  measures  in  such  a  way  that  none 
suspected  him,  and  it  was  generally  supposed  he  had  departed 
for  the  Continent  before  his  cousin's  death.  Thus  the  whole 
weight  of  circumstantial  evidence,  in  the  subsequent  investiga- 
tion, was  thrown  on  the  shoulders  of  Danvers:  first,  it  was 
proved  that  he  had  a  violent  quarrel  with  John  Walsingham,  that 
they  had  fought  and  he  had  been  worsted,  that  he  had  lost  a 
large  sum  of  money  to  him,  that  he  had  vowed  revenge,  and 
preceded  him  by  a  very  short  time,  and,  in  addition  to  all  this, 
other  circumstances  followed  which  proved  his  guilt,  in  the  opi- 
nion of  many,  beyond  doubt. 

Harry  Danvers  (so  it  happened)  had  been  placed  at  a  school 
a  short  distance  from  the  spot  which  was  the  theatre  of  the  pos- 
terior events,  and  having  played  the  truant  one  fine  summer's 
day,  he  was  wandering  about  in  a  wood,  when  he  heard  a  cry  at 
no  great  distance  from  him.  The  child — he  was  then  about  eight 
years  old — though  somewhat  alarmed  at  such  a  sound,  conquered 
his  timidity,  and  proceeded  in  the  direction  it  came  from.  But 
it  is  necessary  to  retrograde  some  minutes,  to  explain  the  whole 
occurrence  clearly. 

In  a  lonely  spot  near  the  wood  where  the  little  fellow  was  wan- 
dering might  have  been  seen  the  figure  of  a  horseman,  of  power- 
ful and  athletic  make,  who  was  humming  the  air  of  a  popular 
song  not  remarkable  for  morality  as  he  slowly  wended  his  way ; 
when  he  was  attacked  on  a  sudden  by  a  man  whose  face  was 
masked,  also  mounted,  who  wounded  him^  in  the  body  with  a 
sword  ere  he  could  defend  himself;  and  when  with  a  groan  he 
fell  senseless  to  the  ground,  the  assassin  fled,  as  if  pursued  by 
fiends.  That  man  was  Everard. 

It  is  requisite  here  to  mention  simply  the  fact  that  Danvers 
once  discovered  Everard  used  loaded  dice:  but  as  he  had 


THE  MISER'S  SON.  557 

sacredly  promised  never  to  do  so  again,  Danvers  refrained  from 
exposing  him :  but  from  that  cause  he  had  exerted  a  powerful 
influence  over  him.  This  circumstance  will  explain  the  secret 
which  Walter  held  in  terrorem  over  the  Miser  in  after  days  ;  but 
Everard  imagined,  when  Danvers  threatened  him,  that  he  alluded 
to  a  very  different  matter.  For  he  had  not  proceeded  above  a 
quarter  of  a  mile  from  the  place  where  he  had  attacked  his  cou- 
sin, when  he  descried  Danvers  approaching  by  a  cross-road,  and 
redoubled  his  speed,  supposing  that  he  was  recognised  by  him. 
But  Danvers,  though  he  saw  a  flying  figure,  knew  not  that  it  was 
Everard.  He  had  been  delayed  on  his  road  by  his  horse  going 
lame,  and  was  pursuing  his  way  on  foot.  Just  as  the  Miser 
vanished,  Danvers  beheld  a  horse  without  a  rider  galloping  away, 
and  concluded  something  was  amiss.  He  speedily  arrived  at  the 
place  where  John  Walsingham  was  lying  insensible,  but  not  dead  ; 
and  (concluding  a  robber  had  attempted  his  life)  he  endeavoured 
to  resuscitate  him,  but  in  vain,  and  hastened  away  to  procure 
assistance. 

Scarcely  had  lie  disappeared,  when  a  woman  and  a  strange, 
semi-human  child  advanced,  and  the  former  perceiving  that  the 
wounded  man  wore  a  rich  gold  chain,  despoiled  him  of  it.  The 
hideous  child  took  up  a  silver-mounted  riding-whip  the  wounded 
man  had  dropped,  and  blew  several  notes  on  it — for  it  had  a 
whistle.  John  Walsiagham  recovered  from  his  stupor  at  this 
juncture,  and  finding  the  hand  of  the  female  in  his  pocket,  strug- 
gled with  her.  Then  that  woman  stabbed  him  with  a  knife,  and 
he  uttered  the  cry  of  agony  Harry  had  overheard  ;  and  the  mon- 
strous child  struck  him  with  a  stone  on  the  head.  In  a  few  mo- 
ments the  unhappy  man  expired,  and,  as  he  breathed  his  last, 
Harry  came  upon  the  fearful  scene ;  and  overcome  with  horror, 
uttered  a  scream,  and  ran  away. 

The  murderess  dragged  away  the  corpse,  and  descended  with 
it  into  the  cave — of  which  such  repeated  mention  has  been  made 
— so  that  when  Danvers  returned  to  the  place  with  a  person  on 
horseback  he  had  casually  met,  there  was  no  trace  of  the  body. 
Information  was  given  to  the  local  authorities  immediately,  and 
Danvers  arrested  on  suspicion.  He  was  tried  and  condemned — a 
body  having  been  found  previous  to  the  trial  in  a  river  in  the 
vicinity,  and  some  one  identified  it  as  that  of  John  Walsingham— 


558  THE  MISER'S  SON. 

whose  else,  it  was  argued,  could  it  be? — though  it  was  in  such  a 
state  of  decomposition  that  the  features  could  hardly  be  sworn  to, 
and  a  surgeon  even  thought  it  was  probably  that  of  a  person  who 
pre-deceased  Walsingham  by  some  weeks. 

Walter  Danvers  escaped — his  wife  led  an  abandoned  life,  keep- 
ing the  child  of  Everard  Walsingham  (little  George)  for  infants' 
parts  in  the  theatre ;  and  Danvers's  two  children  were  conveyed 
by  Mrs.  Haines  to  France.  For  Harriet  Walsingham,  she  re- 
solved to  shut  herself  out  from  the  world,  and  in  the  most  private 
manner  removed  from  the  roof  of  her  sister  to  the  house  she  had 
ever  since  occupied,  and  where  she  devoted  herself  to  Heaven  with 
all  the  tempered  grief  and  pious  resignation  of  her  pure  soul. 

A  few  days  after  the  perpetration  of  that  dread  crime  which 
he  had  but  half  accomplished,  the  wife  of  Everard  died,  and  was 
privately  buried  in  a  little  country  church-yard  ;  he  then  left 
England,  and  did  not  return  to  it  for  years.  Walter  Danvers 
again  served  in  the  armies  of  France ;  and,  nine  years  after  he 
made  his  escape  from  prison,  returned  on  the  mission  he  was 
engaged  in  when  he  first  made  his  appearance  on  the  stage.  Har- 
riet Walsingham  he,  in  common  with  many  others,  had  heard 
was  dead  ;  but  he  loved  her  memory  with  a  sacred  passion,  and 
often  reproached  himself  as  the  cause  of  her  decease.  It  is  only 
necessary  to  add  that  John  Walsmgham's  children  were  taken 
care  of  by  his  sister. 

- 



CHAPTER  III. 

"  Justice !     Oh,  'tis  a  word  God  only  understands  ! 
Man's  justice  is  most  impotent  indeed 
To  punish, — how  much  more  so  to  reward  !" 

3ifl 
THE   EXAMINATION    OF   DANVERS. 

AT  an  early  hour  of  the  day,  every  part  of  the  place  where 
the  examination  of  Danvers  was  to  be  held  was  thronged  ;  and  it 
was  with  no  little  difficulty  that  the  officers  of  the  court  made 
their  way  through  the  crowd,  and  assisted  those  personally  inte- 
rested in  the  proceedings  to  the  places  reserved  for 


THE  MISER'S  SON.  559 

The  Hall  of  Justice  was  of  considerable  size,  and  at  the  far- 
ther end  was  a  platform  on  which  the  magistrates  took  their 
seats.  Immediately  below,  railed  off  from  the  crowd,  was  the 
bar,  and  beside  it  the  witness-box,  and-  at  either  side  were 
benches  appropriated  to  lawyers  and-  persons  engaged  in  the 
business  of  the  court.  Some  of  the  prisoner's  friends  were  con- 
ducted to  their  places,  and  might  be  seen — anxiously  looking  for 
his  appearance.  The  bench  nearest  to  the  spot  where  Danvers 
would  stand  was  occupied  by  several  persons  who  claim  acquaint- 
ance with  the  reader. 

The  tall  figure  of  Elizabeth  Haines  was  conspicuous  among 
them,  and  at  her  right  hand  was  Harry  Danvers.  Sidney  and 
Spenser  sat  together  in  the  middle  of  the  bench  ;  and  nearest  to 
the  latter,  beautiful  as  sculptor's  or  painter's  dreams,  a  pale, 
glorious  face,  on  which  the  bright  sun  shone  down,  and  seemed  to 
crown  it  as  with  a  halo,  might  be  seen.  But  not  a  trace  of  emo- 
tion was  upon  it :  there  was  something  even  sublime  in  its  re- 
pose,— and  but  for  the  eager  straining  of  the  eye  towards  the 
door  where  the  prisoner  would  appear,  it  might  have  been 
thought  she  was  an  uninterested  spectator  in  the  scene.  It  was, 
of  course,  Harriet  Walsingham.  Presently,  a  martial  form,  and  a 
fair,  girlish  figure  advanced,  with  eyes  bent  on  the  earth,  and 
trembling  visibly.  Harry  Danvers  rose  and  took  her  hand. 
"Ellen,"  he  said,  "  why  are  yon  here  ?"  and  his  glance  wan- 
dered to  Charles  Walsingham  who  accompanied  her.  But  ere 
she  could  reply,  there  arose  an  universal  exclamation,  for  it  was 
thought  the  prisoner  was  coming. 

It  appeared,  however,  that  it  was  the  magistrates,  who  passed 
to  the  platform,  and  sat  down.  Among  them  was  Captain  Nor- 
ton, looking  like  a  walking  skeleton,  but  with  a  wild,  restless  fire 
in  his  eye  which  gave  a  strange  and  ghastly  expression  to  his 
marble  face.  He  sat  like  a  statue,  with  compressed  lips  and 
clasped  hands,  scarcely  seeming  to  breathe;  the  stillness  he 
maintained  was  most  awful.  There  were  present  also  the  younger 
Lady  Walsingham,  who  occupied  a  seat  a  short  distance  from 
Harriet,  and  a  young  lawyer,  the  friend  of  Charles  once  alluded 
to,  while  a  few  less  important  personages  were  seated  behind. 
At  the  other  side,  a  little  below  the  platform,  might  be  perceived 
a  little  old  man  and  a  lad,  the  expression  of  whose  features  was 


560  THE  MISER'S  SON. 

remarkably  similar,  full  of  vulgar  cunning  and  shrewdness.  These 
were  the  two  Quirks  :  and  at  the  distance  of  a  yard  from  them 
stood  two  individuals,  whom  it  is  not  probable  the  reader  should 
recognise  iii  the  disguise  they  wore.  The  former  was  John  Nor- 
ton, dressed  in  an  old-fashioned  style  with  "  spectacles  on  nose." 
The  other  was  a  foreign- looking  man  with  a  beard,  of  dark, 
saturnine  aspect,  who  leant  on  a  staff,  and  never  raised  his  eyes* 
He  was  Hugh  Freestone. 

In  a  corner  of  the  hall  crouched  a  figure  of  really  tall  stature, 
but  his  height  appeared  below  the  ordinary,  as  he  stood  in  the 
shadow  of  a  pillar,  and  glanced  fearfully  towards  the  door  at 
which  Danvers  was  to  enter.  This  was  no  other  than  Everard 
Walsingham — or  Lord  Walsjngham  (for  such  he  was)  who  in 
spite  of  his  terrors  was  led  by  intense  anxiety  to  the  place,  in 
order  to  know  the  worst  that  could  befal  him.  That  Walter  Dan- 
vers had  not  previously  confessed  the  truth,  Everard  could  not 
account  for,  except  that  the  knowledge  he  possessed  gave  him 
such  almost  unlimited  power  over  him.  But  now  there  was  no 
chance  of  Walter's  escaping,  and  he  did  not  believe  his  generosity 
would  sacrifice  life  for  him.  Sam  Stokes,  Corporal  Figgins  and 
little  Mr.  Smith  intervened  betwixt  the  Miser  and  the  Quirks. 

"  Why  is  not  the  prisoner  here?"  asked  one  of  the  magistrates 
of  an  officer,  who  was  leaving  the  court  to  hasten  the  appear- 
ance of  Danvers,  when  there  arose  a  shout,  a  hissing  shout,  a  yell, 
from  the  street  through  which  Danvers  was  passing  from  prison, 
and  then  there  was  a  rush  into  the  already  crowded  court,  and 
shrieks  and  oaths  resounded  through  the  place,  while  the  prisoner, 
strongly  guarded,  was  conducted  to  the  bar. 

He  looked  somewhat  pale  and  haggard  ;  but  his  undaunted 
spirit  quailed  not,  and  he  stood  with  dignified  composure,  power, 
pride,  command  on  his  tranquil  brow  for  a  minute,  until  his  eyes 
fell  on  Harriet  Walsingham  and  his  children.  Then  the  strong 
man  was  subdued— while  Harriet  was  hardly  able  to  maintain  her 
seat — and  a  tremor  ran  through  his  frame ;  but  it  subsided,  and 
the  investigation  proceeded.  The  chief  magistrate  having  examined 
the  depositions  spoke — 

"  Prisoner,  you  are  charged  with  being  the  same  person  who 
was  condemned  for  the  murder  of  John  Walsingham,  on  the  — 
day  of 17  — ,  and  made  his  escape  from  prison  on  the  day 


THE  MISER'S  SON.  561 

previous  to  that  fixed  for  his  execution.  Do  you  wish  to  say 
anything  before  I  examine  the  witnesses  who  swear  to  your 
identity  ?" 

"  Nothing,"  replied  Danvers,  in  a  steady,  strong  voice,  whicli 
thrilled  the  hearts  of  many  present.  • 

"  Who  swears  to  the  fact  of  this  man  being  that  same  Walter 
Danvers  ?"  inquired  the  magistrate. 

"  I  acknowledge  the  fact,"  said  the  prisoner  calmly,  as  several 
persons  were  on  the  point  of  establishing  the  identity. 

"  Then,"  rejoined  the  magistrate,  " the  sentence  of  the  law  will 
be  executed  on  you  without  further  delay." 

Here  the  young  lawyer,  who  had  undertaken  to  do  what  was 
possible  for  Danvers,  rose  and  said,  "  I  have  to  request  that  the 
execution  of  the  prisoner  be  delayed  till  after  an  inquiry  has  been 
instituted  into  circumstances  which  have  recently  transpired  rela- 
tive to  the  murder  of  which  the  prisoner  has  been  found  guilty, 
and  also  that  the  witnesses  of  these  facts  may  be  now  examined." 

The  young  barrister  had  but  just  finished  speaking,  when  old 
Quirk  advanced,  and  addressing  the  chief-magistrate,  said,  "  I 
have  also  to  lay  before  your  worship  some  matters  connected 
with  the  same  affair ;  and  I  think,  when  you  have  heard  the 
depositions,  you  will  admit  there  is  sufficient  reason  for  delaying 
the  sentence " 

"  What !"  interrupted  a  hoarse  voice  proceeding  from  the  side 
of  the  chief  magistrate.  "  After  the  lapse  of  nine  years,  is  there 
to  be  more  delay  ?" 

"  Pray,  Captain  Norton,"  cried  the  magistrate  who  had  con- 
ducted the  examination,  "  allow  me  to  hear  the  witnesses,  and  if 
we  do  not  think  what  they  urge  against  the  present  execution  of 
the  prisoner  valid " 

"  I  am  silent,"  cried  Captain  Norton,  sullenly.  "  But  you  are 
aware  this  man  murdered  my  son  in  cold  blood,  and  that  he  is  a 
notorious  Jacobite." 

"  We  must  not  prejudice  the  minds  of  our  brother  magistrates 
against  this  man,  that  of  which  he  stands  condemned  being  a 
capital  offence,"  said  the  chief  magistrate.  "  We  must  remember 
the  importance  of  the  matter,  and  listen  to  the  facts  to  be  adduced 
with  patience.  What  witnesses/'  (addressing  the  barrister)  "have 
you  to  bring  forward  ?" 

4  c 


562  THE  MISER'S  SON. 

"  I  am  hardly  prepared,"  began  the  young  lawyer  ;  but  Roger 
Sidney  and  Harry  Danvers,  as  well  as  Charles  Walsingham  and 
Sam  Stokes,  simultaneously  arose.  Roger  Sidney  was  known  to 
the  presiding  magistrate,  and  was  first  called  upon  for  his  testi- 
mony. 

"  I  had  made  a  deposition  before  one  of  the  magistrates  of  the 
county,"  said  the  old  Angler,  "  concerning  the  discovery  of  a' 
skeleton  which  there  are  strong  reasons  for  believing  to  be  that  of 
the  same  person  for  whose  murder  the  prisoner  has  been  found 
guilty  ;  but  the  authorities,  it  seems,  took  no  notice  of  the  matter." 
A  magistrate  replied  to  this  that  the  rising  of  the  Jacobites  had 
been  so  sudden  and  formidable  that  it  had  diverted  the  attention 
of  himself  and  others  from  business  of  less  emergency,  every 
constable  having  been  employed  since  the  information  given  by 
Mr.  Sidney  :  but  that  he  would  immediately  send  officers  to  in- 
vestigate the  mysterious  affair. 

"Nay,"  cried  Harry  Danvers,  "  that  were  useless  now.  You 
must  cause  the  river  to  be  dragged,  if  you  would  find  the  corpse 
alluded  to."  Harry  then  recounted  the  particulars  of  his  midnight 
visit  to  the  cave,  and  added  that  Sam  Stokes  had  found  him 
after  he  was  wounded  (fortunately  but  slightly — though  he  was 
stunned  by  his  fall)  and  called  on  the  tar  to  corroborate  his  state- 
ment— which  Sam  instantly  did.  Charles  then  begged  for  a  hear- 
ing, and  related  the  singular  coincidence  by  which  he  had  become 
a  witness  of  the  dark  scene  in  the  cave,  and  when  he  had  ended, 
officers  were  dispatched  to  the  locality  where  the  plashing  in  the 
water  was  heard,  and  which  was  described  by  Harry  Danvers. 
They  had  orders  to  have  the  river  instantly  dragged,  and  to  return 
with  all  speed  to  the  Court. 

Captain  Norton  then  spoke.  "  Can  either  of  the  witnesses," 
he  asked,  "  point  out  the  probable  persons  concerned  in  the 
occurrences  of  last  night  ?" 

"  We  have  our  suspicions,"  answered  Harry  Danvers,  glancing 
at  Corporal  Figgins  ;  who  bore  the  look  with  bold  effrontery, 
"  but  we  can  state  nothing  positively." 

"  And  to  whom  do  your  suspicions  point?" 
"To  a  woman  named  Stokes,  who  lives  in  the  vicinity  of  the 
c^ve,  and  whom  I  should  wish  apprehended,  and  to  another  per- 
son who  is  here  present." 


THE  MISER'S  SON.  563 

"  Who  is  that  person  ?" 

Harry  pointed  to  Figgins,  and  related  what  George  had  told 
him.  The  Corporal  advanced  and  confronted  his  accuser. 

"  A  likely  story,"  exclaimed  Figgins,  "  when  the  murdered 
gentleman  was  my  benefactor,  aud  i  now  am  the  servant  of  his 
sister,  Lady  Walsingham.  It  is  plainly  trumped  up  out  of  spite 
because  I  captured  the  prisoner." 

"  Of  this,  more  anon,"  said  a  magistrate. 

Old  Quirk  then  spoke.  "  As  I  am  to  consider  master  Danvers 
my  client,"  he  began,  "  I  wish  to  elicit  something  farther  than 
has  yet  been  stated.  I  have  no  doubt  we  shall  be  able  to  make  it 
appear  that  the  skeleton  which  has  been  referred  to  is  that  of  the 
person  of  whose  murder  Walter  Danvers  has  been  condemned, 
in  which  case  he  must  be  released  :  it  was,  doubtless,  thrown  into 
the  water  by  the  real  murderer,  who  had  discovered  people  had 
visited  the  cave  where  it  was  deposited.  I  am  aware  that  the 
skeleton  of  the  unfortunate  gentleman  was  supposed  to  have  been 
found  soon  after  his  death  :  but  we  are  so  often  deceived  in  the 
identity  of  a  skeleton — of  those  who  have  been  dead  some " 

"  I  must  interrupt  you,  Mr.  Attorney  !"  exclaimed  the  young 
barrister  who  had  previously  spoken  in  behalf  of  Danvers, 
"  unless  you  are  authorised  to  plead  in  the  case,  your  reasoning 
is  so  Jesuitical,  that  while  you  speak  in  favor  of  the  prisoner,  you 
endeavour  to  throw  doubts  on  the  validity  of  the  testimony 
received.  Am  I  right,"  looking  at  the  Walsinghams,  "  in  thus 
interfering  ?" 

"  Certainly,"  said  Charles,  "  with  Mr.  Danvers'  approbation." 

Old  Quirk  turned,  a  little  disconcerted  at  the  exposure  of  his 
double-dealing ;  but  his  effrontery  returned,  and  he  said,  "  1 
will  of  course  resign  the  matter  into  the  hands  of  those  who  are 
chosen  by  my  employers  to  defend  the  prisoner  ;  but  I  deny  I 
have  acted  indiscreetly,  as,  if  1  had  not  been  interrupted,  I  should 
have  proved.  I  have  some  evidence  to  adduce,  which  is  important; 
but  it  is  hardly  yet  digested." 

"  We  will  hear  that  evidence  whenever  you  like  to  lay  it  before 
us,"  said  the  chief  magistrate.  "  Is  there  any  other  witness 
present  ?" 

•«  Let  us  pass,"  here  died  the  voice  of  a  young  boy,  "  pray  let 
us  pass." 


564  THE  MISER'S  SON. 

"  Who  is  this  ?"  demanded  a  magistrate. 

"  1  have  got  something  of  consequence  to  say,"  cried  the  little 
fellow  who  had  spoken.  The  officers  made  way  for  the  new 
comers ;  and  a  child  of  nine  or  ten  years  old,  leading  a  mute 
being  some  years  older,  advanced  and  exclaimed,  "  This  boy  has 
been  talking  to  me  ;  for  I  met  him  coming  here,  and  he  said  if  I 
would  go  with  him  he  would  show  me  how  the  gentleman  wa's 
murdered." 

"  What  does  all  this  mean  ?"  asked  the  presiding  magistrate. 

"  I  will  tell  you,  sir,"  returned  the  young  boy,  breathless  with 
hurry  and  excitement.  "  1  thought  that  what  I  heard  from  this 
poor  fellow  was  strange ;  and  he  led  me  to  a  wood,  some  miles 
from  this  place,  when  he  told  me  that  long,  long  ago,  when  he 
was  a  little  child,  a  person  was  murdered  there.  He  said  it  had 
cost  him  dear,  for  it  had  broken  the  music  of  his  brain — that 
scene— with  fear  :  he  described  to  me  how  the  murder  was  done. 
He  said,  he  was  lying  under  a  tree,  when  he  saw  a  man  hiding — " 

"  Ha  I"  said  a  voice  in  the  court,  here ;  but  no  one  saw  the 
speaker. 

The  boy  continued — "  And  then  a  gentleman  came  that  way  on 
horseback,  and  the  man  who  had  hid  himself  killed  him,  and  then 
ran  away.  And  presently  another  person  came,  and  tried  to  help 
the  gentleman  who  was  dead,  or  dying  ;  but  it  was  no  good,  and 
he  departed.  Afterwards  others  came,  and  as  this  boy  says,  killed 
the  gentleman  again ;  but  I  could  not  understand  him  when  he 
got  so  far." 

"  This  is  a  strong  corroboration  of  what  the  son  of  the  prisoner 
said  on  the  trial,"  observed  Sidney  aloud. 

"  But  the  statement  is  so  incoherent,"  returned  one  of  the 
bench,  «« that  nothing  can  be  made  of  it.  Is  this  boy  accompany- 
ing the  child  an  idiot  ?" 

"  I  think  not,  sir,"  said  little  George — for  it  was  he  who  came 
up  with  «  Mad  Willy." 

But  the  mysterious  life  of  reason  again  was  dormant,  and  the 
hinatic  could  tell  nothing.  After  a  short  time,  the  officers  who 
had  been  sent  to  ascertain  if  a  body  had  been  thrown  into  the 
river  where  Harry  described,  returned  with  the  news  that  it  had 
been  dragged  ineffectually,  only  a  large  stone  having  been  found. 
Corporal  Figgins  had  seemed  uneasy  when  the  officers  re-entered, 
but  having  heard  the  result  of  their  search,  his  brow  cleared. 


THE  MISER'S  SON.  565 

"  I  think,"  said  the  chief  magistrate,  "  there  is  enough  mystery 
here  to  justify  the  delay  of  the  prisoner's  execution.  Let  him  be 
taken  back  to  prison,  and  placed  in  strict  confinement.  I  will 
represent  the  affair  to  the  Home  Secretary." 

Thus  closed  the  examination,  atfd  Danvers  was  removed 
strongly  guarded.  The  crowded  court  was  soon  empty,  and  the 
sounds  of  human  life  were  silenced. 


CHAPTER  IV  * 

What !  is  it  in  the  power  of  threescore  years 

To  push  eternity  from  human  thought, 

And  quench  the  mind  immortal  in  the  dust  ? 

YOUNG. 

A   CHAPTER   FOR   THINKERS — POPE   AND   BOLINGBROKE. 

IT  was  evening,  and  the  crowded  thoroughfares  of  the  metropolis 
were  thinning,  and  the  crouds  gradually  passing  to  their  homes 
or  pleasures.  The  day  had  been  sultry,  but  a  cool  breeze  was 
rising,  and  the  stars  became  visible  in  the  soft,  misty  blue  of  the 

*  The  introduction  in  this  chapter  of  a  species  of  writing  usually  confined  to 
a  work  avowedly  metaphysical,  requires  some  apology.  The  reasons  why  I 
have  introduced  such  abstract  speculation  are  manifold.  First,  the  development 
of  mind,  which  is  all  along  the  chief  object  of  my  Tale,  is  assisted  by  it.  I 
maintain  that  the  pivot  on  which  character  moves  is  not  practical  but  theoretical 
— that  theory  precedes  action,  even  in  the  thoughtless,  generally.  The  next 
reason  to  be  mentioned  is — because  the  individual  is  the  growth  of  his  times, 
just  in  the  same  way  as  a  plant  is  the  production  of  a  specific  soil  and  atmo- 
sphere. The  philosophy  of  this  age  is  not  that  of  a  century  ago,  but  is  indivisi- 
bly  connected  with  it.  England  at  the  era  in  question  was  rich  in  the  abstract, 
but  not  in  the  ideal.  The  genius  of  our  literature  necessarily  partook  of  the 
spirit  of  the  age,  and  that  was  not  to  the  poetical.  Now,  whatever  may  be  said 
to  the  contrary,  we  are  highly  idealised.  A  state  had  preceded  us  full  of  the 
artificial,  and  redolent  of  the  hot-house.  Even  the  poetry  of  Pope  has  for  the 
most  part  no  vital  imagination  in  it.  But  Pope  will  not  satisfy  our  poetical 
wants  ;  we  crave  more  ethereal  food.  We  are  advancing  to  the  last  stage  of 
civilization  fast.  The  limits  of  a  note  do  not  permit  me  to  state  all  that  I  wish 
in  connexion  with  this  subject;  but  I  have  something  to  add,  lest  those  who  are 
desirous  of  checking  thought — when  it  is  thought  run  mad — condemn  me  for 


566  THE  MISER'S   SON. 

autumnal  sky.  A  diminutive  man,  who  had  scarcely  reached 
middle  age,  was  walking  slowly  along  in  that  quarter  of  the  town 
frequented  by  the  gay  and  the  brilliant  of  that  time,  but  now 
nearly  deserted  by  the  fashionable  world ;  was  recognised  with 
smiles  and  greetings  by  many  of  the  most  distinguished  personages 
he  encountered.  But  though  he  returned  them,  a  sneer  would 
gather  round  his  mouth  ever  and  anon,  in  spite  of  all  the  studious 
honor  paid  to  him,  though  why  it  was  difficult  to  define  ;  for  he 
did  not  seem  at  all  in  the  condition  of  one  made  cynical  by  envy 
of  the  good  things  others  enjoyed,  and  he  himself  did  not  possess  ; 
but  a  slight  deformity — an  almost  imperceptible  crookedness  in 
the  back — might,  perhaps,  in  some  measure  account  for  the 
acerbity  of  temper  he  exhibited. 

"  Ah  !  my  dear  Pope,"  cried  a  handsome,  gentlemanly  per- 
sonage more  advanced  in  life  than  the  little  person  with  the 
crooked  shoulder,  who  came  out  of  a  house  inhabited  by  a  great 
man  of  the  time,  now  nearly  forgotten,  "  I  am  sorry  to  see  you 
do  not  look  so  well  as  you  ought." 

"  Your  lordship  is  going  to  sup  with  the  pretty  foreign  singer, 
I  suppose  ?" 

"  Not  to-night.  I  shall  be  present  at  the  discussion,  and  pro- 
bably take  part  in  it.  You  will  be  there  ?" 

"  Certainly,  if  your  lordship  speak.  That  young  Atheist  would 
have  hit  any  but  yourself  rather  hard  the  other  night.  He  is  a 
monstrous  clever  lad." 

"  Hang  him  !  But  I  mean  to  pull  to  pieces  his  philosophy 
presently.  Good  bye  for  the  present." 

"  Lord  Bolingbroke  is  coming  into  office  again,  Pope,  I  hear," 
said  a  young  man  of  fashion,  addressing  the  crook-backed  indi- 
vidual, as  soon  as  the  person  alluded  to  was  out  of  sight. 

"  Is  he  ?"  replied  the  other.  "  I  heard  that  you  were  going  to 
reside  more  out  of  the  open  air  than  is  your  custom.  People  will 
talk." 

giving  publicity  to  sentiments  (in  the  mouths  of  William  Walsingham  and  Lord 
Bolingbroke)  inimical  to  Natural  and  Revealed  Religion.  My  conviction  is, 
that  the  more  reason  is  excited,  rational  Christianity — pure,  bright,  effulgent, 
and  tolerant — is  promulged.  That  cause  must  indeed  be  bad,  which  can  dread 
the  attacks  of  its  foes  so  much,  as  to  wish  its  friends  to  shut  their  eyes  and  close 
their  ears — to  believe  in  their  IGNORANCE. 


THE  MISER'S    SON.  667 

"  Going  to  gaol,  eh  ?"  returned  the  young  man.  "  That's  a 
cursed  lie."  And  he  sauntered  away. 

Pope  sneered  in  his  bitter  fashion,  and  was  probably  thinking 
of  writing  a  satire,  when  a  man  of  about  his  own  size,  and  nearly 
of  his  age,  with  a  countenance  full  of  intellect  and  splendor  met 
him.  "What!  Do  I  see  Henry  Spenser?"  exclaimed  the  poet. 
"  It  can  be  no  other ;  though  it  is  years  since  I  saw  you." 

"  I  am  glad  to  meet  you,  my  dear  Pope,"  replied  Spenser, 
cordially  shaking  the  hand  that  was  extended  to  him.  And  the 
two  diminutive  men,  respectively  perhaps  the  best  living  poet  and 
philosopher  of  that  day,  walked  on  together. 

"  Here  we  are  at  a  house,"  said  Pope,  "  where  thinking  men 
of  the  day  meet  once  a  week  to  discuss  important  questions.  Will 
you  accompany  me  in  ?  The  question  to-night  is  the  Origin  of  Evil. 
Bolingbroke  will  speak,  and  you  will  probably  also  hear  a  rather 
extraordinary  youth,  who  advocates  the  atheistical  side."  Spenser 
still  loved  controversy,  still  loved  to  exercise  his  mighty  spirit  in 
the  mysteries  of  things,  and  to  throw  in  truth  wherever  it  was 
possible  to  do  so  ;  and  assenting  to  the  proposition  of  Pope,  who 
was  one  of  his  earliest  acquaintances,  and  whose  fame  he  had  pre- 
dicted (when  he  was  a  boy  himself)  would  increase  more  and 
more,  he  observed  as  he  entered  the  house,  which  was  open  to 
the  public,  and  much  frequented  by  the  wits  of  the  day — "  I 
cannot  understand  what  Atheism  means.  It  is  a  name  for  nothing  ; 
a  term  which  is  a  mere  negative  to  an  affirmative  cannot  be  said 
to  comprise  a  logical  entity."  They  ascended  some  stairs  in  the 
tavern  ;  and  were  admitted  into  an  apartment — when  a  singular 
scene  was  presented  to  their  sight. 

The  room  itself  was  spacious,  and  at  the  extremity  was  a  sort 
of  stage,  from  which  some  person  was  addressing  the  meeting. 
Altogether  there  might  have  been  as  many  as  thirty  persons  pre- 
sent, many  of  whom  were  evidently  above  the  middle  classes. 
Among  these  were  the  old  and  the  young,  the  grave  and  the  gay, 
the  philosopher  and  the  wit,  the  man  of  science  and  the  man  of 
pleasure ;  and  a  better  subject  for  a  picture  can  hardly  be  ima- 
gined. The  number  of  intelligent  faces,  the  variety  of  expression 
in  them,  as  the  lamps  cast  down  their  effulgence  from  above, 
— being  suspended  to  the  ceiling, — plentifully  scattered  over  the 
apartment,  the  look  of  mirth  on  this  man's  countenance  as  a  bril- 


568  THE  MISER'S  SON. 

liant  wit  whispered  some  biting  jest  on  the  company  into  his  ear, 
or  the  solemn  attention  of  this  individual's  saturnine  physiognomy, 
presented  so  powerful  and  striking  a  contrast  that  words  can  but 
inadequately  describe  it.  "  Si  DEUS  EST,  UNDE  MALUM?"  was 
inscribed  in  large  letters  on  a  board  in  the  front  of  the  stage, 
such  being  the  precise  theme  for  discussion  on  that  evening. 

"  Gentlemen,"  said  the  person  who  was  speaking  when  Po'pe 
and  Spencer  entered,  "  I  have  the  honour  to  announce  that  Lord 
Bolingbroke  will  open  the  debate  this  evening,  and  is  prepared  to 
show  that  all  Evil  tends  to  Good.  Any  person  will  be  at  liberty 
to  take  part  in  the  discussion,  provided  he  will  conform  to  the 
regulation  of  not  speaking  above  a  quarter  of  an  hour  at  a  time." 
Here  Lord  Bolingbroke  came  forward  and  was  received  with 
strong  tokens  of  approbation  by  those  who  were  inclined  to  his 
opinions,  he  being  considered  the  head  of  the  Deistical  philoso- 
phers of  the  period.  'Silence'  was  proclaimed  by  the  chairman, 
and  at  that  talismanic  word,  the  hum  of  voices  subsided.  All 
was  deep  attention,  as  the  celebrated  St.  John  prepared  to  speak. 
What  a  vast  power  there  is  in  discussion  for  directing  the  minds 
of  men  !  How  opinions  are  gradually  formed  or  uprooted,  and 
truth  or  error  received  for  all  eternity  !  And  when  intelligent  and 
rational  beings  meet  to  inquire  into  the  great  subjects  of  deity,  and 
the  mysteries  which  are  connected  with  our  complex  being,  how 
infinite  the  importance  of  every  look,  and  word  and  action  !  But 
the  battle  of  mind  must  be  fought,  and  whether  it  be  in  the 
crowded  arena  where  intellectual  gladiators  strive,  or  in  the  soli- 
tary soul  with  silence  around,  the  result  will  be  the  same,  the 
eternal  purpose  of  God  be  developed.  But  what  a  thing  to  con- 
template the  mirrors  of  the  heart  in  the  lineaments  of  the  listeners, 
as  some  prejudice  is  attacked,  some  feeling  outraged,  some  faith 
shaken  to  the  centre  !  Here  and  there  a  man  who  has  exhausted 
all  the  worlds  of  opinion  may  be  seen  cold  and  listless,  but  to  be- 
hold the  masses  is  to  see  all  the  mutations  of  intellect.  Oh,  it  is 
more  tremendous  to  the  thinker  than  the  strife  of  armies  battling 
for  continents ! 

Bolingbroke  commenced  thus — "  The  origin  of  evil  is  a  subject 
which  the  sophistries  of  divines,  and  the  false  reasoning  of  atheists 
have  so  confused  and  obscured,  that  it  is  with  difficulty  the  minds 
of  the  mass  of  mankind  can  receive  the  principles  of  the  first 


THE  MISER'S  SON.  569 

philosophy.  In  this  respect  the  civilized  world  is  in  the  same 
condition  as  the  man  who  lived  in  a  dark  cave,  and  was  so  ac- 
customed to  the  obscurity,  that  he  loved  it  better  than  the  light. 
Gentlemen,  1  maintain,  in  pursuance  of  the  argument  we  held 
the  other  night  when  we  met  here,  that-all  evil  is  the  creation  of 
man — that  it  is  in  idea,  not  in  reality.  Either  man's  ignorance 
or  his  madness  have  diverted  the  order  of  nature — which  moves 
in  perfect  harmony,  if  undisturbed  by  the  action  of  secondary 
agents.  In  other  words,  there  is  no  such  thing  as  evil  in  nature ; 
there  is  but  one  substance  in  the  universe,  which  is  good;  and 
from  the  existence  of  it,  we  are  led  to  conclude  it  was  formed  by 
a  Being  infinitely  perfect  and  wise,  in  Himself  unchangeable  and 
eternal ;  but  out  of  whom  all  is  necessarily  imperfection  ;  that  is, 
relative  good,  and  not  absolute  good.  Before  I  proceed  any 
farther,  will  any  one  question  my  premises  ?  If  so,  let  him  rise  !" 

There  was  a  little  knot  of  Atheists — then  much  rarer  than  in 
the  present  day — but  none  of  them  had  the  hardihood  to  attack 
the  noble  Deist,  but  a  young,  a  very  young  man,  seated  opposite 
to  Bolingbroke  rose,  and  a  murmur  of  applause  broke  from  the 
atheistical  party.  Fixing  his  large,  dark  eye  on  Bolingbroke,  the 
youth  opened  his  lips. 

"  The  noble  lord,"  he  said,  in  his  cold,  passionless  manner, 
"  appears  to  have  strange  notions  of  good  in  its  relation  with 
evil.  What,  if  he  required  a  tooth  drawn  !  would  it  not  be  as 
much  positive  evil  to  endure  the  pain,  as  positive  good  to  be  in  a 
healthful  state,  free  from  suffering  ?  He  tells  you  there  is  but  one 
substance  in  the  universe,  which  is  perfectly  good,  and  yet  in  the 
same  breath  informed  you  that  evil  is  the  creation  of  man. 
Surely  it  is  an  evil  to  have  such  an  idea  !  I  want  to  know — if 
there  be  but  one  substance  in  nature — why  it  should  undergo  de- 
composition and  mutation  ?  For  if  that  substance  be  good,  it 
cannot  admit  evil  into  it,  on  the  principle  that  a  contrary  cannot 
receive  a  contrary.  A  unity  of  substance  must  be  indecomposable 
and  immutable.  Unless,  then,  he  can  shew  me  that  good  and  evil 
are  mere  arbitrary  terms,  and  in  fact  manifestations  of  the  same 
principle,  his  argument  is  utterly  worthless.  « The  order  of  nature,' 
he  tells  you,  «  moves  in  perfect  harmony,  if  not  disturbed  by 
secondary  causes.'  Well,  I  grant  it.  But  then,  I  ask,  what  those 
secondary  causes  are  ?  Did  the  perfect  harmony  of  nature  pro- 

4  D 


570  THE  MISER'S  SON. 

duce  them,  or  not?  If  nature  produced  them,  she  must  have 
been  at  war  with  herself,  and  therefore  could  not  move  in  harmony : 
and  if  otherwise,  it  must  be  admitted  there  is  another  agent  than 
good  in  existence — the  opposite  of  good,  not  relative  at  all." 

"  Our  young  friend,"  returned  Bolingbroke,  "  in  his  hasty 
empiricism,  rushes  at  once  to  conclusions,  unjustified  by  his  pre- 
mises. I  repeat,  there  is  but  one  substance  in  nature  :  but  out  of 
this  substance  may  proceed  diverse  qualities,  as  from  the  mind  of 
man  emanate  a  variety  of  actions.  I  know  he  will  reply,  that  if 
this  substance  be  perfectly  good  in  itself,  it  cannot  produce  evil : 
but  it  is  the  perfection  of  the  organization  of  good  which  neces- 
sitates mutation.  Otherwise,  we  know,  that  flowing  on  in  one 
never-changing  stream,  the  beautiful  equipoise  of  the  universe 
would  seem  stale  and  dull.  Suppose  that  we  had  one  perpetual 
summer,  should  we  not  grow  weary  of  it,  and  long  for  the  most 
frigid  winter  ?  We  can  enjoy  nothing  except  by  the  force  of  con- 
trast, which  immutability  cannot  afford.  We  must  be  immutable 
beings  to  enjoy  eternity,  and  only  Deity  can  be  so.  I  say,  then, 
that  if  we  could  reconcile  such  an  anomaly  as  duration  without 
succession  in  time,  and  realize  a  perfect  state,  such  a  condition 
would  be  the  greatest  curse  to  us  possible.  So  that  the  question 
resolves  itself  into  this,  namely,  whether,  as  a  state  of  change  is 
inevitable,  we  do  not  reap  benefit  from  it  ?" 

"  Lord  Bolingbroke  has  shifted  his  ground  already,"  was  the 
rejoinder  of  the  boyish  philosopher.  "  He  wants  now  to  prove 
that  we  are  benefited  by  evil,  when  he  told  you  in  direct  terms 
there  is  no  such  entity  at  all.  For  the  secession  from  absolute 
good  in  the  individual,  is  the  point  on  which  we  are  at  issue. 
Why  is  the  mind  so  constituted  that  it  is  not  susceptible  of  con- 
tinuous happiness  ?  The  question  of  secondary  causes  he  has  de- 
serted. He  knows  he  is  unable  to  satisfy  the  objection  that  evil 
and  good  cannot  co-exist  in  one  substance,  and  so  he  wishes  to 
prove  that  evil  is  a  manifestation  of  good.  Earthquakes  and  tem- 
pests are  beneficial  in  their  effects,  but  yet  they  are  a  positive 
evil.  You  cannot  say  it  is  good  that  a  thousand  innocent  persons 
are  destroyed  for  the  benefit  of  a  million  !  Co-existence  of  good 
and  evil  together  demonstrates  nothing  but  that  they  preserve  a 
poise,  at  the  most.  As  wise  were  it  to  say  that  because  there  is 
water  there  must  be  air,  because  there  is  fire  there  must  be  eajth, 


THE  MISER'S  SON.  571 

if  the  elements  were  divided,  as  that  because  there  is  happiness 
there  must  be  misery.  For  a  contrary  never  produced  its  con- 
trary ;  life  never  made  death,  nor  action  inaction.  Whence  are 
these  states  of  being  then  ?  Were  they  produced  by  an  intelligent 
and  beneficent  first  cause  for  a  specific  purpose — for  the  good  of 
all  ?  A  perfect  organization  of  good  implies  a  perfect  author  of 
it,  and  therefore  an  imperfect  organization  an  imperfect  one. 
Unless  then  it  can  be  demonstrated  that  the  design  of  the  universe 
is  perfect,  there  can  have  been  no  infinite  mind  concerned  in  it, 
and  the  idea  of  a  God  is  preposterous." 

Bolingbroke  looked  puzzled ;  for  he  had  not  prepared  himself 
for  such  an  opponent,  and  the  youth  sat  down,  a  low  buz  of  ap- 
plause running  through  the  knot  of  Atheists,  who  had  collected 
round  their  champion  ;  but  as  the  last  speaker,  confident  of  vic- 
tory, looked  for  a  reply,  he  encountered  the  blaze  of  an  eye  whose 
resplendency  had  never  been  darkened  by  all  the  powers  of  rea- 
soning possessed  by  a  William  Walsingham.  Ere  Bolingbroke 
could  frame  a  satisfactory  answer,  a  clear,  distinct  voice  said, 

"  Gentlemen,  if  I  may  be  permitted  to  speak,  a  short  time 
will  suffice  to  invalidate  the  atheistical  arguments  you  have 
heard."  Bolingbroke  seeing  Spenser,  who  had  thus  spoken,  was 
with  Pope,  nodded  to  the  new  speaker,  who  proceeded  thus : — 
"  Every  rational  man  acknowledges  there  is  pain  and  pleasure, 
joy  and  grief,  knowledge  and  ignorance,  and  so  on.  It  was  not 
the  one  state  that  created  the  other,  but  it  is  manifest  there  must 
be  antagonism,  or  nothing  but  the  thing  experienced  could  be 
known.  If  then  we  allow  good,  we  allow  evil  also,  unless  we  say 
they  are  both  without  entity  ; — and  we  have  to  investigate  their 
origin.  What  is  the  idea  of  happiness  ?  No  one  can  answer  me. 
Our  knowledge  is  simply  negative,  and  built  on  antitheses.  Show 
me  a  pure  idea,  independent  of  its  antetype,  and  I  will  allow  I 
labour  under  error." 

William  Walsingham  rose  to  reply.  "  We  are  to  conclude, 
then,"  said  the  Epicurean,  "  that  the  same  power  which  created 
good,  created  evil  also.  What  a  comfort  for  the  murderer  to 
know  that  his  crime — if  he  conceive  crime  exists — was  the  action 
of  a  Being  who  uses  him  as  a  machine !  For  if  there  be  a  God, 
it  is  obvious  nothing  can  exist  without  his  will.  So  that,  if  he 
knows  a  crime  is  about  to  be  committed,  and  does  not  prevent  it, 


572  THE  MISER'S  SON. 

surely,  at  all  events,  he  is  an  accessary  before  the  fact.  Now  this 
with  a  finite  being  would  imply  equal  guilt,  but  with  an  infinite 
one  it  assumes  a  different  aspect.  I  put  it  to  all  here  present 
whether  it  would  not  be  a  moral  dereliction,  not  to  prevent  evil, 
if  it  is  possible  to  do  so  ?" 

"  But  if,"  said  Spenser,  "  by  preventing  one  evil  a  greater  is 
caused,  is  it  not  better  to  suffer  the  least." 

The  Epicurean  smiled  darkly.  "  What  a  God  must  that  be 
who  is  shut  up  in  difficulties,"  he  said.  "  In  order  to  create  hap- 
piness he  must  permit  evil,  according  to  you.  You  say  God  is 
omnipotent,  and  yet  not  so.  Is  not  this  an  anomaly  ?" 

"  It  is  evident,"  observed  Lord  Bolingbroke,  "  that  God  could 
not  create  a  God.  A  being  less  than  infinite  must  be  liable  to 
unhappiness." 

"  Very  well,  then,"  returned  the  Atheist,  "  the  creation  of  an 
imperfect  being  is  nothing  less  than  that  of  evil ;  and  I  deny  that 
it  were  justifiable  to  cause  the  possibility  of  evil.  If  we  were  to 
act  upon  the  same  principle,  would  it  be  right  ?  Knowing  that 
crime  would  ensue  from  a  certain  action  of  our  own,  would  it  not 
be  better  to  remain  inactive  ?  Where  is  the  difference  between 
creating  the  elements  of,  and  causing,  a  thing?"  He  ended. 

"  But,"  interposed  Bolingbroke,  "  we  are  not  to  measure  God 
by  our  understandings.  It  is  possible  for  him  to  exist  in  a  mode, 
and  act  in  a  way  incomprehensible  to  us.  When  we  employ  the 
finite  to  take  the  circumference  of  the  infinite,  we  act  as  wisely  as 
a  man  about  to  pass  a  cord  round  the  globe.  We  may  fancy  we 
can  do  it,  in  the  pride  of  intellect,  but  it  is  a  mathematical 
absurdity." 

"Why  reason,  then,  on  what  is  incomprehensible?  Why  tell 
me  that  God  cannot  do  this,  cannot  do  that,  if  you  are  unable  to 
shew  me  what  his  resources  are?" 

"  Because,"  answered  Bolingbroke,  "  I  can  demonstrate  what 
he  is  not,  though  not  what  he  is.  He  must  possess  infinite  power, 
but  we  cannot  tell  what  the  infinite  may  be.  We  are  to  reason 
therefore  on  what  we  know,  not  on  what  we  cannot  comprehend. 
The  finite  is  the  scope  of  our  faculties,  and  we  cannot  err  within 
its  circle." 

"Lord  Bolingbroke,  then,"  said  William,  "confesses  his 
ignorance  of  Deity.  He  is  driven  to  allow  mystery,  even  when  he 


THE  MISER'S  SON.  573 

is  here  avowedly  to  disprove  its  existence.  I  ask  him  whence  is 
evil :  and  he  can  give  me  no  solution.  Well  then,  we  are  told, 
this  infinite  God  cannot  create  a  perfect  being,  which  implies  that 
he  is  under  a  necessity  and  therefore  inferior  to  necessity.  My 
God  is  then  the  strongest  power." 

"  Exactly  so,"  said  Spenser.  "  Necessity,  though  inferior  to 
yourself— being  but  a  blind  agent — is  tthe  Omnipotence  you 
adore  !  But  define  what  you  mean  by  necessity  ;  for  I  hold  that 
God  is  unnecessitated — that  all  principles  in  existence  find  in 
him  their  centre,  and  therefore  this  necessity  can  be  but  a  portion 
of  his  immense  being.  But  God  containing,  and  not  contained  by 
necessity,  is  subject  only  to  himself.  You  cannot  inform  me  of 
the  nature  of  this  abstract  principle  you  adore  (which  must  have 
had  a  cause,  if  it  be  not  a  Creator),  and  therefore  it  is  rational 
to  conclude  it  to  be  an  arbitrary  term,  a  name,  vague,  and  unde- 
fined ;  so  that  the  dispute  resolves  itself  at  last  into  logomachy." 

"  And  you  attack  me,"  returned  the  Epicurean,  "  with  the 
same  weapons  as  I  used  against  you.  There  is  no  word  we  can 
use,  in  fact,  that  is  not  an  arbitrary  term." 

"  The  admission  is  conclusive.  The  idea,  then,  must  be  ante- 
cedent to  the  word,  as  the  touch  of  a  player  upon  an  instrument 
precedes  the  sound  produced.  You  have  an  idea  of  necessity,  but 
you  did  not  gain  it  through  words — not  from  without,  but  from 
within.  Your  materialism  is  untenable,  if  you  cannot  shew  the 
converse  ;  and  necessity  can  only  be  deduced  from  such  a  system 
of  philosophy." 

"  I  pretend  not  to  define  the  nature  of  ideas  ;  but  how  is  it 
possible  to  acquire  knowledge  save  through  the  senses  ?  We  are 
now  in  a  different  line  of  argument  from  that  we  set  out  with, 
my  opponents  apparently  having  given  up  the  position  that  they 
know  more  than  I  do  !" 

"  You  must  shew  me  what  the  senses  are,"  replied  Spenser, 
without  heeding  the  taunt.  "  For  I  hold  a  coal  is  heat  as  much 
as  sense  is  knowledge,  or  the  medium  of  it.  Admitting  that  we 
derive  all  we  know  from  the  impression  of  external  objects  on  our 
organization,  you  cannot  demonstrate  the  identity  of  thought  and 
sensation." 

'<  No  ;  but  I  can  evince  they  are  phases  of  the  same  principle. 
Who  ever  knew  colour  but  by  the  eye,  body  but  through  the 
touch  ?" 


574  THE  MISER'S  SON. 

"  These  are  material  objects.  If  you  go  to  subjects,  I  defy  you 
to  show  the  senses  made  us  acquainted  with  them.  Can  any 
combination  of  the  elements  form  thought  ?" 

"  But  what  is  the  immense  difference  between  subjects  and 
objects  ?" 

"  That  of  Facts  and  Truths !" 

"  You  admit  that   there   must   be   facts  on  which  to  build- 
truths  ?" 

"  Certainly  not.  We  know  the  universe  exists  as  a  universe  of 
matter  through  sense :  but  we  did  not  attain  the  idea  of  God  in 
the  same  way.  Rational  beings  alone  have  a  conception  of  him. 
We  understand  by  such  a  Being,  one  with  all  power,  wisdom, 
goodness,  unseen,  eternal,  in  whose  love  is  life  and  immortality." 

"  Has  he  ever  denied  himself,  to  do  good  to  man,  as  his 
injunction,  by  the  moral  law,  you  would  assert,  is,  to  us  ?" 

"  Yes.  The  Deist's  God  may  be  stern  and  inexorable ;  but 
not  so  the  Christian's.  Never  was  there  a  greater  mistake  than 
to  predicate  the  contrary.  The  Deist  tells  us  he  knows  nothing  of 
Deity  beyond  the  finite ;  the  Christian  believes  God  has  revealed 
himself  in  infinity,  which  is  the  basis  of  the  scheme  of  revelation. 
Controlled  not,  but  controlling,  we  believe  he  exists,  his  laws  ab- 
solute goodness,  his  power  infinite  wisdom." 

"  And  that  power  is  not  a  necessitating  permeation  ?" 

"  It  pervades  all  the  framework  of  creation,  which  is  sustained 
thereby  ;  but  where  there  is  a  being  capable  of  reasoning,  reason 
alone  constrains." 

"  Necessity,  it  appears  to  me,  is  a  law  of  all  the  universe.  If 
there  were  no  necessity,  how  could  there  be  a  law  ?  If  there  were 
no  law,  how  could  there  be  a  world  at  all  ?  So,  if  you  admit  the 
fact  of  a  sensible  universe,  you  must  perforce  acknowledge  that  it 
is  controlled  by  the  principle  inherent  in  all  nature,  and  superior 
to  all  nature.  If  you  suppose  there  is  no  such  thing  as  necessity, 
you  allow  that  the  elements  are  the  creatures  of  chance,  although 
there  is  an  undeviating  harmony  preserved,  except  in  those  con- 
vulsions of  matter,  the  cause  of  which  is  attributable  to  certain 
properties  in  the  constitution  of  the  original  law." 

"  But  what  is  law  ?  Does  law  create  necessity,  or  not  ?  Is 
necessity  a  God  superior  to  all  law,  or  is  it  itself  un necessitated 
and  omnipotent  ?  If  it  be  not  an  intellectual,  guiding  principle,  it 


THE  MISER'S  SON.  575 

must  be  subject  to  law.  Then  it  cannot  be  a  first  cause,  but  must 
be  an  agent.  I  would  ask  you,  Gentlemen,  if  you  ever  saw  neces- 
sity, or  conceived  it  in  any  shape  material  or  otherwise  ?  Did  you 
ever  behold  it  organizing  the  operations  of  all  nature,  and  shaping 
human  action  ?  I  think  that  the  Materialist  is  bound  to  shew  to 
my  senses  all  that  he  asserts,  until  he  can  demonstrate  that  there 
is  that  in  the  existence  of  matter  uncognisable  by  sense." 

"  Not  at  all.  The  Materialist  concedes  the  fact  that  there  are 
qualities  in  matter  which  he  does  not  understand.  But  what  is 
the  use  of  reason  ?  Surely  not  to  argue  without  data  ;  and  where 
are  we  to  procure  data  but  in  the  objects  of  our  sensuous  ex- 
perience ?'* 

"  1  will  admit  no  mystery  in  matter;"  said  Spenser,  "  at  least 
not  in  what  we  see,  feel,  touch,  smell,  or  taste.  The  Materialist 
tells  us  we  have  no  inlets  of  knowledge  but  through  these  senses, 
and  then  asserts  there  is  mystery  in  matter.  Then  why  is  Mate- 
rialism more  rational  than  any  other  system,  if  on  the  threshold 
of  inquiry  it  sets  out  with  an  enigma  ?  Will  any  one  define  what 
matter  is  ?" 

•'  There  is  reason  to  suppose  there  are  properties  in  the 
elements,  which  cannot  be  analysed  at  present  from  the  defects  of 
chemical  science.*' 

"  The  argument  is  tantamount  to  nothing  at  all :  for  chemistry 
is  founded  upon  certain  principles  which,  if  based  on  observations 
of  sense,  cannot  be  shewn  to  be  material.  The  facts  of  science 
are  purely  physical,  but  the  truths  thereof  always  metaphysical. 
Facts  are  for  the  being  in  time,  truths  for  the  being  breathing 
eternity." 

"  What  is  the  difference  between  the  two?" 

"  The  fact  is  the  immediate  evidence  of  sense,  such  as  we  share 
with  other  animals  :  the  truth  results  alone  from  reasoning — a 
faculty  with  which  none  but  man  is  endued." 

"  But  what  if  the  truth  is  the  carrying  out  of  the  fact  which  is 
antecedent  to  it?" 

"I  deny,"  was  the  reply,  "  that  fact  always  precedes  truth. 
On  the  contrary  there  are  many  sciences  which  could  not  exist 
without  A  priori  knowledge." 

"  Mention  one,"  said  William. 

"  Mathematics." 


576  THE  MISER'S  SON. 

"  Why  all  our  ideas  of  numbers  must  be  derived  from  sense." 

"  Ideas  are  not  the  product  of  the  senses  at  all." 

"  Then  what  are  they  ?" 

"  The  combinations  of  mind.  I  compare  the  senses  to  the  notes 
of  an  instrument,  each  of  which  has  a  separate  office,  a  peculiar 
property  :  but  who  ever  heard  of  an  instrument  playing  of 
itself?" 

"  So  then  the  sound  came  from  without,  and  not  from  within, 
and  the  analogy  favors  me !" 

"  But  what  precedes  the  sound  ?ii  asked  Spenser.  "  Why, 
the  touch  of  the  player's  fingers!  The  material  action  produces 
the  phenomena  of  sensation,  but  the  ideas  were  in  mind  only. 
Not  to  pursue  this  subject  too  far  on  this  occasion — though  I 
think  if  we  destroy  the  common  theory  of  ideas,  we  annihilate 
materialistic  necessity, — (which  would  make  an  intelligent  God 
a  devil),  let  us  return  to  the  point  from  which  we  started.  If 
there  is  a  God,  from  whence  is  evil  ?  Did  it  emanate  from  man, 
nature,  or  deity  ?  It  is  manifest  Omnipotence  was  under  no 
necessity  of  doing  anything :  otherwise  he  would  be  no  better  than 
a  blind  agent,  such  as  the  Atheist  deifies.  Now  if  we  suppose  a 
great,  good  man  were  given  power  to  create,  what  would  he  do  ? 
He  would  lay  out  a  plan  first.  He  would  form  intelligent  beings : 
but  if  he  laid  them  under  inexorable  necessity,  they  would  be 
unable  to  assimilate  themselves  to  a  standard  of  good.  Morally 
they  would  be  no  better  than  the  atoms  compelled  to  act  accord- 
ing to  the  laws  given  to  them.  To  what  purpose  such  a  creation  ?" 

"  Would  it  not  be  sufficient  if  the  creature  were  happy  ?" 

"  Yes,  but  if  intelligent,  he  must  desire  to  be  like  the  highest 
intelligence.  If  he  had  not  will,  he  could  not  be  happy,  unless 
indeed  he  were  ignorant,  as  our  first  parents  once  were.ii 

"  Blessed  ignorance!"  cried  William,  bitterly.  "  Why  not  re- 
main so  ?" 

"  And  lose  all  these  majestic  mental  powers,  these  sublime 
feelings,  these  capacities  of  virtue  ?" 

"  Ay,  if  there  can  be  no  universal  good  with  them." 

"  But  if  the  only  consummate,  God-like  happiness  be  in  the 
use  of  mind  ?" 

"  The  discussion  is  exceeding  its  limits — another  night  we  will 
resume  the  debate,"  said  the  chairman.  "  It  is  now  past  mid- 
night." 


THE  MISER'S  SON.  577 

"  The  Epicurean  murmured  to  himself.  "  A  few  hours  more, 
and  I  shall  be  far  away." 

Spenser  was  engaged  in  conversation  by  Lord  Bolingbroke  for 
a  minute,  immediately  after  the  discussion — the  two  philosophers 
having  been  introduced  to  each  other  by  Pope — and  during  that 
minute  the  Materialist  passed  from  the  room  :  and  years  elapsed 
ere  Spenser  saw  him  again.  And  when  he  did  so — "  O,  what  a 
falling  off  was  there." 


CHAPTER  V. 

The  love-dream  vanishes,  and  o'er  her  soul 
There  comes  the  bitterness  and  the  despair. — MS. 

ELLEN    DANVERS — HARRY — MOTHER    STOKES— THE   MISER. 

ALONE  in  the  solitude  of  her  little  chamber,  with  deep  melan- 
choly imprinted  on  her  fair  young  face,  sat  Ellen  Danvers.  It  was 
very  late,  and  the  lamp  on  the  table  before  her  burned  faintly, 
throwing  a  sickly  and  uncertain  light  on  her  gentle  and  innocent 
countenance,  lovely  as  one  of  Raftaelle's  virgins.  There  was  an 
open  letter  spread  before  her,  and  ever  and  anon  she  fixed  her 
eyes  upon  it,  and  then  pressed  her  hands  upon  her  bosom,  to 
stifle  the  sobs  which  almost  suffocated  her.  But  she  resolutely 
suppressed  every  outbreak  of  feeling,  and  raising  her  glance  to 
the  starlight  heaven,  she  murmured, 

"  Help  me,  O  my  Father !  I  am  so  weak  !  Thou  hast  made 
this  heart,  with  all  its  feebleness  and  errors,  and  though  I  am 
alone  the  erring  one,  my  nature  is  from  thee !" 

She  relapsed  into  silence,  and  not  a  sound  was  heard,  save  her 
gentle  respiration  ;  for  the  very  winds  were  still,  and  the  starry 
peace  appeared  to  sink  into  the  bosom  of  the  universe,  and  to 
tranquillise  all  things.  Yet  there  was  that  pure  joung  creature, 
so  sad,  so  miserable,  finding  not  hope  or  consolation  in  the 
brightness  of  the  lamps  of  Heaven — that  seem  as  if  they  could 
not  shine  on  aught  save  joy  : — but  only  in  that  faith  in  the  lofty 
and  Invisible,  which  faith,  virtue,  and  piety  can  alone  supply. 
Deep  are  the  sorrows  with  which  mortality  is  afflicted  :  and  oh, 
how  profound  they  are  when  they  flash  for  the  firSt  time  on  the 
soul  of  youth,  hitherto  alive  but  to  gladness,  for  as  the  young 

4  E 


578  THE  MISER'S  SON. 

experience  more  intense  and  exquisite  delight  in  pleasures  which 
pall  upon  the  taste  of  those  who  have  exhausted  feeling,  so,  pain 
from  its  freshness  is  most  acute  and  insupportable,  where  the 
poetry  of  life,  bright  and  elastic,  has  not  been  tempered  with  the 
grave  philosophy  misfortune  teaches.  Among  all  our  griefs  what 
more  dreadful  than  those  arising  from  the  unsparing  frost  which 
nips  the  blossoms  of  life's  spring — ever  of  love — the  earliest,  most 
beautiful,  and  most  elysian  of  the  passionate  illusions  we  embrace 
as  if  they  were  indeed  the  substance,  and  not  the  shadow  of 
eternity  ? 

"  Yes,"  said  Ellen,  resolutely,  "  it  shall  be  so  !  Never,  never, 
to  possess  Heaven  itself,  would  I  let  him  degrade  himself;  and  it 
is  clear  he  thinks  to  wed  me  is  degradation."  She  re-perused  the 
letter,  for  the  hundredth  time.  Its  contents  ran  thus : 

"  Useless  have  been  all  my  exertions,  dearest  Ellen,  to  procure 
a  pardon  for  your  father  ;  and  a  few  hours  after  you  receive  this 
letter,  I  shall  be  on  my  way  back.  I  had  an  interview  with  the 
Prime  Minister  yesterday  ;  and  although  he  was  kind  and  friendly, 
he  would  not  hold  out  to  me  the  most  distant  hope  of  procuring 
the  remission  of  that  dreadful  sentence  which  blasts  all  our  happi- 
ness, and  makes  this  glorious  world  a  desert  to  us.  But,  sweetest 
one,  we  can  quit  the  crowded  haunts  of  men,  and  seek  some  dis- 
tant solitude  across  the  sea.  We  shall  be  all  in  all  to  each  other, 
like  two  branches  intertwined,  apart  from  all  others  ;  and  Heaven 
will  smile  on  us.  Pardon  this  hasty  scrawl,  and  its  ill-connected 
wording.  I  am  to  see  one  of  the  Royal  Family  presently,  but  I 
will  not  delude  you  with  hope.  Keep  up  your  spirits,  Ellen,  for 
the  sake  of  your — CHARLES  WALSINGHAM." 

Thus  ended  the  epistle.  "  He  mentions  not  a  syllable  of  his 
own  belief  in  my  father's  innocence,"  said  Ellen  to  herself.  "No, 
he  is  persuaded  I  am  the  child  of  a  murderer,  and  yet  he  would 
marry  me  !"  There  was  something  inexpressibly  consolatory  in 
that  last  thought  of  the  maiden.  How  perfect  must  be  that  affec- 
tion which  could  urge  Charles  Walsingham  to  resign  all  earthly 
considerations,  despite  his  conviction  of  the  parent's  guilt,  for  the 
Jove  of  the  child  !  "  But  never,  never,"  cried  Ellen  with  energy, 
"  will  I  marry,  while  a  stigma  so  dark  remains  on  my  father's 
name  !" 

"  That  is  my  own  Ellen,"  said  the  voice  of  Harry — who  had 


THE  MISER'S  SON.  579 

entered  his  sister's  apartment,  booted  and  spurred,  without  her 
hearing  him,  so  engrossed  was  she  with  her  own  thoughts. 
"  Ellen,"  exclaimed  the  youth,  "  since  fate  contends  against  us, 
and  an  accursed  train  of  circumstances  condemns  our  noble  father 
to  death,  I  am  resolved  to  put  in. execution  the  scheme  I  hinted 
to  you,  without  delay.  To-morrow  he  is  sentenced  to  die;  but 
I  will  rescue  him,  or  perish.  Cheer  up,  my  dear  sister.  As  for 
this  Hanoverian  soldier,  you  must  try  to  forget  him,  and  give 
your  true  little  heart  to  a  good,  honest  Jacobite,  who  will  love 
you  better  than  this  man.  Farewell!"  He  then  kissed  his  sister, 
and  left  the  room. 

Ellen  paced  to  and  fro  for  a  minute,  and  then  sat  down  and 
wrote  as  follows: — "Adieu,  Charles!  you  may  never  see  me 
more  in  this  world  ;  but  oh,  remember  me,  though  you  think  that 
I  am  a  murderer's  child.  There  is  an  eternity  beyond  the 
grave,  and  we  shall  meet  again  in  that  purer  state  of  being  re- 
served for  us ;  and  then  you  will  know  all  the  earthly  love  that 
gushed  out  from  my  spirit  as  from  a  well  to  meet  yours.  You 
will  know  that  if  ever  passion  were  perfect,  in  its  weakness, — 
if  ever  affection  were  pure  in  its  mortality,  you  possessed,  you 
still  possess  the  deepest,  sincerest,  and  most  enduring  love  that 
ever  woman  rendered  unto  man.  I  know  not  how  to  write  the 
last  word — the  last  word  I  shall  ever  address  to  you !  But  we 
must  think  no  more  of  each  other.  My  brain  reels,  and  my  hand 
shakes.  I  am  ill,  very  ill.  But  if  1  should  die,  all  will  be  well. 
Once  more  bless  you,  my  own  love!" 

O,  that  aught  in  this  world  could  be  weighed  against  such  a 
matchless  treasure  as  that  girl's  affection  !  Poor — poor  Ellen  ! 
Thou  art  not  a  character  that  may  live  with  the  sublime  heroines 
of  fiction — there  is  little  to  attract,  nothing  to  dazzle  the  imagi- 
nation in  thee  :  but  thou  art  truly  such  a  being  as  we  may  search 
for  vainly  during  years.  But  we  must  now  follow  Harry  Danvers 
after  he  quitted  Ellen,  determined  to  save  his  father  from  an 
ignominious  death.  Harry  having  mounted  his  horse,  rode  briskly 
forwards  in  the  London  road  from  his  home  ;  and  having  can- 
tered for  about  half  an  hour,  arrived  at  a  public  house,  when  he 
stopped,  and  addressed  a  person  loitering  about  in  a  low  voice. 

"  The  men  be  all  gone,"  replied  the  person  he  addressed,  "  and 
they  said  as  how  they  should  never  come  back  at  all,  but  take  to 
the  road." 


580  THE  MISER'S  SON. 

While  the  words  yet  lingered  on  the  man's  lips,  the  form  of 
John  Norton  on  horseback  became  visible  (but  still  disguised), 
and  in  the  course  of  a  minute  he  was  by  the  side  of  Harry,  who 
briefly  explained  the  course  he  intended  to  pursue  in  order  to 
rescue  his  father,  and  it  was  agreed  that  they  should  meet  again 
at  night  fall. 

Harry  in  a  short  time  was  at  the  gaol  where  his  father  was  con- 
fined. It  is  requisite  to  mention  that  nothing  could  be  found  of 
the  skeleton  supposed  to  be  that  of  the  murdered  Walsingham, 
and  the  popular  mind  was  so  excited  against  Danvers — who  was 
represented  by  his  foes  to  be  a  monster  of  guilt — that  there  was 
no  hope  of  his  being  pardoned,  though  his  friends  were  all  busy 
in  his  behalf.  The  government  thought  that  by  the  prompt  exe- 
cution of  the  prime  agent  of  the  malcontents  they  should  strike 
at  the  root  of  all  the  enterprises  of  the  Jacobites  ;  and  they  were 
not  willing  to  look  into  the  evidence  in  favour  of  him  they  had 
so  much  just  reason  to  dread. 

The  interview  between  Harry  and  his  father  was  short :  but  he 
contrived  to  slip  the  file  he  took  with  him  into  his  hand  unob- 
served, and  to  whisper  a  word  significant  of  his  intention  to  at- 
tempt his  deliverance,  although  the  gaoler  was  in  the  cell  all  the 
time. 

Harry  quitted  the  prison,  and  was  soon  in  the  open  country, 
when,  as  he  was  crossing  a  narrow  lane,  a  man  emerged  from  it, 
saying,  "  Ah  !  my  young  friend,  well  met."  Turning  at  this  salu- 
tation, Harry  recognised  the  tall  man  who  had  rescued  him  from 
a  lingering  death  in  the  cave ;  and  took  the  hand  extended  to 
him,  with  frank  cordiality. 

"  I  saw  you  go  into  the  gaol  a  short  time  since,"  said  the 
gigantic  fellow  ;  "  and  I  was  told  you  are  the  son  of  the  prisoner, 
Walter  Danvers.  Is  it  so?  I  wonder  you  should  venture  to 
show  your  face,  if  it  be." 

"  Your  information  is  correct :  I  incur  no  risk  now  from  being 
known,  as  my  father  is  taken,"  was  the  reply. 

The  tall  man  mused  a  moment. 

"  You  are  going  to  attempt  to  get  him  out  of  prison  ?"  he  ob- 
served. 

"  Ha !"  exclaimed  Harry,  "  who  has  betrayed " 

"  Come,  do  not  fear  to  trust  me.  I  am  a  terrible  rascal,  I 
own  ;  but  1  like  you,  and  am  willing  to  lend  a  helping  hand — " 


THE  MISER'S  SON.  581 

"  Many  thanks  !"  interrupted  Harry.  "  But  are  you  sincere? 
— Well,  1  believe  you  are.  If  you  like  to  assist  me  in  this  enter- 
prise, this  purse  is  yours :  and  my  gratitude  shall  always  follow 
you." 

"  Put  up  your  purse.  I  can  afford  to'be  generous,  for  I  have 
been  in  luck's  way  lately,  and  expect  to  enrich  myself  still  more 
by  some  knowledge  I  possess.  Tell  me  your  plan  of  operations; 
and  then  I  will  consider  if  I  can  suggest  a  better." 

Harry  briefly  informed  his  new  confederate  of  the  scheme  he 
had  concocted  for  his  father's  deliverance. 

"  It  will  never  do,"  said  Jennings.  "  But  I'll  tell  you  what 
I'll  try.  The  soldiers  would  never  be  taken  from  the  prison  on 
the  report  of  an  insurrection,  and  even  if  they  were,  you  would 
still  have  the  battle  to  fight.  I  will  forge  a  document,  purporting 
to  be  from  the  colonel  of  the  regiment  to  which  the  soldiers  belong 
(my  old  regiment)  and  go  with  it  to  the  prison.  This  document 
shall  recommend  me  as  a  trustworthy  person  to  supersede  a 
drunken  rascal,  whom,  I  know,  is  one  of  the  turnkeys.  The 
colonel  is  a  patron  of  the  governor,  and  I  can  imitate  his  hand- 
v,  riling  easily.  I  shall  thus  obtain  instant  admittance  to  the  gaol. 
This  effected,  1  can  possess  myself  of  the  keys,  and  release  your 
father  ;  and  you  will  be  in  readiness  with  vour  rope-ladder.  Trust 
all  to  me." 

The  narrative  returns  to  Everard  Walsingham,  who,  after  the 
examination  of  Danvers,  was  in  a  state  of  mind  it  is  impossible 
to  describe.  He  neither  ate  nor  slept,  and  the  powers  of  his  in- 
tellect seemed  prostrated  to  imbecility  the  most  abject.  He  never 
left  his  dwelling ;  but  remained  mute  and  motionless,  his  wild 
eyes  strained  fearfully  in  the  direction  of  the  place  where  Danvers 
was  confined,  until  they  appeared  starting  from  their  sockets. — 
But  on  the  morning  antecedent  to  that  when  Walter's  sentence 
was  to  be  executed,  a  change  came  over  him  ;  and  he  walked  up 
and  down  his  small  apartment,  muttering  to  himself — 

"  He  will  die  :  and  if  he  do  not  confess,  I  am  safe.  But  will 
his  lips  remain  sealed  ?  Ay,  there  it  is !" 

Such  was  his  state  of  mind,  when  he  was  startled  by  hearing 
his  own  name  uttered,  and  on  raising  his  eves,  lie  beheld  a  woman 
past  middle  age  and  of  stunted  stature,  who  had  entered  by  the 
door  unobserved  by  him. 


582  THE  MISER'S  SON. 

"What  do  you  want?"  gasped  Everard,  turning  livid  with 
fear. 

"  Be  not  discourteous  to  your  loving  aunt,"  was  the  response ; 
and  the  female  grinned  broadly  and  hideously  :  "  for,  indeed,  my 
lord,  I  have  the  greatest  love  and  affection  for  your  lordship.  Ha, 
ha !  Come,  I  won't  keep  you  in  suspense.  I  am  the  aunt  of 
your  wife  ;  and  a  secret  of  yours  has  come " 

"  How  !"  exclaimed  the  Miser,  trembling  in  every  limb. 

"  Has  come  to  my  knowledge,"  continued  the  woman.  "  But, 
fortunately,  your  lordship  possesses  some  of  that  golden  plaister 
so  effectual  in  sealing  the  lips  up  ;  and  I  will  be  silent  as  the 
grave,  if  you  are  generous." 

Everard  groaned  audibly. 

"  Do  you  alone  know  this — this  secret  you  talk  of,  woman  ?" 

"  I  and  Walter  Danvers." 

"  Walter  Danvers  !  He  has  confessed  then  ?"  interrupted  Eve- 
rard, vehemently.  "  O,  earth,  open  and  swallow  me  up  !  Ye 
mountains  fall,  and  crush  me  into  dust !" 

He  became  silent,  and  stood  statue-like,  with  his  wasted  hands 
clenched  together,  and  his  features  ghastly  as  a  corpse's.  Can 
human  eloquence  depict  the  agony  and  horror  of  that  man,  now 
that  he  thought  his  long-cherished  secret  was  revealed,  and  his 
name  branded  with  infamy  for  ever?  Pride  had  been  the  ruling 
passion  of  the  Miser,  when  he  was  a  young  man,  and  in  some 
measure  redeemed  his  character  from  utter,  grovelling  meanness ; 
and  this  passion  had  been  centred  in  the  distinction  of  belonging  to 
a  family,  and  representing  a  name  which  had  never  been  tarnished. 
On  the  death  of  the  husband  of  the  younger  Lady  Walsingham, 
he  succeeded  to  the  title,  and  although  he  chose  to  remain  un- 
known, he  was  not  insensible  to  the  dignity  he  possessed  ;  and 
under  any  other  circumstances  would  have  wished  his  rank 
blazoned  abroad.  Even  when  the  vice  of  avarice,  after  a  long- 
career  of  dissipation,  absorbed  his  soul,  the  pride  of  birth  was  not 
eradicated,  though  other  feelings  and  habits  vanished  ;  and  now 
he  beheld  the  idol  crumbling,  and  shame  and  ignominy  heaped 
upon  him.  He  writhed  beneath  the  thought,  more  than  under 
that  of  death,  while  the  hag,  gazing  on  him  with  malicious  grati- 
fication, cried — 

"  You  do  not  like  it  should  be  known,  then,  my  lord?" 


THE  MISER'S  SON.  583 

"Ah!  And  you  say  it  is  known  but  to  yourself  and  Danvers? 
What  proof  of  that  can  you  supply  ?" 

"  Plenty  of  proof,  my  good  lord.  It  is  my  interest  not  to  blab, 
if  your  lordship  will  pay  for  my  silence ;  and  Danvers  would 
hardly  be  indiscreet." 

"  I  know  not  that.  It  is  true  he  has  been  silent  hitherto— and 
perhaps — ay,  perhaps,  he  might  not  be  believed  ! — But  how  came 
you  by  this  knowledge,  then?" 

"  Simply  by  using  my  ears.  I  can  convince  you  that  I  know 
all,  if  you  wish ;  and  that  it  was  not  Danvers  who  let  out  the 
secret." 

"  Well,  well!  your  price.  You  must  take  an  oath  of  secresy, 
if  I  give  you  money,— a  most  solemn  oath." 

"  If  you  desire  it,  my  lord  ;  but  I  shan't  keep  a  promise  any 
the  better  for  swearing  to  it.  An  oath  is  but  a  word  to  me.  You 
ask  what  I  require.  A  hundred  pounds  will  suffice." 

Mother  Stokes  (the  reader  has  concluded  it  was  that  amiable 
woman)  had  expected  that  the  Miser  would  think  her  demand 
enormous,  and  not  give  her  half  the  sum,  but  he  seemed  surprised 
that  she  should  be  so  moderate  in  her  requirement ;  and  taking 
some  coins  out  of  a  box,  placed  them  in  her  hand. 

"  There,  begone  !"  he  exclaimed.  "If  you  will  let  me  know 
where  to  send  it,  I  will  forward  a  similar  sum  to  you  every  year ; 
but  you  will  wring  nothing  more  from  me.  If  possible,  never 
let  me  behold  your  face  again.  It  is  so  odious  to  me,  that  I  could 
almost  find  it  in  my  heart — But,  no.  No  more  blood  !  No  more 
blood !" 

The  last  few  words  were  pronounced  in  a  whisper. 

"  I  comply  with  your  request,  my  lord,"  said  Mother  Stokes, 
and  immediately  departed. 

"  I  will  leave  England,"  said  the  Miser,  "  leave  it  imme- 
diately. If  the  worst  come  to  the  worst,  I  shall  then  be  safe 
from  the  fangs  of  justice,  though  I  forfeit  my  property.  I  have 
accumulated  £30,000;  but  then,  Walter  Danvers,  if  he  should 
escape,  would  rob  me  of  it  all,  if  he  could  find  me.  And  he  wilt 
escape — yes,  yes,  I  am  persuaded  of  that.  He  would  elude  the 
vigilance  of  the  Devil,  and  get  out  of  Hell !  Wretched  man  that  I 
am!" 

He  closed  and  barred   the  door ;  and  opening  his  strong  box 


584  THE  MISER'S  SON. 

took  out  some  piles  of  gold.  He  gazed  upon  them  for  softie 
time  with  a  quivering  lip,  and  breaking  silence  exclaimed,  "Thou 
that  hast  been  my  bane — thou  that  I  have  hugged  to  my  heart, 
when  all  other  joys  had  left  it — thou  fair,  damned,  hollow,  and 
glorious  brightness,  for  the  present  we  must  part !  Oh,  to  be 
divided  from  thee  is  anguish ;  but  I  could  not  keep  thee  safe.  I 
should  be  robbed." 

The  reason  of  the  Miser  was  affected  by  the  accumulated  hor- 
rors he  had  undergone,  and  his  judgment,  never  strong,  was  for 
a  season  utterly  lost.  But  with  the  cunning  of  incipient  insa- 
nity, he  determined  on  hiding  his  hoard,  and  it  was  soon  buried 
in  the  bowels  of  the  earth.  Twilight  had  commenced  when  he 
quitted  his  cottage,  and  went  on  his  way.  He  walked  swiftly 
along,  the  Life  and  Death  of  Intellect  struggling  in  his  soul  ; 
and  before  it  was  quite  dark  he  was  in  the  very  thicket  where 
the  murder  of  John  Walsingham  was  perpetrated.  His  eyes  wan- 
dered over  the  ground  until  they  rested  on  the  spot  where  his 
cousin  had  fallen,  and  a  gleam  of  awful  memory — the  last  he  had 
for  many  months,  that  was  not  distorted  and  unreal — struggled 
through  the  mists  which  overspread  his  consciousness,  and  he  fled 
like  a  hell-doomed  wretch  pursued  by  an  unrelenting  demon. 
"Murder!  murder!"  he  shouted,  and  the  distant  echoes  re- 
turned the  sound.  "  His  ghost  tracks  me!  Ha,  ha,  ha!"  and 
he  fell  senseless  and  stupefied  to  the  earth,  where  he  remained  for 
hours.  Miserable  being !  Great  had  been  his  crime,  and  tre- 
mendous was  his  punishment.  His  insanity,  which  endured  for 
years,  was  peopled  with  dreadful  spectres  ;  his  sleep  was  haunted 
with  hated  shapes,  and  his  morbid  fancy  presented  nothing  but 
things  of  nameless  horror.  Over  the  globe  he  wandered,  and  his 
lucid  intervals  were  more  pregnant  with  utter  wretchedness  even 
than  his  insanity. 

After  Harry  had  quitted  his  father,  Danvers  remained  sad  and 
dispirited,  with  his  face  buried  in  his  hands.  Bitterly,  at  that 
hour,  did  he  repent  his  past  life,  and  fervently  did  he  promise 
himself  to  strike  out  another  path,  if  he  succeeded  in  escaping  the 
death  which  threatened  him. 

"  Yes,"  he  exclaimed,  "  I  will  endeavour  to  become  such  a 
man  as  Harriet  would  wish  to  see  me.  I  will  not  seek  to  distin- 
guish myself  henceforth  for  courage  or  capacity ;  but  earnestly 


THE  MISER'S  SON.  5£5 

set  about  reforming  this  heart  which  clings  so  stubbornly  to  the 
earthly  and  the  temporal." 

As  if  to  support  him  in  the  determination  he  had  made  to  re- 
noiince  the  evil  of  his  ways,  and  to  seek  the  pure  and  eternal,  it 
was  announced  to  him  that  a  clergyman  was  without,  and  wished 
to  speak  with  him.  It  so  happened  that  the  chaplain  <>f  the  gad 
had  been  taken  ill  the  day  preceding  that  to  which  our  tale  relates  ; 
and  no  other  minister  of  religion  was  near;  and  the  prisoner  being 
willing  to  see  him,  he  was  admitted  immediately  to  the  dungeon. 
He  was  elderly  in  appearance,  and  stooped  considerably,  but, 
nevertheless,  was  above  the  medium  height;  and  his  voice  was 
gentle,  and  hardly  manly,  while  there  was  something  in  the  bright- 
ness and  expression  of  his  fine  hazel  eye,  certainly  not  in  accord- 
ance with  his  age  and  calling. 

"  Will  you  leave  the  prisoner  and  myself  together  ?"  said  Wal- 
ter's visitor  to  the  gaoler.  After  a  little  hesitation  the  man  with- 
drew, and  the  clergyman  cried,  in  a  very  sonorous  voice,  "  Though 
grievous  have  been  thy  sins,  my  dear  brother,  if  you  but  sincerely 
repent,  you  will  be  pardoned  and  saved." 

Danvers  bowed  his  head,  and  replied — 

"  I  thank  you,  sir,  for  coming  to  visit  me,  and  shall  be  greatly 
indebted  for  your  counsels  and  instruction  ;  for,  though  I  am  in- 
nocent, as  God  is  my  witness,  of  the  crime  imputed  to  me,  I  have 
sinned  much  and  deeply". 

To  the  astonishment  and  indignation  of  Danvers,  the  supposed 
clergyman  was  now  struggling  with  suppressed  and  almost  uncon- 
trollable laughter. 

"  Hush  !"  he  said,  as  Danvers  was  about  to  break  forth  into 
an  exclamation  of  astonishment  at  this  unseemly  conduct.  "  I 
am  not  what  I  seem.  lam  here  for  the  purpose  of  releasing  you ; 
but  let  us  now  seem  to  pray."  Accordingly,  the  pretended  priest 
again  raised  his  voice  in  prayer,  and  made  a  long,  rambling,  ex- 
temporaneous discourse,  while  he  said  in  an  under  tone,  "  I  sus- 
pect there  are  listeners."  Fumbling  in  his  pocket  at  the  same 
time,  he  produced  a  small  phial.  "  This,"  he  whispered,  "  is  a 
liquid  which,  by  pouring  on  your  chains,  will  enable  you  to  work 
easily,  and  without  noise ;  and  here  is  a  file."  The  sentinel  was 
pacing  up  and  down  outside,  and  whenever  he  came  to  the  door, 
the  false  minister  began  to  pray  the  more  devoutly  ;  but  his  back 

4  F 


586  THE  MISER'S  SON. 

turned,  he  added — "  My  ghostly  counsels  you  will  not  derive 
much  benefit  from — for  I  am  an  arrant  rascal — but  I  will  set  you 
free,  I  wager  you  a  hundred  guineas — which  sum  I  have,  in  fact, 
received  already  for  the  job.  I  shall  procure  admittance  again 
at  night;  and  as  soon  as  it  is  dark,  you  had  better  commence 
iiling  at  your  fetters.  In  the  course  of  three  hours,  you  will  have 
accomplished  the  business,  and  then  I  shall  be  with  you.  Only 
be  prepared,  and  we  will  outwit  your  foes." 

The  gaoler  again  approached,  and  the  pretended  priest  pro- 
nouncing a  blessing,  took  his  departure. 


CHAPTER  VI. 

If  the  assassination 
Could  trammel  up  the  consequences, 
And  catch  with  his  surcease  success. — SHAKSPEARE. 

DANVERS— THE  GUARD — FIGGINS — THE  PARDON — MRS.  DAN- 
VERS — THE    PROPOSED  MURDER. 

ONCE  more  Danvers  was  alone.  The  sun  was  now  sinking 
beneath  the  horizon  ;  but  so  few  were  the  rays  of  light  admitted 
to  the  noisome  dungeon  through  the  closely-grated  windows,  that 
day  and  night  were  nearly  the  same  there. 

About  an  hour  after  the  pretended  priest  left  Danvers  was  the 
customary  time  with  the  gaoler  to  bring  him  his  supper,  and  he 
impatiently  waited  till  then,  as  he  could  not  commence  his  opera- 
tions before.  At  length  the  gaoler  made  his  appearance,  placed 
the  provisions  he  had  brought  before  Danvers,  and  with  a  mut- 
tered "  Good  night"  withdrew.  The  sentinel  outside  was  changed 
immediately  afterwards ;  and  Walter  applying  the  liquid  he  had 
been  given  to  his  fetters,  filed  away  ;  and  in  the  course  of  a  few 
minutes  divided  a  chain  which  bound  his  arm.  With  what  fierce 
eagerness  did  he  continue  that  work  for  life  or  death,  and  with 
what  joy  did  he  behold  the  massive  chains  fall  one  after  another 
from  his  limbs!  The  human  mind  is  eternally  assuming  new 


THE  MISER'S  SON.  587 

changes,  it  "  never  continueth  in  one  stay."  Though  Danvers 
cared  not  for  existence,  negatively  speaking,  he  feared  to  meet 
death  like  a  felon  amid  the  execrations  of  the  populace — for  he 
was  not  a  moral  hero — he  had  no  martyr's  zeal  to  sustain  him, 
and  was  oppressed  with  the  consciousness  of  many  misdeeds. 

Danvers  was  startled  from  the  occupation  on  which  he  was  so 
intent,  by  hearing  an  indistinct  sound  of  voices  outside  his  dun- 
geon door.  He  listened  ;  but  could  only  catch  a  murmur,  and 
presently  he  distinguished  retreating  footsteps ; — then  all  was 
still.  He  resumed  his  operations :  and  in  about  half  an  hour, 
had  the  satisfaction  of  finding  both  his  arms  free  :  but  the  mana- 
cles on  his  legs  were  yet  more  ponderous  than  the  others ;  and 
after  he  had  filed  through  them  there  was  an  immense  chain  that 
would  take  an  hour  to  cut  away,  it  being  passed  round  his  body, 
and  secured  with  a  huge  padlock. 

He  had  but  recently  commenced  filing  at  the  fetters  on  his  legs, 
when  the  heavy  step  of  his  guard  approached.  The  man  paused 
at  the  door ;  and  Danvers  fearing  lest  by  possibility  he  had  heard 
something  which  awakened  his  suspicions,  concealed  the  file  he 
had  been  using,  together  with  the  liquid,  in  his  bosom. 

"  I  may  have  to  struggle  for  it,"  thought  the  prisoner,  "  if  this 
fellow  have  overheard  me  filing.  I  wonder  the  disguised  priest 
is  not  here." 

But  the  door  opened  with  a  dull  noise,  and  a  vast  form  appeared. 
It  was  the  dragoon  whom  Danvers  had  encountered  on  more  than 
one  occasion,  the  gigantic  Jennings,  and  there  was  something  in 
his  aspect  so  hellish  that  a  sudden  suspicion  of  his  fell  design 
darted  through  the  brain  of  Danvers.  He  advanced  in  silence 
until  he  was  within  arm's  length  of  the  captive,  having  previously 
closed  the  dungeon-door  after  him.  It  was  manifest  that  he  had 
been  drinking,  though  not  so  large  a  quantity  of  liquor  as  to  in- 
capacitate him  for  his  duty,  but  he  smelt  powerfully  of  brandy, 
as  one  who  had  recently  taken  a  vast  dram. 

Drawing  himself  up  to  his  full  height,  Danvers  returned  the 
glare  of  the  soldier's  eye  with  a  stern,  unquailing,  and  haughty 
gaze.  The  fellow  indulged  in  a  hoarse,  savage  laugh,  while  the 
captive  confronted  him. 

"  What  want  you  here?"  cried  Walter  Danvers,  with  a  brow 
of  menace. 


588  THE  MISER'S  SON. 

"  I  wish  to  enjoy  your  society  for  a  little,  as  it  is  your  last 
night  on  earth,"  answered  the  ruffianly  dragoon. 

The  suspicions  of  the  prisoner  were  confirmed,  and  he  glanced 
hastily  round  the  narrow  dungeon  for  some  weapon  of  defence. 
The  soldier  supposed  his  hands  were  fettered  ;  but  Walter,  though 
he  held  them  in  such  a  position  as  to  make  them  appear  so,  the 
reader  knows  was  now  perfectly  clear  in  that  particular.  The 
sentinel  perceived  that  quick  look,  and  interpreted  it  aright.  He 
chuckled  ferociously. 

"Well,  I  am  going  to  save  you  from  the  gallows,"  he  ex- 
claimed ;  and  raised  his  arm. 

We  must  look  back  a  short  time,  in  order  to  explain  the  motive 
of  the  murderous  intention  of  the  soldier,  and  return  to  Corporal 
Figgins. 

The  character  of  this  man  was  thoroughly  unprincipled  and 
heartless ;  but  he  was  not  of  that  revengeful  or  malicious  nature 
which  delights  in  making  others  wretched  from  the  gratification 
found  in  witnessing  misery.  He  was  simply  a  bad  man,  such  as 
may  be  found,  probably,  in  every  hundred  human  beings,  on  the 
average,  without  redeeming  good  qualities,  but  certainly  not  a 
demon. 

The  connexion  between  Figgins  and  the  detestable  wife  of  Dan- 
vers,  is,  of  course,  explicit;  and  the  influence  which  she  exercised 
over  him,  though  less  intellectual  than  himself,  was  extremely 
powerful.  Perhaps  it  is  not  always  the  strongest  mind  which 
directs ;  for  the  passions  so  often  interfere  with  the  judgment, 
that  whatsoever  power  operates  on  them  is  the  prime  engine  of 
good  or  evil.  Never,  perhaps,  was  there  a  greater  blot  on  hu- 
manity than  this  Mrs.  Danvers.  She  was  the  very  epitome  of  all 
that  is  odious  in  woman  ;  yet  there  was  a  fascination  in  her  arts 
few  men  could  resist.  Her  hatred  against  her  husband  after  the 
interview  which  has  been  recorded  between  them,  grew  deadly 
and  fiendish ;  and  nothing  would  have  pleased  her  more  than  to 
see  him  writhing  in  the  agonies  of  death. 

It  had  happened  some  hours  before  the  time  when  our  narra- 
tive breaks  off,  that  Corporal  Figgins  was  walking,  at  no  great 
distance  from  the  house  of  Miss  Walsingham,  when  he  noticed  a 
horseman,  in  whom  he  recognised  Captain  Walsingham,  advanc- 
ing from  the  London  road  :  and  from  some  motive  which  may 


THE  MISER'S  SON.  589 

possibly  be  conceived,  lie  turned  into  a  field,  where  he  was  hid 
from  view  by  the  height  of  the  hedge.  Presently,  Miss  Walsing- 
ham  also  was  descried  by  the  Corporal,  and  she  met  Charles 
within  a  short  distance  of  the  place  where  Figgins  stood. 

"  What  news  ?"  asked  Harriet,  eagerly,  when  her  cousin  was 
within  earshot. 

"  I  have  not  brought  a  reprieve,"  was  the  reply  ;  "  but  I  have 
hope  it  will  arrive  to-morrow  morning." 

That  was  all  Figgins  heard  ;  for  the  relatives  walked  on  toge- 
ther, and  were  soon  out  of  sight :  but  Charles  afterwards  added, 
"  Alas!  he  may  be  saved  from  death  ;  but  he  may  prefer  to  die  ; 
his  sentence  will  be  eternal  banishment  with  felons.  Even  so 
much  mercy  can  hardly  be  extended  to  him." 

"Poor,  poor  Walter!"  exclaimed  Harriet.  "But,"  she  in- 
wardly murmured,  "he  may  yet  be  saved.  O,  God  !  in  mercy 
spare  him." 

"  Pardon  Danvers !  The  devil!"  growled  Corporal  Figgins. 
"  What  a  thing  it  is  to  have  influential  friends!  If  it  had  been 
a  poor  devil  of  a  sheep-stealer,  they  would  have  hung  him  up 
without  any  more  ceremony  than  if  he  had  been  a  dog." 

He  quitted  the  field,  evidently  in  ill-humour ;  and  had  walked 
about  half  a  mile,  when  he  met  his  paramour  with  the  hapless 
child  of  their  guilty  intrigue  in  her  arms.  He  at  once  informed 
her  of  what  he  had  overheard. 

"  And  shall  he  escape  after  all?"  she  ejaculated. 
"  I  suppose  he  will,"  muttered  Figgins. 

"  I  shouldn't  wonder  at  all "  began  Mrs.  Danvers,  and 

stopped  short. 

"  What  ?"  asked  the  Corporal. 

"  Doesn't  he  know  something  about  you  ?  At  present  you 
have  triumphed  over  the  accusations  brought  against  you  at  the 
examination,  but  Danvers  is  vindictive  as  the  devil." 

"  Why,  yes,"  returned  Figgins,  in  reply  to  the  first  part  of  Mrs. 
Danvers's  speech.  "  I'll  tell  you  what  it  is,  as  we  have  no  secrets 
from  each  other.  He  caught  me  out  in  a  little  bit  of  swindling  a 
few  years  ago ;  but  1  promised  I'd  never  do  the  like  again,  and 
he  didn't  blab." 

"  Ah!"  muttered  Mrs.  Danvers,  "it  was  the  same  with  Eve- 
rard."  She  added  aloud,  "  But  he  will  blab,  Figgius,  when  he 


590  THE  MISER'S  SON. 

is  out  of  his  present  pickle,  depend  on't.  He  will  owe  all  to  these 
Walsinghams,  and  if  he  hears  you  are  the  steward  on  the  estate, 
will  think  it  imperative  in  him  to  warn  them  against  you.  Then 
all  your  fine  projects  will  be  blown  into  air.  He  is  a  murderer, 
we  know,  even  if  innocent  of  all  participation  in  the  murder  of 
John  Walsingham — and  who  but  he  could  have  stabbed  him  in 
the  first  instance  ?  If  we  procured  the  carrying  out  of  his  sentence 
by  giving  him  poison,  or  taking  his  life  somehow  ?  You  have 
access  to  the  prison,  and  might  even  induce  him  to  commit  sui- 
cide ;  for  if  I  know  aught  of  his  nature,  he  would  do  anything 
to  avoid  a  public  execution." 

"  No,"  said  Figgins,  his  red  face  turning  very  pale,  "  I'll  have 
no  hand  in  it." 

"  You  fear  to  do  it,"  sneered  Mrs.  Danvers. 

"  That  sneer,"  observed  the  Corporal,  ««  would  have  done  for 
Lady  Macbeth.  I  might  get  into  a  damnable  mess,  and  I  don't 
profess  to  be  a  Quixote." 

*'  Pshaw  !  If  you  are  cautious  you  need  not  implicate  yourself." 

"  111  give  him  no  poison,"  returned  Figgins,  decisively. 

"  Is  not  that  great  brute  of  a  son  of  yours  one  of  the  guard 
appointed  by  old  Norton?"  inquired  the  lady,  as  if  struck -with 
a  sudden  notion. 

"  Yes,"  answered  the  Corporal. 

"  Don't  you  think  he  could  be  induced  to  strangle  him  ;  and 
then  it  would  appear  as  if  Walter  had  committed  self-destruction." 

"  Hum  !  Why  do  you  thirst  for  his  death  with  such  tiger-like 
ferocity  V9 

"  Look  you,  Figgins,  I  hate  him  ;  and  he  is  in  my  way.  I 
want  to  chalk  out  a  new  course  of  life.  I  want  to  catch  some  old 
drivelling  fool  for  a  husband — perhaps  Norton  would  do — or,  if 
not  he,  some  one  who  would  further  your  interests." 

"  What !  You  want  to  marry  ?" 

"  Yes,  it  would  be  a  good  speculation.  I  could  then  procure 
you  a  commission,  and  you  might  be  a  gentleman,  as  such  clever 
fellows  as  you  are,  deserve  to  be." 

"  Well,  I'll  speak  to  Tom  ;  but  I  won't  promise  anything." 

"  Didn't  Tom  get  a  horrible  whipping  for  having  suffered  Wal- 
ter to  escape  ?" 

"  He  did  :  and  he  is  a  spiteful,  revengeful  fellow,  who  doesn't 
forget." 


THE  MISER'S  SON.  591 

"  Give  him  some  strong  drink,  then — he  is  fond  of  drinking 

tell  him  what  you  have  told  me,  work  up  his  passions,  and  inflame 
his  anger  against  Danvers.  You  can  easily  get  a  key  to  fit  the 
dungeon  door,  and  give  it  to  Tom.  None  will  suspect  you  ;  and 
indeed  the  general  opinion  is  against  Danvers  so  much,  that  his 
death  by  his  own  hands  (as  it  must  appear)  will  be  rejoiced  at 
when  it  is  known  a  pardon  has  been  granted.  No  person,  it  will 
be  supposed,  could  have  a  motive  for  destroying  the  prisoner ; 
none  will  hear  his  groans,  and  as  he  is  so  heavily  fettered,  Tom 
can  easily  throttle  him." 

"I  do  not  like  the  job,"  muttered  Figgins,  as  he  separated 
from  the  iniquitous  creature,  by  associating  with  whom  he  had 
fallen  a  step  never  to  be  recovered,  and  who  had  proposed  such 
horrible  measures.  "  She  is  the  very  devil,  that  woman  ;  but  I 
wish  he  were  out  of  the  way — she  talks  rationally." 

Thus  cogitating,  he  walked  in  the  direction  of  the  town  where 
Danvers's  prison  was  located,  and  stopped  at  a  public-house, 
where  he  procured  some  spirits  in  a  bottle.  He  then  went  to  a 
locksmith's,  and  bought  a  peculiarly  formed  instrument,  well 
known  to  thieves  and  burglars.  He  invented  some  likely  story 
for  requiring  this  article — used  also  by  locksmiths  themselves  for 
picking  difficult  locks — and  then  took  his  path  to  another  public- 
house,  where  he  fortified  himself  with  liquor.  As  soon  as  it  was 
drawing  toward  night,  he  walked  to  the  gaol,  one  of  the  turnkeys 
of  which  was  a  boon  companion  of  his,  and  easily  procured  ad- 
mission. His  friend,  the  turnkey,  had  already  taken  as  much 
potent  ale  as  he  ought,  but  the  Corporal  easily  induced  him  to 
renew  his  devotions  to  the  jolly  god,  and  in  less  than  an  hour  he 
was  drunk,  and  Figgins  himself  more  elevated  than  usual.  Cau- 
tiously looking  about  him  to  certify  himself  that  he  was  not 
observed,  the  Corporal  then  stole  to  that  part  of  the  prison  where 
Danvers  was  confined  ;  and  on  seeing  the  burly  sentinel,  he  held 
up  the  partially  empty  bottle  of  spirits  he  had  bought,  and  said, 

"  I  have  laid  a  wager,  Tom,  that  you  could  drink  this  off  at  a 
swig." 

"  I  should  think  I  could,"  replied  Jennings,  taking  the  proffered 
bottle,  and  gulping  down  the  contents. 

The  quantity  of  alcohol  thus  taken  would  have  maddened  an 
ordinary  man,  and  it  made  the  stolid  brain  of  the  huge  Jennings 
reel,  so  that  he  was  obliged  to  lean  on  his  carbine  for  support. 


59'2  THE  MISER'S  SON. 

"  Has  your  back  healed,  yet,  of  the  cursed  flogging,  Tom  ?'' 
inquired  Figgins  of  the  dragoon.  Jennings  muttered  an  oath, 
and  resumed  his  walk  up  and  down  with  an  unsteady  step,  and 
brow  as  black  as  midnight.  "  It  was  all  through  the  murderer 
you  are  now  guarding  that  you  got  so  punished,"  observed  Fig- 
gins. 

"  He  will  be  hanged  to-morrow,"  growled  the  savage  Jennings 
from  between  his  teeth. 

"  No,  he  won't,"  returned  the  Corporal. 

"  Won't  be  hanged!"  cried  Jennings,  looking  ferociously  at  the 
other. 

"  I'll  be  bound  Captain  Norton  would  give  half  his  fortune  to 
have  him  dead,"  returned  the  Corporal. 

"  By  G —  !  I  shouldn't  mind  strangling  him,"  said  the  enor- 
mous fellow,  his  wolfish  temper  exasperated  by  the  recollection  of 
his  disgraceful  punishment,  and  the  quantity  of  raw  spirit  he  had 
swallowed. 

"  It  might  be  done  without  any  danger,"  observed  Figgins. 
"  If  he  were  throttled,  and  hung  up  as  if  he  had  done  it  himself, 
who  but  would  suppose  he  had  destroyed  himself  to  avoid  death 
on  the  gallows  ?  But  you  are  scrupulous,  I  know." 

"  Am  I?"  answered  Jennings,  with  a  hyena  laugh. 

"  He  is  almost  more  than  your  match,  that  fellow,"  remarked 
Figgins. 

He  touched  a  chord  here  which  he  well  knew  would  vibrate  on 
the  instant.  The  ruffian,  devoid  of  mind,  was  only  proud  of  his 
colossal  strength,  and  he  rightly  believed  there  was  hardly  a  living 
man  of  greater  corporeal  powers. 

"  I  would  bet  a  thousand  guineas,  if  I  had  them,  I  could  knock 
his  life  out  of  him,"  exclaimed  Jennings.  "  Blood  and  thunder ! 
I  should  like  to  do  it." 

The  Corporal  felt  his  advantage,  and  followed  it  up,  although 
it  was  not  without  compunction. 

"A  gentleman  I  met  just  now  says  he  would  give  ten  guineas 
to  the  man  bold  enough  to  kill  Danvers,"  he  said.  "  All  the  peo- 
ple hate  him  :  but  he  will  get  off  scot  and  lot  free." 

"  We  shall  see  about  that,"  returned  Jennings. 

The  Corporal  put  some  money  into  the  guard's  hand,  and  added 
to  what  he  had  said-r- 


THE  MISER'S  SON.  593 

"  I  shouldn't  wonder  if  a  subscription  were  raised  for  the  man 
hardy  enough  to  execute  justice  on  this  Danvers — if  he  chose  to 
say  he  had  done  it— he  was  so  hooted  at  the  other  day." 

Figgins  was  certain  he  had  worked  up  the  mind  of  the  brutal 
Jennings  to  the  pitch  he  wanted,  and  concluded  by  giving  him 
the  instrument  he  had  purchased.  "This  will  open  any  lock,  if 
you  should  want  to  do  it,"  he  said,  and  then  departed. 


CHAPTER  VII. 

Spouse!  Sister!  Angel!  Pilot  of  the  Fate 

Whose  course  has  been  so  starless  !     O,  too  lute, 

Beloved  !  O  too  soon  adored  by  me  ! 

For  in  the  fields  of  immortality 

My  spirit  should  at  first  have  worshipped  thine, 

A  divine  presence  in  a  place  divine  ; 

But  not  as  now  : — I  love  thee. — SHFLLEY. 

CONTAINING  A   GREAT  DEAL — THE  ESCAPE — THE   CONTEST — 
CHARLES    WALSINGHAM — THE   PARTING. 

THE  position  of  Waif er  Danvers  was  extremely  critical.  No 
cry  that  he  could  raise  was  likely  to  be  heard  in  the  remote  quarter 
of  the  prison  where  his  dungeon  was  placed,  and  there  was  that 
armed  savage,  equal  to  himself  in  strength,  while  no  weapon  of 
defence  was  near  him.  But,  taking  his  resolution  promptly,  he 
rushed  on  the  soldier,  and  griping  him  in  his  vast  arms  strove  to 
hurl  him  down. 

"  Ha!  you  have  got  the  use  of  your  hands,  have  you?"  ex- 
claimed Jennings,  attempting  by  a  prodigious  effort  to  release 
himself  from  that  mighty  hold.  But  Danvers  felt  that  if  the  sol- 
dier once  got  from  him,  his  fate  was  sealed,  and  tightened  his 
gripe. 

What  an  awful  struggle  it  was !  Both  men  knew  that  it  was 
for  life  or  death,  and  every  iron  muscle,  every  vast  sinew  was 
strained  to  the  uttermost.  The  height  of  the  dragoon  gave  him 
an  advantage,  and  Danvers'  legs  were  still  fettered,  and  as  they 
fell,  the  chains  entangled  the  prisoner,  and  he  was  undermost. 

"  Devil !"  cried  Walter,  as  the  giant  planted  his  knee  upon  his 
chest,  so  as  to  impede  his  breathing ;  and  he  thought  his  hour 

4  G 


594  THE  MISER'S  SON. 

was  come.  Useless  were  his  convulsed  exertions  to  throw  off  his 
vast  foe,  and  the  ruffian  was  trying  to  compress  his  throat  with 
one  enormous  hand,  so  as  to  strangle  him.  Another  second,  and 
he  might  have  been  in  eternity ;  when  the  ruffian  received  such 
an  awful  blow  on  the  forehead,  that  he  was  laid  prostrate,  instan- 
taneously ;  and  a  voice  exclaimed — 

"  What  a  precious  scoundrel  you  are,  Mister  Tom !"  Then  a  rope 
was  passed  round  the  muscular  arms  of  the  insensible  ruffian, 
and  a  gag  was  thrust  into  his  mouth,  while  Danvers,  recovering, 
beheld  a  man  of  singular  stature  before  him,  who  was  with  the 
utmost  coolness  and  self-possession  employed  in  securing  the 
baffled  assassin. 

"  He's  a  thorough  blackguard,  that  Tom,  if  ever  there  lived 
one,"  muttered  the  tall  stranger.  "  He  hasn't  one  gentlemanly 
idea  in  his  thick  skull.  Mr.  Danvers,  I  congratulate  you  on  your 
escape.  I  am  come  to  set  you  free.  Your  son  is  outside  the 
prison,  and  we  will  be  off  at  once. — Ah  !  that  padlock  !  I  have 
a  key  here  which  will  unlock  it. — There,  now  you  are  free.  Take 
the  sword  of  that  low  rascal,  and  let  us  be  off." 

Walter,  accustomed  to  act  in  emergency,  followed  the  tall  per- 
son who  had  saved  his  life  through  several  passages,  which  he 
threaded  with  the  most  perfect  ease  and  rapidity,  and  up  a  flight 
of  stone  steps,  having  ascended  which  they  found  themselves  at 
a  grated  window. 

"  There,  if  you  look  out,  you'll  see  your  son,"  said  the  tall 
highwayman.  "  He  is  just  behind  that  lofty  wall." 

"But  how  are  we  to  get  out?"  demanded  Danvers. 

"  Why,  let  us  try  these  bars. — It's  all  right.  One  of  them  is 
loose  !  I'll  have  that  out  in  a  jiffy. — Whew  !  what's  that  noise?" 

"  He  has  escaped  !  The  prisoner  has  escaped  !"  vociferated  a 
turnkey. 

"  Here's  a  go !"  exclaimed  the  tall  man.     "  But  this  way  !" 

And  he  dashed  up  a  second  flight  of  stairs  at  a  break-neck 
pace,  Danvers  exerting  all  his  speed  to  follow.  The  bold  Jen- 
nings was  soon  at  the  top  of  the  stairs  ;  and  made  for  a  gallery, 
at  the  extremity  of  which  was  a  trap-door,  at  the  height  of  seven 
feet  from  the  ground.  Withdrawing  the  bolts  which  secured  it 
in  an  instant,  he  darted  through  the  aperture,  and  extended  his 
hand  to  Danvers.  The  steps  of  many  men  could  be  heard  as- 


THE  MISER'S  SON.  595 

cending  ;  but  the  fugitives  were  through  the  trap-door  before  they 
were  descried. 

"  Follow  me !"  said  the  tall  man,  running  across  the  roof  of 
the  prison,  as  if  he  were  a  monkey  ;  and  then  producing  a  rope, 
he  attached  it  to  a  chimney-stack.  The  shouts  of  the  soldiers 
below  reached  their  ears,  as  the  rope  was  securely  fastened,  and 
"  Long  Peter  Jennings"  bidding  Danvers  steady  it  with  his  hand, 
slid  down,  and  reached  the  high  wall  which  surrounded  the  gaol. 
Danvers  followed  his  example ;  but  he  heard  the  enemy  above, 
and  had  hardly  descended,  when  their  forms  were  apparent  on  the 
roof. 

"  Neck  or  nothing !"  cried  Peter  Jennings.  "  I  wish  that 
d — d  rope  could  be  got  off  the  chimney  ;  but  we  must  leave  it. 
Here,  my  lad,"  addressing  some  one  beneath,  in  whom  Danvers 
recognised  Harry,  "  up  with  the  ladder.  Confound  those  fellows ! 
They  are  firing.  All  the  town  will  be  raised ;  but  we  shall  do 
them." 

Bullets  were,  indeed,  whizzing  over  the  heads  of  the  fugitives; 
but  they  regarded  them  not ;  and  the  tall  Peter,  holding  the  lad- 
der which  Harry  had  thrown  up,  bade  Danvers  descend,  who,  at 
once  complied,  and  reached  the  ground  in  safety. 

"  Thank  heaven  !"  said  Harry,  catching  his  father's  hand. 
"  Here  are  the  horses.  Let  us  mount  and  away  !" 

"  But  I  will  not  desert  my  preserver,"  returned  Walter. 

"  Fly  !"  shouted  the  tall  man,  with  an  oath.  "  1  see  hundreds 
hastening  to  stop  you.  I'll  take  care  of  myself,  I  tell  you." 

Danvers  and  his  son  leapt  on  their  horses'  backs,  and  dashed 
from  the  prison  :  for  it  was  true  that  numbers  were  prepared  to 
stop  them.  Bells  were  ringing,  drums  were  beating  to  arms,  guns 
firing,  men  shouting  and  swearing,  women  shrieking,  and  a  cry 
of  "  The  Jacobites  !  the  Jacobites !"  became  universal.  The  tall 
Jennings  was  in  an  ecstacy  of  mirth,  as  he  made  the  dangerous 
descent  from  the  wall— no  person  being  below  to  steady  the  rope 
ladder,  which  he  tied  to  the  cord  that  yet  depended  from  the 
chimney  :  but  an  expression  of  anxiety  overspread  his  face,  when 
he  saw  a  soldier  was  dividing  it  with  his  sword,  just  as  he  quitted 
the  wall.  "Here  goes  for  a  jump!"  he  cried,  as  the  rope  gave 
way,  when  he  was  yet  twenty  feet  from  the  earth.  He  escaped 
with  a  sprained  ancle,  and  tried  to  limp  to  a  horse  which  was  in 


596  THE  MISER'S  SON. 

readiness  for  him.  But  ere  he  could  mount,  half-a-dozen  men 
arriving,  laid  their  hands  upon  him. 

"  Down  with  them  !"  shouted  a  voice,  as  the  gallant  fellow 
defended  himself  against  his  assailants  ;  and  a  horseman,  dressed 
in  a  cassock,  and  mounted  on  a  fiery  steed  charged  the  tall  man's 
adversaries,  sword  in  hand.  They  gave  way,  supposing  that  a 
whole  host  of  Jacobites  were  at  hand  :  and  the  deliverer  of  Dan- 
vers  taking  prompt  advantage  of  the  panic,  vaulted  on  his  horse's 
back,  and  exclaiming,  "  Bravo,  Bess  !  You  are  the  parson,  then  !" 
galloped  fiercely  off,  followed  by  his  ally. 

The  way  in  which  the  escape  of  the  prisoner  was  discovered  so 
soon  was  this.  Some  presentiment  entered  the  heart  of  Captain 
Norton  that  all  was  not  well,  despite  the  great  precautions  he  had 
taken  to  secure  the  captive  ;  and  rising  on  the  spur  of  the  moment 
from  the  seat  he  occupied  in  the  barracks  appropriated  to  his 
troop,  he  ordered  some  privates  to  accompany  him,  and  hastened 
to  the  prison.  Of  course,  on  entering  the  prisoner's  cell,  they 
found  Tom  Jennings  bound  and  gagged,  and  the  bird  flown  ;  and 
instantly  raised  an  alarm.  Captain  Norton  vaulted  on  his  char- 
ger's back,  and  pursued :  and  Jennings  and  one  or  two  others 
also  mounted.  But  the  fugitive  was  on  his  own  Dickon  once 
more,  and  Harry  was  nearly  as  well  mounted,  so  that  they  did 
not  lose  the  start  they  had  gained.  The  father  and  son  then  were 
first  by  a  hundred  yards ;  then  came  Captain  Norton,  Tom  Jen- 
nings, and  two  dragoons;  then  a  quarter  of  a  mile  behind,  the 
tall  fellow  and  "  Bess ;"  and  again,  behind  them,  some  horse- 
men, a  little  beyond  gunshot,  and  among  these  last  Corporal  Fig- 
gins,  who,  attracted  to  the  prison,  reached  it  as  Norton  took 
horse. 

Miles  and  miles  were  left  behind,  and  the  foremost  fugitives 
found  themselves  at  length  in  a  solitary  path,  greatly  in  advance 
of  the  pursuers. 

"  Let  us  wait  a  minute  to  breathe  our  steeds,"  said  Danvers 
to  Harry :  but  as  he  spoke  he  noticed  two  persons,  about  a  fur- 
long to  their  right,  engaged  in  deadly  conflict.  "  By  Heaven  ! 
That  is  John  Norton,  with  his  face  to  us  !"  exclaimed  Danvers ; 
"  and  his  opponent  must  be  Hugh  Freestone."  He  again  put 
Dickon  to  a  gallop,  and  was  soon  on  the  ground  occupied  by  the 
combatants.  "  My  friends  !  how  is  this  ?"  cried  Walter,  beating 
down  the  weapons  of  the  two  Jacobites. 


THE  MISER'S  SON.  597 

Freestone  turned  deadly  pale  at  Danvers'  apparition,  but  John 
Norton  uttered  an  exclamation  of  surprise  and  pleasure. 

"  I  am  glad  to  see  you  here  !"  he  said.  "  I  met  Master  Free- 
stone by  accident,  and  we  agreed  to  settle  a  dispute  of  some 
standing  on  the  spot.*' 

"  You  may  have  plenty  of  fighting,  if  you  wish,  with  the  ene- 
mies of  King  James,  without  quarrelling  with  his  friends,"  cried 
Walter.  "  Lo  !  even  as  I  speak,  they  come." 

And  sweeping  onwards,  like  a  hurricane,  came  Captain  Norton 
and  his  followers.  There  was  brief  time  for  counsel ;  and  Dan- 
vers and  Harry  stationed  themselves  on  a  rising  ground,  while 
the  younger  Norton  and  Freestone  remained  inactive.  Before 
another  minute  had  elapsed  Danvers  was  contending  against 
Jennings  and  another  dragoon,  and  Harry  encountered  a  third  ; 
but  Captain  Norton  was  so  exhausted  by  all  the  exertions  he  had 
made,  that  he  was  compelled  to  rest  a  moment. 

"  I  will  not  see  an  old  friend  at  these  odds,  without  lifting  an 
arm  in  his  cause,"  cried  John  Norton.  "  There  will  be  more 
here,  anon.  Hu^h  Freestone!  If  you  have  a  spark  of  manhood 
left  in  your  icy  heart,  to  the  rescue  !" 

The  Jesuit  did  advance  ;  but  it  was  to  array  himself  against 
his  former  friends.  And  so  they  fought  man  to  man,  until  Cap- 
tain Norton  hurled  himself  against  Danvers.  That  redoubtable 
warrior,  gladdened  and  inspirated  with  air  and  liberty  after  so 
long  a  confinement,  performed  feats  of  soldiership  equal  to  any 
achieved  in  the  days  of  chivalry;  and  the  dragoons  were  beaten 
back,  even  as  the  two  individuals  who  had  hitherto  been  behind 
—Peter  Jennings  and  "  Bess" — came  up  and  swelled  the  numbers 
of  the  little  band  who  fought  on  Walter's  side.  Captain  Norton 
and  Freestone  were  but  indifferent  soldiers  ;  but  actuated  by  vio- 
lent passions,  they  had  pressed  fiercely  on  Danvers,  while  he  was 
still  engaged  with  Tom  Jennings.  Wheeling  and  striking,  feint- 
ing, and  parrying  blows  with  marvellous  celerity,  however,  Walter 
outdid  himself.  The  blood  of  Dauvers  was  up,  and  he  felt  a 
demi-god  now  that  he  had  a  prospect  of  freedom,  and  had 
escaped  from  such  manifold  perils.  In  spite  of  the  superiority 
of  numbers,  and  the  animus  which  inspired  them,  those  three 
mortal  enemies  of  Danvers  were  obliged  to  retreat :  and  John 
Norton  and  Harry  were  no  less  successful  in  their  strife  with  the 


598  THE  MISER'S  SON. 

dragoons,  so  that  when  fresh  allies  were  added  to  their  force,  they 
were  irresistible.  "  On  them,  lads  !"  exclaimed  Danvers,  follow- 
ing up  the  advantage ;  and  with  a  shout  they  charged,  and  dis- 
persed the  foe.  But  ere  the  rout  was  complete,  the  burly  form 
of  Corporal  Figgins,  and  with  him  four  or  five  dragoons,  changed 
the  odds  again,  and  the  Jacobites  and  their  friends  renewed  their 
flight.  By  a  strange  chance  they  were  now  within  a  little  dis- 
tance of  the  house  where  Danvers  supposed  Ellen  and  Elizabeth 
still  to  be :  and,  in  fact,  they  had  quitted  it  but  a  short  time  be- 
fore. 

"  Shall  we  make  a  stand  here?"  asked  Harry  of  his  father. 
"  The  great  body  of  our  foes  are  far  in  the  rear." 

It  was  as  he  said.  Captain  Norton  and  Freestone — the  latter 
mounted  on  a  hunter — both  being  exceedingly  light  men,  were 
almost  within  gunshot ;  Figgins  and  Jennings  were  considerably 
behind,  their  vast  bulk  retarding  their  speed  :  and  for  the  other 
dragoons,  they  were  nowhere  to  be  seen.  Once  more  Captain 
Norton  rushed  on  with  the  fury  of  a  maniac,  as  soon  as  he  saw 
Danvers  prepared  to  receive  his  attack  ;  but  Freestone  was  not 
so  blinded  by  rage  but  that  he  felt  the  insanity  of  assaulting  the 
Jacobites  then,  and  he  drew  in  his  rein.  Danvers,  by  a  well- 
directed  blow,  shivered  the  blade  of  Captain  Norton,  as  it  was 
descending  on  his  head,  and  as  the  old  officer  was  drawing  a  pis- 
tol to  discharge  it  at  his  hated  enemy,  Danvers  wrenched  it  from 
his  hand,  and  whirled  him  round  as  if  but  a  reed.  But  he  did 
not  dash  him  to  the  earth,  as  he  might  have  done,  never  to  rise 
again  :  but  dropped  him  gently,  and  then  spurred  on  against  the 
treacherous  Jesuit.  But  Freestone  turned  and  fled.  Jennings 
and  Figgins,  however,  continued  to  advance,  and  the  Jesuit  join- 
ing them,  they  charged  the  party  of  Danvers.  Walter  rired  at 
Freestone,  but  narrowly  missed  him  :  then  hurling  the  empty 
pistol  at  the  traitor,  he  knocked  him  from  his  horse  and  engaged 
with  Figgins.  Fortunately  for  the  Corporal  and  the  dragoon  the 
remainder  of  their  friends  were  at  hand,  and  the  strife  for  the 
last  time  became  deadly  and  doubtful. 

It  was  at  this  juncture  that  a  solitary  horseman  might  be  seen 
advancing;  and  so  equal  was  the  contest  that  a  child  might  have 
almost  turned  the  scales.  It  was  Charles  Walsingham.  He  had 
but  a  short  time  previously  been  at  the  house  of  Danvers,  and 


THE  MISER'S  SON.  599 

found  it  deserted,  and  he  was,  after  a  fruitless  search  for  Ellen, 
returning  to  see  if  she  might  not  have  come  back  :  when  he  ob- 
served the  contending  parties  ;  and  recognised  Walter  in  the  hot- 
test of  the  fray.  He  paused,  fearfully  irresolute.  His  duty  was 
to  join  the  foes  of  Ellen's  father,  his  heart  bade  him  strike  for  him. 

"Cruel  fate!"  exclaimed  Charles,  "Why  hast  thou  brought 
me  here?  Love  or  honour  must  be  sacrificed." — He  saw  the  lynx 
eye  of  Corporal  Figgins  had  perceived  him,  and  knew  his  reputa- 
tion was  for  ever  lost,  if  he  did  not  unite  himself  with  the  military. 
But  there  was  Danvers,  fighting  like  a  lion  against  Tom  Jennings 
and  a  second  dragoon,  and  Harry  was  unhorsed,  and  contending 
with  a  powerful  man  also  on  foot,  while  honest  John  Norton  was 
sustaining  an  unequal  conflict  with  Figgins.  The  two  tall  indi- 
viduals had  their  hands  full ;  and  Hugh  Freestone,  recovering, 
was  about  to  attack  Danvers  from  behind. 

The  life  of  that  being  so  dear  to  Ellen  was  at  stake,  and  the 
Spartan  spirit,  which  for  a  moment  animated  Charles  to  sacrifice 
Jove  to  fame,  vanished  instantly.  He  was  not  one  to  coolly  calcu- 
late chances,  or  he  might  have  thought  if  Danvers  thus  died,  much 
obloquy  might  be  saved,  and  all  further  impediment  to  his  union 
with  Ellen  removed.  But  if  such  a  thought  flashed  on  the  officer's 
mind,  it  was  dismissed  indignantly  ;  and  he  spurred  on  to  strike 
the  cowardly  assailant  of  Walter  down.  Had  he  done  so,  all  his 
prospects  in  life  would  have  been  blasted  :  but,  suddenly,  a  shout 
was  heard  at  a  short  distance,  and  a  dozen  horsemen,  followed 
by  others,  were  seen  galloping  up. 

"Huzza!''  exclaimed  the  Jacobites.     "  Friends,  friends  !" 

Charles  Walsingham  turned,  and  saw  that  a  strong  party  of 
armed  men  were  arriving,  and  his  purpose  changed*  Now,  he 
would  fight  against  the  Jacobites  to  the  death.  The  soldiers  of 
the  government  perceiving  that  fearful  odds  were  likely  to  be  op- 
posed to  them,  fled  in  dismay.  But  Hugh  Freestone,  as  he 
sprang  into  his  saddle,  after  being  dismounted,  discharged  a  pis- 
tol at  Danvers,  which  whizzed  past  him  and  struck  the  horse 
Charles  Walsingham  rode.  The  animal,  maddened  with  fear 
and  pain,  dashed  away,  and  vain  were  all  the  efforts  of  his  rider 
to  restrain  him.  He  was  carried  several  miles  before  he  regained 
the  mastery  over  the  brute  ;  and  when  he  returned  to  the  place 
where  the  late  conflict  had  occurred,  'here  was  no  trace  of  the 


600  THE  MISER'S  SON. 

Jacobites,  far  or  near.  He  again  went  to  the  house  which  the 
family  of  Danvers  had  occupied,  but  was  no  more  successful  in 
finding  them.  Thus  he  lost  all  clue  to  Ellen  ;  and  although  he 
sought  her  for  days  and  weeks  could  discover  nothing  concerning 
her. — At  length  in  despair  he  went  abroad,  and  did  not  return 
to  England  for  many  years.  Honour  and  rank  he  gained  ;  but 
what  were  they  without  his  heart's  beloved  ? 

Many  were  the  thanks  which  Danvers  and  Harry  heaped  on 
Peter  Jennings  and  Bess  :  but  they  would  receive  no  money  from 
them,  and  they  parted  with  mutual  good  wishes.  John  Norton 
had  absented  himself,  but  as  Walter  and  Harry  were  left  alone 
he  returned  to  them. 

"  My  brother,"  he  said,  "  has  burst  a  blood-vessel,  and  is  now 
lying  in  a  cottage  about  a  mile  away.  O,  Danvers!"  he  added, 
"  We  must  never  meet  again.  I  fear  you  are  the  murderer  of  my 
brother  as  well  as  my  nephew.  Farewell !  I  loved  you  once." 

"  Noble  heart !"  exclaimed  Danvers,  sorrowfully.  "  And  must 
I  lose  thee  too?  O,  what  a  treasure  is  a  faithful  friend  ! — But  I 
did  not  injure  your  brother  in  the  fight !" 

"No:  but  he  became  insensible  after  you  dropped  him,  and 
he  was  borne  away  by  the  soldiers.  God  knows,  Walter,  I  bear 
no  enmity  against  you.  But  I  ought  not  to  grasp  that  hand  red 
with  my  nearest  kindred's  blood." 

"  Nay,"  said  Walter,  "  I  would  cut  off  this  right  hand  readily 
to  give  back  that  poor  boy  to  you.  He  died  young,  and  not  in- 
gloriously.  Perhaps  I  shall  soon  follow." 

John  Norton  brushed  away  a  tear,  and  then  extended  his  hand 
to  Danvers. 

"  May  Heaven  bless  you,  gallant  warrior  !"  he  cried.  "  No 
crime  is  upon  your  head." 

Then  embracing  Harry,  sadly  he  went  his  way. 

"  O,  what  a  friend  have  I  lost !"  exclaimed  Danvers,  bitterly. 

Harry  could  not  console  him.  They  rode  on  in  silence  for  some 
minutes. — What  a  Night  of  Gloom  and  Desolation  was  in  Wal- 
ter's soul ! 

******* 

Danvers  was  able  to  baffle  the  exertions  of  his  foes  to  recap- 
ture him  :  and  about  a  week  after  his  escape  from  prison,  hired 
a  small  vessel  to  convey  him  and  Harry  across  fhe  channel. 


THE  MISER'S  SON.  601 

All  was  soon  ready  for  the  embarkation  of  Walter ;  but  he 
would  not  quit  England  until  he  had  taken  a  final  adieu  of  her 
who  was  all  the  world  to  him.  His  love  of  Harriet  Walsingham 
was  now  almost  worthy  of  that  bright  being  :  for  when  the  pas- 
sion is  not  purely  sensual,  it  has  so  much  essential  and  necessary 
holiness  in  it,  that  it  must  ultimately  correct  itself,  and  ennoble 
and  sublimate  the  heart  of  man. 

Danvers,  then,  one  glorious  autumn  day,  as  the  hues  of  the 
gorgeous  noon  were  mingling  with  the  softer  and  milder  tints  of 
twilight,  when  the  world  seemed  breathing  of  peace  and  love,  and 
the  very  air  was  melody,  pursued  his  path  to  the  residence  of 
Harriet.  What  a  revolution  had  the  last  two  months  effected  in 
all  his  thoughts  and  associations !  The  affliction  he  had  endured 
was  salutary,  although  severe ;  and  he  felt,  if  not  a  wiser,  a  better 
man. 

He  reached  the  house,  and  tying  his  horse  to  a  tree,  entered 
the  garden.  There,  in  a  natural  arbour,  the  birds  all  singing  har- 
moniously from  grove  and  shade,  through  which  the  gushing  breeze 
swept  deliciously,  her  white  hand  supporting  her  beautiful  head, 
sat  Harriet  Walsingham. 

"  Harriet  !*'  whispered  Danvers. 

At  that  thrilling  sound,  she  started  to  her  feet,  and  the  blood 
deserted  her  cheek,  always  pale,  and  then  spread  vermillion  over 
it  for  an  instant :  but  she  quickly  recovered  herself,  and  extended 
her  hand  to  her  first  and  only  love. 

"  Thank  God  !"  she  murmured,  tears  trickling  down  her  face. 
'«  Thank  God  you  were  saved  from  that  death  of  horror.  I  see 
you  are  disguised,  and  well,  too,  Walter ;  but  I  knew  your  voice 
directly." 

Danvers  pressed  her  hand  reverentially  to  his  lips  ;  and  a  warm 
drop  of  love  and  gratitude  fell  upon  it. 

"  I  am  come  to  bless  you  for  all  your  goodness,  Harriet;  to 
hear  you  forgive  me  once  again ;  and  then  to  pronounce  an  eter- 
nal adieu." 

His  voice  trembled,  and  he  was  afraid  to  trust  himself  to  speak 

more. 

"  I  hope  you  will  be  happy,  Walter,"  said  Harriet  Walsing- 
ham ;  and  a  choking  sensation  in  her  throat  also  prevented  her 
from  speaking  farther.  They  were  silent ;  but  yet  that  silence 

4  H 


602  THE  MISER'S  SON. 

was  eloquent  of  what  words  can  never  describe.  Harriet  was  the 
first  to  breathe  a  word  again.  "  Walter,  my  friend,  my  brother !" 
she  cried,  with  scarcely  any  embarrassment.  "  I  want  to  disbur- 
then  my  heart  of  the  feelings  which  crowd  upon  it ;  but  their 
multiplicity  bewilders  me.  Be  a  good  man,  I  beseech  you  ;  and 
then  you  will  know  what  felicity  really  is.  O,  believe  me,  all 
happiness  on  earth  is  but  anticipation  of  heaven,  and  the  love  of 
our  Father  in  Heaven  !  He  is  with  us,  now,  dear  Walter.  His 
spirit  is  busy  in  my  spirit,  and  bids  me  tell  you  to  cherish  faith 
and  virtue,  and  your  reward  shall  be  great,  your  bliss  most  cer- 
tain, /have  had  to  bear  some  sorrows;  but  God  has  given  me 
strength  to  endure  them,  as  if  they  were  the  lightest  breath  of 
grief;  and  no  desolation  clings  to  my  spirit  now." 

Sobs  convulsed  the  mighty  chest  of  Danvers^  and  he  turned 
away,  vainly  struggling  with  emotion.  Harriet  pressed  his  hand 
with  sisterly  affection.  Holy  and  beautiful  as  ever  angel's  was 
that  serene  and  unearthly  countenance.  Her  body  was  in  Time  : 
but  her  soul  was  in  Eternity. 

,  "  Lo !"  said  the  Christian  poetess,  with  deep  enthusiasm ;  "  all 
our  worshipped  visions  here  vanish,  never  to  return.  The  ambi- 
tious man  weeps  at  the  futility  of  all  his  gigantic  schemes,  even 
when  they  are  consummated  ;  for  consummation  is  the  end,  not 
the  perfection  of  happiness ; — the  scientific  man  deplores  the 
narrowness  of  his  accumulated  knowledge,  seeing  that  it  plunges 
him  but  into  error :  the  wise  man  sighs,  because  he  is  certain  that 
philosophy  can  give  no  comfort  to  the  sorrowing,  nor  satiate  that 
panting  for  joy  which  is  the  law  of  existence.  Joy  ; — it  is  but 
the  summer  gale,  flying — ah,  whither?  But  the  believer  is  not 
bound  to  the  low  being  whose  scope  is  not  in  the  eternal :  he 
sees  a  world  above  the  stars,  he  beholds  an  universe  in  his  own 
mind  more  sublime  than  all  this  stupendous  creation.  This  is 
felicity  ;  to  breathe  the  ether  of  heaven,  and  to  inhale  the  atmos- 
phere of  the  Seraphim.  Trust  in  God,  O  trust  in  God  !  And 
the  veil  will  fall  from  before  your  eyes,  and  the  naked  loveliness 
of  immortality  and  love  will  be  revealed.  You  will  learn  to  des- 
pise this  earth,  to  feel  all  is  vanity  that  does  not  aspire  to  a  purer 
life,  full  of  all  rapture,  promise,  assurance !" 

"  I  will  try,"  murmured  Danvers  ;  "  but  I  can  never  be  blessed 
like  vou,  after  all  the  sins  I  have  committed." 


THE  MISER'S  SON.  603 

"  Never  believe  it !"  exclaimed  Harriet,  with  energy.  "  The 
Christianity  of  the  Gospel  assures  you  to  the  contrary.  Nay,  it 
is  possible  that  in  proportion  to  your  grief  for  the  past  may  be 
the  joy  of  your  hope  for  the  future.  As  a  parting  gift  take  this 
Book  from  me.  It  is  the  Book/ and  the  one  from  which  I  have 
derived  such  inexpressible  comfort.  You  will  find  some  notes  I 
have  made  placed  between  the  leaves.  They  reveal  some  of  the 
thoughts,  the  joys,  and  fears  I  have  undergone,  and  on  that  ac- 
count you  may  prize  them." 

"  Yes,  as  I  prize  my  life,"  returned  Walter,  pressing  the  sacred 
volume  fervently  to  his  heart.  "  It  shall  never  leave  my  bosom 
until  I  die." 

"  May  it  sink  deeply  into  it !"  returned  Harriet.  "  May  its 
truths  be  like  the  stars,  to  light  you  through  the  night  of  life.  I 
have  known  one,  who  was  most  dear  to  me,"  she  added,  sadly, 
"  who  laughed  to  ecorn  all  that  is  contained  in  this  inspired  work  : 
but  he  was  the  most  wretched  of  mortals.  Strange !  that  man 
should  throw  away  the  truest  gems  in  all  the  universe,  and  cherish 
mere  useless  gewgaws  made  by  human  hands." 

"  If  I  am  not  mistaken,"  replied  Danvers,  his  mind  recurring 
to  the  young  Epicurean  by  a  sudden  association  of  ideas — who 
shall  say  precisely  how  ? — "  I  know  the  person  you  allude  to.  I 
met  him  accidentally,  but  a  very  few  hours  before  I  discovered 
that  you  were  not  gathered  to  the  dead." 

"Poor,  erring  boy!  If  you  should  ever  meet  him  again,  be 
kind  to  him  for  my  sake." 

"And  he  is  the  son  of  your  ill-fated  brother!  I  wish  I  had 
the  power  of  serving  him.  What  has  become  of  young  Francis, 
whom,  I  heard,  was  thrown  into  prison  ?" 

"  The  officer  he  wounded  (I  suppose  you  know  his  story  ?)  was 
not  killed,  and  Frank  has  been  pardoned,  and  was  released  the 
very  morning  that  brought  no  reprieve  for  you. — Ah  !  I  see  him 
coming  up  the  hill  even  now.  You  had  better  not  be  seen." 

"  I  must  indeed  depart,  inestimable  woman  !  for  my  time  is 
short.  May  all  the  choicest  blessings  the  Almighty  can  bestow 
be  showered  on  your  head  !  O,  farewell,  Harriet !  Sweet  sister ! 
Grant  me  still  one  last  request." 

"  I  will,  Walter  ;  for  I  am  certain  you  will  ask  nothing  I  ought 
not  to  bestow." 


604  THE  MISER'S  SON. 

"  Grant  me  one  kiss  of  that  glorious  brow — that  shall  one  day 
he  enriched  with  a  seraph's  crown — which  I  shall  never  see  again, 
bright  with  earthly  lustre." 

Harriet  met  the  lips  of  Danvers  with  her  spotless  forehead 
without  a  blush,  without  the  quivering  of  a  lip,  and  clasping  her 
hands  together,  murmured  a  benediction.  It  was  a  solemn  and 
affecting  spectacle,  though  all  was  so  calm,  so  quiet,  so  subdued. 
It  was  death  in  life. 

"  O,  I  must  touch  your  lips  !"  exclaimed  Danvers,  in  agony — 
he  was  agonized,  beyond  outward  show — "  farewell,  farewell !" 

And  imprinting  a  lingering,  despairing  kiss  on  her  lips,  which 
she  resisted  not,  he  tore  himself  away,  and  rushed  to  his  horse. 
Then,  and  not  till  then,  the  high  and  sublime  fortitude  of  Harriet 
deserted  her,  and  she  burst  into  a  passion  of  tears  and  sobs. 

"  O,  my  heart !"  she  cried,  "  O,  my  heart !  Protect  him, 
great  God  of  Heaven  !" 

Can  human  eloquence  give  an  idea  of  the  workings  of  that  ex- 
alted spirit  at  that  hour  ?  No ;  there  is  that  within  us  which  finds 
no  voice,  which  the  vulgar  understand  not,  the  lofty  can  but  dream 
of*  She  sunk  upon  the  rude  bench  of  the  arbour,  and  a  coldness 
like  that  of  death  came  over  her.  The  struggle  was  awful  ;  but 
the  radiant  soul  roused  itself  from  its  torpor,  and  she  knelt,  and 
poured  out  her  grief  into  the  bosom  of  the  Eternal.  Long,  deep, 
and  earnest  were  her  supplications ;  and  into  the  solemn  myste- 
ries thereof  the  genius  of  ethereal  beings  alone  can  penetrate : 
but  when  she  arose,  as  the  pale  evening  star  came  trembling  into 
life  in  the  purple  sky,  she  was  as  bright,  as  calm,  and  tearless  as 
aught  out  of  heaven ! 


CHAPTER  VIII. 

The  actors  have  all  vanished  from  the  scene, — 
Leaving  behind  them  tears : — the  tragic  tale 
Of  human  passions  is  a  lofty  theme — 
The  loftiest,  and  the  lowest  we  can  find. — MS. 

DANVERS— FRANCIS   WALS1NGHAM — GEORGE — THE   CHARAC- 
TERS  OF   THE   TALE   DISPOSED   OF. 

ERE  Walter  left  England,  however,  he  had  still  a  few  affairs  to 
arrange,  and  foremost  of  all  to  see  George,  and  proffer  his  pro- 


THE  MISER'S  SON.  605 

tection  to  him.  A  theatrical  performance  was  about  to  take  place 
in  the  village  of  Uskedale,  and  George  was  to  be  engaged  in  it. 
He  was  found  without  much  difficulty  by  Danvers,  who  ventured 
in  disguise  to  a  sequestered  spot  near  the  village,  and  employed 
a  trustworthy  person  to  bring  the  child  to  him.  George  came, 
and  expressed  himself  delighted  at  beholding  Walter  once  more. 

"  And  where  is  your  daughter  ?"  he  asked.  "  I  loved  her  very 
much.  She  went  away  on  a  sudden  from  the  house  where  I  left 
her." 

"  Yes,  my  brave  little  fellow  ;  but  if  you  like,  you  shall  go  to 
her  with  me,  and  we'll  take  care  of  you." 

George  sighed  heavily.  "  I  must  not  leave  my  mother,"  he 
said.  "  No,  Mr.  Danvers,  I  am  grateful  to  you  for  your  kind 
offer ;  and  I  wish  I  might  go  and  see  your  dear  daughter  and 
live  with  you  and  her  :  but  my  mother, — she  is  still  my  mother." 

"  What  a  noble  heart  is  here  !"  murmured  Danvers.  "  My 
dear  boy,"  he  added  aloud,  "  I  have  no  pleasant  home  to  offer 
you,  and  if  you  were  to  live  with  me,  it  might  injure  you  in  after 
life :  but  still  to  escape  from  harsh  treatment " 

"  God  bless  you,"  returned  George  with  a  choking  voice. 
"  Leave  me  now,  or  I  might  be  tempted.  Oh,  sir!  There  has 
been  a  sunny  spot  on  my  life  since  I  knew  you — I  have  been 
loved  and  pitied  !  As  for  disgrace — do  not  think  I  believe  you 
guilty  :  and  I  should  not  fear  to  share  your  fate.  But  it  cannot 
be.  Good  bye — good  bye  !" 

The  heart  of  poor  George  was  full,  but  he  restrained  his  tears, 
while  Danvers  gazing  sadly  into  his  fair  young  face,  said,  "  My 
preserver !  My  young  hero  !  What  do  I  not  owe  you  ?  Alas !  I 
cannot  return  all  the  benefits  you  have  rendered  me.  Noble  boy  ! 
I  will  not  induce  you  to  follow  my  desperate  fortunes;  but  I 
must  hear  of  you  sometimes.  There  is  a  direction  to  a  house  in 
London,  and  you  must  write  to  me — you  can  write  ?  You  must 
let  me  know  where  you  are  to  be  found.  And  now  take  this 
purse." 

"  No,  no,  I  cannot,"  cried  the  child,  "  do  not  ask  me.  Leave 
me  now  ;  for  you  are  in  danger  here.  Take  my  love,  my  dear 
love  to  Miss  Ellen,  and  tell  her  I  will  write  to  her  soon.  Ask  her 
to  do  the  same  to  me.  Oh,  she  will  be  jour  comfort,  your  joy  ! 
May  you  be  happy,  my  good  friend,  very  huppy — as,  feeling 
innocent,  you  must.  Farewell !" 


606  THE  MISER'S  SON. 

Danvers  kissed  the  boy  fondly,  and  tears  rolled  down  his 
cheek.  "  But  keep  this  watch  in  remembrance  of  me,  as  you  will 
not  accept  my  purse,"  he  said.  And  after  much  pressing,  the 
child  was  induced  to  receive  one  of  those  huge  warming-pans, 
called  watches,  in  existence  about  a  century  ago,  and  then  they 
parted . 

Francis  Walsingham  and  Danvers  left  England  together.  It 
was  not  a  little  comfort  to  Walter  to  find  that  so  many  believed 
him  guiltless  of  the  foul  crime  for  which  he  had  been  condemned, 
for  although  the  voice  of  conscience,  the  voice  of  Heaven,  may 
acquit,  yet  we  cling  to  the  opinion  of  this  poor  world  as  if  it 
could  know  all.  Frank  Walsingham  was  deeply  enamoured  of 
Ellen,  and  was  convinced  of  her  father's  innocence  ;  but  Danvers 
— when  he  urged  his  suit  for  Ellen  with  him — represented  how 
he  would  suffer  in  the  eyes  of  men  if  he  sought  to  unite  himself 
with  her  ;  and  dissuaded  him  from  seeing  her.  But  the  young 
man  insisted  on  receiving  his  rejection  from  the  maiden's  lips, 
and  speedily  had  the  desired  opportunity.  He  learned  too  late 
that  Ellen  had  given  her  heart  to  his  cousin  Charles,  and  left  her 
in  despair.  He  procured  an  appointment  to  a  vessel  bound  for 
a  distant  station,  and  it  was  years  before  he  returned  to  England. 
Alas  for  love ! 

One  more  scene,  and  then  our  Drama  must  close.  The  per- 
formances at  the  barn  which  had  been  hired  for  the  representa- 
tion of  a  tragedy  by  some  strolling  actors,  was  far  better  attended 
than  is  usual  on  similar  occasions.  The  great  attraction  of  the 
evening  was  the  appearance  of  a  *  lady '  and  a  child.  Mrs.  Dan- 
vers was  the  *  lady  :'  for  she  was  no  longer  able  to  procure  the 
same  engagements  as  formerly — younger  and  prettier  women 
having  stepped  into  the  profession.  A  space  was  railed  oft*  in 
front  of  the  stage  for  the  Walsingham  family,  under  whose 
patronage  the  performance  took  place.  The  younger  Lady  Wal- 
singham and  her  daughter,  attended  by  some  friends,  entered 
before  the  curtain  rose,  and  took  their  seats.  The  little  girl  was 
all  smiles  and  joy,  but  her  mother  looked  pale  and  sad.  It  must 
be  mentioned  that  inquiries  had  been  made  after  George  by  Lady 
Walsingham,  when  he  did  not  come,  as  she  had  desired  him,  to 
her  house,  but  in  vain,  and  she  reproached  herself,  after  the 
signal  service  the  boy  had  rendered  her,  for  not  having  at  once 


THE  MISER'S  SON.  GOT 

taken  him  under  her  protection.  She  was  not  a  little  surprised, 
when,  on  the  curtain  rising,  George  came  forward,  and  delivered  an 
address  with  much  grace  and  sense.  The  performance  proceeded. 
Not  one  of  the  actors  there  displayed  one  half  the  cleverness,  the 
fidelity,  and  even  the  power,  of  that  precocious  boy.  There  was 
the  stamp  of  mind  and  originality  on  his  acting ;  it  was  evident 
that  he  had  not  been  tutored,  but  that  he  spoke  as  much  from  the 
head  as  the  heart.  It  was  the  performance  of  a  young  boy,  but 
of  one  who  possessed  the  true  deep  spirit  of  dramatic  passion, 
who  thought  and  felt  for  himself,  and  would  not  be  restricted  to 
rules.  He  was  loudly  cheered,  and  at  the  conclusion  of  the  play 
an  agent  of  a  London  manager,  who  was  recruiting  in  the  country 
offered  Mrs.  Danvers  and  her  gifted  child  an  engagement.  But 
ere  she  accepted  the  terms  Lady  Walsingham  dispatched  Corporal 
Figgins  to  her  with  a  message.  The  Corporal  had  managed  to 
triumphantly  clear  himself  from  the  suspicions  which  had  been 
raised  against  him  on  the  examination  of  Danvers,  and  he  was  so 
able  a  man  of  business  that  Lady  Walsingham  would  have  been 
loth  to  part  with  him,  unless  his  guilt  could  have  been  proved. 

Mrs.  Danvers  waited  on  Lady  Walsingham,  who  was  pleased 
with  her  specious  manners  and  good  address.  She  put  some 
questions  about  George  to  her,  and  then  asked  if  she  were  willing 
to  part  with  him,  adding,  that  if  she  would  consent  to  do  so,  she 
would  adopt  him  as  her  son.  Mrs.  Danvers  replied  that  she  could 
not  consent  to  part  with  her  only  child.  In  short,  Lady  Wal- 
singham was  induced  to  offer  to  take  Mrs.  Danvers  (who,  of 
course,  went  by  an  assumed  name)  into  her  house,  the  artful 
wretch  pretending  that  she  was  tired  of  a  theatrical  life,  and 
moreover  wished  to  escape  from  what  "  she  was  compelled  to  ac- 
knowledge was  an  indelicate  profession  for  a  woman."  Accord- 
ingly, she  was  received  into  the  mansion  of  Lady  Walsingham, 
Corporal  Figgins  having  "  made  inquiries"  as  to  the  character  of 
the  actress,  and  found  it  was  unimpeachable. 

It  was  not  long,  however,  that  the  lady  remained  at  Walsing- 
ham Hall :  for  a  rich  old  gentleman  paid  a  visit  to  the  mistress 
of  the  place,  and  after  staying  a  week,  took  off  with  him  the  ct- 
devant  favourite  of  Thalia— not  a  little  to  the  chagrin  of  Mr.  Fig- 
gins,  who  thought  he  had  done  a  very  clever  thing  in  gulling 
Lady  Walsingham. 


608  THE  MISER'S  SON. 

But  George  remained,  and  became  endeared  to  the  family, 
while  Figgins  soon  afterwards  accepted  the  post  of  quarter-master 
in  the  regiment  of  which  the  elder  Norton  was  now  a  major. 

Major  Norton  was  never  seen  to  smile  after  the  death  of  his 
son.  He  had  recovered  from  a  severe  illness  which  the  frenzied 
excitement  he  for  a  long  time  laboured  under  produced  ;  but  he 
moved  among  men  like  a  spectre.  The  quarter-master  was  hjs 
only  companion,  his  brother  having  gone  abroad  and  entered  into 
a  foreign  service. 

And  Harriet  Walsingham — the  pure,  the  bright,  the  perfect 
woman,  who  had  endured  so  much,  loved  so  much,  felt  so  much 
— where  was  she?  A  short  time  after  Danvers  had  effected  his 
escape  from  England,  she  changed  her  residence,  and  hired  a 
cottage  about  a  mile  distant  from  that  of  Spenser,  the  philoso- 
pher. They  were  much  together,  and  Harriet  delighted  in  im- 
parting the  rich  stores  of  her  cultivated  mind  to  the  children  of 
her  early  friend,  as  well  as  to  her  sister's  daughter.  Those  two 
lofty  beings — the  thinker  and  the  poetess — found  deep  consola- 
tion in  being  together,  and  exchanging  thoughts,  which  are  not 
of  this  world,  sympathising  with  each  other's  sorrows,  and  mourn- 
ing for  each  other's  afflictions.  Old  Roger  Sidney  frequently 
stayed  for  months  with  Spenser,  but  he  still  roved  about  in  pur- 
suit of  his  favourite  pastime,  age  appearing  to  make  no  inroads 
on  his  constitution. 

For  the  minor  characters  of  our  eventful  history — Sam  Stokes 
became  a  husband.  At  the  end  of  a  year  after  she  left  Walsing- 
ham Hall,  his  cousin  Sally  became  his  bride.  Sam  used  to  say, 
she  might  have  done  wrong,  but  he  was  "  sartain"  she  would 
stick  to  the  old  ship  for  the  future ;  and  very  happy  they  were 
together.  They  had  several  children,  and  Sam  was  as  much 
pleased  with  fathership  as  he  was  with  husband  hood.  Peter 
Jennings  and  his  sister  were  not  heard  of  as  being  engaged  in  any 
predatory  exploits  for  a  long  time.  The  former  wrung  sums  of 
money  from  some  Jacobites  over  whom  he  possessed  a  power 
which  he  did  not  scruple  to  use,  and  once  more — to  use  a  forci- 
ble slang-ism—"  cut  it  flash"  in  town.  Mother  Stokes  could 
not  be  found,  and  it  was  generally  supposed  that  she  was  dead  ; 
her  relations  not  being  desirous  of  finding  her,  gave  themselves 
no  concern  about  her.  One  character  must  be  mentioned,  ere 


THE  MISER'S  SON  609 

the  pen  is  laid  down,  and  that  is  the  poor  lunatic  who  was  intro- 
duced a  few  chapters  since.  Spenser  took  him  under  his  roof, 
and  endeavoured  to  develope  his  intellect ;  but  although  the  un- 
happy creature  evinced  gleams  of  reason,  and  even  a  superior 
quality  of  mind  to  the  generality,  he  never  by  any  means  became 
a  rational  being. 

Ah  !  who  is  thankful  enough  for  that  blessing  of  a  reasonable 
soul—the  greatest,  loftiest  boon  Eternity  can  impart  ?  By  this 
divine  faculty  we  live  beyond  time,  by  this  sublime  power  we 
know  that  we  are  immortal,  and  that  our  heritage  is  beyond  the 
stars.  But  for  reason,  creation  were  a  blank  ! — There  might  be 
beauty,  but  where  would  it  exist  ?  Of  what  use  would  be  the 
glory  of  the  heavens,  the  magnificence  of  the  firmament  ?  Would 
it  elevate  the  senses,  would  it  exalt  the  pleasures  of  the  animal  to 
behold  the  splendor  of  the  universe  ?  No  :  reason  is  the  highest 
in  man,  the  highest  in  angels,  the  divinest  in  divinity.  By  reason 
we  have  faith,  by  reason  we  have  hope,  by  reason  we  have  virtue, 
by  reason  we  have  happiness — these  are  the  majesty,  the  wonder, 
and  sublimity  of  being.  We  have  sorrows  too  deep  for  tears,  we 
have  woes  too  profound  for  expression ;  but  the  mighty  reason 
sustains,  the  august  essence  of  Deity  sinks  not ;  but  soars  for 
ever ! 

This  has  been  the  object  of  "THE  MISER'S  SON," — to  evince 
that  mind  can  rise  superior  to  all  things,  that  sense  cannot 
strengthen  the  moral  faculties,  that  by  aspiring  with  the  spirit 
there  is  peace  and  rest,  and  by  suffering  the  physical  to  subdue 
the  mental,  all  is  darkness  and  desolation.  And  this  is  the  ques- 
tion which  must  divide  philosophers  "  to  the  last  syllable  of  re- 
corded time."  ,  Are  we  to  seek  felicity  in  the  mind,  or  in  the 
body  ?  If  in  the  mind,  there  is  eternity  enthroned.  Around  it 
is  infinite  space,  above  it  are  the  harmonies  of  immortality.  The 
light  of  worlds  is  dim  before  its  radiance,  the  true,  the  abstract, 
and  the  divine,  are  the  atmosphere  it  breathes.  Genius  can  sing 
its  melodies,  and  despair  cannot  groan  its  agonies  to  the  ethereal 
soul.  It  cannot  rest,  it  cannot  cease  to  rise,  but  there  is  a  peace 
and  a  calm  in  every  sound,  in  every  syllable,  and  tongue  of  life — 
for  they  utter  love ! — "  The  very  pain  is  sweet,"  for  whence  is 
pain?  From  Heaven?  No!  There  is  no  pain  there:  but  it 
comes  to  purify  the  sight,  which  otherwise  is  alive  only  to  the 

5  I 


610  THE  MISER'S  SON. 

sensual.  It  must  be  by  pain  we  can  attain  to  blessedness. — And 
shall  we  desert  the  privilege  of  reason,  and  eat,  drink,  sleep,  and 
die? — O,  I  will  not  paint  the  corruption,  the  wretchedness,  the 
nothingness  of  the  things  of  sense  ! — There  is  a  corpse — loath- 
some and  foul — there  is  a  soul — bright — how  bright !  , 

FINIS. 


NOTE. 

MY  Readers  have  scarcely,  perhaps,  been  satisfied  with  the  answers  given  to 
the  Atheism  of  the  Epicurean.  It  has  been  my  object  to  develope  the  character 
of  that  person  below,  rather  than  above  :  I  have  attempted  to  analyse  the  springs 
of  passion,  and  to  trace  effects  to  their  causes ;  it  was  therefore  necessary  to  show 
the  principles  of  the  Materialist,  and  the  question  of  the  expediency  of  introduc- 
ing such  discussions  into  fiction — as  those  between  Sidney  and  William,  Spen- 
ser, Bolingbroke  &c. — resolves  itself  into  whether  the  character  should  be  at  all 
introduced.  To  this  I  answer,  that  all  truths  are  good.  But  Atheism  is  false? 
Well :  it  contrasts  religion  ;  it  is  the  shadow  to  the  light ;  and  is  in  fact  a  sub- 
lime illustration,  rather  than  a  subtle  enemy  to  Christianity  !  This  paradox  is 
easily  explained ;  look  at  the  atheist's  life, — look  at  the  true  believer's !  I 
assert,  that  the  existence  of  such  a  being  as  Harriet  Walsingham  is  the  best 
answer  possible  to  all  the  arguments  of  the  unbeliever.  At  the  same  time,  I  did 
not  wish  to  mis-state  anything.  I  have  given  the  reasonings  of  William  fairly  ; 
and  supposing  them  all  true,  ask  to  what  docs  the  system  lead  ?  Behold  the 
man  !  If  ever  there  were  a  miserable  person,  with  fine  intellect,  and  naturally 
noble  heart,  the  Atheist  is  one.  It  was  impossible  to  advance  all  that  might  be 
said  morally  and  metaphysically  agajnst  Atheism  in  the  limits  of  a  few  chapters, 
but  the  facts  recorded  become  great  truths;  for  they  are  matters  of  every-day 
history — the  want  of  a  moral  basis  is  destructive  of  all  happiness.  Still,  I  believe, 
I  have  not  left  the  philosophical  arguments  of  William  Walsingham  unanswered  : 
but  every  one  who  has  thought  on  the  subject  is  aware  that  to  overthrow 
Atheism,  we  must  allow  it  full  scope. 

Now  then,  as  we  are  not  Deists,  and  do  not  profess  to  see  no  mystery  in  the 
order  of  things,  we  discover,  with  some  surprise,  at  first,  that  these  very  objec- 
tions of  the  extreme  unbeliever  are  the  bulwarks  of  the  Religionist  of  Revelation, 
and  the  batteries  against  the  Religionist  of  Nature.  Bolingbroke  perceived  that 
Christianity  was  the  only  answer  to  Atheism  ;  he  felt  he  could  not  stand  against 
the  God-negation,  without  Revelation  ;  and  therefore  had  recourse  to  the  misera- 
ble sophistry  of  asserting  there  was  a  league  between  Divines  and  Atheists  to 
destroy  the  One  religion!  Of  course,  if  there  were  no  evil  in  the  world,  there 
•would  be  no  mystery  to  explain,  and  the  first  principle  of  Revealed  Truth  is  to 
reconcile  the  apparent  contradiction  of  an  antagonistic  power  to  God  ;  it  declares 
immortality  to  be  the  solution  of  the  problem.  So,  I  have  left  the  objection 
against  the  equal  distribution  of  happiness  as  it  is ; — metaphysically  it  is  not 
difficult  to  prove  "  whatever  is  is  right,"  but  the  Materialist  wants  to  take  a 
ground  of  course  with  which  metaphysics  have  nothing  to  do  ;  he  says,  '*  use 
the  senses,  and  good  is  unequally  divided."  To  reply,  "  use  the  mind,  and  you 
find  the  balance  of  good  and  evil  just,"  is  not  philosophical,  it  is  begging  the 
question  :  and  as  Materialism  exists,  however  contradictory  it  may  be,  the  Moral 
must  be  the  answer  to  it.  Morality  is  the  best,  and  most  conclusive  argument 
against  Materialism  ;  and  the  '  Miser's  Son  '  is  an  ethical  work.  The  Epicurean 
objects  to  morality,  he  worships  sense — he  calls  pleasure  the  only  good,  and 
consequently  it  was  requisite  to  answer  this  practically  :  and  finding  virtue 
could  not  be  denied,  William  plunges  into  the  abstract,  and  here  he  is  met  by 
the  profound  ontology  of  Spenser. 


•FL 


Richard 
4099  The  miser's  son 


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