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THE LIBRARY

THE UNIVERSITY
OF CALIFORNIA

LOS ANGELES

THE

WATCHMAN

JAMES A. MAITLAND.

AUTHOR OF "THE WANDERER," "THE OLD DOCTOR," "THE
LAWYER'S STORY," ETC., ETC.

" There is no spot so dark on earth.

But love can shed bright glimmers there ;

Nor anguish known of human birth,

That yieldeth not to faith and prayer."
" By many a death-bed I have been,

And many a sinner's parting seen,

But never aught like this." SCOTT.

T. B. PETERSON AND BROTHERS,

3Q6 CHESTNUT STREET.

ENTERED according to Act of Congress, in the Yar One Thousand Eight Humdred
and Fifty-five, by H. LONG & BROTHER, in the Clerk's Office of the District
Court of the Urr r -ed States, for the Southern District of New Ycrk

PREFACE.

" AND LXT C NOT BK WEARY IN WELL DOING, FOR IN DUX SKASf N WE S1IALL BXAT IV
WK FAINT NOT."

THE following story is one of humble life. The principal per
sonages introduced to the reader were born in poverty, and were
literally inheritors of the curse pronounced upon the father of man
kind, as a punishment for his trangressions. " In the sweat of thy
face shalt thou eat bread, till thou return unto the ground." They
passed through many trials, and met with many obstacles in the
path of life, and the success and happiness which eventually befel
them, was the reward of a life of patient industry and unwearied
endeavor to do well. This reward of success is also promised by
the lips of Him who pronounced the curse if indeed a life of honest
labor be a curse, and not rather man's greatest blessing.

The author has sedulously endeavored to avoid writing a single
line which can minister to morbid excitement. The aim throughout
has been to inculcate a love of truth and of benevolence, and to
make fiction, founded upon incidents of real life, a vehicle through
which lessons of virtue and religious trust can be conveyed, and in
struction blended with amusement.

The Watchman, the humble hero of the story, was years gone by,
well known in New York. He has long since passed away to that
bourne from which no traveller returns ; but there are those still

LIBRARY

j v PREFACE.

living who knew his honest worth, and admired his many virtues.
Joseph Carter, the humble guardian of the night the hard-working,
industrious man lingers in the memory of many, who, but for his
sterling merit, would have long ago forgotten him. Several of the
other characters are literally pictured from living men and women,
though the names are of course fictitious.

The author believes that every book should bear to its reader the
conviction that its intent was good ; that it was the offspring of an
earnest and gracious wish. If it does, it will leave blessings where
it goes, in proportion to the strength of that conviction. Fiction is a
powerful vehicle for good and for evil. The world will read fiction ;
then it is surely the author's province to endeavor, while wandering
in the realms of fancy, or while embellishing in lively colors the
every-day occurrences of life, to watch carefully that not a thought
shall pass from the brain, ^and be jotted down by the pen, that can
have a tendency to lead the mind of the reader from the path of
duty. Nay, this is not enough. The constant aim of the author
should be to picture virtue as the source of the only true happiness,
even upon earth, and to make vice in all its forms, abhorrent. Then,
however faulty the book may be, whether it meet with success or
fail, at least the honest satisfaction will remain that the intention
was good. With the hope that this conviction may fasten itself upon
the mind of the reader, and with the earnest hope that the scriptural
motto which the author has chosen as expressive of the aim of th?
work, will be adopted as the motto of the reader through life, the book
is given to the public. j. A. M.

CONTENTS.

I- MM

THE WATCHMAN'S FAMILY, ; 9

II.
THE LITTLE VAGRANT, 14

III.
JOSEPH CARTER RESOLVES TO KEEP THE CHILD, 30

IV.
THE FIVE POINTS, 39

THE PAWNBROKER'S SHOP AN ENDURING FRIENDSHIP So
PRONE ARE THOSE IN MISFORTUNE TO FLOCK TOGETHER,
AND CLING TO EACH OTHER, 48

VI.
THE PARENTS OF THE DESERTED CHILD THE DEATHS ON

BOARD THE EMIGRANT SHIP THE KIDNAPPER, 62

VII.

CHARLES EDWARDS AND GEORGE HARTLEY AT LENGTH FIND
EMPLOYMENT, 67

VIII.
HENRY SELBY'S DEPARTURE FROM MR. BLUNT' s HOUSE,.. .... 76

^ CONTENTS.

IX.

No MAN is INDEPENDENT, HOWEVER WEALTHY, -WHOSE EX
PENSES EXCEED His INCOME,

X.
HENRY SELBY ENTERS A SECOND TIME INTO THE WORLD'S

STRIFE ON HIS OWN ACCOUNT, - 102

XI.
A DARK CLOUD is GATHERING OVER THE PROSPECTS OF THE

WATCHMAN, . ...., - 1 1 2

XII.
WHICH TELLS or GEORGE HARTLEY'S SUCCESS, 135

XIII.
THE WRECK AT THE CAPE OF GOOD HOPE, 144

XIV.
BAD NEWS FROM ABROAD, 158

XV.
A LAPSE OF YEARS, 164

XVI.
THE TIME OF TRIAL AND TROUBLE, 171

XVII.
HENRY SELBY'S ARRIVAL IN INDIA, AND WHAT BEFEL HIM

THERE, 182

XVIII.
XUARLES EDWARDS' PROGRESS TOWARDS REFORMATION, AND

SUBSEQUENT RELAPSE, 193

XIX.
THE MARRIAGE OF ARTHUR DONALDSON AND Miss MURRAY

WHAT BEFALS HENRY SELBY. 199

XX.
STILL THE DARK CLOUD HOVERS OVER HEAD, 212

XXL
THE FORGER, _ 219

XXII.
HENRY SELBY'S SUCCESS IN INDIA, 226

CONTENTS yii

XXIII.
THE WOLF IN SHEEP'S CLOTHING, ., 233

XXIV.
THE DARK HOUR AND THE DAWN......... ._._........_ 239

XXV.
REVERSES AND SUCCESSES, . ._._ .. 246

XXVI.
A RETROSPECT, .._... 253

XXVII.
MYSTERIOUS INQUIRIES, 259

XXVIII.

STRANGE DEVELOPMENTS THE DEATH OF JUDGE MURRAY
THE DEPARTURE FOR NEW YORK,.. . 263

XXIX.
MUTUAL RECOGNITIONS, 270

XXX.

THE PASSAGE HOME A GALE OF WIND A MAN LOST OVXR-

BOARD, _..._. 295

XXXI.
NEWS UPON CHANGE, . .... 303

XXXII.

THB ARRIVAL THE DOCUMENTS FOUND A STRANGE DIS
COVERY, ..^-. 314

XXXIII.
THE REPENTANT A DEATH BED SCENE, ._-._, 344

XXXIV.
THE MARRIAGE OF HENRY AND ELLEN, ..._._.. 356

XXXV.
CONCLUSION, . ... . . 370

r U A 3

THE WlTtnffMAN.

CHAPTER I.

THE WATCHMAN'S FAMILY.

" Is there for honest poverty,

That hangs its head, and a' that ?

The coward slave ! we pass him by
And dare be poor for a' that

For a' that, and a' that,

Our toil's obscure, and a' that,

The rank is but the guinea's stamp,
The man's the gowd for a' that"

BUBNS.

THE faint glimmer of the cold gray dawn of a gloomy Octo
ber morning was just beginning to light up the broad streets,
and to penetrate the close lanes and narrow thoroughfares of
New York City, when Joseph Carter quitted his beat and
turned his weary steps homewards ; but the dawn of day had
brought no cheerfulness with it it rather seemed to make the
chill desolation more palpable for the snow had fallen heavily
during the night, and the chill wind had scattered the dying
leaves from the trees and swept them in ridges across the
streets, and overhead the sky. appeared like a dull, leaden
canopy, beneath which the scud was driving furiously before
the wind. It was the beginning of one of those cheerless days
1*

10 THE WATCHMAN.

that sometimes diversify the usual sweetness of our glorious
autumn, and serve to remind us painfully that winter cold,
frosty, cheerless winter is at hand. Joseph Carter slightly
shivered, as the gloomy aspect of the approaching day was thus
revealed to him; and buttoning his heavy watchman's coat
still more closely around him, and pulling his cap deeper over
his brow, with his head bent and his face directed towards
the damp and greasy pavement, as though he strove to shut
out the cheerless prospect, he quickened his pace towards his
home.

The clock of Trinity Church struck the hour of six as Carter
entered the door of his humble dwelling in Mulberry-street,
and ascending the stairs to the second story for, poor as the
dwelling was, Joseph did not occupy the whole of it he
entered a suite of three apartments ; and passing into the
innermost room, which was evidently the dormitory of his
family, he proceeded quietly to divest himself of his damp
outer clothing, preparatory to lying himself down to rest.

It was still dark in this small room ; not the faintest gleam
of the gray light of morning had as yet penetrated into it for
it had no windows, and only received light and air through the
other apartments and while in the act of undressing, Joseph
stumbled accidentally over a chair, or some other obstacle
which happened to be in the way.

The noise he made was slight, nevertheless it was sufficient
to arouse one of the sleepers and there were already three in
that little room. A rustling of the bed-clothes, a gentle sigh
were heard, a pair of little arms were stretched out, and a
long breath was drawn, and presently a childish voice lisped

" Is that you, papa ? "

"Yes, my dear," replied Joseph.

" It's not time to get up yet, papa? "

" Yes, Nelly it's a dark morning ; but lie still till mamma
wakes ; don't make any noise" and the father stooped over
the bed and kissed the child it was his youngest child, a little

THE WATCHMAN. H

girl of five years of age, who had spoken and then gently
removing the bed-clothes, he prepared to get into bed, if possi
ble without disturbing the slumbers of those who already
occupied it ; for, he thought

" It is a cold, cheerless morning and I know Mary worked
hard yesterday ; so it's as well that she should sleep on for
another hour."

His caution was, however, unavailing. The child's voice had
awakened her mother ; and just as Joseph had snugly arranged
the bed-clothes over him, his wife asked

" Is that you, Joseph ? "

" Yes, mother."

" What o'clock is it ? "

"It's past six ; but lie down again wife, and sleep. The morn
ing's gloomy, and it will hardly be full day-light before seven
o'clock. But don't forget to call me at eight o'clock, Mary, for
I've a parcel of goods to take down to pier No. 3, at ten
o'clock, for Mr. Blunt."

" I'll not forget, Joseph," replied the woman. " I'll have
breakfast all ready for you before I call you. So, go to sleep,
for I'm sure you must be tired."

The woman seemed, too, as if she had not yet slept off all
her weariness, for she turned on her side, and drew the bed
clothes snugly over her ; but the thought seemed to come across
her, that it were folly to indulge any longer in bed ; and say
ing, " I may as well rise at once ; or, perhaps, I shall over
sleep myself," she got out of bed, dressed herself and the chil
dren, and at once set quietly but busily to work upon the
duties of the day.

Had we not already hinted that Joseph Cartel was one of
the City Watchmen, the reader might think it strange to find
him on the point of taking his rest at an hour when most hard
working, industrious people are thinking of rising, or have
already risen. Our story opens at a period prior to the organi
zation of the present police force when the nightly guardian

THE WATCHMAN.

ship of the city was intrusted to men who labored, at least
some portions of the day, at some other vocation. Joseph
Carter was a carman during the day, and he added to his
limited income by doing duty as a watchman every other night.

It was pretty severe work, this double-duty ; but Joseph
Carter was an honest, pious, hard-working, industrious man ;
and although he had not been fortunate enough to receive a
good education himself, he felt the benefits that would accrue to
his children from education ; and for their sakes and for the
purpose of providing a few extra comforts for his wife, he
cheerfully gave up three night's rest during the week.

Joseph at this period was verging towards middle age ; he
had not married very young ; but he had already been united
ten years to a woman of his own rank of life, who had made
him a most excellent wife. She had borne him three children.
William, the eldest, now about nine years of age ; Nelly, the
little girl, already alluded to, and another daughter, who, had
she lived, would have been two years old, but she had died
about six months previous ; and Joseph and his wife, notwith
standing their humble station in life which rendered unceasing
toil needful for the support of themselves and their children,
thought the loss of this infant the most serious affliction they
had sustained, since they had struggled hand in hand together
through the difficulties and troubles that continually assail the
poor. But, as we have observed already, Joseph was a pious,
exemplary man, and his wife was a patient, amiable woman,
and if not so strong in faith as her husband, she had learnt from
his teaching to place her trust in Providence, and to believe
that God orders all things for the best.

There had been some tears, and lamentations the natural
outburst of parental sorrow when the bereaved parents con-
signed their youngest darling to the cold grave ; and then they
turned away and dried their tears, though grief still rested on
their hearts, and said, t; The Lord gave and the Lord hath taken
away ; blessed be the name of the Lord;" and as the words

THE WATCHMAN. 13

passed from their lips, they endeavored to school their hearts
to the belief, that their infant had been removed from a world
of sin and sorrow to a realm of eternal joy and brightness,
and that her removal was rather a cause for rejoicing than for
lamentation ; and although they found the task a severe one,
faith prevailed over selfishness, and they found peace and hope
in that belief at last.

14 THE WATCHMAN.

CHAPTER II.

THE LITTLE VAGRANT.

* And let us not be weary in well-doing, for in due season we shall reap
if we faint not." GALATIANS.

THE children were neatly washed and dressed, and were
seated on low stools, refreshing in their memory the tasks they
had studied on the previous evening : the breakfast was pre
pared, and though plain and humble, it was sufficient ; and so
cleanly was everything so tastefully arranged, that it looked
appetizing enough to tempt even those to eat, who w^ere accus
tomed to sit down every morning to a much more luxurious
meal. All was completed ere the clock struck eight ; and then
Mrs. Carter, having removed the coffe-pot from the grate,
awakened her husband.

" It is eight o'clock, Joseph," said she, as she shook him
somewhat rudely by the shoulder; for experience had taught
her that her husband required a good deal of awakening ; and
no wonder, poor man ! for he spent no needless hours in idle
repose.

" And a snowy morning," said, or rather half-sang the wea
ried and still sleeping man, who was accustomed occasionally,
when on his beat, to call the hour, and to enlighten those slum-
berers who rested lightly, and were aroused from their sleep
by his shrill call, as to the state of the weather.

It was a goodly old custom, although long fallen into disuse.
We do things more effectively in these utilitarian days. The
police are a great improvement over the " Charleys" of olden
times; but the poetry of the watchman, with his quaint attire;
his coat of many capes ; his lantern and rattle, and his stoop-

THE WATCHMAN 15

ing, shuffling gait has gone. It was extinguished by the
organization of a regular police-force, as the poetry of travel
ling disappeared when the iron horse and the rapid car super
ceded the lumbering, clumsy, jolting, yet withal, picturesque
stage-coach.

Mrs. Carter smiled. " He is dreaming," she said. " Poor
fellow ! no doubt, he is weary. It seems a shame to wake him
up so soon. Suppose I keep his breakfast warm, and let him
sleep till nine o'clock ;" but she recollected that Joseph had
told her that he had a load of goods to deliver at one of the
piers at ten o'clock, and she knew that he prided himself, and
was esteemed by his employers, for his punctuality ; and,
again, she shook him roughly by the arm.

" Aye ; lean on me lean heavy, little one," muttered Jo
seph. " I'm able to bear your light weight, poor little thing !
out on such a night as this ! but I'll find ye a shelter till
morning."

" Joseph Carter, Joseph," screamed his wife, " wake up. It's
eight o'clock, past, and breakfast is all ready ; the coffee will
be getting cold."

" Oh ! ah !" said Joseph, starting up and rubbing his eyes,
" Bless me ! it hardly seems that I've been asleep ten minutes ;
but go in, wife ; give the children their breakfast, and I'll be
with ye directly."

Mrs. Carter left the bed-room, and poured out the children's
breakfasts, and in five minutes the little family group was ren
dered complete by the appearance of the husband and father,
who had in that short space of time arranged his humble toilet ;
and prepared himself for the labors of the day.

" For what we are going to receive, the Lord make us thank
ful," said Joseph, reverently, as he seated himself at the frugal
board ; and then he commenced a vigorous attack upon the food
set out before him, eating with an appetite such as only the sons
and daughters of toil can know.

" I had a hard job to rouse you, Joseph," said his wife, by

16 THE WATCHMAN.

way of conversation, as she poured her husband out a cup of
coffee, the steaming fragrance of which filled the apartment
with its agreeable and invigorating perfume. " You talked in
your sleep as if you were speaking to a child : what were you
dreaming of eh 1 "

"I don't know that I was dreaming, Mary," answered the
husband. " I sleep too sound to dream much ; but I suppose I
must have been thinking of the little boy I found sleeping, poor
thing ! all in the snow, on a door-step opposite Trinity Church.
The poor fellow had cried himself to sleep, for the traces of
tears were plainly seen upon his face. Lucky I found him.
He'd have been dead with the' cold before morning."

" And what did you do with him 1 " asked Mrs. Carter, her
curiosity and sympathy strongly awakened.

" Why, it was midnight when I found him, and I could not
leave my beat to bring him home ; besides, I knew that you
would all be in bed and asleep : so I led him to a public-house
in Cedar-street, and gave him something to eat, and gave the
landlord a quarter to give him a bed, and promised to call and
see about him to-day. 1 shall go as soon as I come back from
the pier."

" But did you not ascertain who he was, or what brought
him there on such a night and at such an hour 1 How old is
he?"

"About five or six years, I should judge, to look at him; but
I did not think to ask."

" Did he seem to be a decent child ? the child of respecta
ble parents 1 How was he dressed ?"

" Why, wife, I can hardly say. His clothes were all drag
gled and wet with the sleet ; they looked whole ; but poor and
very scant."

" And you did not find out who were his parents, nor how
he came to be lost? for lost, I suppose, he has been."

" I had little time for talking ; and the poor thing was so
wearied, and shivering so with the cold his teeth were chat-

THE WATCHMAN. 17

tering in his head that I did not ask him many questions : but
he said he had neither father nor mother ; and he was halt
starved, too ; his little face was pinched, and he ate the bread
and butter the landlord gave him, as if he hadn't tasted food
during the whole day. I don t believe he had" added Joseph,
emphatically.

" Poor little fellow !" sighed Mrs. Carter.

" I shall call and see him to-day, and ascertain, if I can, all
about him, and try to send him home, where his home is and,
in the evening, I will tell you more about him. It's my turn in,
to-night."

" I shall be all curiosity to hear," rejoined Mrs. Carter.

The meal was finished, and Joseph rose from his seat at the
table. " Come, Billy come, Nelly," said he, addressing the
children, as he put on his overcoat, preparatory to going out ;
" get ready for school, dears. Billy, I shall expect you'll read
me that geography lesson to-night, when I come home ; and,
Nelly, I must hear you repeat that little piece of poetry you
learnt last week."

" Yes, papa," exclaimed both the children in a breath, as they
came to receive the customary kiss ; and away they ran through
the snow to the school near by, while Joseph hastened to his
employer's store in South-street ; and Mrs. Carter, having put
aside the breakfast-things, and arranged the necessary affairs of
the little household, set herself busily to work at her needle ;
for she added her mite to the scanty income of the family by
taking in sewing from the dry-goods stores.

Joseph Carter hastened to the store of Mr. Blunt, an emi
nent shipping-merchant in South- street, and, having taken a
load of goods on his cart, proceeded to the pier to get them
shipped : this job done, he bethought him of his little protege
of the previous night, and on his way buck diverged from the
direct route to make a call at the public-house in C^dar-street.

" Well, Mr. Howsen, how does the little boy get on that I
left here last night 1" he asked of the publican, who was stand
ing at his door.

18 THE WATCHMAN.

" Oh, quite spry and lively like, and a eating like anything ;
my old woman gave him his breakfast this morning, and to see
how he went into the bread and butter ! 'seems to me he's
been a'most starved !"

" Ah ! may-be, may-be poor thing ! but, has he told Mrs.
Howsen where he came from, or how he got to be out in
such a night as last night was 1 "

" No ; we can get nothing out of him. I guess, Carter, you'll
have to deliver him up to some magistrate, who will either find
his friends, if he has any ; or provide for him some way or
other."

" I'll have a talk with him first myself," said Joseph, alighting
from his cart, and entering the house ; " and, Mr. Howsen,
draw me a mug of ale ; for I'm all of a heat I've had a heavy
load to deliver at the pier this morning."

The ale was drawn, and while Joseph seated himself in the
little bar-room, the landlord went in search of the child, and re
turned in a few moments, leading him by the hand.

He certainly looked to be a less pitiable object than he had
appeared the night before ; for his clothes had been dried and
smoothed, and his tangled hair combed, and his face washed :
but still, setting aside his destitute condition and his childish
age, there was little in him to excite interest. He had told the
landlady of the hotel that his name was Henry Selby, but had
refused to answer any other questions. It was evident from
his meagre, bony frame, and his pinched features, that he had
been inured to a life of semi-starvation ; and from the marks
of weals and bruises upon his arms and shoulders, it was easy
to infer that he had been subjected to ill-usage. His little
bare feet were covered with scratches, and though well enough
formed, they presented unmistakable marks of his having been
unused to wear shoes. His hair (had he been the offspring
of decent personages) might have been styled auburn ; and, if
regularly smoothed and well kept, would have added grace to
his appearance ; for it was silky and abundant* and hung over

THE WATCHMAN 19

his shoulders in natural curls ; but now it required a stretch of
the imagination, not to call it red ; and its tangled masses, in
spite of the kindly efforts of the landlady to train them into
order, dangled elf-like over his brow, and by no means added
to the effect of a set of gaunt features, aged in appearance be
yond his years, and a complexion freckled by exposure until it
had become perfectly mottled.

" Here he is," said the landlord ; " and a pretty specimen
of humari atur' to look at, ain't he 1 ? Nobody is likely to
adopt him, I guess, let 'em be ever so much in want of a boy
to bring up. If I were you, Joseph, I'd take him off, and give
him a few cents ; I'll add a few more to 'em. He's had a good
breakfast ; set him down somewhere or other, and let him
go to his old trade of begging or street-sweeping, or stealing, I
shouldn't wonder. You've done your duty by him, and that's
all that any body can be expected to do these hard times."

Joseph had taken no notice of these remarks from the land
lord ; but calling the forlorn little object to him, had com
menced questioning him, but at first without producing much
more result than had the questioning of the landlord and hia
wife.

" What is your name, my dear ?" he asked.

" Henry Selby."

" How old are you ? "

"I don't know."

" "Where are your parents ? "

No reply. The child gazed vacantly in the face of the
querist.

" I mean who is your father or your mother ? "

Still the child made no "reply for some moments, until the
question being repeated, he answered

" I don't know I ain't got any ! other boys as I know has ;
but I ain't got any."

" But you must have lived with somebody. A little boy
like you must have had some one to take care of you, however

20 THE WATCHMAN.

badly. Tell me now who have you been living with 7 and
how came you to be out in the streets in the snow last night ? "

" I used to live with an old woman ; but I ain't lived with
anybody a good long while."

" And where did you live ? "

" At the Points."

" And how came you to leave the old woman you say you
used to live with 1 "

Again the child was silent, until the question having beeii
twice repeated, he looked up in Carter's face, and said

" If I tell you why, you won't take me back again to her 1 "

" I don't know ; that will depend upon circumstances. You
know you must have somebody to take charge of you."

" Then I shan't tell you," said the child, who possessed a
readiness of speech and a precocity beyond his years.

" Well, Henry, if you don't tell me I shall have to take you
to a Justice, who will perhaps send you to prison as a little
vagrant, and how will you like that ? "

" I would sooner go to prison than go back to Mother Ship
ley," said the boy passionately, bursting into tears as he
spoke. " They can only flog me there, and they will give me
plenty to eat. Jem Wilton told me so, and he's been in pri
son many a time."

Joseph Carter felt that he had gained a point in eliciting
even this burst of passionate feeling from the child, and he
hastened to follow it up by saying in a soothing tone of voice

" Come, come, my dear, don't cry ; tell me why you left the
old woman, Mother Shipley, as you call her ; and if you had
good reason for it, you shan't go back again."

" I ran awaj Because she beat me ; see here (pointing to the
weals and bruises upon his shoulders,) it's a long time ago
now, and the marks pain me yet."

" Poor thing !" said the co* ^passionate cartman, as he exam
ined the marks of cruelty ; " why did she beat you thus 1 "

_" Because I was hungry and took some rags and sold 'em to
get money to buy something to eat."

THE WAI CHMAN. 21

" But don't you know that it is wrong to steal, even if we
are hungry ? "

" No Mother Shipley used to steal, and I used to <=teal for
her, and so did other boys and girls. The rags was mine as
much as they was her's. I gathered 'em for her."

" Poor child ! you have been trained in a sad school ; how
do you know that Mother Shipley is not your mother? "

" Because she told me so ; she wasn't my mother any more
than she was the other boys' and gals' mother."

" And since you ran away what have you been doing for a
living ? "

" Nothing," replied the child, doggedly.

" Nothing ! but you must have done something ; how did
you get food and lodging, if you did nothing 1 "

" Sometimes I begged, and gentlemen would give me a cent,
and sometimes I swept crossings ; but the weather was too
fine for me to get much sweeping. And when I seed any
thing and nobody seed me, I stole it and sold it."

" And where have you been lodging since you ran away
from the old woman ? "

" I have been lying about in places. I used to sleep under a
door-step down by the Battery ; and yesterday it snowed, and
I swept crossings all day, but I only got two cents, for the big
boys and gals pushed me away, and at last they took my two
cents from me-; and when I went to the doorway to sleep, it
was wet and the rain was dripping through, and I was shaking
with the cold ; and so I walked up Bi oadway, crying, till you
found me. I cried cos I hadn't" had anything to eat all day."

" I guess you won't make anything of that young 'un ; he's
a reg'lar hard case ; better send him away about his business,"
said the landlord.

" No I won't do that just yet, at any rate," replied Joseph.
" I must go back to the store ; I'll leave the poor thing here
awhile, until I think what can be done."

It was with the greatest reluctance that the landlord and

22 THE WATCHMAN.

landlady of the tavern would allow the child to remain any
longer ; but Joseph at last prevailed upon them, promising to
call and take him away in the course of the day ; and having
gained his end, he went back to South-street.

Fortunately for Joseph at least he thought it fortunate on
that day, for his thoughts were running, in spite of his work,
upon the forlorn, pitiable object he had left at the tavern there
was not a great deal for him to do : so he was free to leave
yet still, as he bent his steps in the direction of the tavern, he
could not decide what it was best for him to do.

Sometimes he thought that he was foolish to trouble himself
any longer about the child. " There are hundreds, perhaps
thousands, as badly off as he, in the city," he thought, half
aloud. " I have aided him, poor thing ! and given him a night's
lodging, and for once have provided him with a full meal. I
have done my part. If everybody was to do as much for
others, there would soon be an end of this distress. I have a
family of my own to support, and have to work hard enough
to support them. I think Howsen gave the best advice when

he recommended me to send him adrift again but yet, I have

children of my own, and supposing anything should happen to
me, or to their mother, and they were left my poor little
Nelly might become like this poor stray waif of humanity ;
and if spirits, after death, are permitted to look down, and see
what is going on in the sphere they have left, and watch over
those whom they have loved here below, how happy should I
be, how grateful to the man or woman who would rescue my
child from the path of vice ! this poor fellow is doubtless an
orphan ; perhaps his parents are watching me."

He had reached the corner of Cedar-street, and was about to
turn down ; for a moment he hesitated, and then hurried along
further up Broadway. " I will go and see Justice Slocomb, at
any rate," said he ; " perhaps he will advise me how to act."

A few minutes' walk brought him to the residence of the
Justice, in Park Eow; and he stopped and knocked at the
door.

THE WATCHMAN. 23

" Is the Justice at home 1 " he asked of the servant ; and hav
ing been answered in the affirmative, he gave his name, and was
admitted.

" Well, Carter," said the Justice, to whom he was known,
" what is it you want ? are you applying for a renewal of your
appointment as city watchman. I am well satisfied with your
conduct, and it has already been decided that you shall be
retained."

" I thank you, sir," said Joseph ; " but I did not call on that
business. I heard of that yesterday, and am very grateful for
the good opinion that the gentlemen of the Board entertain of
me. I called, sir, respecting a poor child whom I found last
night, starving with cold and hunger in Broadway. He has no
parents, sir, and no home; and I was thinking, perhaps you
could advise me what to do about him."

" Why where is he, Carter ? "

" I got him shelter at Howsen's, in Cedar-street, last night,
sir ; and he is there now. I gave him his supper last night,
and Mrs. Howsen gave him his breakfast this morning ; and
now they advise me to send him adrift. I thought I would take
the liberty of calling upon you, and asking your advice. Per
haps you can tell me what had best be done ? "

" Indeed, Carter," replied the Justice, " I think Howsen's ad
vice was good. I don't see that we can do anything in this
case. You see, if we did, we should soon have our hands
full."

" And must the poor boy be cast adrift again, to starve or
thieve to go from one vice to another, till he meets a pre
mature grave ? "

" I fear there is no remedy, Carter. As to starving, there's
no fear of that : these little vagabonds are always ready with
some pitiful story or other ; but I warrant me, they always pick
up enough to eat and drink, even if they thieve for it."

" But is not that a dreadful thing to contemplate, Mr. Slo-
comb? There surely should be more provision for these
cases."

24 THE WATCHMAN.

"The thing is impossible whilst they are so numerous.
When the case is very urgent, and the party strongly recom
mended, we do what we can ; but we cannot attend to all."

" But this poor child, sir," pleaded the watchman

" Is just in the position of hundreds of other poor children
neither better nor worse," interrupted the Justice. "The cify
cannot provide for all the poor and destitute. I cannot, of
course, provide for every beggar child that is picked up in the
streets, and I don't suppose you, with, your scant means, and
having children of your own, would care to adopt such a child
as he you describe, and make him a companion and an
instructor in vice and crime to your own children 1 ? "

Joseph Carter did not reply to this speech ; but bidding the
Justice good day, he left the house.

"A strange man, and yet an honest, kind-hearted, trust
worthy fellow that Joseph Carter," said the Justice, as he
watched the retreating form of the cartman from the window.
" He has, however, strange ideas of benevolence. If he were a
rich man, he would be one of those singular beings who pride
themselves upon their philanthropy ; but the idea is preposter
ous, for a man in his position to take up the cause of every
little vagrant urchin he picks up in the street."

As Joseph walked away, he kept revolving in his mind what
had best be done with regard to the little boy . " I see," said
he to himself, " that no one will take interest in him, and yet I
cannot bear the thought of sending him adrift again. Still I
can't support him nor would Mary choose to have him about
the house, mingling with our children, if I could."

Still the thought seemed to cling to him, that he was an
outcast, thrown by Providence in his way ; he did not know-
how to act, and in this dilemma, instead of going to Cedar-
street, as he had intended, he turned off in the direction of his
own house for it was near the dinner hour and he knew that
his wife would be expecting him.

During dinner, Joseph continued very thoughtful ; his wife
feared he was ill, and at length asked him the question.

THE WATCHMAN, 25

" No, Mary, no," he replied, " I am well enough, thank God.
But I was thinking, as I looked at our children, how thankful
we ought to be that we are enabled by our joint labors to pro
vide them food, and clothing, and lodging and schooling, and
what a shocking thing it would be if it should please God to
take us from them before they are able to provide for them
selves. They might be reduced to starvation, Mary, and be
led into temptations of every kind into vice and crime."

" Lor ! Joseph," exclaimed his wife, " how strangely you
talk. I declare you make my flesh creep to hear you. What
could put such thoughts into your head ? "

" The thought, Mary, of the sad condition of the poor little
creature I told you of this morning. He might perhaps, for
anything we know, have been the child of parents who thought
as much of him as we do of our darlings ; and now what is he 1
Mary, let us pray that our children be preserved from temp
tation."

" Ah ! poor thing ! " rejoined Mary Carter, " it is pitiful to
think there is so much distress in the world. We are only
very poor people, Joseph, and yet we have enough to support
us in comfort ; there are thousands and tens of thousands
worse off than we. What does the hymn say?

" Not more than others we deserve,
Yet God has given us more."

We ought to be thankful."

" So we ought more thankful than we are ; and yet Mary, it
always appears to me to be a selfish sort of thankfulness that
leads us to rejoice that we are better off than others, quite as
good in the sight of God as we."

There was a silence of some minutes ; both Joseph Carter
and his wife were absorbed in the thoughts that this conversa
tion had given birth to.

Ac length Joseph, looking earnestly at his wife, observed
" We had one more child, our youngest darling, who has been

26 THE WATCHMAN.

removed from us as we believe, wisely removed and yet
Mary, we could have wished the babe to have lived. We have
to work hard ; but we have found and still should find sufli
cient food for our family, however large."

" I trust and believe that we should, Joseph ; but how
strangely you talk to-day. I don't like to hear you speak so.
Surely you must be ill, or downcast in mind."

" No, Mary, I told you I am well as ever I was ; but I was
thinking, that for a time, at least, one more mouth in our family
to feed, would make no difference. I can't bear the idea of
sending that poor child adrift again. It seems to me that he
has been delivered into my hands, to snatch him from the dan-
gers which threaten him, and that I should be committing a sin
to cast him off."

" Joseph !" said his wife, in a tone of remonstrance and
alarm, " you cannot surely know what you are saying. If it
should be the will of heaven that we should have more mouths
of our own family to feed, Providence would provide us with
the means ; but it is not expected that such as we can provide
for the children of others. And then think, husband ! the idea
of bringing such a child into our family, as a companion to our
children, even if we could afford it."

" It is that of which I am thinking, Mary. There lies the
difficulty ; but suppose, just for a day or two, we give the poor
boy shelter ? He must otherwise be sent into the streets
again; and he is young a mere infant he can't be con
firmed in any sinful courses as yet; a little training might
make something out of him still. In the meanwhile I will speak
to Mr. Blunt ; he is a good, kind-hearted gentleman, and will
advise me what to do ; but to-night, Mary, at all events, soonei
than cast the poor stray waif adrift, let me fetch him home."

" But his clothing, Joseph ! Are you sure he is clean ? '
remonstrated the wife.

"Well, as to that, Mary, I wouldn't like to say too inuch ,
but you can wash him well, and Billy's clothing will fit him

THE WATCHMAN. 27

You can give him the jacket and trowsers Billy has laid aside,
because they are too small. This little fellow is much thinner
than our Billy, although he is as tall, perhaps."

" I wouldn't put him to sleep with my children, any way.''
answered Mrs. Carter.

" Then, Mary, we could make him up a bed on the floor, in
the corner," persisted the husband.

"And he might use bad words, and Billy would learn
them," remonstrated the wife.

" We must correct him if he does : but I will warn him ;
he doesn't seem to be deficient in sense; indeed, he has more
sense than most children of his age. Poor thing ! he has
been obliged to use his wits to manage to live, while more for
tunate children were playing."

Mrs. Carter continued her remonstrances and objections for
some time longer; but she saw that her husband was resolved,
and besides, he pleaded so earnestly, reminding her that her
own children might yet stand in need of a helping hand from
strangers, and spoke of the cruel usage that the child had evi
dently met with, with so much feeling, that the woman's and
mother's heart at length softened, and Mrs. Carter consented
to give shelter to the poor outcast, for a day or two, until
Joseph and his friends could devise some other means of
providing for him.

Having thus gained his point, Joseph started off to Cedai-
street, and told the landlord of the tavern that he had come
for the child.

" I'm right glad of it," said he ; " to tell the truth, I had
begun to think that you had left him on our hands, and we
should have packed him off to-night, I can tell you. Such a
mischievous little vagabond I never came across in all my days
and as to eating, why he eats as much as a boy of twice his
age ; he would eat a body out of house and home, if you'd let
him have all he craves for. But what are you going to do
with him, Mr. Carter 1 If you are going to drop him, take in,y

2S THE WATCHMAN.

advice, arid drop him where he won't easily find his way into
this neighborhood again for depend upon it, if you don't
you'll have him prowling around your beat ; and I can tell you,
he can't come here any more. There's sixpence, child," he
continued addressing the boy, and presenting him with the
coin " and now be off with this gentleman, and don't corne
back no more, or else it will be worse for you. Be thankful
that you've fared so well."

" No fear," said Joseph ; " I'm a going to take him home
with me for the present. You'll be glad to go home with me,
won't you, my dear 1 " added he, addressing the child.

The little fellow for the first time gave him a grateful and
co.nfiding look, and placing his small hand in his, cowered close
to his side, as if frightened at the tavern-keeper. He did not
speak, but the pleading look and the soft pressure of that little
hand were more eloquent than words.

" Whew-w-w ! " whistled the landlord, while Mrs. Howsen
lifted her hands in surprise, and exclaimed, " Laws me ! to
think of taking home a beggar's brat into the buzzom of an
honest family. Well, that comes of having children. Thank
God ! I never had no children."

The watchman did not reply, further than to ask if there
was anything more to pay for the food and shelter the child
had had;

" "Why no," replied the landlord ; " for the matter >f that,
the little vagabond's welcome to what he's had ; I don't want
to take pay for such a trifle ; but I tell ye what, Joseph Carter,
I wish you joy of your bargain."

Joseph led the child to his house in Mulberry-street, and
presented him to his wife.

The good woman had certainly not been prepossessed in tha
little boy's favor by the description her husband had given of
him ; and when she saw him, her prejudice seemed to rise anew.

' Gracious, Joseph ! " she cried, " What a dirty, beggarly
looking little creature. And what a wicked-looking eye he's

THE WATCHMAN. 29

got. I'm half sorry now that I agreed to take him in. Do see
Mr. Blunt, and advise with him about him."

" ' Whosoever giveth a cup of cold water to one of my little
ones" you know the promise, Mary?" said Joseph Carter.

And Mary Carter strove to overcome her antipathy and re-
pugnance, and took the hand of the poor deserted little crea
ture. And Joseph, satisfied that his wife's better feelings once
awakened, she would be kind to the poor child, left him in her
charge, and went to his work. And Mary Carter washed and
clothed the poor homeless wanderer, and then observing him to
be wearied, laid him down to sleep yes, laid him down to sleep
on her own children's bed !

This was the first introduction of Henry Selby to the home
of the Watchman Joseph Carter.

30 THE WATCHMAN.

CHAPTER III.

JOSEPH CARTER RESOLVES TO KEEP THE CHILD.

We tave a shelter while you have none ; part of the little -we possess
belongs to you ; for you are poorer than we." MADAME COTTIN.

WHEN Joseph Carter reached the merc.hant's store in South,
street, he found his employer seated iu the counting-rooin. He
resolved at once to speak to him about the child.

" Can I speak a few words with you, Mr. Blunt 1 n he asked
respectfully, advancing to the door of the office.

" Certainly, Joseph ; step in and take a seat. What have
you to say 1 "

" I merely wish for a little advice, sir. You are aware that
I eke out my small income by doing duty as a watchman three
and four nights in the week alternately."

" Ah ! " said Mr. Blunt, interrupting him, and misinterpret
ing the cause of his address. " And you find the duty too
arduous. No doubt it must be so. And you wish to procure
more steady and remunerative employment during the day,
and so be enabled to dispense with this night duty. Well, I'll
think it over and see what I can do for you ; at present I see
no opening in my store, but I highly approve of your general
conduct, and am assured of your honesty and industry. I will
speak to some of my friends."

" I thank you, sir, for your kindness ; but I was not intend
ing to trouble you about myself. Thank God, I earn good
wages in my occupation as a cartman, and enjoy good health.
The stipend I earn as one of the city watchmen I set aside for
the purpose of educating my children and procuring such little
extra comforts and luxuries as render my home more agreea-

THE WATCHMAN". 31

ble. My wife, too, though I say it myself, is an industrious
woman; and as our family is at present but small, and as we
have lost our baby, she has considerable time on her hands,,
and always has plenty of work to do for the stores. So as
long as God spares us our health, we shall do well enough.
But last night, sir, I found a small child, I should think not
more than five or six years of age, sitting crying on the step
of a doorway, drenched with the sleet, for it was a hard night,
and shivering with cold, and the poor little fellow was nearly
famished, as I afterwards found out. I took him to Howsen's
tavern, in Cedar-street, and got his clothing dried and provided
him with some food and a night's lodging, and to-day, after a
good deal of coaxing, I learnt from him that his name is
Henry Selby, and that for some days past he has actually
been living in the streets, sleeping in the open air and trusting
to chance for food. He would perhaps have died before morn
ing had I not discovered him. He says he has no parents.
He does not appear even to recollect his parents at all, and
he has been living in some den in the Five Points, with an old
woman, whom he calls Mother Shipley, and who, to judge from
the child's story, keeps a number of children to beg and steal
for her. He ran away from the old woman because he was
used cruelly, and it must have been hard usage that would
cause so young a child to leave even such a home as that ; in
deed his little arms and shoulders show ample evidence of the
treatment he has been subjected to. They kept him at the
public-house till this forenoon, when they refused to keep him
any longer, and would have turned him adrift had I not taken
him home. I cannot blame them for it ; for, to tell the truth,
the poor boy has been so neglected and is so ill-favored and
dirty, that he was not a pleasant inmate ; besides, he was no
thing to them ; but I had found him in the streets, and it went
against me to send him back to perish, perhaps. So I have
taken the liberty to ask your advice as to what I had best do."
" It would be difficult for me to decide, Joseph," replied Mr.

82 THE WATCHMAN.

Blunt. " You had better, perhaps, make the circumstances
known to a magistrate. He may be able to advise you better
than I."

" I have done so, sir. I called upon Justice Slocomb, and
he told me he could do nothing. 'There weie hundreds of
such cases,' he said, ' and it was impossible to attend to them
all.' I thought that was a poor argument why he could attend
to none, but he would not interfere."

" And so you took the child to your own house ? "

" Yes, sir ; I had some difficulty in persuading my wife to
allow him to be brought, for, though Mary has a kind heart,
she did not like the idea of such a child as this little boy being
brought as a companion to our own children ; besides, sir. I am
not in a position to support a strange child. But Mary pro
mised at last to let him stay a day or two, and I said I would
call and see you about him."

Mr. Blunt was a benevolent, pious, and withal a wealthy
man ; but the very fact of his being known as such, led to hi3
being called upon to exercise his charity largely ; besides, he
was immersed in business, and already was compelled to de
vote more time than he could wisely spare to philanthropic
objects. He sat silent for some moments after Joseph had done
speaking, and then said :

" You have done a good action, Carter, and I think all the
better of you for your humanity ; but really I scarcely know
what to advise you. If you could find out the woman with
whom the child has been living perhaps she is his mother
after all it would perhaps be best to send him back to her. It
is hard to see so much misery and poverty, but it is impossible
to give assistance to all. I have more to do that way now than
I know how to manage. Perhaps you had better make inquiries
about him, and meantime, since you say you have taken him to
your home, let him remain there for a day or two. However,
I will see that you are not taxed for his support. Here are
five dollars for you to spend upon him, and reimburse yourself

THE WATCHMAN 33

for any expenses you may have incurred, (tendering Joseph a
five dollar bill,) and I will speak to Mrs. Blunt. She may
perhaps find him some old clothes of the children's which I will
have sent to the store, and you can take them home with you
to-morrow."

" Thank you, Mr. Blunt, I shall be glad of any spare gar
ments that you can send the poor fellow, for his own clothes are
a heap of rags and filth ; and I need not tell you that my own
children need all I am able to supply them with ; but I had
rather not take the money, sir, indeed I had. It would be hard
with me if I could not afford the little matter of food that such
a mere baby can consume. I will talk over with my wife what
you have said."

" I appreciate your motives, Joseph," returned Mr. Blunt ;
" still I had rather you would take the money. No ? Well,
be it so, then ; but I must assist your generosity so far as to
send you some old clothing for the poor child. And, as I have
said, I think it would be advisable for you to seek out this
woman, of whom the child speaks, and ascertain if she is not
some relative. If she be, I see no other alternative than to
send him home again."

Somewhat disappointed, Joseph left the office, and went
about his duties until evening, when he returned home to enjoy
the rest he needed, for it was his night off duty.

The child had slept soundly during the greater portion of the
afternoon, and when Joseph reached home, had arisen and was
sitting with a clean face and hands, and well-brushed hair, and
attired in tidy and wholesome, although well-worn garments,
before the fire, talking with the other children, who with their
mother were waiting his arrival to join them at the supper-
table.

Joseph was somewhat surprised when he saw the child look
ing so neat and clean. He declared that he should not have
recognized him. He was still anything but a pretty, or even
an interesting child, and yet, this was owing, perhaps, a good

34 THE WATCHMAN.

deal to his gaunt appearance, so different to the usual aspect
of childhood, for his features were not individually bad, and
the appearance of low cunning which they possessed, and whicn
was doubly repulsive in one so young, seemed to have been
imparted to him in consequence of his associations since the
days of his infancy, rather than to have been a natural expres
sion. And as Joseph looked at him, the thought came into his
mind, " Would it not be a sinful act to send him back again to
those haunts of vice from which he has been, perhaps, provi
dentially rescued ] "

The other children came to their father to receive the cus
tomary kiss ; but little Henry sat thoughtful and sullen, and
seemed to take no notice of the arrival of his benefactor.

" He is a strange child," whispered Mrs. Carter to her hus
band. " He has hardly spoken a word since he woke up. 1
have questioned him ; but have hardly been able to obtain an
answer from him. What did Mr. Blunt say 1 "

" I will tell you by-and-by, wife," said Joseph, " after the
children have gone to bed. Let's have supper now, for I am
both tired and hungry."

He sat down to the table. " Come, Willy come, Nelly,*'
said he, speaking to his own children ; " come to supper, dears
and you, too, little Henry Selby are you hungry ? "

" Yes," said the child. " I think I am always hungry."

" Come, then ; that is a disease that readily admits of cure,
when one has the proper medicine to take. Come, and seat
yourself beside Willy there."

The child sullenly took the chair pointed out to him, and,
without waiting, or asking, permission, seized hold of a huge
piece of bread, and proceeded to devour it ravenously.

Mrs. Carter looked at her husband. "Did you ever see
such a rude, unmannerly, ungrateful little creature ? " she whis
pered.

" We must recollect, wife, that he knows no better j he has
never been taught to act otherwise."

THE WATCHMAN. 35

" But to see him devour his food more like a pig than a Chris
tian child! why, I declare, he has eaten more to-day than
Willy and Nelly together ; and he does not even seem thank
ful for any kindness that is shown him."

" Perhaps our own dear children would have been as rude
and unmannerly," said Joseph, " had they had no better care
taken of them than this poor unfortunate ; and as to his feed
ing so ravenously, recollect how long he has been in nearly a
starving condition."

" True, husband," said Mrs. Carter. " Poor fellow ! it is
pitiful to see him ; but what can be done with him ? "

Nothing more was said till the supper was finished ; and while
his wife cleared away the supper-things, and got the children
ready for bed, Joseph occupied himself with the perusal of the
newspaper.

The children knelt at their mother's knees to say their pray
ers, and having said them, kissed their parents, and retired to
their bed. A little bed had been made on the floor for Henry
Selby ; for, although Mrs. Carter had laid the child to rest on
her children's bed during the afternoon, she could not overcome
her natural repugnance to permit him to sleep in the same bed
with them during the night.

She endeavored to get the child to recite the Lord's Prayer,
but all her endeavors were vain ; he would not utter a word
either through obstinacy or stupidity. It could hardly have
been the latter, though ; for the child, young as he was, was
precocious, and possessed, apparently, far greater acuteness than
is common in children much older than he.

Joseph Carter had laid aside his newspaper, and had sat lis
tening to Mrs. Carter's fruitless endeavors to teach the child to
pray. He called him to him, and he obeyed the call. He
seemed to take more kindly to him than to any one else.

" Henry," said he, gravely, but kindly, " why do you not do
as Mrs. Carter wishes you "? "

" 'Cos I don't want to," answered the child.

36 THE WATCHMAN.

Why not ? "

" I don't know I don't like to."

" Have you never said your prayers ? "

4 What 1 " inquired the child.

" Have you been never taught to pray 1 "

"No."

" Do you know what I mean ? "

" No."

" Have you never heard of God, or of Jesus Christ, or th
Bible?"

" No."

"Henry, you were almost starved with cold and hunger, when
I found you last night, crying so piteously on the door-step.
Who was it directed me to find you and so, perhaps, to
save your life ; for you would have died from exposure before
morning 1 "

" I don't know. It wasn't Mother Shipley, I know," replied
the child.

" No. It was God who directed my steps that way at that
time. Are you not thankful that He sent me to provide you
with food and shelter ? "

" I don't know ; I never saw Him."

" Are you not thankful that you have had a good supper, and
have a room to go to, instead of being out in the cold, sleeping
on a door-step this night 1 "

" Yes," said the child, after a pause still, as though he did
not rightly understand what he was saying.

" Wei], it is to God you must be thankful, not to me. He
sent me and put it into my heart to assist you ; and perhaps,
little Henry, He means to do yet something more for you, if
you will strive to deserve it."

" I don't know Him I never seen Him," said the child.
" He don't live at the Pints."

"He lives everywhere," answered Joseph "though, poor
ignorant child, I fear you are right in saying, that in that abode

THE WATCHMAN. 37

of wretchedness and sin He is little known." But aware that
it was useless at the present time to attempt to reason with the
child, he contented himself with saying

" Now, Henry, listen to me. You saw Willy and little
Nelly kneeling at their mother's knee, thanking the good God,
for the blessings they enjoy ; for He sends blessings to them as
well as to you and everybody. Now, like a good little boy,
kneel down beside me, and repeat after me the words I utter,
and then you shall go to bed and have a nice sleep ; and in the
morning you shall have a good warm breakfast."

" And as much bread as I like," inquired the child.

" Yes, as much as ever you can eat. Now kneel down, like
a good boy."

The child knelt, and with difficulty repeated after Joseph the
Lord's Prayer.

" That is so far well, for a beginning," said Joseph, when he
had concluded. " Now kiss me, and go to bed ; and recollect
it is God who will take care of you during the night."

The child did as he was requested, and was sound asleep
almost as soon as he had lain himself down.

" Something may yet be done with that poor, forsaken crea
ture, by means of kindness, I can see that," said Joseph to his
wife, when, from the child's slow, regular breathing, he found he
slept. Poor thing ! I feel my heart yearn towards him. I should
be sorry indeed to send him back to his wretched home again."

" What did Mr. Blunt say ? " asked Mrs. Carter.

" He said, like Mr. Slocoinb, only in a more kind manner,
that he did not see what could be done for the poor fellow.
He advised me to try and find out where the old woman of
whom he speaks lives, and to see whether she is his mother or a re
lative ; and if he be, advises me to send him home to her again."

"And shall you do so? It seems a pity; but I don't see
what else can be done. If the magistrates can do nothing, and
a rich man like Mr. Blunt, who you say is so good and charita
ble, can do nothing, I don't see how poor folks like us, who

38 THE WATCHMAN.

have enough to do to support and educate our own children,
can be expected to do anything."

" Mary, Mr. Blunt has scores of objects already upon whom
to exercise his benevolence. He cannot be expected to do all.
"Whatever we may do for this poor outcast now cannot be any
great burthen to us, and by-and-by we may be able to find
some one who will relieve us of him."

" But, Joseph ! Surely you don't think of adopting such a
child as that. Think of the example to your own children.
It would be wrong sinful for us to keep him in the house."

" And still more sinful, Mary, in my opinion, for us to turn
him away unless we were confident that he could find some
one to care for him, better than he has hitherto been cared for.
However, we will say no more about it to-night. Mr. Blunt
has promised to get his wife to send him some clothing to
morrow, and he did request me to accept a five dollar bill, to
defray any expenses we might have incurred in his behalf. So
you see, Mary, that he is not selfish, and that he did not expect
him to become chargeable to us alone. I would not accept the
money, but I shall take the clothing. To-morrow, if I can find
time, I will endeavor to seek out this woman ; and when I have
seen her, shall be better able to judge what had best be done.
Meanwhile we must give the poor little wanderer shelter. See
how calmly he sleeps, wife. Poor little fellow ! I warrant me
that's the best bed he ever slept in."

" I do pity the poor child, from my heart," was Mrs. Carter's
reply; " and shall be willing for him to remain until something
can be done for him ; but, Joseph, you know he would not be
a, fitting companion for our children, even if there were no
other objections to our maintaining him?"

Joseph Carter did not reply to this. " Let's to bed, wife,"
he said. " I feel very tired. I'm right glad that I haven't to
go out to night."

In the course of half an hour all the inmates of that humble
yet peaceful habitation wero wrapped hi slumber.

THE WATCHMAN.
CHAPTER IV.

THE FIVE POINTS.

" If in the vale of humble life,
The victims sad of Fortune's strife,
Friendless and low, we meet together,
Then sir, your hand, my friend and brother. '

JOSEPH CARTER had various jobs to do on the following
morning, which he could not afford to put aside for the purpose
of carrying out his intentions of the previous evening ; but after
dinner he found he had a little leisure time on his hands, and
instead of devoting it to sleep, preparatory to his night vigil,
as was his wont, he resolved to seek to discover the woman
whom little Henry Selby had called Mother Shipley. He called
the child to him, and questioned him further relative to the
locality of his former abode ; but so fearful the poor little crea
ture seemed of being sent back again to his persecutor, that
he relapsed into his former taciturnity and sullenness, and it
was with difficulty Joseph could gather anything from him.
By dint, however, of kindness, and promises that he would take
care he should not be ill-treated, he at length learned that the
old woman lived in the classical neighborhood called Cow
Bay, and thither he wended his way in .search of her.

The Five Points at the period of which we write, was a
dangerous neighborhood to enter, even during broad daylight ;
but strong in the knowledge of his good purpose, Joseph
resolved to venture.

When arrived there, it was still with difficulty that he dis
covered the woman of whom he was in search. Some of the
wretched beings whom alone he found, and from whom alone
he could make inquiry, mocked and jeered him. Some threat-

40 THE WATCHMAN.

ened him, and bade him decamp ; some thought he was seeking
to make an arrest, and gave him false information ; some
asked him for drink, as the only bribe by which he could gain
his object, and some promised to guide him if he would inform
them for what purpose he had come amongst them. This
Joseph would not do, and it was an hour before he could dis
cover Mother Shipley's abode ; and when he did discover it,
and entered its gloomy, crumbling walls, his heart almost mis
gave him, strong, bold man as he was ; for it seemed to be
one of the very strongholds of wretchedness beyond concep
tion, and crime that slunk here in security from discovery.
He had a family at home, and he felt how easily he might be
murdered here, without even a probability that his fate would
ever be known. He were safer, he thought, amongst a horde
of savages, in some distant land, than here, scarcely a stone's
throw from Broadway, with its pride and wealth and beauty.
Through dark, dark passages, into which the light of day ap
peared never to have penetrated, the atmosphere of which was
pregnant with foul miasma, and the walls slimy with mildew
up rickety, creaking, dangerous staircases, the landings of
which were occupied by half-nude men and women, whose
countenances gleamed with ferocity, and were so swollen and
disfigured with disease, vice, drunkenness and bestiality, that
they had lost every trace of the "human form divine," and
who scowled at him as he passed, like wild beasts, eager to
make him their prey; again through more dark passages
which opened into rooms, the doors of which stood off their
hinges, and from which issued sounds of drunken merriment
and shrieks of pain, and hideous laughter, and oaths fearful to
listen to, and that made his blood curdle and his hair stand on
end higher and higher still, amidst like gloomy, hideous
sights, he went on his way, until the lad whom, at last, he had
bribed to show him Mother Shipley's room, pointed to a door,
the panels of which were broken, and told him that there she
lived. " But," added the urchin, with a laugh, " she'll most

THE WATCHMAN 41

like be drunk by this time, and I guess, whatever you are
arter, you won't get much out of her."

Joseph Carter gave the lad the sixpence he had promised
him, and endeavoring to swallow his feelings of disgust, entered
the wretched apartment. It was occupied by some half-dozen
children, chiefly girls, the counterparts of Henry Selby (in regard
to their miserable wo-begone aspect) on the night he was
picked up by the watchman. They were busy sorting rags
and refuse of every description, which they had gathered in the
streets, and which sent forth a stench so death-like, that it
almost overpowered the visitor. These children were indulg
ing in lewd jokes, and swearing and quarreling after a fashion
that sickened Joseph to hear, and they did not spare their
jokes upon him when he entered. On heaps of rags and other
waste materials which appeared to have been sorted and stowed
in the corners of the room, were stretched three females, appa
rently sleeping away the fumes of drunkenness ; for they merely
raised their sleepy, watery eyes as they heard his tread, and
muttering some unintelligible words, composed themselves to
sleep again. The oldest and ugliest, and most wrinkled of
these libels of their sex and of humanity was pointed out to
Joseph, as the person of whom he was in search.

" Is your name Shipley, my good woman ?" he asked,
endeavoring to suppress the feeling of disgust that he felt.

" What do you want to know for ?" she demanded.

" I have reasons, which you will learn hereafter ; but I mean
you no harm ; so you need not be afraid to tell me."

" Give us something to drink, then."

" You cannot get drink now ; and you have had too much
already."

" Then, sorra a bit will ye know anything, till ye plant a
quarter for some drink, by -and by ;" and the hag turned round
and sunk her head on her loathsome pillow.

" I will give you the quarter you ask, if you will answer me
one or two questions, honestly."

42 THE WATCHMAN.

" Will ye ? then hand it along."

" Stay ; you must take my word, and reply to my questions ;
first."

" And then you will cheat me out of the money ? "

" No ; I promise you that I will not ; and again I tell you
that I seek to do you no harm."

"Well, then, they call me Mother Shipley, because of all
these childher that I looks after ; but that ain't my right name,"
said the hag, with a frightful leer. " Now, what good have ye
got by learning that?"

" That is one thing that I wished to know ; but you must an
swer me more questions yet. Have you a child here they call
Henry Selby 1 "

" No ; he used to be here ; but it's weeks since the young
imp of Satan ran away. Pie's dead, for anything I know or
care ; drowned himself, maybe, because I guv him a bating,
the vagabond. He was a good riddance, for he was the worst
of all this set, and they be all young imps of the d 1."

"Then you have no desire to see him again?"

" Haven't I ? By me sowl, if I catch hold of him, I'll teat
his hair out of his head ; look here he threw a stool at me
afore he cut off, and knocked me down, or he wouldn't have
gone away so easily ; " and she showed the mark of a severe
contusion on her brow. " Wouldn't I like to skin the young
villain ? " and she clutched the air with her skinny fingers, as if
in anticipation of the punishment she intended to inflict upon
the child, if ever she got him into her clutches again.

" You are not the mother of the child that is, of Henry
Selby ? "

" Me ! do I look like as if I was the little wretch's mother ?
His mother killed herself with drink, after her husband was
hanged. Ha ! ha ! do ye hear that? But why do ye ax me ?
sorra another question I'll answer."

Joseph Carter had heard enough ; he felt a sensation of un
utterable horror and disgust as he gazed upon the bestial

THE WATCHMAN. 43

wretch lying before him. He threw her the quarter-dollar he
had promised, and turned to leave the room.

The old hag clutched the coin, and shouted, "Now for
drink drink drink till me brain's distracted, and Belzeebub
takes possession of me ! "

As Joseph was hurrying away from this frightful scene, he
turned and said, " I would ask you one more question : What
do you employ these children in, and how came they under
your care 1 ?"

" Go and find out," was the reply. " I shan't answer another
question, to plaze ye. Ye'd better get away as quickly as ye
can."

So Joseph thought ; and finding he could get no further infor
mation, he hastened down the stairs, his ears greeted by
shouts and blasphemous imprecations, as he descended. He
did not feel safe until he had reached the open street, and he
seemed to feel a relief, as though from suffocation, when he
snuffed the comparatively purer air foul as that was. He has
tened into Broadway. "That child, with my consent, shall
never be sent back to this horrible abode," he said to himself,
" if I have to support him myself."

He went to the store of his employer. The bundle of cloth
ing had been sent, as had been promised, and he carried it home
with him to his wife.

He then related to her what he had seen, and reiterated the
observation : that he could not send the child back again to that
abode of sin and misery.

" But, Joseph," said his wife, " what are we to do with a
child, who has been brought up in such a place, and amongst
such wretches 1 I ask you, can he be a fitting companion for
our children 1 a fit inmate of our house 1 Poor as it is, it is
decent "

" He is not not now, at least ; but we can strive to make
him so, Mary. What happiness it would be, if we could rescue
him from the life of shame and infamy to which he seemed

44 THE WATCHMAN.

doomed ; perhaps Providence has ordained that it shall be so.
At all events, we must support him for awhile, until I can look
about and find what can be done in his behalf. I will speak to
Mi. Blunt again."

Mrs. Carter was fain to acquiesce ; indeed she sincerely
pitied the poor helpless child. It was only her love for her
own children and her fears lest they would be contaminated bv
the presence and companionship of this child of vice and crime,
that led her to be so reluctant to give him shelter. She felt,
and so did her husband, that they were not in a position to
support the offspring of strangers unknown to them, and, per
haps, indeed most likely of debauched and depraved characters.
Joseph had not told his wife what the old woman had said of
the fate of the child's parents. He did not think it necessary,
for it might not be true ; but she agreed with her husband that
they could not conscientiously send the child back. Nay,
common humanity, setting aside Christian charity, forbade it.

And so Henry Selby became an inmate of Joseph Carter's
family. Day after day, for some time, Joseph and his wife
talked over various .plans by means of which they could get
quit of what they felt to be a grievous burthen ; but they
could arrive at no conclusion. Henry continued to reside with
them, and in time came to be considered as one of the family,
or, at least, as one whom it was a duty and a pleasure to teach
and to endeavor to train up in the paths of virtue and religion ;
but they found the task, indeed, a difficult one. The child was
deceitful and treacherous, given to falsehood and to theft, and
as mischievous as he well could be ; and still it was a satis
faction to them to perceive that a gradual, though sensible im
provement took place in his character and disposition, and
he was soon taught to abstain from foul language. Moreover,
it was singular to mark the change that took place in his per
sonal appearance. From being slovenly to a degree, he be
came really tasteful in his attire and person, and indeed
showed so decided a passion for dress and finery that Josepn

THE WATCHMAN. 45

feared that this was an inherent foible in his character. He
was no longer the ugly, ungainly child he had appeared when
first he was rescued from the streets ; his form had filled out
to the roundness befitting his years, and his features could no
longer be called plain. His hair was red, it is true, but it pro-
mised to darken as he grew in years ; and his clear blue eyes
were certainly a redeeming feature in his face. With better
training, he had almost lost that look of cunning whicn at first
had imparted such a forbidding aspect to his countenance.
Though not even now a pretty, he was still a neat, nice-look
ing little boy.

So months passed away Joseph Carter being still occupied
in his daily duties as a cartman and in his nightly vigils as a
guardian of the city. All seemed going well with him, and he
had forgotten altogether to speak again to Mr. Blunt with re
gard to little Henry Selby, when an event occurred which totally
changed the aspect of affairs.

One night, about six months after Henry Selby had become
an inmate of the house in Mulberry-street, a fire broke out in
Broadway. It was on a night when it .was Joseph Carter's
turn of duty as a city watchman. He had raised the alarm
and the fire companies had responded to the call. The fire
was nearly got under, and every one was endeavoring to
save the property that had not been injured by the flames or
by the water. Joseph had entered the building for this pur
pose, when a falling beam struck him on the shoulder and
felled him to the ground. In a condition of intense bodily suf
fering he was removed to his home, nor was his mental anguish
less, for he felt that at least for a long time he would be pre
vented from following his calling, and he knew that his family
would suffer. Ah ! in case of accident, the poor are doubly
injured, for they feel a mental torture that increases their
bodily agony, which the rich are spared the knowledge that
poverty, perhaps destitution, with all its horrors, awaits them
and all those most dear to them.

46 THE WATCHMAN.

It was found that Joseph had received a compound fracture
of the fore-arm, in addition to several severe contusions ; and
it was feared that he had also received some internal injury.
He had laid by a little money ; it was very little, still it was
sufficient to save the family from immediate want ; but this
was soon expended, and then came grim poverty with its train
of attendant evils. He was told that his situation as watchman
should be kept open for him for a reasonable time ; and Mr.
Blunt, who, in his avocation as a cartman, had been his princi
pal employer, hearing that he was really seriously ill, called to
see him and to offer him assistance. He had probably forgot
ten the fact of his having been spoken to about the little boy,
for he noticed the three children standing in the room.

" Ah, Joseph ! " said he " have you three children 1 I
thought you only had two living. I see three here, and two of
about the same age ; are they twins ? They don't resemble
each other at all."

" One of them is not my child, sir," said the sick man.
" You recollect my speaking to you of a little boy I found per
ishing in the street, some months <nce. This " pointing to
Henry Selby " is he."

" Indeed ! Why, he is really a fine child. And have you
and your wife actually kept this poor child in your family ? It
was very remiss of me. I had forgotten all about the circum
stance. But come I must bear my share now, and lighten
you of your burthen. I will take care of this child. He will
not be of any use just yet ; but I will send him to school, and
let him live in the kitchen with my servants, until be is able tc
do something for himself. What say you, my dear 1 " address
ing the child " will you come and live at my house ? "

"I would rather stay with Uncle Joseph," he replied
bursting into tears, and throwing his little arms around his
benefactor's neck. He had learned of his own accord to
address Carter as Uncle Joseph, and to call Mrs. Carter aunt
It was the first burst of real feelirjg the child had ever shown

THE WATCHMAN. 47

Both Joseph and his wife had often expressed the opinion that
he was totally devoid of feeling or of gratitude ; and they were
both much affected on finding that these sentiments were nt
wanting in him. But the offer, under the present circum
stances, was too good a one to be lightly refused. They rea
soned with the weeping child and at last, promising that he
should often come to see them, and perhaps, when Uncle Joseph
got well, come to live with them again, they prevailed upon
him to consent.

Mr. Blunt sent for him that evening, and he was thencefor
ward regularly installed as a denizen of his kitchen he contin
uing to send him to the school, whither he had for some montha
past gone regularly with the Carters' children.

Joseph laid long on a bed of sickness : but he was eventually
restored to health and strength, although his shoulder and arm
were always weak afterwards. But here we will leave him
for a time, while we take occasion, in the next chapter, to intro
duce certain other characters to the notice of our readers.

48 THE WATCHMAN

CHAPTER V.

THE PAWNBROKER'S SHOP AN UNEXPECTED MEETING CREATES
AN ENDURING FRIENDSHIP, SO PRONE ARE THOSE IN MISFOR
TUNE TO FLOCK TOGETHER, AND TO CLING TO EACH OTHER.

" Misery makes strange bed- fellows."

UP and down, through street after street, looking with a
longing eye at the young men busily employed in the various
stores, and thinking how gladly he would now take the hum
blest employment, how gladly he would become porter, mes
senger, anything that was honest, if he could only get the
chance ! Wondering why, in so large a city, where there was
so much work done, so much work to do, he could obtain no
engagement, and feeling sick at heart and soul, as he saw how
many there were in the same position as himself, wandered
Charles Edwards, an emigrant, who, flush with hope, had set
foot in the United States for the first time, some two months
previously confident in his own mind that not only would the
services he could perform be readily accepted and well remu
nerated, but even eagerly sought after. Alas ! how had his
hopes fallen. Well he knew those who like himself had had
their bright anticipations destroyed. He had seen the well,
known faces, radiant with hope when they first met his eye,
gradually growing despondent and careworn ; he had noticed
the well-brushed and glossy clothing, by degrees, scarcely per
ceptible at first, but perceptible enough now, growing shabby
and seedy, and the once buoyant, elastic step, assuming a care
less gait, such as characterizes those who have no definite object
in view. When he had first set his foot in the city of New
York he had been struck with the number of idle, yet active.

THE WATCHMAN. 49

intelligent-looking young men, congregated on the Battery,
and he had thought how well off every one must be in this
great city, how careless of labor, when they could thus afford to
spend so many idle hours. But day after day, after his
weary and fruitless round to seek for an engagement, he resorted
to that well-known lounging place to rest his weary limbs, in
the only resting place that he could find without money to pay
for it, except his boarding-house, and he did not like to go
thither except at meal times and of an evening, for he wished to
keep up appearances as long as he could ; he was already two
or three weeks' board in debt to his landlady, and he fancied
she began to look coldly upon him and to mistrust his weekly
excuses, that he was expecting to get a good situation in the
course of a day or two, when it should be his first care to re
imburse her. It would never do to remain idle at home,
although he was worse than idle when abroad, for his labor, his
weary wanderings, brought him no return, but deeper dejection.
No, to have remained at home, would have been at once to
betray his hopeless condition to his prying landlady (little was
he aware that she already knew it ;) besides, although each
failure brought him fresh dejection, each new trial gave him
fresh hope ; and he had little now but hope, the last remaining
friend of the unfortunate, to sustain him.

Still, although he had formed the acquaintance of two or
three of his fellow-sufferers, by meeting with them day after
day on his favorite seat on the Battery ; though each intuitively
knew the condition of the other, and each mutually pitied the
other's excuses, it was astonishing how they strove to disguise
their position, and told each other how, the next day yes,
and the next day again, they expected to get such and such a
situation, and still kept on telling, though each day passed like
the other, and still saw them at its close seated on the same
seat, and telling a similar story.

Charles Edwards had possessed a watch and 2hain when he
first arrived in New York, but the watch ho no longer wore,
4

50 THE WATCHMAN.

although the chain still did duty, keeping needless guard over
the empty yest-pocket. Among his fellow boarders, although
he did not know it until he had been for some weeks a resident
of the boarding-house, was a young man in a similar position
with himself. And one day at the dinner-table this young
man, whose name was Hartley, asked Charles what was the
hour. Of course, all eyes were directed to the pocket in which
the end of the chain was inserted. Charles blushed and stam
mered. " I have left it at the watchmaker's," he said ; " it has
been sadly out of repair lately."

" And you still wear the chain for a sham !" was the thought
less reply, and various jokes were passed, which struck like
daggers upon the feelings of the sensitive young man. Ho
knew he had told a falsehood, because he lacked moral courage
to tell the truth ; he felt that the truth was suspected, and still
he had not the moral courage to avow it. It had gone to a
watchdealer's, if not a watchmaker's, who had so ample a sup
ply of those articles of utility and ornament, that he might
have supplied the ordinary demand of the city for watches.

How many a bitter pang had it cost Charles Edward, before
he could muster up courage to enter the precincts of that
strange repository of heterogenous materials, a pawn-broker's
shop? How many a time, when he thought he "had screwed
his courage to the sticking point," hud his heart failed him, and
he had deferred the sacrifice till another day ? How he fan
cied that the eyes of all the passers-by were fixed upon him,
as he passed apparently carelessly by the " three golden balls,"
on the opposite side of the street, casting a furtive, sidelong
glance at the emblems of the " Lombards," and yet striving tc
look as though all the "golden balls" in the world were nothing
to him ? and what a sickening sensation arose in his breast as
at last he made the dread resolve, and walking hastily along
the back street in the rear of the shop, he made a sudden
plunge, as he reached the dark, open doorway; and hastily
ascending the stairs, as though the property he wished to pawn,

THE WATCHMAN. 51

to satisfy his present needs, were not his own, and he was
fearful the police were at his heels he rushed breathlessly
into the narrow dark box, still keeping back from, the
counter, ashamed to make known his business. How strange
appeared the shameless carelessness of the habitues of this
dreadful place, to his imagination, who, scorning the secresy of
the boxes, crowded before the counter and teased the busy
shopmen with their incessant demands to be attended to, or
indulged in facetious jokes and pleasantries with each other
and the clerks ; and most of these persons lost to the feelings of
shame, were women ! and the articles they had brought to
pledge, were what ? Worn articles of clothing ! domestic uten
sils ! household furniture, of so little value that to sell it out
and out, would bring the sellers but a few cents !

The shop was emptied and refilled several times before
Charles was seen,, in the dark corner where he had ensconced
himself; but at length, a lesser rush than usual being at the
counter, one of the young men came to the box.

" What can I do for you, sir, to-day 1 " he asked, to Charles'
surprise, in a respectful tone, very different to that he had used
when dealing and bantering with the motley crew without.

" I should like you to oblige me with the loan of fifteen dol
lars upon this watch, sir," replied Charles. " I should only
want it for a short time for a few days until I get a remit
tance from home ; the fact is, I I have lost my pocket-book,
and finding myself in a strange hotel, I "

" Ah ! I see, sir," answered the shopman, with a glance of
mingled pity and contempt, at the same time taking the watch
in his hand, and in a moment, as if by intuition, ascei laining its
value, " a patent lever, I see gold cases good, but old-
fashioned. These watches, sir, are quite a drug just now
could show you a case full of them, and sell you the best for
fifteen dollars. Gentlemen do meet with mishaps, sometimes.
Sorry to hear, sir, that you have lost your pocket-book hope

52 THE WATCHMAN.

it will not inconvenience you long. Say ten dollars, sir, and I
shall be glad to accommodate you."

" The watch cost me sixty dollars," replied Charles. " I am
afraid that ten dollars will hardly be sufficient to meet my
necessities until I hear from my friends. Could'nt you

" Could'nt say another dollar, sir, upon my word. What
name shall I say ] "

Charles still hesitated. He really needed just fifteen dollars ;
but the shopman noticing his hesitation, turned to another cus
tomer, with his obsequious, " Now, sir, what can I do for you
to-day 1 "

Scarcely daring to come out without the money, and well
aware that he could not muster courage to go through a similar
ordeal elsewhere, on that day, Charles hastily said, "I will take
the ten dollars. You will take good care of the watch until T
release it ? "

" The best possible care, sir. What name shall I say 1 "

" Charles no James "

" Any name and address will do, sir. Gentlemen who have
met with a little mishap, don't like their real names to appear
on our books. John Jones, Astor House that will do, sir ! '
and handing Edwards the duplicate and the ten dollars, the
young man laid the watch on a shelf, and hastened to attend
to another customer, and Charles proceeding to the doorj
looked hastily around him, until he thought he saw a good
opportunity, and then darting out, mingled with the passing
crowd, striving to look as unconcerned as possible, although
his cheeks tingled with shame.

However, one little valuable after another went in a similar
way, until the watch-chain was left alone in its glory. It was
a bitter task to part with this ; for appearances could then no
longer be sustained ; but, at length, it was necessary, abso
lutely necessary to dispose of this too. Charles by this time
had become so far accustomed to the humiliation of these steal
thy visits, that he sometimes ventured to cast a cautious glanoe

THE WATCHMAN 53

around him, and into the adjoining box. On the occasion of
his pledging his chain, he saw that the pawn-broker was en-
gaged in valuing, according to his own estimation, a ruby pin,
which Charles thought he had seen before. He stole a glance
at the owner. It was George Hartley, his fellow-lodger. The
eyes of the young men met ; there was a mutual start a mu
tual mantling blush of shame ; but neither of them spoke a
word. They received the sum of money offered them by the
pawn-broker, and left the shop together.

"So, Mr. Edwards, I have found you out, and you have
found out me," said Hartley, after they had proceeded some dis
tance, in silence ; " but I knew well enough how it was, when
you said your watch was at the watchmaker's. After all, there
is nothing for either of us to be really ashamed of: I am, like
yourself, looking out for something to do, however humble it
may be; and like you, I suppose, looking out vainly. God
knows what it will come to. The money I have got for my
shirt-pin will just pay my board-bill, and I have nothing else I
can spare to raise more."

" And I, too," said Charles " I, too, Mr. Hartley, am
reduced to the last extremity. When I came here from Can
ada, I thought I could readily obtain employment as a book
keeper; now, any employment would be acceptable."

" That was the case with me, when I first came here. It was
in the busy season, and, perhaps, I could have obtained some
common situation ; but I had a few dollars, and I scorned any
thing less than what 1 considered a respectable engagement. I
wish I could get the humblest employment now. I wish I was
a mechanic ; they have, at least, a better chance than such as
we, for getting work."

" And yet, at our house, there are three or four mechanics
out of work. It seems to me that everything is overdone in
this crowded city," replied Edwards.

" You say you came from Canada ! I came from Ireland
from Dublin," said Hartley

64 THE WATCHMAN.

" Yes ; I came here from Montreal , and I am heartily sorry
now that I left it."

" You were in employment there ? "

" Yes."

" Are you a married man ? "

" Yes ; and have two child :en there's where the shoe
pinches."

" How came you then to leave Montreal ? "

" For the same reasons that a good many others leave it.
Because I was not content with the salary I got, which, to tell
the truth, was little enough; and I hoped to better myself
here."

" For that reason I left Dublin," returned Hartley. " I was
amongst my friends, and could always earn enough to support
myself in a humble way ; but we hear, in Ireland, such wonder
ful stories told by the emigrants, that it fires us all with a de
sire to try our fortunes here. I hope that mine is an unusual
case of hard fortune, or there is little truth in the representa
tions of my countrymen."

" If we may judge by the numbers we meet, whom we know
to be in a similar predicament with ourselves, ours are by no
means rare instances of mishap," answered Edwards. " I tell
you what conclusion I have arrived at : I believe that this is a
good country for laborers, who have been used to out-door
labor, and who do not cling to cities, but spread themselves far
and wide throughout the country. Such, I truly believe, can
always be sure of earning a good living, and, perhaps, of event
ually becoming independent ; but everybody, even the Ameri
cans themselves, crowd to the city, and there is not, nor cannot
be, employment for all. The Americans themselves, clerks,
mechanics, and laborers, are crowded out and crushed by the
competition of foreigners."

" I fear it is so. Thank God ! I am unmarried, and have no-
body to care for but myself. When I first stepped on shore, [
had really got into my head that I should be stopped as I was

THE WATCHMAN. 55

passing along the streets, and asked whether I wanted a situa
tion ? I had resolved not to throw myself away, by accepting
the first offer that was made, but to look out for one that I
thought would suit me. I wish now / would suit anything at
all that can come to hand."

Charles smiled sadly. " Such is the case with most of us.
I had a situation of three hundred and fifty dollars a-year in
Montreal, and with that income there, small as it was, I could
live more comfortably than I could, as I should judge, with five
hundred here ; but, I limited my demands to five hundred dol
lars to begin with, and after spending a few days in looking
about me, and seeing the city, I thought I would answer some
of the advertisements I saw in the daily papers. So, I replied
to one which stated that the services of a competent accountant
were wanted in a commission house, where he would be
required to know the business of the Custom-House, and to
make himself generally useful. ' A moderate salary,' it added,
* would be given at first.'

"Thinks I, 'That's just the place for me. I'm thoroughly
acquainted with the routine of Custom-House business, and a
commission house will suit me, until I am better acquainted
with the way of doing business here. Five hundred dollars is
a moderate salary enough, and the very mention of the fact,
that a moderate salary only will be given, will prevent there
being too many applicants ;' for, you see, while looking over the
papers after the advertisers for employees, I had noticed that
there were a great many advertising for employment, and the
knowledge of this had disconcerted me a little.

" I went to the place ; it was in Coenties Slip. I got there
before the proprietor arrived, and was somewhat annoyed to
hnd nearly a dozen applicants already waiting. Presently the
merchant came a sharp, business-like looking man. He
brushed hastily by us, without noticing us at all, as it seemed,
and retired to the inner office. In a few minutes a boy came

50 THE WATCHMAN

out. ' Are you waiting to see Mr. Boyer about the advertise*
merit he put in the Courier and Inquirer ? ' he asked.

'"Yes yes,' shouted half a dozen voices at once mine
among the rest.

" ' Then come in, one at a time, 'cording to order ; first
come first served, you know ; start fair old fellers,' and
he laughed as if he anticipated some fun. Well, I told you,
though I had come so early, I was the last of the bunch ; and
one by one, the applicants went in, leaving me to the last.
However, all were heard, and at last my turn came. I entered
the inner office, and presented my testimonials.

" ' So you come from Canada, I perceive, young man?' said
Mr. Boyer.

" ' Yes sir.'

" * What business have you been employed in there ? '

" ' I have been assistant book-keeper in a shipping house, and
have also been employed as a copyist.'

" ' Humph ! Are you a native of Canada ? '

" ' No sir, I am an Englishman.'

" ' How long have you been away from England ? '

" 'Twelve years sir,' I replied. ' I left England when quite
a youngster.'

" ' So I should think. How old are you ? '

" ' Thirty years.'

" ' And you have been in Canada ? '

" ' Ten years.'

" ' And you hope to benefit your condition by coming here ?
Well, I don't doubt you are right. This is a great country
young man, and we are a great people. Everybody can get
along here, if they are only smart. But you say you have
been a copyist of course you write a good hand 1 '

" I wrote a few sentences on a sheet of paper.

" ' Very fair that,' said Mr. Boyer. ' Now young man,
what salary do you expect, to begin with, supposing I engage
you?'

THE WATCHMAN. 57

" ' I had three hundred and fifty dollars in Montreal, sir,'
said I, ' and I think I could manage with five hundred for a
beginning here.'

" ' Whe-e-ew ! ' whistled Mr. Boyer. ' Upon my word, you
are very moderate in your demands, young - man. Five hun
dred dollars ! Why, I can get an experienced hand for less
than that ! '

" I hinted that I might accept four hundred.

" ' I tell you what it is, young man,' said Mr. Boyer, ' it's
my opinion you had better go back to Montreal. You must-
suppose we Americans have got nothing to do with our money
but to throw it away. I had fixed on giving two hundred dol
lars for the first year or, I might have said two-fifty, for a
competent, experienced man, used to the city trade. Good
morning. I fancy one of the young men who have gone out
will suit me.'

" I left the office, somewhat crest-fallen, and a young man,
who had been told to wait outside, was recalled, and accepted,
at a salary of two hundred dollars a-year.

"I tried one or two others with like ill success, and then I com
menced advertising but only to find that I was spending my
money to no purpose. I did not receive one single answer,
though I advertised half a dozen times, and now I am begin*
ning to despair though some persons, whom I knew in Mon
treal, have been fortunate in getting good and remunerative
employment."

" I have been fully as unfortunate as yourself," said Hartley.
"After hunting after employment in New York until my funds
were getting low, I thought I would try Philadelphia ; but I
found that I had only spent my money for the journey thither
in vain. There was less chance for employment there than in
1M ew York if that be not a paradox seeing there seems to be
none here. I did, however, nearly get an engagement in Phil
adelphia. A trunkmaker advertised for a salesman offering

58 THE WATCHMAN.

seven dollars a week. I thought that was better than nothing,
and offered my services, and they were accepted."

" They were 1 " exclaimed Edwards. " How did you lose
the situation? I wish some one would offer me seven dollars
a week I would gladly take it. I see nothing before me but
starvation here and I have no means to go back to Canada.
Besides, I sold off the best part of my furniture, in order to
provide funds to come here, and sent my wife and family into
lodgings. God knows how they are doing. My wife, poor
thing, doesn't complain ; but I can tell by the tone of her let
ters that she is hoping day after day, that I will send her some
money, or send for her and the children to come on here."

"My services were accepted, as I said," continued Hartley ;
" but my dear fellow, I only held the situation for a few hours.
The proprietor, after instructing me how to keep his books and
make sales, if purchasers should call, went out, leaving me
alone in the store. The little book-keeping that was to be
done was soon completed, and then I set myself down, kicking
my legs in a chair, and waiting for customers ; but none came,
and I therefore had nothing to do. Thinks I, ' George Hartley,
you hav'nt got a very lucrative situation, that's a fact ; but
you've got a mighty easy one ;' and so I sat idle till dinner
time, when my employer returned the boss, as they term the
master here."

'"Well, young man,' said he, 'how's trade been to-day
have you made any sales?'

"* None at all, sir,' I answered.

" ' Trade is mighty dull that's a fact,' he replied. ' But go
and get your dinner, and I'll keep shop till you come back, and
be smart, for I haven't had dinner myself yet.'

" Well, I started out to the nearest eating-house, and got my
self something to eat, keeping as much within bounds as was
possible ; and then hastened back to the shop.

"' Well,' said the boss, 'you've been pretty slick about your
dinner that's sartain ; but, mister, what's your name ?

THE WATCHMAN. 59

*" George Hartley, sir.'

"' Well, George, seeing as there ain't much doing in the way
of trade s'pose, in the afternoon, you take the plane and just
go over them box-lids there, which, you see, needs smoothing,'
pointing to a heap of lids in one of the corners of the shop, bu
ried up in shavings.

" I knew as much about a plane as a cat does about a razoi ,
but still, I thought the job was a simple one enough, and would
serve to while away the time ; for I found it precious dull work,
waiting, doing nothing in the shop. So, I set to work ; but, at
the very first motion of the plane, I drove it so deep that I
spoiled the symmetry of one of the lids. I tried another, and suc
ceeded, as I thought, better ; but when I had finished, and stood
back to see the effect, I was horrified at witnessing the havoc I
had made. The chest-lid looked, for all the world, as if it had
been ploughed in ridges ; and while I was still regarding the
destruction I had caused, who should come in but the boss !

"'That's right, mister,' said he; 'I like to see young men
busy ; but, Jehoshaphat ! what in the name of mischief have
you been doing ? Moses ! but you've spiled that 'ere chest-lid,
entirely !'

" ' And another one, too, sir, I fear,' said I ; for I was despe
rate at the thought of the mischief I had done, and I pulled out
the other lid from the heap of shavings.

" You should have seen how the old boss stamped and swore.

" ' You've done more mischief, mister,' said he, ' than a
hull week's wages '11 pay for. I guess I sha'n't want you here
ai,y longer. You can go ; but who's going to pay for them
'ere spiled kivers 1 '

'"I don't know, indeed,' said I. 'I have no money ; besides,
I did my best to obey your orders.'

'" Did I order you to go and spile my property? ' he asked.

'"No, sir,' I replied ; ' but you bade me employ myself in
work that I knew nothing about. I never handled a plane be-

60 THE WATCHMAN.

fore in my life. I engaged as salesman, not as a journeyman,
carpenter.'

" ' And what need, do you think, have I of a lazy chap hang
ing on about my store, merely to sell a chance chest or trunk 1
I want a Jiandy chap as can turn himself to anything. I never
saw no good come of you chaps as wasn't bred up to no trade.
You can go, mister, and be mighty glad you've come off so
cheap. I could make you pay for that 'ere spiled property.'

"'It's hard stealing the breeksfrom a Hielanman,' thought I,
recollecting the old proverb ; but I reflected that I had really
damaged the old man's property, and so I went off, without
saying another word ; and, that evening, I pledged my watch,
and returned to New York and here I am."

" And here am I," rejoined Edwards, " and I sincerely wish I
was anywhere else in the wide world. Oh ! what a fool I Vvas to
give up a sure situation, however poor, for a mere chance, and
such a chance as it has turned out to be."

The two young men walked on, silently and dejectedly,
towards their lodgings in Greenwich-street. At length, Ed
wards, more for the sake of breaking the silence than for the
sake of information, said :

" Have you no friends or relatives in the United States, Mr.
Hartley 1 "

" I believe I have an uncle and an aunt, somewhere or other,
in this country ; but where, I know not. They came over from
Ireland a long time ago, and I have never heard of or from
them since. True, I have not made much inquiry respecting
them ; for I do not anticipate, even if they are living, that they
are in a position to do me much service."

They reached their lodgings without saying anything further.
Both had gone abroad on the same errand, for each had received
a gentle hint from the landlady, that their board for three
weeks was due. The sacrifice of the long cherished chain and
the breast-pin, had been the result. The articles had been
kept as long as possible ; for their absence was a perpetual

THE WATCHMAN 61

reminder of the poverty that had now assailed the owners.
We can afford to wear an old coat, an old hat, worn boots,
faded attire ; we can dispense with personal adornment when
we do so of our own free will and pleasure, knowing that we
can dress well if we choose; but to those who have been used
to dress respectably ; whose position in life, however humble,
has compelled them to keep up appearances, the sacrifice, one
after another, of those trifles which they may never be able to
replace, and which have cost them so much to obtain, inflicts a
pang which the wealthy can never know, and can therefore
form no idea of.

Charles Edwards and George Hartley, were now reduced to
the lowest ebb. They had no better prospect nay, not so
good a prospect of procuring employment now, than they had
had when first they landed in New York, flushed with hope
and eager anticipations ; for now their appearance began to
betray their poverty, and who is desirous of giving employ
ment to the needy ? What merchant will engage a poorly
dressed clerk when so many well dressed gentlemen are ready
to attend his beck and call 1

But for these young men, now when their last dollar was
expended, and all seemed hopeless, better days were yet in store.

62 THE WATCHMAN.

CHAPTER VI.

TDK PARENTS OF THE DESERTED CHILD THE DEATHS ON BOARD

THE EMIGRANT SHIP THE KIDNAPPER.

" The plague seized them. It was the result of mismanagement, and
non-attention to the commonest laws of nature. She will not permit these
to be violated." THE HISTOEY OF THE PI^AGUE.

SOME years prior to the date of the conversation recorded in
the preceding chapter, Barnard Hartley and his wife had left
Ireland for that el dorado of the West to the Irish people, the
United States of America. Bernard Hartley had for many
years rented a small farm, which his father and grandfather had
rented before him, in King's County, Leinster, on the banks of
the Shannon. There he and his ancestors had lived happily for
many years, and would have lived happily still, nor thought of
forsaking the soil of Green Erin even for the freer air of- Amer
ica, had not the lordly proprietor of the estate of which Bar
nard's small farm was a portion, forsaking the good old exam
ple set him by his ancestors, and, instead of living as they had
done, in the midst of their tenantry, encouraging them by their
example, and looked up to almost reverentially by them,
adopted the principles of absenteeism, one of the sources of the
woes of Ireland, and gone to reside in London, leaving his
estates under the arbitrary charge of an agent, who, with the
object of increasing the rental, and thereby of adding to his
own per centage, and perhaps, appropriating something more,
let the estates out in portions to "middle men," as they are
termed, who again in their turn, raised the rents of the tenants
beneath them, pressing so severely upon them, that it was with
difficulty they could now exist on the property which for years

THE WATCHMAN 63

had afforded them not merely a living, but a superabundance.
Barnard Hartley was in the course of a few years reduced
from the position of a comfortable, well-to-do farmer, to that
of an impoverished laborer, renting the farm, certainly, as of
old ; but continually getting poorer and poorer, until want so
stared him in the face, and so blank and dismal looked his
future, that he had taken the liberty of remonstrating with the

landlord himself. Lord had coolly replied to his letter,

informing him, that he trusted implicitly to the agent, and left
all to his management ; and the agent coming to hear that one
of the tenants had dared to complain of him to the landlord,
pressed him still more hardly, until Barnard was at last
reduced to penury. Seeing no promise of redress no hope
for the future, he had reluctantly resolved to leave the spot
where his earliest breath had been drawn where his infantile
and boyish years had been passed where he had courted and
claimed the hand of the fair Alice Meehan, the belle of the sur
rounding country where he had lived and thriven until he had
reached the middle term of life where the bones of his fathers
for many generations had been laid. To leave old Ireland and
seek his fortune, with his wife, and his only remaining child
for he had lost three, who were buried beneath that loved soil
he was leaving in the distant land of America, of which he
had heard such glowing accounts, and where he had often been
advised to emigrate to, but had until now steadily refused for
" please God," said the honest man, " I will live and die, me-
self, me wife, an' me child, on the dear old sod on which our ances
tors have lived for centuries, and beneath which God rist
them ! their bones lie in peace, and where, I hope, mine some
day will lie wid Alice's and the boys', beside them." But his
trust had failed him, and at last the sad day had come when he
must bid farewell, in all human prospect, forever, to his native
land, and seek to earn the living that was denied to him at
home, on a foreign soil. Barnard Hartley sailed from the port
of Limerick, for New York, and from that period none of his

64 THE WATCHMAN.

friends had heard of him. It was this recollection which had
caused George Hartley to remark to Charles Edwards that ho
did not believe if his relatives were living, they were in a posi
tion to befriend him, and he spoke advisedly ; for to the credit
of the Irish character be it said, they are always prompt to
inform their friends if fortune favors them, and to invite them,
to share her gifts." The inference was just, that they were
dead, or in a condition of poverty.

The novel-writer has this advantage, shared in by the novel-
reader that he is not always obliged to wait till time lifts the
veil of obscurity, and explains what to the actual mover and
doer in this world is shrouded in darkness. It is as well that
we explain to the reader at once wherefore it was that Barnard
Hartley and his wife, contrary to the general practice of their
countrymen and women, had never let the folks at home know
of their welfare or of their disappointments they were dead.
Their grave was in the depths of the Atlantic. The moaning
of the winds borne across the heaving waters of the ocean, had
sung their requiem, and the shrill mournful shriek of th| sea-
bird had been for them a wail, more melancholy than ever
came from the lips of crooners at a wake in their native land.
They had not lived to see the land of promise to which they
were hastening.

The good ship Margaret, of Limerick, sailed from that port
for New York, having some four hundred emigrants on board,
in the fall of the year 18 . Some years ago, emigrant ships
were even worse provided than they are now, and that were
needless. It was soon discovered that the Margaret was badly
commanded, badly manned, and badly provisioned. The winds,
too, were adverse, blowing strongly from the westward, and
the vessel consequently made but slow progress on her way
while the continual storms, the crowded state of the vessel, and
the want of proper food being provided, and proper attention
being paid to ventilation, and indeed to every general arrange
ment and discipline, rendered the mortality exceedingly large.

THE WATCHMAN. 65

The vessel became waterlogged on the Banks of Newfoundland,
and the crew took to the boats, leaving the hapless, helpless
passengers to themselves. For days they drifted about in the
fog fortunately it was not the season for ice, or their doom
might soon have been sealed. Death, was busy among them,
until their numbers were twice decimated ; and when at last
the survivors of the unfortunate passengers were picked up by
a passing vessel, it was found that they amounted to no more
than three hundred out of the four hundred who had left Lime
rick, and of these three hundred nearly another hundred died
during the protracted passage made by the vessel which res
cued them to her destined port ; but few more than two hun
dred set foot ashore in New York, and of these a good propor
tion were children and young persons. Death had reaped his
harvest among the matured and the aged, and had spared youth
and childhood. Among those who had died after they had
been removed from the Margaret, were Barnard and Alice
Hartley ; but the child had been spared, and was taken charge
of by a young woman who had come from the same locality in
Ireland, and who had promised the d)>ing mother that she would
>be while she lived a second mother to the infant. Henry
Hartley, the child of Barnard and Alice Hartley, was scarcely
two years. old when his protectors landed with him on the
quay of New York. Faithfully the compassionate young wo
man fulfilled her trust while she lived ; but the hardships she
had endured during the voyage had undermined her constitu
tion. Unable to struggle against poverty in her weakly condi
tion, she was reduced to the very extreme of distress. Still she
would not forsake the babe ; and within a twelvemonth after
her landing she too died in a miserable lodging in the lowest
part of the city, leaving the orphan child to the tender mercies
of strangers. That infant, left thus destitute and friendless, was
the boy Henry Selby, introduced to the reader as found by
the honest watchman, perishing with cold and hunger on the
doorstep in Broadway.
5

66 THE WATCHMAN.

We need scarcely add, that he had been adopted by a vile
old woman, who gave him the surname of Selby, and who, at
first, made him. the pretext for asking charity. Throughout
the coldest days in. winter, scantily clad throughout the hot
test days in summer, exposed to the sun's ardent rays amid
rains and storms and frosts, the poor babe was borne, his cries
unheeded or rather encouraged, in order to elicit charity from
the passers-by, until he grew too old to enact his part, and his
pretended parent grew too old herself to brave the weather ;
and then, with several others, he was taught to work and steal
for the vile creature who had kidnapped him, receiving in return
scant food and ragged, filthy clothing, and an abundance of ill-
usage. What wonder that Henry Selby should, at the age of
six years, have grown to be the rude, ignorant, repulsive child
he was ? What wonder that he knew not anything of the joys
and delights of childhood, of religion, of God ] of naught, but
what a natural instinct teaches to the lowest of the brute crea
tion ? What wonder that for so long a time they who had
shown themselves his most generous friends, should deem him
deficient in gratitude, wanting in every kindly feeling ? That
he had at last, when the hour of parting from his sick benefac
tor came, flung his arms around his neck and begged to be al
lowed to remain with him, was however proof sufficient that
every human feeling, if deadened, had not been lost in the
child's breast that none can sink so low that a tender chord
cannot be reached and that however brutalized be the human
heart, so.me portion of the divine spark will still remain, eveu
nmong the most abused and forsaken of G Dd's creatures.

THE WATCHMAN.

CHAPTER VII.

CHARLES EDWARDS AND GEORGE HARTLEY AT LENGTH OBTAIN
EMPLOYMENT.

" The darkest hour is ever that
Which ushers in the dawn."

WE mentioned in a preceding chapter that better days were
in store for Charles Edwards and George Hartley, both of
whom had been so rudely buffeted by the world since they
had been in New York.

One morning, shortly after the conversation we have re
corded took place, as they walked to their lodgings together
from the pawnbroker's shop in Chatham-street they had set
out, as usual, " the town before them where to choose," yet
scarcely knowing or caring whither they directed their steps.
While passing through Wall-street, looking with a wistful eye
upon the heaps of gold and silver and crisped bundles of bank
bills that lay exposed, as if of no use, in the windows, and
thinking how valuable to them, in their destitute condition,
would be but one of the golden coins in those tempting, glit
tering heaps, Edwards was accosted by a friend he had known
in Montreal one of those fortunate ones, who, as he had re
marked to his friend, had thriven by coming to New York.
Edwards had more than once called upon him, and asked his
assistance, in so far as to help him to employment ; but he had
been but coolly received. The prosperous young man, no
doubt, thought his ci-devant friend would, if he took too great
an interest in his welfare, seek to borrow money of him ; and
therefore he wiseiy took to himself the old adage :

" He who doth his money lend,
Will lose his money and his friend."

(58 THE WATCHMAN.

and not only closely buttoned his breeches pocket, but as far
he could, without actual rudeness, showed his former company,
ion the cold shoulder.

This morning, however, he stopped of his own accord, as they
drew near each other ; perhaps it was because he had on for the
first time a new overcoat which he wished to parade for the
weatner was growing chilly, and he noticed that Edwards had no
overcoat at all (it had gone the way of the watch, during the
mild weather,) while his frock-coat showed evident marks of
wear, and of economy, mingled with unsubdued pride, in the
inked seams, which he innocently hoped nobody would discover,
though their dull hue was as distinguishable as the sun at noon
day. Or, not to be too uncharitable, we will suppose that this
friend really wished his ancient but impoverished companion
well ; and hearing that a situation was vacant hi a large house
in the city, told him of it, in order that he might make early
application for it.

" Ah, Edwards, how do you do ? " was his greeting. " Why
it's an age since I have met you. How do you get on. Any
thing in view yet 1 "

" Nothing," replied Edwards, disconsolately.

" Nothing ! and you have been here three months and more.
Why, I wasn't here three weeks before I got employment.
You are too bashful, man. You should have more brass ; go
in everywhere, and tease them until they do something for you.
Why, bless me, if I had shown too much mock-modesty, I
should now be still wandering the streets, as .you are. That
reminds me, by-the-bye, I heard yesterday that Wilson & Co.,
the great bankers and brokers, wanted a clerk. In fact, they
applied to me to take the situation ; but I refused. You see,
it is but a junior's place, and there is little hope of rising in a
house like that, into which the first merchants in the city would
be glad to get their sons. I have eight hundred dollars a-year
where I am, at Dowlas & Co.'s, the importers, and they won't
give more than five or six hundred, at the most."

THE WATCHMAN. 69

** Do you think there is any chance of my getting the place,
if I apply for it 1 " asked Edwards.

" Why, I should say not. You will excuse me. Your
appearance, you see : that old hat. My dear fellow, every
thing in New York depends upon appearance, and more espe
cially on the appearance of one's castor. You used to be a
spruce-looking fellow in Montreal. I wonder you don't dress
up a little here. You are getting dreadfully slovenly. 'Pou
my soul, you are. You should dress better indeed you
should. What's that ; nine o'clock striking ? I ought to be
at the office. You must excuse my abruptness. Good-bye.
Recollect the situation at Wilson & Co.'s though there's no
chance of your getting it, if you apply for it in that old
beaver."

And the gay clerk hastened away to his employer's office.

" What a conceited booby ! " exclaimed Hartley, as he
turned round, and watched him going.down the street, glancing
at the reflection of his person in the plate-glass windows.
" But it is such fellows as he who manage to get on in the
world. As he says, ' A little brass ' in one's face, and a little
swagger and impudence in one's manner, go a long way."

" I knew him in Montreal, when he had scarcely a decent
garment to wear," replied Edwards, in a disconsolate tone.

" But what about this situation at Wilson & Co.'s ; you will
of course apply for it 1 "

" No ; I shall only meet with a refusal ; perhaps with
insult. Potters, fool as he is, spoke truly. Appearance is
everything."

"You don't mean to say that you will let the chance
slip by 7 "

' I do. I am weary of being refused ; weary of trying to
succeed. If, indeed, it were in some smaller house; but at
Wilson & Co.'s ! No, it would merely be a waste of time,
besides running the chance of additional disappointment."

70 THE WATCHMAN.

" I think you are acting foolishly," said Hartley ; " but, since
you will not apply for the berth, I will."

" You ! "

Yes, I."

" You will be refused."

" And if I am, I shall be no worse off than I am now, and
shall be satisfied that I have left no stone unturned. I am an
Irishman, Edwards, and I stick to Hope as my sheet-anchor, to
the last. But you are resolved not to make application 1 You
have the first right to do so, you know."

" I am resolved not to apply there. Did not Potters say he
knew I should fail 1 Has not he himself declined to accept the
situation 1 "

" So he says ! perhaps he never had the chance. I shall try,
at all events, if you will not."

" I shall not."

" Then, good morning. We shall meet at dinner-time, and
I will tell you how things turn out."

Hartley parted with his friend at the top of the street, and
went direct to Wilson & Co.'s, while Edwards pursued his
customaryuseless morning walk ; and at the dinner hour they
met again at the boarding-house.

" Well," said Edwards, when they had retired after dinner
to the little chamber they occupied in common : " how did you
succeed at Wilson & Co.'s ? A flat refusal to engage you, of
course ? "

" No, by no means. I was received very kindly ; had a
long talk with one of the partners, and am to call to-morrow
morning."

" You don't mean to say you are engaged ? What a fool I
have been ! "

" Not exactly engaged : but I am to write a letter, to show
my handwriting and style, and to deliver it this afternoon,
and to-morrow I am to call and see Mr. Wilson again."

"You are fortunate so far," said Edwards; "but it will

THE WATCHMAN. 71

come to nothing. It is merely a waste of time. What did
they say to you ? "

" J went in, and fortunately happened to speak to young Mr.
Wilson. ' I understand, sir,' said I, ' that you are in want of a
junior clerk ? '

" ' We were thinking of engaging one,' said he ; ' but we
have not advertised, nor don't intend to. How did you learn
that we wanted to engage any one ? '

" ' I met a young man, who is employed in the house of
Dowlas & Co., sir, and he said such was the case.'

" ' Ah,' said the gentleman, ' I recollect now. I was saying
something of the kind to Mr. Dowlas, yesterday, and I asked
him if he knew of a young man he could recommend. The
clerk must have heard our conversation. So you have applied
for the place, eh ? ' and, as I thought, he looked rather suspi
ciously at me.

" ' Yes, sir,' I replied.

" ' What are your qualifications ? Where have you been
engaged ? Who were you with last ? and why have you left
your situation 1 ' he asked, all in a breath.

" ' I have never been in any situation in this city, sir,' I
answered. ' I am from Dublin, and have been now nearly
four months seeking, in vain, for employment.'

" ' Indeed ! ' said he ; and again he gave me a searching
glance, as though he would look me through. ' I should think
that an honest and capable young man, well recommended,
need not be for four months vainly seeking employment here.'

" ' Ah ! sir,' I said, ' you have never known, and can never
know the difficulties that the friendless stranger, without means,
has to contend with, in this city. I would have been happy to
have accepted the humblest honest occupation, if I could have
obtained it.'

" ' I like that expression, ' honest occupation,' said he ' but
I fear you will be hardly qualified to fill the place we want a
young man for. You have testimonials, of course ? '

72 THE WATCHMAN.

" * From Dublin, sir.'

** ' From Dublin ? None from any one in the city ? '

" ' How can I have, when I have never had any occupation
here, sir,' I said.

" ' True,' he replied ; ' but I fear testimonials from Dublin
will not be of much value. However, let me see them.'

" I showed him letters from Hackett & Sons, of Dublin,
and he carefully perused them scrutinizing the handwriting
closely.

" ' These testimonials speak well of you, young man,' said he,
* and I happen to know Mr. Hackett. This is his handwriting
and signature.' filie Wilsons are from Dublin, I hear.) ' If,
from further examination, I find you are equal to what Mr.
Hackett has said, I may be able to do something for you. Now
go home, and write me a letter short, concise, and to the pur
pose. Write just as well as you can, both with regard to style
and handwriting ; bring the letter here this afternoon, and
leave it ; and to-morrow morning, at ten o'clock, precisely, call
here, and I will talk with you further.'

" I thanked him, came home, and now I am going to write
my letter."

" You are fortunate in more ways than one. I was foolish,
in not applying myself," said Edwards ; " but perhaps I
should have been rejected. The fact that this gentleman is
acquainted with your late employers in Ireland, will go far in
your favor."

" I hope so," answered Hartley, as he set to work to write,
and Edwards, taking his hat, strolled out again, to trudge the
dreary streets.

Hartley delivered his letter, and full of hope that his appli
cation would be successful, he returned home, and gave himself
a holiday for the remainder of the day, much to the annoyance
of his landlady, who, not knowing anything of his prospects,
imagined he was growing idle, and expressed her opinion to the
housemaid, that that chap Hartley was getting lazy, and she re-

THE WATCHMAN. 73

solved in her own mind, that if he did not pay his next week's
board, regular, he should tramp. " She wouldn't put up with
no such idlers in her house, she wouldn't."

Edwards came home at supper-time, unsuccessful as usual ;
and both retired to rest at the usual hour ten o'clock when
all lights were put out.

On the following morning, Hartley, whose anxiety respect
ing the fate of his letter, kept him from sleeping, rose early,
and the two friends did not meet until after dinner, when they
both again found themselves in the chamber.

" Well, Hartley," said Edwards, " how have you succeeded ?
what was the fate of the letter upon which you built such
hopes 1 "

" I am engaged as assistant book-keeper at Messrs. Wilson &
Co.'s Banking-House," replied Hartley.

" Y ou don't say so 1 Engaged ! " exclaimed Edwards.

" Engaged, Charles ; and I am to go there to-morrow morn-
ing."

" You are fortunate, George. I might have had the chance ;
but I wilfully refused to avail myself of it. Nevertheless, I
wish you joy. Now, let me hear how you got on."

" Well," said Hartley, " I called at ten o'clock at the office.
I was waiting opposite at nine, and I saw Mr. Wilson go in ;
but he said ten o'clock, and I was determined to be punctual to
his hour, not mine. As the clock of Trinity Church struck ten,
I entered the office, and asked if Mr. Wilson was within,
although I well knew he was there.

" ' Yes,' was the reply.

'"Will you tell him Mr. Hartley has called?' I said. One
of the clerks went in and delivered my message, while the
others, occasionally glancing at me, whispered together. I have
no doubt they were wondering what so shabbily dressed a fel
low as I, could want with Mr. Wilson. Presently the clerk
returned and said, that Mr. Wilson requested me to step into
his private room.
4

74 THE WATCHMAN.

" I went in.

' ' Mr. Hartley,' said he, ' I am. well pleased with your
letter, and I have resolved, on the strength of that and my old
friend Hackett's recommendation, to give you a trial. You can
take your place at the desk to-morrow. By-the-by, we have
said nothing with regard to salary. What salary do you
expect 1 '

" I answered that I would leave the amount of salary to him.

" ' No,' said he ; ' that is one of your old country notions.
We don't do things in that way here. Name some certain sum,
and I will then say whether I deem it a just remuneration for
the services I expect of you.'

" I was in a quandary, Charles, I can tell you. I was fear
ful of naming too little, and equally fearful of naming a sum
that he would think too much. I thought of the respectability
of the house, and at last said,

"' Will five hundred dollars a-year suit you, sir ? '

" ' Are you a married man, Mr. Hartley ? ' he asked.

" ' No, sir,' said I.

" ' I am sorry for that,' he replied. ' We would sooner that
all our clerks were married men. We have more faith in their
steadiness. Had you been a married man, I should have offered
you seven hundred dollars to begin with ; but I think six hun
dred is sufficient for all the reasonable expenses of a young man
in your position five is too little : and, furthermore, if you
behave yourself well, and give satisfaction at the end of the
year, you will receive a compliment on the occasion of our
making up our accounts at Christmas. We give that to all our
clerks : but take my advice, Mr. Hartley ; get married as
soon as possible. You will find it better in every respect, and
a saving, believe me, in the end.'

" I promised to take the advice so kindly given, especially as
I lost a good hundred dollars a-year through my single blessed
ness. That's the whole of my story. You see, it was to some
purpose we met Potters yesterday; though, by right, you
should have got the situation, Charles."

THE WATCHMAN. 75

" By no means. I was foolish, in not making the applica
tion, I grant ; but, perhaps after all, I should have not suc
ceeded as well as you. Six hundred dollars a-year ! do you
say ? "

" Yes, six hundred ! Is it not a munificent sum ] "

" It is. What would I give for half that, for the sake of my
poor wife and family 1 "

" And if you had obtained it, the salary would have been
seven hundred."

" Well, well, I am glad you have got it, George. Let me
hope, since you have succeeded, that something may be in
store for me."

The conversation ceased, and the next morning Hartley went
to his new situation, and through him Edwards was not long
before he obtained employment. A member of the wealthy
house of Oliver & Co., wholesale druggists, called at Messrs.
Wilsons, on business, and happening to mention in Hartley's
hearing, that he was in want of a young man, as an assistant in
his establishment, Hartley took the liberty of recommending
his friend. The result was that Charles Edwards was pres
ently engaged, at a salary of five hundred dollars a-year.

He shortly afterwards brought his family to New York, and
here for the present, we shall leave the two young men, while
we return to the watchman whom w left, just rising from a
sick bed.

7b THE WATCHMAN.

CHAPTER VIII.

HENRY SELBY'S DEPARTURE FROM MR. BLUNT'S HOUSE.

" Ye whose clay-cold heads and lukewarm hearts can argue down, or
mask your passions, tell me what trespass it is that man should havo
them ? " STERNE'S SENTIMENTAL JOUBNEY.

ALTHOUGH Joseph Carter was again enabled to perform the
duties of a watchman and attend to his employment as a cart-
man during the day, he had received so much injury from the
accident at the fire, that he was never afterwards the healthy,
vigorous man he had been. Still for some years he followed
his usual course of life the only difference being that he was
sometimes compelled to remain at home, instead of going out
with his cart, after he had had to perform night duty. His
wife very much wished him to send in his resignation to the
Corporation, and' to attend solely to his daily avocations ; but
the office of watchman was a tolerably remunerative one, and
as we have heretofore observed, Joseph had an object in view
in retaining it, namely : the setting aside the money thus
earned, for the purpose of educating his children.

After this fashion things proceeded until Carter's son was
thirteen, and his daughter Ellen nine years of age, when think
ing it was time to put his boy to learn some vocation, and find
ing that his little fund was amply sufficient to enable him to
continue his daughter at school for some years longer, he
resolved on the expiration of the term then pending, to resign
his humble official duties. Henry Selby still remained at
Mr. Blunt's. At first, as the worthy merchant had anticipated,
he was of very little use. As Mr. Blunt's cook-maid used to
say, " the little brat was neither fit for use nor ornament."

THE WATCHMAN. 77

But he was sent regularly to school until he was ten years old,
when he was employed in such offices about the house and
garden of his employer as suited his tender years.

He frequently called to see the watchman to whom he was
so much indebted for rescuing him, in all human probability,
from a career of wretchedness and vice, and perhaps from an
early and ignominious end. He ever showed gratitude to the
watchman, after the first occasion of his having made such a
demonstration, when he was about leaving his benefactor's
house to go home with Mr. Blunt ; but to him alone was this
feeling exhibited. He was a tolerably good boy setting aside
his occasional mischievous pranks in the kitchen which, per-
haps, had he been other than what he was, would scarcely have
been noticed to his detriment ; but towards Mr. Blunt himself
and the members of his family, he maintained a stolid be
havior, which was by no means calculated to make him a
favorite. Mr. Blunt was often urged to discard him, by his
friends ; and though he turned a deaf ear to this advice, he fre
quently lectured the lad seriously urging upon him the pro
priety of his being grateful for the benefits he was receiving^
and of his showing a cheerful countenance when called upon to
render any service, and also inculcating pretty strongly the
virtue of obedience ; the result of this was that he grew seem
ingly more hardened than ever. He did what he was told to
do ; but not as if it were a pleasure to him to do it rather as
if it were an unpleasant task, which, the sooner it was got over,
the better. To one only being besides Joseph Carter, did he
appear really attached, and that one was Ellen, the cartmaivs
daughter. Her he appeared to love with all the ardor of child
ish affection, and upon her, on the occasion of his visits to the
family in Mulberry-street, he bestowed all the little trifles and
trinkets he was enabled to procure, with the small amount of
pocket-money which fell to his share.

And the little girl was grateful for this attachment, and
would take his part, when her mother would remark to her

78 THE WATCHMAN".

husband, that she believed the child to have come of the vilest
of parents, for he appeared deficient in all those qualities which
render childhood amiable.

" Henry Selby is so often teased, dear mother, about being
ungrateful and sullen," the child would say, " that it is no won
der he is so to those who torment him ; but I am sure he is
grateful to papa. He always looks so pleased when he comes
into the house and finds him at home ; and how kind he is to
me. See, to-day he brought me this work-box, bought out
of his own money, and he hasn't much to spend. If people
would let him alone, and not always be telling him how good
he ought to be, he would be cheerful with every body, I be
lieve."

And Henry, it would appear, possessed something of the
same feeling himself, for he would remark to the housemaid,
who was his only confidant in Mr. Blunt's establishment, and
who would sometimes remonstrate with him herself on the
subject :

" If they would only let me alone and not be telling me to
laugh whether I like or no, p'raps I should please 'em better ;
^ut Mr. Blunt is always scolding and lecturing me ; and El-
wood (Mr. Blunt's son,) always speaks to me as if I was a beg
gar in the streets ; and Mrs. Blunt I know she hates me and
I won't try to please 'em any better. I don't want to stay
here at all ; I'm almost big enough to go to sea, and I want to
go to sea ; I don't want to grow up to be Mr. Blunt's nor no
body else's servant."

" Still you should be thankful to Mr. Blunt for what he has
done for you sending you to school, and taking care of you,
and all that," the housemaid would reply.

" And so I am ; p'raps some day Mr. Blunt will see I am :
but I can't be always telling of him so."

" But how much more comfortable you are here than you
would be aboard ship, where they beats the boys about and
sends 'em up the great high masts, and keeps 'em up all night

/rlE WATCHMAN. 79

in the cold and min better to be a servant, a slave, than that,
Henry," the girl would argue.

" No it ain't, and I won't stay to be brought up to be a ser
vant neither," the boy would reply. " I can't go and be no
trade that I should like, because I haven't got any body to take
care of me whilst I'm learning it ; but I can go to sea, and
p'raps some day be captain of a ship of my own. I've
seen captains down at Mr. Blunt's office, and I've heard 'em say
that they once was only boys aboard ships."

The servant always found it was useless to argue the point ;
besides, she did not believe the child was in earnest, and though
she was more partial to him than any one else belonging to the
household, she was more than half inclined to think, herself,
that he was an ungrateful little fellow, whom it would be diffi
cult to make anything of.

During these four years a great change had taken place in
the boy's appearance ; his form had filled out and he had
grown tall, very tall for his age, and his light red hair had
become several shades darker, and might now very fairly pass
for dark auburn. His complexion was remarkably fair and
clear ; the tan and freckles which had disfigured it had disap
peared altogether ; his features, though not regular, were of a
bold, manly cast; and his limbs were well moulded; he pro
mised to become, if not a handsome, a very personable man.
His progress at school had been rapid, and much as he was
disliked at his home, he was a favorite with his teachers, who
said anything could be done with him with gentle treatment,
and who held him up as a model to the other boys.

One night Mr. Blunt gave an entertainment at his house, and
for the first time Henry Selby was ordered to attend the table.
He ooeyed, although evidently with a reluctance, which elicited
two or three severe reproofs from the merchant. Elwood
Blunt was fit the table ; he had never liked the boy, who had
always been a sort of " butt " to him, and noticing his dislike

SO THE WATCHMAN.

of the occupation, he took occasion to give him several orders
in a particularly imperious manner.

When he was dismissed from the room, the chambermaid
noticed that he was more than usually discomposed, and she
kindly asked him what was the matter.

" I won't stay here any longer, that I won't," was his pas
sionate response. " Mr. Blunt has been scolding me before all
the strange company : and Elwood thinks he can treat me like
a nigger slave, because his father has kept me so long. I wish
Mr. Carter hadn't never found me, then I should have died."

" Don't say so, Henry," said the girl. " 1 am a servant, you
see, and you don't hear me complain. Servants must learn to
obey orders."

" You are a woman," was the boy's reply. " I shall be a
man, if I live and men ha'nt no right to be servants, and 1
won't be."

"Well, I'm sure !" exclaimed the kind-hearted, well-meaning
housemaid vexed, in spite of herself, at the boy's impertinent
response " I'm afraid, Henry, you won't come to no good."

" Not if I stay here, I'm sure I shan't," was the reply, as the
boy brushed out of the kitchen, and went up stairs to his bed
room.

In a few moments he returned, and advancing to the cham
bermaid, said ;

" Sarah, you have always been kind to me when nobody else
has. If soon you should find me gone, don't think badly of
me. And if Mr. Blunt should call me ungrateful, and you
should hear him, tell him what I told you to-night, that I hoped
he would live to alter his opinion."

" Why, what does the boy mean 1 " asked the astonished
servant maid.

" I mean what 1 say. You will understand it soon enough,"
he answered ; and, without waiting for a reply, hurried from
the room.

"I can't understand that boy," said the housemaid to herself

THE WATCHMAN. 81

when he had left. " Sometimes I do think his heart is in the
right place ; and yet he is a strange child."

An hour afterwards, just as the family of the Watchman
were about retiring to rest it was Carter's night on duty, and
he was from home there came a loud knock at the door,
which was opened by Mrs. Carter ; and to the surprise and
consternation of all, Henry Selby entered, with a bundle in his
hand.

" Why, goodness ! Henry. What brings you here at this
hour ? " said Mrs. Carter.

" To bid you good-bye for a long time," was the boy's
reply.

" To bid us good-bye ! Why, where are you going ? "

" To sea."

" To sea ! " exclaimed Mrs. Carter.

" To sea ! " exclaimed Ellen. " W"hy, Henry, what are you
going to sea for ? Don't go you'll be drowned, sure."

" I wish I was going with you," said William Carter, from
beneath the bed-clothes for he was already undressed " I
should like to go to sea, only mother won't let me."

" Hold your silly tongue, child," said Mrs. Carter to her
son. And then addressing Henry, she continued :

"What has put this foolish whim into your head, Henry?
Does Mr. Blunt know you are going 1 "

" No."

" Nor my husband 1 "

" No ; nobody knows, but the mate of a ship who promised
to take rne on board, one day last week, when I was down at
Mr. Blunt's store."

" And you are going away without Mr. Blunt's permission,
and without bidding Joseph good-bye ! who has been so kind
to you. Oh, Henry ! I fear you are a wicked boy."

"Mama," said Ellen, in her sweet, childish accents, " 1 don't
think Henry means to be wicked. Do you Henry ? " she
added addressing him, and taking his hand in hers.

82 THE WATCHMAN.

" No, Nelly and they will all know that by-and-bye" he
replied. Then speaking to Mrs. Carter, he continued

" Aunt, I do wish to see Uncle Joseph before I go, very
much and I will see him if I can but I called here to-night
because I knew he was away, on watch. I was afraid he would
send me back to Mr. Blunt. But, tell him I thank him for all
his kindness to me, and that I shall never forget him, nor you ;
nor yow, Nelly " and he threw his arms around the little girl's
neck, and kissing her, burst into a flood of passionate tears.

Mrs. Carter was softened by this display of childish feeling
for Henry was still but a child of ten years old, though tall
and stout enough to appear fourteen.

" I think you are doing very wrong," she said, " but you
will not take my advice. I am afraid Mr. Blunt, and Joseph
too, will think very badly of you."

" I can't help it. I've tried to but I can't help it," he
replied, still sobbing. " Good-bye good-bye, Nelly." And
he rushed from the room.

Tears stood in Mrs. Carter's eyes, and little Nelly was
weeping bitterly ; but after a time they retired to rest.

Shortly after Henry Selby had left the house, Joseph Carter
saw a lad on the opposite side of the street, gazing earnestly
at him. He had a bundle in his hand, and the Watchman
naturally suspected that he Avas some young thief, who was
scrutinizing him and he struck his club on the pavement, and
started in pursuit.

A handkerchief was waved towards him, and then the boy
fled down the street at full speed, and turning down a by-street,
was soon lost to his pursuer.

Meanwhile, another watchman had come up, responding to
the signal of his comrade.

" What is the matter, Carter 1 " he asked.

" Why," replied Joseph, " I fancy some young vagrant has
been thieving, for I saw a boy on the opposite side of the street
with a large bundle in his hand, and I'm sure he had no busi

THE WATCHMAN 83

ness out at this time of night ; he couldn't be a-going of any
errand after ten o'clock, and the young rascal, whoever he was,
ran away when 1 called to him, and had the impudence to
flaunt his handkerchief at me."

" Which way has he gone 1 "

" Down Liberty-street ; but he ran like a colt when I pur
sued him, and before this is half a mile off."

The guardian of the night returned to his beat, and Joseph
met with no further interruption that night.

When he returned home in the morning his wife told him of
the visit she had had on the previous evening.

" That explains it," said Joseph. " It was Henry, poor fel
low, who waved his handkerchief at me. I do wish he had
spoken to me ; he needn't have been afraid of my sending him
back, if he didn't want to go, though, perhaps, I should have
done wrong in not detaining him ; I thought he was some young
thief."

" Let us hope he has had no occasion to leave Mr. Blunt so
suddenly," said Mrs. Carter, her rooted distrust of the boy re
turning in full force. "Perhaps, husband, your suspicions
were correct."

" Oh, mamma ! " said Ellen, " Henry Selby a thief! I'm
sure he ain't, mamma."

" You wrong that boy, wife," replied Joseph. " He is a
strange child, but I would stake my life upon his honesty aye,
and his gratitude too. He is misunderstood."

" So he seems to fancy, child as he is," returned Mrs. Carter.
" Pray God you may be correct in your opinions, husband."

" Nelly and I will place faith in him until we are satisfied he
is unworthy, won't we, Nelly?" said Joseph, addressing his
daughter.

" Yes, papa ; I don't think Henry is very wicked," said the
artless child.

"Well," resumed Joseph, "I shall see Mr. Blunt in the
course of the day, and then I shall perhaps hear some explana-

84 THE WATCHMAN.

tion of what now appears mysterious. Perhaps, after all, the
boy has not gone. Jt may have been only a childish whim."

The wearied watchman sat down to his breakfast, for it was
now summer-time, and his family had risen when he came off
his beat. And then he took a few hours rest ; after which he
proceeded to Mr. Blunt's store.

The first exclamation from Mr. Blunt when he saw Joseph
enter was

" So, Joseph, that boy Selby's off."

" Indeed, sir ! " said Joseph, who thought it best to know
nothing of the matter.

" Yes ; he started off last night, it appears ; and from a let
ter, written in a great, round, school-boy's hand, which he left
in his bedroom addressed to me, he tells me that he has gone
to sea on board the Sea Gull, which sailed this morning at
daylight for the East Indies. He tells me in the letter that he
thanks me for my kindness to him, and says he shall never
forget it, and that some day he hopes to prove his gratitude,
but that he has long resolved to go to sea. That is all the
explanation of his conduct that he gives. I'm afraid, Joseph,
he's a bad boy."

" Let us not judge him harshly, sir. May be he'll turn out
a bright man. He didn't take anything away with him that
wasn't his own, sir *? "

" No, Carter, not a pin's worth. My wife would have it
that he had stolen something, and strict search was made, but
he has taken nothing but what is his own. Even the best suit,
that I got him, and that he put on yesterday for the first time
to wait at table in, was left. He especially stated that he had
left it because he thought he had no right to consider it as his
own. I thought of bringing him up as a house-servant, but
really the boy has such independent notions, that perhaps it is
best that he should rough it a little. A sea voyage will bring
him to his senses. Still I believe the child, wretched as was
his condition when you first found him, is honest."

THE WATCHMAN". 85

" Let us be thankful for that, sir," said Joseph. " He might
have grown up to be a thief had he been left to his own evil
courses. That thought, sir, repays me amply for my trouble ;
and I do hope and think that he will turn out better than most
people seem to fancy."

" I hope he may, Joseph," answered Mr. Blunt, in a some
what doubtful tone, and thus the conversation ended.

The merchant entered his office, and the cartman went to his
work.

In a fortnight from the period of Henry Selby's departure,
he was almost forgotten by all except the Watchman and his
little daughter Ellen.

84 THE WATCHMAN.

tion of what now appears mysterious. Perhaps, after all, the
boy has not gone. It may have been only a childish whim."

The first exclamation from Mr. Blunt when he saw Joseph
enter was

" So, Joseph, that boy Selby's off."

" Indeed, sir ! " said Joseph, who thought it best to know
nothing of the matter.

" Let us not judge him harshly, sir. May be he'll turn out
a bright man. He didn't take anything away with him that
wasn't his own, sir ? "

THE WATCHHAK 85

" I hope he may, Joseph," answered Mr. Blunt, in a some
what doubtful tone, and thus the conversation ended.

The merchant entered his office, and the cartman went to his
work.

In a fortnight from the period of Henry Selby's departure,
he was almost forgotten by all except the Watchman and his
little daughter Ellen.

88 THE WATCHMAN.

Ellis has the sweetest new cashmere shawl I ever set eyes
upon."

" Indeed, my dear," was the reply of George, who still went
on with his accounts.

Mrs. Hartley sat silently for a while ; but it was evident
from her fidgetiness, that she had not told her husband this
piece of feminine intelligence to rest satisfied with a simple
" indeed ! "

" Ellen," said George, at length looking up from his papers,
" 1 wish the next time you go out you would tell Mr. Riley to
send in the coals I ordered ; he will be forgetting the order,
and I see they are likely to be very high this winter."

" Really, George," replied Mrs. Hartley, " I am ashamed to
go out with the shabby shawl I had in spring."

" In the summer, my dear," interrupted her husband. " You
know I bought you the shawl after we were married, and that
was in June ; I should think it ought to last you at any rate
this winter."

" I think, George," returned Mrs. Hartley, " you like to see
me dressed more shabbily than the neighbors ; I declare I am
quite a sight when I go out. I met Mrs. Ellis and Mrs. Thomp
son one day last week in Broadway, coming out of Stewart's ;
and after I had bowed to them, I saw them whispering together,
and I'm sure it was about my dowdy appearance they were
talking."

"And if they were, talking does no harm."

" Oh ! no that is just like one of your unfeeling speeches
' talking does no harm ' folks can make as much fun as they
please of your wife."

" I don't see, Ellen, that they can do either you or I any
great harm by making fun of us, as you call it. You know as
well as I that we must practice economy, and that of the strict
est, or get irretrievably in debt."

" And be meaner than our neighbors, and become the laugh
ing-stock of the street ? "

THE WATCHMAN. g9

"Yes, if they ehoose to laugh."

" And you don't mear to get new curtains for the parlor this
winter 1 "

" No, Ellen ; you know as well as I that the furniture we
have now is not paid "for, nor do I know when it will be. It
would be madness for me with my small salary to run more
deeply into debt."

" I am sure, for Mrs. Ellis told me, that Thompson hasn't
over eight hundred dollars a-year, George, and yet their house
is better furnished than ours."

" There is some difference, Ellen, between six hundred and
eight hundred dollars a-year. In salaries so small as mine two
hundred dollars is a very material increase ; besides, the
Thompsons' and the Ellis's have been a long time married, and
they have not been put to the expense of purchasing a large
quantity of furniture all at once as we have. There's Jane's
month up to-day, and I find when I've paid her her wages and
such little bills as must be settled immediately, I shan't have
one cent of my six months' salary left ; not a penny to go to
satisfy Wilson for the furniture. I don't know what he'll say."

" Well, we may do without the curtains, though ours are so
shabby that I am ashamed of them ; but, George, you know I
must have a new shawl."

" My dear, you cannot have one just now, that's certain,"
said Hartley.

" Then I can't go out with Mrs. Ellis as I promised to next
week. I know what she'll say."

" I don't know why you can't, Ellen. Ellis is in the same
office with me. He is the book-keeper and knows exactly how
much my salary is, and the circumstances under which I en
gaged. His wife knows as well as you that I can't afford to
buy expensive articles. I think the shame would lie in their
knowing that we were careless about getting into debt."

Mrs. Hartley sat sulkily for a few minutes, during which

90 THE WATCHMAN.

period her husband called up the servant-girl and paid her her
month's wages.

" I think Jane could have waited for her money at least,
when you know how useful a few dollars would be to me just
now. George ; but it's just like you. You take pleasure in
denying your wife every little indulgence. I was going to ask
you to hire a piano, but I might as well ask the man in the
moon."

" A piano, Ellen ! why, what are you talking about ] " ex
claimed the astonished husband ; " why, you don't play ! "

" It's time that I was taking lessons, Mr. Hartley ; besides,
a house looks so beggarly without a piano ; one can't ask one's
friends to play. There's hardly one of our acquaintances but
has a piano-forte in the house. I suppose you don't mean
either, to give a party in return for Mrs. Ellis's. You are re
solved to annoy me every way you can."

" Ellen, you are talking nonsense. Give a party ! hire a
piano, to stand useless in our parlor ! Why you must be out
of your senses ; haven't I told you that I have not a penny in
the world to call my own until the next quarter's salary is due 1
.1 beg of you, if you cannot talk more reasonably, to be silent.
I am tired of hearing such absurdity."

Words might have waxed high, had not further colloquy
been interrupted by a ring at the door-bell, and the entrance of
the servant-girl, who said that Mr. Edwards had called.

" How annoying," said Mrs. Hartley, sotto voce. " What
can he want here at this time of night 1 "

" Yes," answered her husband, " very annoying ;" for neither
were in a mood to entertain visitors. " Show Mr. Edwards in,
Jane."

"Ah! Edwards," he exclaimed, as the young man entered,
"I'm glad to see you. Sit down what's new ? "

*' Nothing that I am aware of," replied Edwards, rather
moodily.

Mis. Hartley, after exchanging a few words of conversation

THE WATCHMAN. 91

with the young man, rose and left the room. She was in no
mood to do the hostess agreeably, and she wished her husband
to perceive it, so she retired to nurse her wrath.

" Hartley," said Edwards, as soon as the door was closed,
"can you lend me ten dollars till next week, I am in especial
need of it ; that in fact is what has brought me here to-night."

" I cannot, indeed, Edwards. I have not half that sum in the
world. I am sorry I should wish to oblige you if I could."

Edwards looked disappointed, and as if he thought that his
friend could lend him the money if he chose. He did not, in
fact, care to disguise his displeasure; and after making a few
careless remarks, he rose to leave.

Hartley felt distressed both at his inability to refuse his
friend, of whom he thought highly ; and also at the idea that
he should think he had purposely refused his assistance, for he
perceived what was passing in Edwards' mind.

" Shall you be at the store at ten o'clock to-morrow 1 " he
asked.

" Yes," replied Edwards.

" Then I will see what I can do. I can, perhaps, borrow the
money for you."

Edwards' countenance brightened. "Ten o'clock 1 " he repeat-
ed. " Yes, if you call at ten, not later, it will do."

" You will of course repay the money when you promise,
because you know I shall have to borrow it, and of course
shall be expected to repay it punctually ] "

" I will repay it as I have promised ; but for Heaven's sake,
Hartley, don't be later than ten o'clock."

" Not if I can help it," answered Hartley, and Edwards
shook his hand and took his leave.

There was something so strange in the young man's deport
ment ; he was so gloomy and morose ; so different from his
usual bearing, that Hartley could not help observing it. But
he had been so annoyed during the evening, in consequence of
the little quarrel he had had with his wife, that he soon forgot

92 THE WATCHMAN.

all about his friend, and after sitting a short time waiting in
vain for Mrs. Hartley's return, he went to bed, probably to be
regaled with a curtain lecture before he slept. Whatever
occurred in that private sanctuary, we know not ; but the next
morning Mrs., Hartley was all smiles and good humor, and
George, on his way to the office, called in at a dry goods store,
with the proprietor of which he was acquainted, and ordered
some shawls to be sent to his house for his wife to choose one
from. Of course, to be charged to his account.

Hartley reached the office at eight o'clock, and remembering
his promise of the preceding night to Edwards, he succeeded in.
borrowing the money of Ellis, and then saying that he had
some business of importance to attend to, he was about to quit
the office and proceed to the store where Edwards was employed,
when one of the members of the firm entered, and walking
straight to his desk, requested him as the least busy of the
clerks to copy some letters for him.

Hartley, of course, was obliged to comply, and he was thus
detained till noon, when having half an hour's leisure, he took
his hat and hastened to the store.

" Is Mr. Edwards within ? " he asked of the proprietor.

" No, sir, Mr. Edwards is not within ; he has left," said the
person addressed, abruptly, and then recognizing Hartley, he
added, " Ah ! Mr. Hartley, you are just the man I wanted to
see. I engaged Mr. Edwards upon your recommendation,
thinking that your knowledge of his character was satisfactory,
and believing you to be trustworthy, in consequence of youi
being in the employ of the highly respectable firm of Messrs.
Wilson. I am very sorry to inform you sir, that I, and 1
hope you likewise, have been deceived in Edwards. He has
deceived me robbed me, sir 1 have turned him adrift, and
he may be thankful he is not now in the Tombs."

"Mr. Oliver," stammered Hartley, "I am shocked, and as
much astonished as yourself. You wrong me by insinuating
that I must have known Edwards to have been undeserving

THE WATCHMAN. 93

You know that I told you how I became acquainted with him,
at the time you engaged him. I did not vouch to his good
character, although I said, as I believed up to this moment, that
I thought him honest and in every way trustworthy. I have
called now to lend him money which he soughtyto borrow of
me last night : but 1 had it not then in my house. I promised
to be here at ten o'clock this morning, but I have been unavoid
ably detained." *

" Excuse me, Mr. Hartley," replied the merchant. " I was
annoyed at the idea of being swindled, as I find I have been,
by a young man whom I wished to befriend ; and I spoke
harshly, without thinking of what I was saying. It is true that
you told me how your acquaintance with Edwards came about.
But you say he wished you to be here at ten o'clock. May I
inquire the amount of the sum he wished to borrow from you 1 "

" Ten dollars, only," answered Hartley.

" Ten dollars, at ten o'clock ! Humph the scoundrel.
Could he have obtained that sum at that hour, I should still
have been ignorant of his roguery, and he might have gone on
still robbing me with impunity. He was desired by me to
put some cash in the safe last night before leaving the store,
it being too late to take it to the bank, and he did so before I
left, taking the key of the safe with me. He must have ab
stracted the ten dollars I found missing when I came at ten
o'clock this morning, at that time, and was in hopes to have
got it from you, so that when he was told to count it and take
it to the bank this morning, the tale would be correct. As it
was, I might have been deceived and have thought that I had
myself been mistaken, had I not noticed his disturbed manner.
I said nothing : but dispatched him to the bank as if I suspected
nothing wrong, and while he was away closely examined his
books. My principal book keeper has been ill for some weeks
past, and his duties have devolved upon Edwards. I found
that ever since the period of his first taking hold of them, he
has been robbing me. Every entry s falsified, and accounts

94 THE WATCHMAN.

remain uncredited, which to my certain knowledge are paid.
I challenged him with the fraud when he returned, and he then
tremblingly confessed his guilt. I was on the point of sending
for an officer and having him arrested ; but he pleaded earnestly,
said it was his first direlection from the path of honesty 1
hope it is and unwilling to ruin the young man forever, I
perhaps foolishly, allowed him to go away unmolested, having
first exacted a promise from him that he would remain at his
lodgings, so that I could find him if I wished. I don't suppose
he will do so, though I shall think better of him, if he does.
The amount is not a very great deal, or I could not afford to be
thus, perhaps, improperly lenient."

" May I ask what is the amount, sir ? " asked the astonished
Hartley.

" I cannot say exactly ; but some two or three hundred
dollars ; I should hope three hundred dollars would cover it.
But what a young man in his position could have done with
even that sum ; what he could have done with the ten dollars
he abstracted last night, I cannot conceive, unless he gambles.
At what hour do you say he called upon you last evening 1 "

" About nine o'clock."

" And I left the store at five o'clock ; the money must have
been squandered between six o'clock, when the store was closed,
and eight."

" Have you noticed that he has been dissipated of late, sir ? "
asked Hartley.

" No, I can't say that I have : but I have remarked that he
was gayer in his attire than the emoluments of his situation,
justified ; in fact, that he is inclined to be extravagant ; but
1 thought, perhaps, he might have had other means besides his
salary at his command. A remittance from home, or some
thing of that kind. He has told me that his friends are well
off, and his letters of recommendation are good. He has been
living beyond his income from the period of his first engage
ment, I have no doubt. Mr. Hartley, you are a young man :

THE WATCHMAN. 95

let me give you a piece of advice, and I hope you will profit by
it. Never on any account get into debt, or live beyond your
income."

Never live beyond your income ! Never get into debt !
How that simple yet judicious advice smote upon the heart of
George Hartley ! Well he knew and sorely he felt, thai he
had already, though scarcely six months in his employment,
sunk himself so deeply in debt, that he saw no means of extri
cation, and vainly he wished now that he had withstood the
foolish desire to appear as well off, and to have as showy a
house as his neighbors, without regard to the peculiarities of
his position compared with theirs. He confessed to himself
that he had really lost in comfort what he had gained in show,
and that he would have been much happier, much easier in his
mind, if his parlors contained more humble furniture, and his
pockets more money. He had not, as poor Edwards had done,
given way to temptation ; but he felt that he had put himself
in the way of doing so, and that already the chivalric principles
of honor in which he had been educated, and which had sup
ported him in his hour of trouble, if not wrecked, were sensibly
weakened. He thought of Edwards, and shuddered as he
thought what he himself might have become.

His first impulse was to call upon his unfortunate and guilty
companion, and ascertain from his own lips how deeply he had
committed himself; but cooler reflection at his desk, con
vinced him of the inadvisability of thus acting. Perhaps Mrs.
Edwards was unaware of the evil courses of her husband, and
he did not wish to excite her suspicions. Nevertheless, he
wrote a letter to Edwards, stating the cause of his detention,
and relating to him the conversation he had held with his
employer ; and he furthermore said that if he (Edwards) thought
proper to call upon him, he should be glad to see him. That
evening he calmly and quietlj- informed his wife of his resolve
to retrench his expenditure ; he showed her plainly that it was
impossible for them to go on as they had been doing. He

90 THE WATCHMAN.

fully explained his position and circumstances to her ; and she,
being really very fond of her husband, listened patiently and
promised to aid him. He then felt that he should have had the
moral courage to do this before ; that the fault of reckless ex
travagance lay at his door, for he had, in the first instance, urged
by his fondness for his young wife, taught her to be extrava
gant in her desires, by foolishly making her presents that ho
could not afford; and she, unused to calculating her expenditure,
unacquainted with the real value of money, and imagining that
a larger sum than she needed to spend at one time, would afford
an indefinite future supply, had looked upon his salary of $600,
as if it were five times that amount.

But fortune is fickle in her favors, as the reader will perceive
hereafter, and even now, at the moment when the cloud hung
heaviest over Hartley's head ; now while he was scheming and
devising means how he should manage to extricate himself
from the labyrinth of debt in which his own folly had involved
him, she was ready to heap her gifts upon him.

" There is a tide in the affairs of men, which, if taken at the
flood, leads on to fortune," says the immortal bard of Avon ;
and when Hartley had engaged himself with Messrs. Wilson,
he had, unknowingly to himself, drifted into that flood. He
had thought it first an elegible situation, and then he had
become discontented with it, and almost wished he had become
connected with some less wealthy firm ; for he had little hope
of rising there to a superior post, at least for years, since the
upper clerks were all of long standing, and, in most instances,
connected by family or friends with the principals. He often
wondered how he had obtained the situation at all, when
so many men, having means of subsequently pushing them
forward, would have been glad to have seized upon it as a step
ping stone for their own sons and he recollected that Edwards
might have applied for and obtained it. To be sure he had
refused to make application of his own free will, still he
(Hartley) felt in a manner grateful to Edwards, since it was

THE WATCHMAN. 07

through his acquaintance -with him, that he had heard of
the opening. And this indistinct feeling of gratitude it was,
which still led him to take a strong interest in the unfortunate
young man.

On the evening of the second day after Hartley had dis
patched his letter to Edwards' residence, and when he had
almost given up the expectation that he would reply to it, he
was disturbed from the perusal of a volume he had borrowed
from a fellow-clerk, by the ringing of the door-bell. Some
thing intuitively told him that it was Edwards who had rung ;
and without giving the servant time to answer the ring, he arose
and opened the door himself. He had judged rightly ; it was
Edwards.

" Hartley ! "

" Edwards ! " each exclaimed in a breath ; and the former
took the latter by the hand, and half-pulled, half-led him into
the hall.

" Come in Edwards come in. We have just finished tea ;
but Ellen will order some to be brought up. I have been
expecting you to call these last two evenings," said Hartley,
when he had closed the street door.

" No No " was the reply. " I had rather not see Mrs.
Hartley. She knows nothing of what has occurred of my
having left my situation ? "

No nothing."

" Still, I would rather not meet her now. Hartley, I should
like to speak with you alone. I could not face her."

Hartley stepped into the parlor.

" Ellen," said he, " I have some business to transact with
Mr. Edwards. We will go up stairs, where we shall be alone,
and if any one should call, say that I am engaged. 1 "

Then taking a candlestick in his hand, he retired and led the
way up stairs, followed by Edwards.

They entered a private room, and Hartley having closed the
door, desired his unhappy friend to be seated.

98 THE WATCHMAN.

Hartley was greatly shocked at the change which two or
three days had made in Edwards' appearance. His face was
pale and haggard, his eyes wild ; and he feared, from his looks,
that he had been attempting to drown the stinging reproaches
of his conscience in drink. He was confirmed in his suspicion
when Edwards again spoke, for his utterance was thick, and he
scarcely appeared to know what he was saying.

At first he hesitated and hung his head, shamefacedly, before
the penetrating but pitying gaze of his friend : but after some
moments, he assumed a tone of forced bravado, and said :

" So, Hartley, you know all. Old Oliver has told you all
the evil of me he could, I suppose ? If you had been true to
your promise this would not have happened."

" It might not have happened so soon, Charles," said Hart
ley, somewhat severely, for he was indignant at the tone of
hardihood and the reckless demeanor of Edwards "but he did
tell me all, as I hinted to you in my letter, and had it not hap
pened as it has done, it might have been eventually much
worse for you. Charles, you speak disparagingly of Mr. Oli
ver. You must be aware that most men would have caused
you to be arrested, and you would have been ruined forever."

" As well have been arrested and sent to jail as a thief yes,
a thief I I am a thief, ain't 1 1 as to be sent off to starve. I
have eaten nothing to-day."

" But you have been drinking, Charles. Drinking deeply, I
fear 7"

" And if I have 1 Drink is the only thing to banish reflec
tion."

" But your family, Charles think of your family ; your
wife and children. Does your wife know of of this ? "

" She knows I have left my situation ; that is all. / did not
tell her that : but for twenty-four hours I did net go home
and Mary went to the store, to learn what had become of me.
They told her I had left."

" You say you have not eaten anything to-Jay ; surely, you

THE WATCHMA.N 99

are not yet reduced to such misery 1 Youi family is provided
with food ? "

" Yes, for the present. I don't know how long it will be so,
though ; but I feel no want of food. I have been drinking, and
I shall drink myself to death. George, I am desperate ! "

Hartley saw how much he was excited, and forebore to
speak any longer to him in the deprecating tone he had hitherto
done.

" You must not talk thus, Charles," said he. " Think of
your wife and family. You owe a duty to them. What will
become of them, if you give yourself over to despair ?"

" I know not. Any way they will share my disgrace. Old
Oliver means to prosecute, of course. I promised not to leave
the city, and I won't. He may cause me to be arrested when
he pleases ; the sooner the better."

" I think the course he has taken ought to lead you to infer
otherwise, Charles. Mr. Oliver is known to be a good and
benevolent man. He will not harm you if you do not injure
yourself. By all means remain here as you promised him ;
but Charles, promise me this ; abstain from drinking, or you
will go body and soul to ruin."

" And what would you have me do 1 " asked Edwards his
assumed bravado suddenly forsaking him, and, as is often the
case in maudlin drunkenness his demeanor assuming an oppo
site phase, he burst into tears.

" Go home to your family, and remain there for the pre
sent."

" And tell my wife what has happened ? Never ! ' I would
drown myself in the Hudson first. I never could face her
again."

" You need not tell her all ; she may never hear of your
disgrace, if by your conduct you do not compel others to reveal
it to her."

" And what am I to do at home ? How am. I to support
<ny family ? Am I to see them starve before my eyes ? No,"

100 THE WATCHMAN.

he exclaimed with sudden energy, " I will quit them forever
first, and leave them to find out how I have disgraced them,
when I am gone."

" Charles," said Hartley, " this is childish. You don't know
what you are saying. Poor as I am, I will not see your family
want food ; I will see Mr. Oliver again, and talk with him.
Let him know through me that you are repentant, and perhaps
something may be done."

Edwards did not reply ; but sat, rocking himself to and fro
in his chair, the image of despair.

Hartley allowed him to remain quiet for sonib minutes, and
then said, persuasively :

" Tell me, Charles, You know I wish you well, what has
been the cause of your conduct 1 speak out boldly. I will not
reproach you. / have been foolishly extravagant myself, and I
feel it now : but, surely, there has been some other cause to
lead you to the unhappy course you have been pursuing ? "

" 1 have been gambling, George. I never intended to wrong
Mr. Oliver of a penny. When I first abstracted money, it was
to endeavor to win back what I had lost, and then to replace
what I had taken ; but I lost again and again : others won, but
I never did ; and so it went on on on until I grew reckless
yet still I hoped to retrieve myself. On the afternoon of the
day that I asked you to lend me ten dollars, I took that sum
from the safe for the purpose of trying a new move, by which
I felt sure I should win, perhaps all I had lost, back again ; but
still I lost. Had I obtained the money by ten o'clock the
next morning, Mr. Oliver would have suspected nothing, and I
might yet have succeeded I feel sure I should ; for the trick
was shown me by one who assured me that it must, in the main,
be successful ; but you failed me, and all was blown, and my
character blasted forever."

" Charles, believe me, it is better as it is. You wouldn't
have won ; and^ had you gone on plundering Mr. Oliver, you

THE WATCHMAN. 101

must have been found out at last, and it would then, perhaps,
have gone harder with you."

" It could not."

" It could, Charles, ten-fold ! Promise me now that you will
go home ; stay I will take my hat, and walk with you to your
house ; and make me a solemn promise that you will abstain
from drink, and keep away from your evil companions, and
to-morrow I will see Mr. Oliver. Will you promise this 1 "

" I will, George ; I will go home with you : but my wife
must know nothing that has occurred, beyond the fact that I
have left my situation. She is already aware of that, you
know."

" Of course not," replied Hartley. " It is better she should
not know."

They left the house together, and Hartley stepped in to Ed
wards' lodgings for a few moments, entering into conversation
with Mrs. Edwards, and endeavoring to speak cheerfully. But
he perceived that she suspected that something serious was the
matter. The poor woman had evidently been weeping, for her
eyes were red and swollen ; but she strove to appear cheerful,
and Hartley spoke hopefully of Edwards' soon getting another
situation. Edwards was now sober, and after sitting half-an-
hour, George rose to take leave. He beckoned Edwards to the
door, and again exacting the promise he had required previously,
he shook him by the hand, and returned to his own house.

102 THE WATCHMAN.

CHAPTER X.

HENRY SELBY ENTERS A SECOND TIME INTO THE WORLD'S
STRIFE, ON HIS OWN ACCOUNT.

" ' Tis said we venturous die hard
When we leave the shore ;
Our friends may mourn, lest we return
To bless their sight no more.
But this is all a notion
Bold Jack can't understand ;
Some die upon the ocean,
And some upon dry land."

DlBDIN.

HENRY SELBY, after having waved his adieu to his benefactor,
the honest watchman, made the best of his way to the pier,
where he had been directed to go by the mate, who had pro
mised to take him on board the Sea Gull : he had some difficulty
in finding the vessel ; but he at length discovered her, and got
safely on board. To his astonishment, he found her decks appa
rently deserted, and all as still as death on board of her ; and
yet he had been told that she was to sail at daybreak that
morning. He began to fear that he had been misinformed, and
was half-inclined to leave her and go on shore again ; for he an
ticipated from what he had told the housemaid in Mr. Blunt's
family, and Mrs. Carter, that search would be made for him in
the morning : but as he was groping his way along the lum-
bcred-up deck, he stumbled over a sleeping form, wrapped up
hi a heavy watch-coat, and he heard a gruff voice exclaim with
an oath !

" You had better go below into the folk'sle, and sleep the

THE WATCHMAN. 103

liquor off ye, than be tramping about the ship's decks this way.
You']! be none too ready, I warrant, to turn out when the pilot
comes on board, to haul the ship into the stream. "

It was the ship-keeper who had spoken, who was thus per
forming his duty, after a fashion more agreeable to himself
than it would probably have been satisfactory to his employers,
had they seen him. He had imagined the boy to be one of
the crew who had mostly come aboard in a state of drunken
ness, and who were sleeping off the fumes of the liquor in the
forecastle.

Henry took the hint, and groping his way to the forecastle,
descended, and stumbling over several stupefied sleepers, at last
discovered a vacant spot where he stretched himself, and with
the freedom from thought or care which characterizes boyhood,
was soon, notwithstanding the novelty of his situation, sound
asleep nor did he awake until he was aroused by one of the
officers of the ship, who had entered the forecastle, and was
half persuading and half bullying the still stupefied seamen to
go on deok. Henry ascended the ladder with the rest, and to
his astonishment, he found that the vessel had been already
hauled into the stream, the officers not choosing to arouse the
seamen until there was no opportunity remaining for them to
get on shore again. Soon a boat came alongside with three or
four more sailors, who could not be found until the last
moment, and who were, in general, hoisted up the side in a
state of bestial intoxication. These new comers were
tumbled below, and those who had been ordered up from the
forecastle, were directed to go aloft and loose the sails, while the
pilot's crew hove up the anchor which had been dropped in the
stream.

Henry stood staring about him like one bewildered, until
he was observed by one of the mates, who ordered him to go
aloft and loose the main-royal. Still he stood irresolute, being
in fact totally ignorant of the nature of the order.

" Come, aloft with you, youngster ! " said the mate. " What

104 THE WATCHMAN

the is the boy staring at 1 Away aloft, and loose the

main-royal, I tell you ! Come, stir your stumps. "

The boy stood stock still, looking vacantly at the officer.

" Are you deaf? " thundered the mate.

" No sir, " replied Henry.

"Then why don't you do as you are ordered? I'll see pres
ently if a rope's-end won't quicken you ! "

" Please sir, " said Henry, " I don't know what you mean. "

" The you don't ! Haven't you been at sea before ? "

"No sir."

" No, eh ? Then what were you sent on board for ? Come,
stir out of this. Away into the pilot's boat alongside ! We
don't want you here. '

"A gentleman, who said he was the mate, told me to come
on board, sir," said the boy, frightened at the bullying of the
officer, and still fearful he would be sent on shore again.

" He did, did he ? Well, then I suppose you must stay ;
though I can't see the use of lumbering up the ship with such
a set of useless green-horns. Here, you see that stick up
aloft, crossing the mast there above the rest 1 That's the main
royal yard, and the sail bent to it, is the main-royal. Now
jump aloft, like a flash of lightning, and loose the sail, or you'll
have a rope's-end laid on your back in less than no time. Off
with you now, at once ! "

Frightened at the threatening gestures of the man, the boy
sprung into the rigging with the agility of a cat, and was soon
on the royal yard for he was active enough, and though he
felt a little fear, he found no difficulty in ascending the shrouds ;
but loosening the royal was another matter. He had but a
very indistinct idea of the duty he was required to perform ;
but seeing the seatnan below him untying the sails, as he
thought, he set himself to work, at the same time clinging des
perately to the yard as he swung by the foot-rope for his
head began to feel dizzy with the motions of the ship and the
immense height from which he looked down upon the water.

THE WATCHMAN. 105

The topsails and top-gallant sails were loosed and sheeted
home. The boy sent up to the fore-royal yard had loosed the
sail, and sung out to those below to " sheet-home," and then the
officer who had sent the boy aloft, and who had for some time
been busily engaged, was addressed by the captain, who was
standing on the poop :

" Mr. Thomas, " said he, " what's the reason, sir, you don't
set the main-royal ? Is any one aloft, loosening it 1 "

" I sent a boy aloft a quarter of an hour ago, " replied the
officer. " I thought the sail had been set. " Then shouting to
the lad, he exclaimed :

" What do you mean, you young vagabond, by hanging
aloft there, and not loosening the sail 1 Why, by thunder, if
the infernal young scamp has'nt "

He ceased speaking suddenly, and fell to the deck, the sail
falling right on his head, and knocking the breath out of his
body. Henry had loosened the royal, with a vengeance. He
had not untied the gaskets, but the seizings which bound the
sail to the yard, and down it came, still tightly rolled up, on
the unfortunate mate. Fortunately but one end had struck
him, and he was not seriously hurt ; but the captain was in a
towering rage.

" Come down here, you young imp of darkness come down
here," he shouted to the trembling boy, who frightened at the
mischief he had done, hastened down from aloft.

" Come aft here, you sir," said the captain, seizing hold of a
rope ; " I'll teach you to play pranks on board my ship. You've
half-killed the second mate, you young scoundrel ;" and as the
boy came aft he oelaoored his shoulders with the rope's-end.

" Oh, sir ! oh ! don't oh don't ! I couldn't help it, sir,
indeed I couldn't ; the gentleman told me to loose the sail, sir^
Oh ! pray don't, sir," he cried, as he writhed under the torture
inflicted by the rope's-end, until he reached the quarter-deck.

"Who are you, and what brought you on board. It's a
shame the shipping masters should be allowed to play such
5*

106 THE WATCHMAN.

scoundrelly tricks. However, you've had a flogging that'll
teach you not to play such a trick again in a hurry, and you
shall trundle ashore with the pilot ; so gather your duds toge
ther as quick as possible, or I'll send you off without them."

" Please, sir, the mate told me to come aboard," said Henry,
whimpering.

" The mate, eh ; which mate was it picked up such a vaga
bond as you 1 "

" I don't know ; it was the mate, sir."

The chief mate, who had been occupied in overlooking the
fishing of the anchor, now came aft.

" Mr. Jones," said the captain, " this boy says the mate
shipped him. He seems half a fool. Is it you he means? "

The mate looked at the boy.

" Yes, sir," he said ; " this is the lad I was speaking to you
about yesterday. He was sometimes in Mr. Blunt's store;
you might have seen him there. Pie wants to go to sea and,
as you were expressing a wish to get another lad, I engaged
him. I believe, however, the young fellow has run away."

" Why, he seems to be half a fool," said the captain ; " he
has just cast the main-royal adrift, and it fell on the second
mate's head ; fortunately not with its whole weight, or it would
have broken his neck."

" He's the smartest lad I ever saw," said the mate : " you'd
say so if you had noticed him in the store."

" Well, he may be," returned the captain ; " but he has just
given us a strange specimen of his smartness. However, since
it is as you say, I suppose we must keep him on board." And
then addressing the boy, he said

" Be off with you, sir, and get hold of a chain hook, and help
haul the chain along that you see the men stowing into the
locker ; and let me see you make no more blunders, or I'll
flog you till I see your back-bone."

Glad to get away, Henry hastened to perform the duty
assigned to him ; and taking a chain hook, was soon busily

THE WATCHMAN. 107

employed, although he was still sobbing, and writhing with the
pain of the blows he had received.

In the hurry and bustle of getting the vessel clear off to sea,
he was soon forgotten ; and during the remainder of the day
he was busied in such little duties as he was able to perform,
assisting the crew in clearing the decks of the stores of all
kinds that always lumber up a merchant vessel when it first
leaves port.

Night at length came on ; the crews were divided into
watches ; the first watch, from eight o'clock till midnight, being
under the charge of the second mate. The vessel had cleared
the land and was steering a south-westerly course ; the wind
had arisen, and it blew so strong that it had been found neces
sary to take in the top-gallant-sails and put a single reef in the
topsails, and, although the sea was not very rough, it was suf
ficiently so to cause the ship to pitch uneasily as she cut her
way through the water, and careened over with the wind
strong abeam.

Henry Selby had been placed by the first officer in his watch,
and consequently, he should have been in his bunk ; but the boy
had but a very indistinct idea of the duties he was to perform,
or of the general routine on board a vessel at sea. As dark
ness came on, he began to feel fully, for the first time, the utter
loneliness of his situation, placed as he was among rude stran
gers, on board a ship bound he knew not whither, and desti
tute of even the necessary clothing to protect him from the
inclemency of the weather on the new element where his lot
had been cast. The nausea of sea-sickness, too, came over him,
and he felt alike physically and mentally depressed. He
thought of the snug lodgings he had had at Mr. Blunt's, and he
could not banish an unpleasant reflection from his mind as to
whether he had not done a foolish action in thus leaving his
home. He was wet with the spray which dashed over the
bows of the vessel and flew aft in drenching showers, and
chilled to the bone with the keen north-easterly wind, and he

108 THE WATCHMAN.

crept for shelter into the cook's galley. 9/flile he was shi er
ing there, the captain happened to go for svard, and catching a
glimpse of the lad in the shadow of the galley, he stopped
short and caught hold of him by the collar of his jacket.
"Who is this skulking here 1 ? "he called out to the second
mate. "Look out, sir, that all your watch is upon deck. I
will have no idlers on board my ship." Then perceiving the
boy, he continued, " Oh, it's the youngster I was speaking to

this morning. Now look you here, boy. What the

the mate shipped you for, I don't know ! However, now you're
here, you'll have to do your duty. Out of this at once, and
never let me catch you skulking again ! D'ye hear ? "

" Yes sir," exclaimed the trembling boy.

" I don't think he's in my watch, " said the second mate, m
a surly tone of voice. " At least I know I never meant him to
be ; the first mate brought him aboard, and to my mind he
should have him. He ain't of no use, any way."

" Whose watch are you in, boy 1 " asked the captain.

" I think the mate told me I was to be in his watch, sir, "
replied Henry.

"Then how is it you are on deck ? I want every one to be
on deck and wide awake, when it's their duty to be so, and I
won't have any of the watch-below, on deck, at all, except they
are called upon for extra duty. If I catch them on deck, I'll
keep them there."

The boy made no reply. He scarcely knew the captain's
meaning.

" Why don't you speak ? " said the captain. " Don't you
know it's your watch below ? "

" I don't know what you mean, sir."

" I believe the boy's a born fool, " said the captain.

" Or a rogue, " muttered the mate, who still felt sore from
the accident which had befallen him through Henry's igno
ranee in unbending the main-royal, 'and letting it fall on desk.

"Hark ye!" continued the captain, addressing the lad;

THE WATCHMAN. 109

' you're in the first mate's watch, and you ought to be below
sleeping now. It's near ' four bells, ' and at twelve the watch '11
be called, and you'll have enough of the deck."

" It's of no consequence, sir," said Henry, thinking that he
should conciliate the captain by appearing willing to do extra
duty.

" Don't reply to me, boy," answered the captain. " Go
below, at once ; take off those wet clothes and turn hi till your
watch is called."

" I haven't got any dry clothes to put on, " said Henry.

" The d you haven't ! What did you come to sea for,

without your kit ? "

"I don't know, sir. I didn't think of it, and I had no money
to get any."

The second mate sneered, and the captain muttered to him
self, and then added aloud :

" Come aft to the cabin with me, boy. A pretty fellow you
are to come to sea in this way, ain't you ? But I suppose I
must find you something to wear, or you'll be stiff before
morning."

Henry steadied himself as well as he could along the decks,
and descended with the captain into the cabin, and the latter
went to the slop-chest and brought out a couple of flannel
shirts, a pair of wollen trowsers and a pea-jacket, and together
with a Scotch cap, presented them to the boy.

" Now away into the forecastle, with you," he said, " and
put some dry clothing on, and then turn in. Do you feeJ
sick 1 " he added, noticing that the boy looked ill.

"Yes, sir, a little, " gasped Henry.

" A little ! I should say a good deal, by the looks of you.
Here, swallow this," giving him a tumbler of brandy and
water, " and go and turn in, and sleep till morning. I'll tell the
mate not to disturb you. But mind, after this, I expect you'll
do your duty."

" I'll try, sir, " said the boy, who felt considerably revived,

HO THE WATCHMAN.

after drinking the brandy and water ; and thanking the captain,
he went forward, shifted his wet clothing, and was soon fast,
asleep.

In the morning he was again summoned to the cabin, and
the captain, in the presence of the chief mate, questioned him
further respecting his position on shore, and the reason of his
wishing to go to sea ; and the boy's replies were so prompt
and spirited, that he began to entertain a better opinion of
him.

" So you wish to see the world, and be a man, do you ? "
he said, after listening to Henry's account of himself. "Well,
my lad, you've chosen a rough school to learn in ; but if you
behave yourself and learn to be a good seaman, you'll get along.
I was once as friendless as you, and now I am captain and part
owner of this vessel. You may be captain of a ship some day,
if you mind what you're about."

" Please, sir, will you tell me where the ship's going 1 " asked
Henry, as he was about leaving the cabin.

The captain and mate both laughed. " Why, youngster,"
said the former, " do you mean to say you don't know where
we are bound 1 "

"No sir."

" Upon my word, you've cast yourself adrift to seek your
fortune, after a most careless fashion. Well, we're bound to
Calcutta. You know where Calcutta is ? "

" It is the capital city of British India, and is situated a con
siderable distance from the mouth of the Hooghly river, one
of the branches of the Ganges," said the boy quite glibly,
proud to display the knowledge he had acquired at school.

" You'll do," said the captain " only learn your duty on
board my ship, as well as you appear to have learnt your les
sons at school, and we shall get on very well. Now go on
deck and get your breakfast, and then the mate will set you to
work."

THE WATCHMAN. HI

Henry left the cabin, and after he had gone, the captain
observed to the mate

" The boy appears smart and willing enough. I was half
inclined to send him ashore with the pilot yesterday ; but I
think better of him than I did. "

" I noticed that he was a sharp lad, at Mr. Blunt's office, "
returned the mate. " The poor fellow was taken all aback with
the novelty of his position at first ; but I guess he'll make a
sailor. "

The steward announced that the cabin-breakfast was ready,
and the captain and mate sat down to the table, and the con-
versation soon turned upon matters relating to the duties of
the ship.

112 THE WATCHMAN.

CHAPTER XL

A DARK CLOUD IS GATHERING OVER THE PROSPECTS OF THB
WATCHMAN.

The power Supreme, whose mighty scheme

These woes of mine fulfil ;
Here, firm I rest they must be best,

Because they are thy will. "

BDBNS.

" CARTER, " said Mr. Blunt, one day, about three month*
after Henry Selby had gone to sea, " step into my office, while
you are waiting for those goods to be packed. I wish to speak
with you. "

Joseph entered the private office with his employer.

" I want to speak to you, Carter," continued Mr. Blunt,
"about your boy. Let me see how old is he now?

" Going on for fourteen, sir, " replied Joseph.

" What do you think of doing with him ? Have you put
him to learn any trade yet ? "

" No sir ; and sometimes, I think I have done wrong in
keeping him so long at school, considering my position in life ;
but I did wish my boy to be a scholar, sir, seeing that I hadn't
much education myself, except what I picked up, as I may say,
after I was a grown man. But now the boy who is a cute,
good lad has got too high notions, I'm afraid. My wife's
brother, who is a shoe-maker, doing a good business, in a
small way, offered to take him and teach him his trade ; but
he don't seem to fancy the idea, and I'm afraid his mother
backs him up in his proud notions ; and yet I'm not in a posi
tion to place him in an office, or have him taught a profession."

THE WATCHMAN. 113

" I was on a committee at the district school which your son
attends, last week, Carter," said Mr. Blunt, "and I was much
pleased with the appearance of the lad, and making inquiry, I
heard an excellent character cf him from his teachers. Now
I'm in want of a boy in my office, to go of errands and do any
little odd jobs that may be required of him. and per naps, some
times to assist at the books, if he shows himself smart and dili
gent. I was thinking of offering to take your son. William
is his name, isn't it ? What do you say 1 are you willing
he should make the trial 1 "

" Oh, sir, " said Joseph, " nothing could have pleased me
better, and I'm sure Willy '11 be ready to jump out of his skin
for joy, when I tell him of it. It's just the situation he's long
ing for though I never encouraged him in his fancies and
my wife will be delighted."

" The salary will be very little, recollect, Carter. I shall give
him only fifty dollars for the first year because, you know, for
gome time to come, he will be of little service ; but if, after a
year's trial, we agree together, and I find the lad turns out as I
hope and believe he will, I shall give him a sufficient salary to
support and clothe himself entirely, and maybe to help the
family into the bargain."

" Thank you, sir thank you, " said Joseph. " If, Mr. Blunt,
you had kindly offered to take the boy upon trial, for a year,
paying him no salary, I should have gladly accepted the offer,
although, to .a poor man like me, fifty dollars is a good deal.
At any rate, it will pay for W T illy's board, sir, and I do hope you
will be satisfied with him. "

" Well, then, Carter, you can send him to me on Monday
next. You are still employed as a watchman? "

" Yes, sir. 1 did think of giving it up last election, and my
wife strongly urged me to do so ; but the Board expressed
themselves satisfied, and raised the salary a trifle, so I thought
I'd stay on another term."

" You are an industrious man, Carter," said Mr. Blunt, sinil-

114 THE WATCHMAN.

ing ; " take care you don't overwork yourself, though. Good
morning. I see the goods are ready to be carted. Don't for.
get to send your son to me on Monday."

" Be sure I wont, sir," said Joseph, as he left the office.
" Good morning, sir, and many thanks."

It was a happy time when Joseph got home that evening,
and told his family that Mr. Blunt had promised to take Willy,
and, as the honest cartman expressed himself, " make a mer
chant of him." Bright anticipations of the future flitted before
Mrs. Carter's mental vision, and Willy himself, with the san
guine spirit of youth, commenced building chateaux cnEspagne,
of fairy brightness, such as youth have always built at some
happy period of their lives, but the fleeting fabrics of which
have seldom become materialized. It was Saturday night,
and Willy received much wholesome advice, and many admo
nitions, with regard to his future career ; and when the boy
had at length gone to bed, late as was the hour Joseph went to
his desk and took out a parcel containing his hard-earned sav
ings, and abstracted therefrom sufficient to buy the boy an
entire new suit of readymade clothing, with the double object
of surprising him on the morrow, and rendering him presenta
ble at the merchant's office on Monday.

And on the Monday the boy went to South-street, and was
duly installed in his new situation, where for the present we
shall leave him, while we return to other matters.

Shortly after the occurrence of these events, 'Joseph, while
engaged one night in his watchman's duties, heard a signal call
ing for assistance from one of his comrades, and he immediately
hurried in the direction whence the sound proceeded. He soon
reached the spot, which was in Liberty-street, and he found
there was a skirmish going on between two guardians of the
night and a party of young men, who appeared to have but
just emerged from a basement drinking-saloon near by. Joseph
threw himself into the melee, and a violent struggle ensued,
during which the party fled, with the exception of two who

THE WATCHMAN. 115

appeared to be the leaders, and who, other watchmen having
been attracted to the scene, were at length overpowered.

The complaint was then listened to. It was given by the
keeper of the saloon, who charged the young men with having
created an uproar in his place, and broken the glasses, at the
same time refusing to pay the damages, and offering to fight it
out in the street.

It was very evident to Joseph and his comrades that the two
young men who had been arrested belonged to what are called
the upper classes of society, as well from their attire as from
their appearance, notwithstanding the state of intoxication in
which they were. Those who had effected their escape, were,
on the contrary, vulgar frequenters of these night-saloons, and
spongers upon the liberality of the men whom they had left to
struggle alone with the watchmen.

" By Jove ! " said the taller and stouter of the two, look
ing round upon his captors, "you fought like heroes upon the
honor of a gentleman. Now, are ye veritable Charlies that
much abused, well basted set ? Why, I've floored a dozen of
your kidney in London before now. Come, let's drown all
animosity by drinking a glass of the landlord's wine together.
Brave men should bear no malice."

" Yes ! a glass of wine. I move an adjournment to the
cider-cellar, my lords and gentlemen ! " exclaimed the other,
who was the most deeply intoxicated of the two, and who was
embracing the watchman who had him in charge, by clasping
both his arms around his neck.

" You'll take a glass of water in the station-house, and learn
to be contented with that to-night, I fancy," said one of the
watchmen. Then addressing the keeper of the saloon, he asked
if he meant to press the charge.

" Not if the gentlemen pay for the damage they have done,"
said the man. " I'd be sorry to be hard upon a gentleman
when he gets, once in a while, ' upon a bust.' "

" Where are the base caitiffs who fled in the hour of danger T

116 THE WATCHMAN.

Where are the trembling cowards who forsook their master,
when yon moon which shone last night round round
What is it George ? Why don't you prompt me 1 " stammered
the taller of the men, addressing his companion.

" My name is Norval on the Gr-Gram-pian hills," said the
one addressed. " These gen-gen -tl em en invite us to drink
a glass of wine Put it to the vote Ayes Noes. The ayes
have it by Jove ! " was the reply.

" I wonder if they have much money about them, " said one
of the watchmen.

" Money who says money base trash. ' He who steals
my purse,' " again stammered the taller man, at the same time
pulling a purse apparently well filled with gold, out of his
trousers-pocket and shaking it in the air.

" We had better, for security's sake, take them to the station-
house," said Joseph. " They will surely be robbed else. They
have not only a large amount of money, but valuable jewelry
upon their persons, and watches in their fobs. "

But the landlord of the drinking-saloon and the other watch
men now thought otherwise. Their opinions had undergone
considerable change since they had discovered the quality and
condition of the captives.

The landlord said that for his part, he wished the gentlemen
no harm, if so be they were gentlemen. He had been mis
taken in them, seeing them in the company of the vagabonds
who had got away, whom he knew well. The gentlemen were
welcome to stay all night in his saloon, if they pleased. He
was sure they'd be more comfortable there than in the station-
house let alone the disgrace of the arrest and with the
object of bringing the watchmen into his opinions, he generously
offered to treat them all round to " something warm," at his
oWn expense.

One or two seemed inclined to capitulate, and to accept the
landlord's proffered hospitality, and release the strangers,
placing them under his charge. Others, however, well imagin

THE "WATCHMAN. 117

ing that the worthy landlord had an eye to the golden bait
which had been so recklessly exposed, thought that they had
an equal right to share in the spoil. Joseph perceived this,
and noticed the landlord and his comrades whispering together,
and glancing significantly towards the two men for they had
now descended again into the saloon. He resolved that if he
could prevent it, they should not be robbed, and insisted upon
their being taken to the station-house.

Mistaking his motive, the taller of the two gentlemen,
resisted strenuously this argument, and swore he would not go
to the station-house alive. Another row ensued, and the
neighborhood being aroused, Joseph was enabled to carry his
point, in spite of his comrades and the keeper of the saloon,
who ground their teeth with rage, as they saw their expected
prey dragged from them.

As it was, more wine was drunk by the gentlemen, and when
at last, it was resolved, by the order of a magistrate, who had
been attracted to the spot by the noise, to carry them to the
City Hall, they were in a condition of complete insensibility,
and had to be borne in the arms of their captors.

On the way, Joseph saw one of the watchmen draw the watch
from the fob of the taller of the intoxicated men, and when
they reached the City Hall, and an examination was made of
the articles in their possession, in order that they might be
kept safely until they were sober, Carter, who by the order of
the clerk was conducting the search, mentioned carelessly, as
though he had not suspected the real object of the purloiner,

"That appears to be all they have in their posssession,
except the watch which you, Higsby, took from one of them, to
prevent it slipping out of his fob. That'll be sir," turning to
the clerk, "two gold watches, with chains and seals; one eye-* 1
glass; one diamond breast-pin; a purse, containing thirty-five
five dollar gold-pieces and English sovereigns ; and a pocket-
book, with papers, and one Ban<t of England note, for 100."

The man addressed as Higsby, pulled the watch from, his

118 THE WATCHMAN

pocket and placed it on the desk, with the remainder of the
articles enumerated. He well understood Joseph's thoughts ;
although the latter had endeavored to make him think that he
believed he had really taken charge of the watch to prevent its
being lost. He scowled savagely at him as he moved from
the desk, and from that moment Joseph Carter had made aH
implacable enemy.

On the following morning, the two gentlemen, perfectly
sobered, were brought privately before a magistrate, and in
the presence of the watchmen who had brought them to the
City Hall station-house, their property was restored to them,
and they received a mild reproof from the Justice for their
conduct.

" And now gentlemen, " said the magistrate, "have you there
all the property that you believe to have been in your pos-
session last night ? "

" Every thing, I believe at least so far as I can recollect "
said the younger and shorter of the two. " As to the money,
I neither know what amount I had about me when I left my
hotel, nor what amount I spent ; but I dare say it's all right.
You will have no objection, sir, to my presenting these men
with five dollars a-piece, for their trouble. "

The Justice made no objection to this, and a gold piece was
placed in each of the watchmen's hands.

" And you, sir," said the magistrate, addressing the elder of
the two gentlemen, " do you find all your property correct? "

" There is missing," said the gentleman, " an agate breast
pin, which I would not lose for fifty times its value. It has
been an heir-loom in my father's family for generations. How
ever, it is gone, and all I can do, is to offer a large reward for
its recovery. It must have been torn out during the struggle
last night, and dropped in the street. I don't suppose it has
been stolen or taken intentionally, since I see my friend
has his diamond pin, which is intrinsically of much greater
value. '"

THE WATCHMAN. 119

" I am sorry for your misfortune, sir," said the Justice, who
was noted for his urbanity and politeness to gentlemen, although
he was reported to make up for it by his excessive severity
towards poor, miserable wretches who had the ill IUCK to be
brought before him. " I am sorry for your misfortune," he
repeated, " and would advise you to cause an advertisement to
be inserted in the daily papers immediately. If you offer a
reward above the real value of the article lost, I think there is
little doubt that it will be returned."

" I hope so," returned the gentleman. " I would freely give
a reward of ten times its value, to have it restored to me.' 5

" And now, gentlemen, you are at liberty to go. If you like
to give me your names "

Why "

" Never mind never mind," said the obliging magistrate.
" It may not be pleasant, and in that case "

" Oh yes, " replied one of the gentlemen, haughtily, " we
have no objection to give you our names none at all. Why
should we? Let me see: My name's Smith, and my friend's
name is Jones. Our friends, Messrs. Brown and Eobinson,
will be waiting breakfast for us, sir ; so we will wish you good
morning " and the two companions smiled at each other, as
though they had perpetrated a capital joke, although evidently
the justice did not understand the gist of it ; for he politely
bowed them out, saying :

"I wish you a very good morning, Mr. Smith, and you also,
Mr. Jones, and trust you will suffer no inconvenience from
your exposure and incarceration. If I knew where I couJd
find you, gentlemen, I would make it my business to call and
inquire after your healths humph ! "

" Where you could find us, sir ? We shall be happy to see
you, I'm sure. Where do we live, War Jones, I mean?
Let me see. Ah! the Washington Hotel Messrs. Smith
and Jones, at the "Washington Hotel, sir, will be happy to see
you, at any time you can find tham there ;" and so saying, and

120 THE WATCHMAN.

laughing at their own wit, they were about leaving the room,
when the landlord of the saloon interrupted them, and asked
the justice whether he was not to be paid for the damage done
to his establishment.

Further remark was however prevented by one of the gen
tlemen tossing him a couple of gold pieces, with which he re
tired, perfectly satisfied, and riot without reason, since the
damage so loudly spoken of amounted only to the breakage of
some half-dozen glass tumblers; and the quantity of wine drank,
or at any rate, paid for, more than doubly repaid the loss
sustained : the barkeeper would have been glad to have met
with similar damage every night.

Hardly had the two strangers quitted the justice-room, the
watchmen still remaining, when Higsby stepped up to the
magistrate and whispered in his ear :

" Mr. Crawley, I should like to speak with you alone for a
minute or two. I think I know something of the pin the gen
tleman spoke of. We may manage to secure the reward, Mr.
Crawley."

" Hey what do you say secure the reward ? Wait till
a reward is offered. He has not advertised yet."

" No, sir, I know that : but about this matter. Can I speak
with you alone, or not 1 "

" Speak with me, Higsby 1 Oh ! certainly. Alone do yon
say. Yes, I will dismiss the men 1 ? You can go," he said, ad
dressing the assembled guardians of the night, " I fancy you
nave made a good night's work of it. No objection to such a
windfall in the shape of two tipsy men every night, eh 1 "

" No, sir," answered one or two of the men, as they left the
room, and. shortly Higsby and the justice were alone.

" What about this pin, Higsby 1 " said the justice, who had
reasons for treating this man with greater favor than his com
rades of the many-caped coat, and lantern.

" I think I know where it can be found."

" You do ! Where ? You haven't got it ? "

THE WATCHMAN. 12i

" No but " and he bent his lips to the ear of the justice,
and whispered :

" Carter has."

" Carter has the breast-pin! Impossible, Higsby ! You are
joking."

" Carter has the breast-pin, and if you get a search-warrant
out directly, you will find it in the breast-pocket of his watch-
coat ; but you must be quick, or he may place it somewhera
else, or perhaps, in anticipation of a reward, and of being
praised for his honesty, he may carry it to the owner. He's
just the fellow to play off such a piece of hypocrisy."

Justice Crawley hated Carter, as much as he favored Higsby,
and for the same reasons that Carter had incurred the dislike
of Higsby himself, viz. : because he could not get him to swerve
from the path of his duty, for political or any other purposes; and
because, conscious of his own short-comings, he disbelieved in
the virtue of others, and considered Joseph Carter's honesty of
purpose and strict attention to his duty, to result from hypocrisy,
or, as he termed it, " cant."

" That would be a capital joke, to catch Carter with the pin
in his possession," he said, gleefully. " Not that I believe he
wouldn't steal it, or anything el-se, if he got the chance, although
he pretends to such strict honesty. But are you sure of it? "

" Sure that when he went out, just now, the pin was in his
coat-pocket. "

" Why didn't you say so before he left 1 ? I would have had
him searched here, before the strangers, and in the presence of
the other watchmen."

" And then he mi?ht have said that he had taken it out of

the gentleman's cravat, and kept it in his possession for safety,
intending to restore it, as I did the watch. Or he might have
said he found it. Now the fact of his having left with it in his
possession, is proof enough to condemn him, after he has
heard the loss spoken of, and the assertion of the gentleman
that he would offer a large reward."
6

122 THE WATCHMAN

"True, true," said the justice. "I will make out a war-
rant, and you shall go to his house and make the search."

" Perhaps some one else had better be sent, " said Iligsby.
" Carter and I are not very good friends, and it might look "

" Ah ! I understand you," interrupted the magistrate.
" Well, I will issue the warrant. Send Allan and Dempster
in here they shall serve it. "Where do you say you saw Car
ter secrete the pin ? "

" In the breast-pocket of his watch-coat."

" Very well ! " and the justice drew out and signed the
warrant.

Meanwhile the two men designated by the justice entered,
and were instructed how to proceed.

" As soon as you reach Carter's house, show him the war
rant, and immediately one of you seize hold of his watch-coat,
if he has it on ; if not, demand it feel in the breast-pocket,
and I have reason to believe you will there find the agate
breast-pin the gentleman who was brought here last night,
lamented having lost this morning. Bring it here, and bring
Carter along with you, too ! "

The men started to perform the duty, and meanwhile the
'ustice proceeded with the other cases brought before him.

There was a delicate female, whose emaciated appearance
told too plainly that she was far gone with consumption.
The crime alleged against her, was that she had been found
wandering the streets late at night, without being able to give
any account of himself. She was so weak that she had to be
supported by an officer of the court while undergoing her exam
ination.

"What have you got to say for yourself, woman? " said the
justice, addressing the poor creature.

" I have nothing to say, sir. I was disturbing no one ; but
sitting quietly on a door-step, when the watchman took me up
and brought me here."

THE WATCHMAN. 123

" Why vreren't you at home ? What o'clock was it, Higsby,
when you arrested this woman ? "

" Past midnight, sir.'''

" Past midnight, eh ? A pretty time of night for a young
woman to be found sitting upon a door-step ! Why were you
not at home ? "

" Alas ! sir," exclaimed the poor creature, " I have no
home ! "

"You have no home, eh? That's a likely story. How do
you get your living 1 ? I needn't ask, though."

The pallid face of the poor young woman flushed to the
deepest crimson as she listened to the indelicate implication in
these words ; but she meekly replied :

" You are mistaken, sir, if you think me one of the unfortu
nates to whom I imagine you allude. I am a seamstress, and
for many months past, I have earned a scanty living by my
needle ; but at last my health, never very good, failed me, and
I was laid on a sick bed. I recovered sufficiently to enable me
to seek employment again ; but they told me at the store for
which I had been working, that my place had been filled up,
and they had nothing for me to do. They would not make any
engagement with any one who was in such feeble health as me.
I want to three or four others, and received a similar answer.
Weak with my recent illness, worn out with fatigue, and dis
pirited, I returned to my lodgings ; but while I had been
absent, my landlady, with whom I was some weeks in arrears,
had sold the poor remnants of my furniture, and I was told
that since I had come back without obtaining work, I could
remain there no longer, and the door was shut in my face. I
had nothing before me but the streets and starvation. I wan
dered to the river I walked up and down the piers, for hours.
Something whispered in my ear, ' Die ! Religion is a fallacy ;
the care of a watchful Providence, a silly delusion. Does not
reason say that those who are unhappy and unfortunate in the
world, are bettei out of it? Die! the water is deep, and

124 THE WATCHMAN.

death will come speedily, and then utter oblivion. Futurity is
but a dream. Once rid of life, and the hereafter is one of
nothingness!' Oh sir, I was almost wicked and weak enough
to listen to these temptings of the fiend ; but I struggled hard
against them, and conquered. I left the spot ; and wearied out,
unable to go further, I sat down on a door-step, near the Park,
where I was arrested by the watchman, and brought here."

" You have told your story pretty well, young woman,"
said the justice ; "but, unfortunately for you, it happens to be
one that I am too accustomed to hear. A good many tell me
the same tale, ringing the changes upon it a little, for variety's
sake; but it won't do with me. I shall commit you to jail for
one month, with hard labor, as a vagrant, and I hope the lesson
will teach you to act differently in future."

" Oh, sir! " exclaimed the poor girl, bursting into tears, "I
am not what you deem me indeed I am not. I feel too that
I have but a short time to live. I am dying now. Send me
to a hospital anywhere and you will do me a kindness ; but
let not my last hours be spent in jail, amongst the outcasts of
society. I am not a criminal, sir, and I am not able to labor."

"Take her away, officer," said the justice, hastily. " I can't
listen to this nonsense all day. Bring up the next case."

The poor woman was carried rather than led out of the
room ; and a stout, burly young man, whose face was so dis
figured by intemperance, and apparently also by the blows
received in some recent quarrel, that scarcely a feature wag
distinguishable.

However, repulsive as w r as the man's appearance, the magis
trate recognised hirn.

"Ah! Snawley. my good fellow! you up here again 1 ? You
must you really must take better care of yourself, or you will
compel me to the exercise of a severity that I should be sorry
to exert. What have you to say for yourself? What is the
charge against Snawley, Jackson ? " addressing the officer.

" Going into a porter-house in William-street, and insisting

THE WATCHMAN. 125

upon the landlord treating him and the crowd that was with
him ; and when the landlord refused, a-drawing out a bowie-
knife, and a-threatening to rip him open with it. A fight fol
lowed, and all hands got mauled pretty sharply. They fit the
watchmen called in to 'rest 'em. Look'e here, yer honor ! "
said the man, exhibiting a black eye in his own visage, " that
chap hit me this blow himself, and would have stabbed Tom
Raw kins, if somebody hadn't hit him on the arm and knocked
the knife out of his hand."

" This is a sad account, Snawley," said the magistrate, with
a benign smile upon his visage. " I am afraid, if you persist
in these little eccentricities, you will compel me to act in a
manner I should be sorry to do. If 1 let you go this time, you
will take better care of yourself in future, won't you ? "

" Why yes ! " answered the man, surlily. " I warnt a-doin*
nothin' as it was. Jack Meehan, who keeps the porter-house,
has had heaps of my money, and he know'd I was hard up ;
he ought to have trusted me. He knows how it is with me
when I've had a glass or two, and my dander gets riz. There
aint no stoppin' this child then, there aint ! "

" Well, Snawley," said the magistrate, " taking all things
into consideration, I shall discharge you this time. Don't let
me see you here again ; and stay, here's a dollar for you
(handing him the money) you say you are hard up. Now
recollect what I have done for you."

" Trust me for that," said the hardened scoundrel, with a
leer, and a thrust of his tongue against his cheek. " When
you wants me r justice, say the word, and Bob Snawley's not
the boy to forget his friends."

Scarcely had Snawley departed, before a woman, gaily attir
ed, but whose clothes were torn and covered with dirt, was
brought forward. She had evidently once been beautiful. She
would have been beautiful still, but for the traces that dissipa
tion had left upon her countenance, and the bold glance of her
eyes, as she confronted the magistrate, and the other persona

126 THE WATCHMAN.

present. She was charged with having been found intoxicated,
and making a disturbance in Broadway ; but almost without
asking her a single question, she was discharged. And as the
justice quitted the Hall, he saw the officers leading away the
sick woman who had been brought before him half an hour
before. She was weeping piteously ; but she found no sym
pathy the hardened rowdy and the debased woman of the
pave, were looking cui'iously on at her unavailing struggles to
escape the clutch of the officers. She was sent to jail, and
despite her feebleness, set to hard labor ; and within one fort
night from that period, a cart brought to the door of the peni
tentiary a plain, rudely constructed coffin, and it carried away,
in that coffin, the emaciated remains of that helpless woman,
and within in an hour they were buried in Potter's-field.

While these scenes had been enacting at the justice-room,
the officers had gone to Joseph Carter's house, where they
arrived almost as soon as the watchman himself. He had but
just entered and thrown off his watch-coat, which was hanging
over his arm.

" We have a warrant to search your house, Carter," said
one of the men.

" To search my house ! for what 1 " asked Carter, in a toue
of surprise.

" You will soon see/' answered the man, who held a grudge
against Joseph. "Just hand me here that coat you have on
your arm, and perhaps our search '11 soon be over."

" Hand you my coat 1 " said Joseph, after looking at the
warrant ; " what can you want with my coat 1 Here, take it. I
don't understand what you have come about."

The officer took the garment, and immediately, as had been
directed, plunged his hand into the deep breast-pocket, whence
he drew forth the agate pin, and held it up to view,

"P'raps now you know what I have come about," he said.
" You recollect what the gentleman said this morning about
the pin he had lost ? "

THE WATCHMAN 127

" 1 recollect it well," said Joseph, calmly ; but I have no
idea how it came into my pocket."

" Dropped in by accident, as the Jew said when the pollis
officer found a pair of brass candlesticks in his pockets, I sup
pose," chuckled the officer ; " but come along, we must do our
dooty, howsomever painful as it may be, as the judge says
when he goes to sentence a man to be hanged. You must go
with us to the City Hall, and answer for this here felony before
his honor."

" Felony ! " exclaimed Joseph, indignantly. " Do you apply
that term to me," and his eyes flashed, and his nostrils expanded
with passion, as he advanced to the officers, who stepped back
simultaneously ; for Joseph was a strong muscular man, and
would have proved a formidable opponent.

" Hands off, Carter, hands off," said the man who had found
the pin, and who had hitherto done all the talking. You know
we are only doing our dooty."

Joseph recollected himself, and calmly surrendered himself
to the minions of Justice. " I am ready to go with you," he
said, while his wife and daughter looked on terror-stricken.
He observed them as he was crossing the threshold of the door,
and turning back for moment, he whispered, " Don't be alarmed,
I shall be back soon. There is some strange mistake."

" But the pin; Joseph ! You did not, you could not have
taken the pin'? "

" As there is truth in Heaven, I know no more of it than you
do, Mary. I cannot conceive how it came into my pocket,
unless it has been placed there clandestinely."

"Thank God for that," exclaimed Mrs. Carter. "I believe
you, Joseph I never could think otherwise. You will explain
all and soon be back, husband 1 ? "

" I hope so, Mary," said Joseph, as he left the house in the
custody of the officers.

It was a humiliating position for Joseph Carter, thus to be
dragged from his house in broad daylight and in the presence

128 THE WATCHMAN.

of his neighbors, who for slander and detraction fly apace
had by some means become cognizant of the visit of the con
stables, and who were watching from the doors and windows
as they passed up the street with their prisoner, and the foul
tongue of scandal found vent, and numerous expressions were
heard, to the effect that they had long expected this. " They
had no opinion, not they, of folks like the Carters, who set
themselves up to be better than their neighbors. It was good
for them. Pride must have a fall some day."

Joseph was conveyed to the City Hall station-house, and
locked up for some hours, when the justice again made his ap
pearance, having a copy of the second edition of the Herald in
his hand, wherein an advertisement had been published, stating
that an agate breast-pin had been lost, as was supposed, in the
neighborhood of Liberty-street on the previous evening, and
offering a reward of two hundred dollars, double the value of
the jewel, for its restoration ; further stating that it was to be
delivered to the superintendent of the City Constabulary at
the City Hall, and no questions would be asked.

Higsby was waiting the arrival of the magistrate.

" So the advertisement is out, Higsby, as I expected," said
the latter as he entered the room. " Has that fellow, Carter,
oeen arrested ? "

" Yes, sir," said Higsby. " He is now locked up in one of
the rooms."

" Mr. Jones or Mr. Smith have not been here, Higsby ? "

" No, sir."

" Did you call at the Washington Hotel, as I desired, and
mention fchat you thought something had been heard of the
pin 7"

" I did, sir ; but lor bless yer, there's no such persons as
they there. I thought at first they wos a gassing yer. Smith
and Jones weren't no more their real names than they be
yourn and mine."

THE WATCHMAN. 129

" Well, I presume they will call here to make inquiry about
the pin. Let this fellow, Carter, be brought up."

Higsby left the room, and shortly returned, accompanied by
a constable leading Carter.

" So, Mr. Carter," said the magistrate, when Joseph entered.
" You're a pretty fellow to hold the office of City Watchman.
You've been making a profitable trade of it, no doubt; but
you've run the length of your tether at last. How can
you account for the gentleman's breast-pin being in your
possession 1 "

" I cannot account for it," said Joseph.

" No, of course not. It was quite an accident, of course."

" Neither can I account for the suspicion falling so directly
upon me. Had / stolen the pin, that would not have been the
case. It looks very much as if some one had purposely placed
it where they knew so easily where to find it." And he looked
full into the face of Higsby as he spoke.

" Oh, ho, Mr. Carter ' " said the Justice. " We know you
were always famous at an argument but I fancy you will find
it harder than you think for, to get over this. I shall commit
you for trial. Nothing can be more definite. The stolen pro
perty was found in your possession, and every opportunity was
afforded you for appropriating it, during the fracas of last
evening."

" It seems to me, Mr. Crawley," said Joseph, indignantly,
" that you are exceeding your powers. You certainly can
commit me for trial ; but you have no right trus to decide
upon my guilt."

" So ! you are insolent, eh ? Well, I fancy we shall be able
to tame you ! You had best be civil, for your own sake ! "

" Mr. Smith the gent as was here this morning has called,
to know if anything has yet been heard of his breast-pin ? "
said an officer opening the door, and putting his head into the
room.
9

ISO THE WATCHMAN

" Desire Mr. Smith to step up stairs, Hallett," said the
magistrate ; and presently that gentleman entered.

" You see I have lost no time in calling," said he, as he
advanced. " The advertisement was not printed two hours ago ;
but I have caused bills to be stuck up everywhere about the
city, and I thought, perhaps, as the value of the article is so
disproportionate to the reward I have offered, it might be
already returned. To tell the truth, I am really exceedingly
anxious for its recovery."

" I am happy to say it is already found, and this person"
pointing to Higsby " is entitled to any reward you may wish
to give," said the magistrate. ' ; In fact, he is doubly merito
rious, since he has succeeded in detecting a rogue amongst
those to whom the guardianship of the city is entrusted ; this
man " looking at Joseph Carter " who was one of the party
of watchmen who brought you here last night, took the pin
from your breast, and it was found in his pocket to-day."

The gentleman thus addressed looked keenly at Carter, who,
in his turn, confronted his gaze with a steady eye. He then
said quietly, " Did you take this pin from my person % "

" No sir, I did not, nor do I know how it came into my pos
session, although I have my suspicions."

" Am I to understand that you wish to prosecute in this
case, sir 1 " asked the magistrate.

" No, I shall not prosecute. I have recovered my pin ; that
is all I require." Then again addressing Joseph, he said:
" Do I recc'Ject aright ; was it not you who remarked this
morning, t^at my watch was taken from my fob to save it from
being lost ? "

" It was, sir," said Joseph.

" Then all I have to say is, that although I allowed myself
to be so disgracefully overcome with wine that I appeared
insensible to what was going on around, I was able to notice
and recollect most that was passing. I recollect my watch
being; removed from my t>erson by this man here, who claims

THE WATCHMAN 131

to have procured me the ring. I recollect the manner in which
it was taken, although I cannot remember when I lost the pin.
Perhaps, sir, after having made this statement" and again his
glance fell upon Higsby " you will think it advisable not to
urge a prosecution against the watchman."

" Certainly not, if you object to it," said the magistrate
who saw how the tables were turning " but," he added, hesi
tatingly, " the reward mentioned in this advertisement "

" Shall be paid," interrupted the gentleman as taking out
his pocket-book and counting the money, he handed it to
Higsby saying, as he did so :

" I shall expect that, with respect to the manner in which the
breast-pin was recovered, nothing will be said. It will perhaps
be better for all present to keep their own counsel."

" Certainly, sir, if you say so," replied the obsequious and
somewhat crest-fallen Higsby, as he pocketed the money for
he felt, hi spite of his obtuseness, that he was suspected himself
of having taken it and placed it in Carter's pocket. The gen
tleman then wished the magistrate good-day, and stalked haugh
tily out of the room signaling for Joseph to follow him.

" I suspect there has been foul-play here," said he to the
watclunan, as they descended the steps together into the
Park. I would not have paid that fellow the reward, had I
not feared that, by withholding it, I might get you into fur
ther trouble. Now, sir, permit me to reward you for the
recovery of my watch; for I believe, had it not been for your
honesty, I should have lost both that and the pin."

" I cannot take any payment for simply doing my duty, sir,"
replied Joseph ; " but I thank you sir for your good opinion."

" But you may suffer through the malevolence of these peo
ple. It is disgraceful to see such a man as that magistrate on
the bench. Reports may get abroad unfavorable to your
character."

" I am afraid," answered Joseph, " they have gone abroad
\lready ; but I will trust lo the good opinion I have striven

132 THE WATCHMAN".

throughout life to obtain, for integrity of character, to render
them powerless."

" Then you refuse my offer ? "

u Gratefully refuse it, sir."

" Nevertheless, you may want a friend. I am not a native
of your city, nor am I an American ; still I am in a position to
befriend you, should you need help. I, of course, gave a false
name and address to the magistrate this morning, and I do not
wish it to be generally known who I am ; but I will give you
my card, hoping that you will not scruple to write to me,
should circumstances occur that may render a friend neces
sary."

He presented a card to Joseph, as he spoke, and the latter
glancing at the name, started with surprise. He was about to
speak, when the gentleman took his hand and shook it warmly.
"You will, of course, keep what you have so strangely become
acquainted with a profound secret," he said. " Mention it to
no one ; but do not scruple to use me for your benefit, here
after, should you need it. Good-bye." And before Joseph
had recovered from his surprise, the gentleman was hastening
away in an opposite direction.

To the great delight of his wife and child, Joseph made his
appearance at home. Mrs. Carter was almost frantic with
' joy when her husband returned. lie related to her all that
had occurred, only keeping back the real name of the stranger,
and endeavored to soothe the anger she felt when she heard
how it had been sought to fasten a frightful crime upon him.
He had been too much excited himself to be fit for labor that
afternoon, and he spent the rest of the day at home. Fortu
nately it was not his turn to watch that night, and after return
ing thanks to the Great Being who had so signally interposed
to save him from the machinations of evil-minded men, he
retired early to rest.

But the tongue of slander had been busy, and he found that
notwithstanding the manner in which he had escaped tho snare

THE WATCHMAN. 133

which had been laid for him, his enemies had partially suc
ceeded. The next morning he received a notice to the effect
that it would be advisable for him to resign his post as one of
the city watch, since the Board had come to the conclusion to
appoint younger and more active men ; and although he was
not sorry, in one sense, for this for, as has been heretofore
stated, he had wished to resign, and had accepted the office
for another term against his own secret inclinations and against
the wish of his wife he felt that it was unpleasant to be thus
summarily dismissed, knowing, as he did, the cause of the dis
missal.

On reaching Mr. Blunt's store, in South-street, he noticed
the laborers whispering together and casting suspicious glances
upon him, as he passed, and his own son did not, as was his
custom, come out of the office to greet him. He made an
errand to pass by the window, and cautiously glanced in at the
boy. He was weeping, and the father felt this to be " the
most unkindest cut of all."

At ten o'clock, when Mr. Blunt came into the store, he sent
to request Joseph to come to him, in the counting-room ; and
upon his entering, his employer bade him sit down.

" What is this I hear, Carter, about a robbery having been
committed upon the person of a gentleman who was found
intoxicated near your beat, the night before last ? I cannot
believe all that I have heard, is true, and I have so much con-
fidence in you, that I wish to hear the details from your own
lips."

Joseph told all, and told it so boldly and clearly, yet withal,
so modestly, that he was readily credited. Mr. Blunt felt sat
isfied that he was telling the truth.

" I believe you, Carter, " he said, when Joseph had finished
his recital; "although strange tales to your prejudice have
been industriously circulated amongst my servants, and
William here, has almost cried his eyes out, poor fellow.
However, you have rather gained than lost in my good opinion,

134 THE WATCHMAN.

Joseph," he added, advancing and taking him by the hand;
and then addressing the boy, he said, " go to your father,
William, and tell him how thankful you are that the malevo
lence of his enemies has failed ; and learn boy, from this event,
the value of a good name. Had your father not established a
character for honesty beyond suspicion, an occurrence such as
this, would have been sufficient to have ruined him in the esti
mation of all honest men."

The boy dried up his tears and went to his father and kissed
him, and Joseph, thanking Mr. Blunt for his consideration, and
for the good opinion he entertained of him, went to his duties.
But it was long before the mischief thus easily engendered, was
repaired so very much easier is it to lose than to gain a good
repute among men.

THE WATCHMAN. 135

CHAPTER XII.

WHICH TELLS OF GEORGE HARTLEY'S SUCCESS.

" TLere is a tide in the affairs of men,
Which taken at the flood, leads on to fortune."

SHAKSPEABB.

FOR several days subsequently to the interview with Charles
Edwards, described in a previous chapter, George Hartley had
been so busily occupied at home that, except at meal-times, his
wife had hardly seen him for a moment. Several times she
had endeavored to entice him into conversation, but in vain ;
he was so completely engrossed with his account-books, that
not a word could be got out of him. Mrs. Hartley could
endure it in silence no longer.

" George," she said, one evening, " I am sure there is some
thing the matter ; you are poring so constantly over those
nasty books."

" Yes, my love," was the reply.

" Then there really is something the matter ? I hope nothing
serious, George."

" I am afraid it will turn out to be very serious," replied
Hartley, knitting his brows and compressing his lips.

" Dear George, you frighten me," said his wife. " There is
nothing wrong at the office, dear? You are not going to
leave ? "

" Oh no," said George. " It does not affect me further than
to cause me an extra amount of labor, which I don't expect
to be paid for ; but you will know soon enough. I am bound
to secrecy j but matters cannot be hushed up much longer. I

136 THE WATCHMAN.

fancy you will see something about it in the papers to-morrow
or next day."

" Bound to keep anything secret from your wife, George ? "
said Mrs. Hartley. " I'm sure nobody has any right to bind
you to any such promise as that. I have a right to know all
that concerns you."

" But, my dear, this doesn't concern me."

" You tell me so, for fear of alarming me."

"Nonsense, my dear."

" Yes, nonsense! That's always your way of answering me
when I am anxious about anything; as if I were a child, and
unworthy to share your confidence."

How much longer this dispute matrimonial was continued,
matters not. It is sufficient to say that Mrs. Hartley gained
her end, as she generally managed to do, and heard that night
a piece of news that all New York was ringing with the next
morning, when the following paragraph appeared in the
papers :

" We learn that a confidential employee in the extensive
and wealthy firm of Wilson & Co., of this city, is suspected of
having embezzled money to the large amount of between fifty
and one hundred thousand dollars. We refrain from men
tioning names or publishing further details at present, as the
affair is undergoing a rigid investigation, and to publish prema
ture disclosures, might defeat the ends of justice. It is said
that the young man who has been guilty of this fraud, and who
is very respectably connected, has left the city, and it is sup
posed has fled into Canada, or is on his way to Europe."

The fraud was so extensive and the family of the defaulter
so high in the social scale for notwithstanding the silence of
the newspapers on that point, his name was pretty generally
known that for some days, the subject was the general topic
of conversation, it not happening to be election time, when the
excitement of rival parties, in favor of their particular candi
date, absorbs every thing else, and renders even the most atro.

THE WATCHMAN. 137

cious murders, or the most sanguinary war, mere common
place-matters, in comparison to sending Bill Styles to Congress,
or electing Jonathan Wild to the office of Mayor. And as the
immediate subordinate of the defaulting clerk had been for
several weeks confined to his bed by sickness, and George
Hartley had during that period temporarily filled his place, he
was the only one who could satisfactorily examine the books,
and ascertain the real nature and extent of the embezzlement.
Thus it was that he had been so busily engaged both at the
office and at home, and sorely he grumbled at the hard work
imposed upon him ; for he did not allow himself to hope that
he would receive any benefit from it. However, he did his
duty ably and honestly, and a few days afterwards, his task
having been completed, he returned home one evening evi
dently in high spirits. After tea, he placed a $100 bill upon
the table, to the astonishment and delight of his wife, who
exclaimed

" Why George ! where did you get so much money 1 "

" To-day, my dear, not only have I finished my task in exam
ining into Hallam's fraudulent entries, but our yearly accounts
have been balanced. You recollect I told you that I was
promised a ' compliment,' if my employers were satisfied with
me, although I placed little faith in the promise. Well, to-day
we were called one by one into Mr. Wilson's private office,
and this $100 was given to me, with some very flattering
remarks upon my good conduct. I certainly did not expect
at any rate more than $25, or at most $50, and I suppose this
handsome present is intended as a recompense for the extra
labor I have lately had to perform."

" Now, George," said Mrs. Hartley, coaxingly, " won't you
get me the new window-curtains I spoke about ? and I do so
want a new hat, dear."

George smiled. " I fancy, my love," he said, " that my poor
$100 biL would soon melt away, if I were to listen to your
economical ideas of making the most of it. However, you

138 THE WATCHMAN.

shall have a new ' hat,' as you call a bonnet, I presume, accord-
ing to the latest fashion of the ladies' vocabulary ; but I do
think the curtains will last out this winter, and you know hoAV
deeply we are in debt."

Mrs. Hartley was so delighted with her husband's ready
soncurrence in her latter request, that conscious as she was of
being in debt, she said no more about the coveted new curtains,
but busied herself with him in devising means how to expend
the bulk of the sum trifling, but a mine of wealth to them
so as to satisfy the most pressing of their creditors for the time
being ; and with the money for the purchase of the new bonnet
in her purse, she retired to rest in a most happy humor.

We have mentioned that fortune, unknown to him, was hov
ering over the head of George Hartley, ready to shower her
favors upon him. He was summoned the next morning into
the presence of his employers.

" Mr. Hartley," said the principal of the firm, " we men
tioned to you yesterday that we were highly pleased with your
general conduct since you have been in our employ. In conse
quence of the illness of Mr. Jones, you have had an opportu
nity afforded you of getting an insight into the nature of our
business, which under other circumstances you might not have
had for years. It was our intention, in case Mr. Jones did not
recover and we fear, poor fellow, he is dying to have pro
moted you to his desk. The late unfortunate occurrence, how
ever, has opened to your observation another and a more intri
cate branch of our business, and we are so pleased with your
promptitude and industry, and with the skill you have shown
yourself to be possessed of, that we have resolved to advance
you to a much more important position. We could readily
procure the services of older and more experienced men, who
would gladly give security for their honesty, and thus prevent
the recurrence of such a loss as we have lately met with ; but
we have decided to advance you to the desk lately occupied by

THE WATCHMAN. 139

Mr. Hallam. Henceforward, consider yourself our cashier.
Your salary will be eighteen hundred dollars per annum."

George Hartley was so surprised, -so overjoyed at this fortu
nate turn in the tide of his affairs, that he was almost unable
to speak. He essayed to do so ; but his words were choked
in the utterance ; he stammered out some unintelligible words,
expressive of his feelings, and hastily left the office ; and it was
not until he had remained at his desk for hours, thinking over
his good fortune that he recovered his composure.

On his way home, he called at a dry goods store and ordered
the curtains his wife so much coveted, resolved at the same
time to surprise and gratify her, and to listen to her astonish
ment at his generosity, before he told her of his good fortune ;
and to insure its prompt delivery, he carried home the parcel
himself, and untying it, spread it out proudly upon the table.

" Oh, George ! " said Mrs. Hartley, " what beautiful cur
tains ! How good of you to concoct this surprise for me, after
telling me, too, you naughty boy, that you could not afford
them this winter ; but dear George," she added " I fear I was
inclined to be extravagant, and perhaps you have debarred
yourself of something you require, to purchase these cur
tains 1 "

" No, my love. I hope before long not just yet, but before
long we shall be able to pay all our debts and to live in a
better style than we have hitherto done."

" What do you mean, George 1 " asked his wife.

George told her of the good fortune that had befallen him,
and the little woman was half crazy with joy. After she had in
some degree recovered herself, she launched forth into such
hopeful anticipations of the future, into such extravagant fan^
cies as to what she would do; what a nice house, what hand-
some furniture they should have, and as to where and at what
fashionable watering-place she should spend the next summer,
that at length George laughed outright, and playfully reminded
her that he had his increased salary yet to earn, his debts yet

140 THE WATCHMAN.

to pay, and that eighteen hundred dollars a-year, would not
make him a millionaire. However, the advance was so large
and so unexpected, that both he and his wife were excusable
in thinking somewhat extravagantly of their future income,
although George could not help recollecting that he had once
thought six hundred dollars a-year a small fortune, and as he
remembered how his former Chateaux en Espagne had dissolved
like a " baseless fabric of a vision" into thin air, he felt a fore
boding that he might, with new desires of comfort and luxury
engendered, find three times that amount all too little for his
cravings. With a woman's cheerful hope and lively fancy,
however, Mrs. Hartley saw her future path through lift strewn
with roses, and she, wisely perhaps, did not trouble herself
about the thorns that might be hidden beneath the flowers.

There were many heart-burnings with regard to George's
good fortune amongst his fellow-clerks in the office, some of
whom, who had been employed there for years, and had held
better situations than he, considering him an interloper, thought
that they should have been preferred before him; and even
amongst hia acquaintances, who outwardly warmly congratu
lated him, feelings of envy were engendered ; and Potter, espe
cially, although he smiled and fawned and flattered, grumbled
bitterly at the success of his former friend.

" Just my luck," he observed to a croney of his with whom
he was conversing upon the subject, "just my luck ! It was I
who got Hartley into that office. Ton my soul I recom
mended him to the place, a paltry five or six hundred a-year,
as I thought it would be. I never imagined there was such
luck in store for him, or else, Bob, depend upon it, I would
have accepted it myself. I was begged to accept it. I was
indeed ; and now, there he is installed cashier, just becanse he
happened to come from Dublin, where old Wilson was born ;
and now he'll be as proud as Lucifer, I suppose. You know
the old adage ' set a beggar on horse-back,' " &c.

But George Hartley was in reality a fine, generous, whole*

THE WATCHMAN. 141

souled .Irishman ; and although, perhaps, a trifle given to the
extravagance, characteristic of his countrymen, he had not a
particle of meanness or pride (and they are generally found in
close companionship), in his disposition. He was rejoiced at
his own success, and he had good and justifiable reason to be
so ; but he had not a thought of looking down upon his former
friends.

Affording proof of this, he exerted himself to the utmost to
conceal the disgrace that had befallen Charles Edwards, and
obtaining the unfortunate young man's promise to repay him
if he were able, at some future day, he managed to arrange
matters with Mr. Oliver, who, on his part, was not disposed tc
be harsh, and promising himself to pay the amount Edwards
had purloined, (Mr. Oliver generously allowing his own time
to make the payment, in instalments,) the wine-merchant
promised that he would not make his clerk's roguery public ;
and more, though he could not now conscientiously recom
mend him to other employment, if he showed signs of refor
mation, he would aid him with regard to his future prospects.

Having succeeded thus far, Hartley immediately called upon
Edwards, and informing him of the success of his arrangements,
he asked him what he thought of doing.

" I don't know," replied Edwards, in a desponding manner.

" Have you any hope of getting into another situation? "
asked George.

" What! here in New York 1 " said Edwards. " Oh no, not
here I could not remain here I should be ashamed to walk
the streets. I could not face Mr. Oliver."

" You have nothing to fear from him, Charles," replied
George. " But, if you would prefer to leave the city, I will
try what I can do for you. I am in constant intercourse with
gentlemen from all parts of the country, and I will mention
you to every one who I think likely to assist you. But Charles,
you must not be angry. I cannot recommend you personally.
I will not say anything to your prejudice, but will merely men

142 THE WATCHMAN.

tion that I am acquainted with you. Your future conduct,
should I be happy enough to procure you employment, must be
your recommendation."

" You turn from me like the rest," said Charles, moodily.

" Has my conduct towards you shown that ? " asked George.
" Charles, I will speak plainly with you. I was nearly getting
myself into trouble, perhaps disgrace, through your misfortune,
and can you ask me to recommend you to speak for your
character ? Only my confidence in your promises of amend
ment, my sorrow for your wife and family, and my recollec
tion of our former acquaintance, when together seeking em
ployment, we wandered through the streets of this city, have
led me still to interest myself in your welfare. And I am
willing to add, that I have hopes for you, and that what has
occurred, shall be forgotten by me."

" You forget that I might have been in your position," said
Edwards.

" No, Charles. I do not forget that you might perhaps have
obtained the junior clerkship at Messrs. Wilsons', had you
chosen to apply for it ; but you refused. I did not supplant
you, and you are ungenerous in saying what you do. You say,
too, that I am turning against you like the rest ! Like whom,
Charles ? Mr. Oliver has not turned against you. He has
acted most generously. I do not think you can say I have
acted otherwise. Many would blame me for what I am now
offering to do for what I have done. But you will think dif
ferently by and by. Your temper is chafed just now. Think
over what I have said, and in the course of a day or two, I will
see you again. Good night ;" and shaking him by the hand.
Hartley left the house and went home.

Various opportunities offered, in George Hartley's new posi
tion of confidential clerk and cashier, in a house like that of
Messrs. "Wilson & Co., which would have enabled him to pro
cure Edwards employment; but ho wisely resolved that he
would not mention his name in reference to any employment..

THE WATCHMAN. 143

in which a breach of trust, with regard to money matters, was
possible ; but after a day or two, he succeeded in procuring for
him an engagement as light porter in a shipping house iu
Boston ; the member of the firm who offered to engage him,
observing that if, after a fair trial, they found him active and
trustworthy, they would probably promote him to a better
situation and Charles accepted the situation; for he had
thought over what Hartley had said, and his conscience had
told him that George was right, and that he had acted basely,
and accused his friend wrongfully. Hartley, at considerable
inconvenience to himself, just then, advanced money sufficient
to enable Edwards to remove himself and his family to Boston,
and within a week he received a letter from him, thanking him
for his kindness, and assuring him that he was comfortably
situated in his new employment, and was resolved that hi
friend should not suffer for his generosity.

144 THE WATCHMAN

CHAPTER XIII.

THE WRECK AT THE CAPE OF GOOD HOPE.

" The whale he whistled ; the porpoise rolled ;
The dolphin bared his back of gold ;
And never was heard such an outcry wild
As welcomed to earth the ocean child."

OLD SONG

* Then flew from sea to sky the wild farewell ;
Then shrieked the timid, and stood still the brave.

DON JUAN.

THB weather cleared up after the Sea Gull had been two or
three days at sea, and nothing beyond matters of ordinary,
every day occurrence, took place until the vessel had crossed
the equator and was well on her way to the Cape of Good
Hope. Henry had done his best to become acquainted with
the ship's duties during the passage, and at the expiration of
five or six weeks, he had become a handy, useful lad. He had
ingratiated himself with thecaptain and first mate, and, although
the second mate still felt sore at times, (for he was a cross,
grained, surly fellow,) when he thought of the accident with the
main-royal, even he acknowledged, that the lad was as good
and smart a lad as one out of twenty that lumber up a ship's
deck. But Henry's chief favorite and instructor, and almost
constant companion for they were in the same " watch " was
an elderly man named Jenkins the best seaman on board a
thorough old sea dog, whose whole life had been spent upon the
water, he having, as he asserted, been born aboard a ship in a
gale of wind, and on that account, claiming for himself a cos-

THE WATCHMAN. 145

mopolitan nationality, so to speak for he asserted that his
ocean birth made him, pro tern., a native of the country from
which the ship hailed that he happened to be on board of and
Jack Jenkins had been on board of all sorts of ships. He had
served both in the English and American navies, and on board
the merchant ships of both countries, and if he might be believedj
on board ships of every other country that 'boasted of a mercan
tile or national marine ; and perhaps Jack's assertions were
true, for he had sailed about the ocean for more than sixty
years, and in that long period of time he surely had had ample
opportunity of seeing the world. Like most men of his class,
Tack Jenkins had an aptitude for " spinning long yarns," and
generally speaking they were remarkable for their originality
for Jack had some queer notions of his own and Henry was
never happier than when, during the " middle watch," the
ancient mariner would loll with him over the bulwarks, and
tell him some of his strange stories, while he watched the phos
phorescent gleam of the sea, as the vessel cut her way through
the yielding waters. Jack Jenkins was unable to read, and
thus Henry had at other times, on Sundays, and during the
watch below, abundance of opportunities of reciprocating the
favors of the old man by reading the Bible to him on a Sabbath
for let people say what they may, Jack at sea is religious, to a
certain extent, and the Bible is seen more commonly in the hands
of sailors at sea on Sunday, than in those of any other class of
men on shore and on week days by reading to him from the
few other odd volumes to be found in the forecastle, and which
chiefly related to nautical affairs such as histories of voyage,
and common sea novels.

Jack had but one failing, if such it could be termed. He
was a stout, podgy man, and possessed a high admiration of
that which he considered education in others ; but although
endowed with a thorough simplicity of character, he entertained
a most exalted opinion of his own natural gifts. Henry had
been reading to him the narrative of " John Adams," relating
10

146 THE WATCHMAN.

to Fletcher Christian, and the mutineers of the Bounty, and his
imagination had become strongly excited by the account of the
manner in which old Adams had trained up the inhabitants of
Pitcairn's Island, the descendants of the mutineers and their
native paramours, in the paths of virtue and morality ; and a
strange fancy had seized hold upon him that he was well fitted
to do the like benefit to the inhabitants of some one or other of
the numerous Islands of Oceanica, or of the Eastern Archipelago.
As the vessel neared the southern promontory of the African
Continent, the weather began to grow more changeable, and
one night when Henry and his aged messmate were on watch
together, the wind sensibly increased within an hour after they
had come upon deck. The ship was now rapidly nearing the
African coast ; but, although the sea was running high, forming
those mountainous waves peculiar to that portion of Neptune's
stormy domain, the wind was favorable and the ship snugly
trimmed, so that no danger was to be apprehended. Henry
had been taking his turn at the lee wheel, and on coming forward
he found Jack Jenkins parading the forecastle deck as steadily
as he could with the heavy rolling of the vessel, and he joined
him.

The night was pitchy dark, and the streaks of white foam
which girded the tops of the lofty waves and marked the track
of the vessel's wake, looked startling amidst the deep gloom,
while the mad, neadlong rush of the ship, impelled by the wild
fury of the wind, now increased to a gale, was calculated to
inspire feelings of considerable terror in the minds of those
who were novices to the feelings of " they that go down to the
sea in ships, that do business in the great waters ; for these
people see the works of the Lord, and his wonders in the
deep."

The sight was sufficiently impressive, even to those habitu
ated to it, and Henry looked around him at the " darknes*
visible," and watched the heavy rolling of the ship, while tht
wind whistled shrilly through the now almost bare rigging

THE WATCHMAN. 147

for the sail had been still more reduced while he had been
engaged at the helm with a feeling of mingled awe and admi
ration.

For some time the old tar and the neophite in nautical mat
ters paced the unsteady deck together in silence. At length
Jenkins spoke. Notwithstanding the difference in their ages
and experience, the old seaman treated the other with much
more familiarity than boys are usually treated by seamen on
board ship. Indeed this familiarity was also accompanied with
a sort of deference to the other's opinions ; for Henry, young
as he was, was a scholar in the eyes of Jack Jenkins, and we
have heretofore observed that he had a high admiration for
education.

" A rough night this, bo','' he said. " I thou't as we should
catch it soon ; for the Mother Carey's chickens has been a-fol-
lowing on us up closely, and I allers finds as they bring a gale
o' wind in their wake. What is your opinion, Henry, of the
belief that sailors has, that the souls of them as has gone to
Davy Jones' Locker, flies about in them 'ere small birds 1 "

" Don't you recollect, Jack," replied Henry, " what I was
reading the other day 1 The book said it was a mere supersti
tion, and that the birds were to be seen as frequently in a
calm as in a storm. It said that they come in search of food,
and that possibly, to account for the idea that they are more
numerous in lowering weather than at other times, they may
at such seasons find a greater difficulty in procuring the ani
malculse that float on the surface of the water, upon which
they subsist, and consequently approach closer to the vessels,
in the anticipation of picking something up from the slops
thrown overboard."

" Well bo', you've been at school, and are book-larned, and
ought to know ; but nobody shan't shake my belief in what
I've stated cause why 1 'Cause I've sort o* had oc'lar demon
stration, as the books say."

" 1 should like to hear you tell of it," said Henry, in antici

148 THE WATCHMAN.

pation of hearin g a yarn, to relieve the tedium of the watch.
" Suppose you tell me, Jack."

" Well, Henry, though I don't like to talk o' such matters
in such stormy weather as this, and in the dark night, yet, as
likely the books 'd say that's superstition too, I don't mind
telling you. You know I've been many a year at sea. Indeed
the first recollection I have of myself, is being on the deck of a
ship. So, you see I ain't likely to be superstitious in such mat
ters ; but that's neither here nor there. It's now some thirty
years ago since I was aboard Nelson's fleet, when he scoured
the West Ingee seas, in search of Villeneuve, the French admi
ral and his squadron. That were afore ever I joined Uncle
Sam's navy. But that's no matter. I had a ' chum ' there,
who was like a brother to me more nor any brother I ever
know'd ; because I never had any brothers or sisters. Well,
you know, the chase arter Villeneuve was useless ; because,
when he found Nelson were arter him, he dodged and sailed
back to France with his fleet, in a very unhandsome-like man
ner, 'cause he must have know'd as the English admiral had
come all that way a-purpose to fight him. Howsomever, we
cruised up and down, and to and fro among the islands, and
one day my messmate, whose name was Dickson, fell over
board from the jib-boom, just at ' seven bells,' in the ' dog
watch.' Well, the ship had considerable of headway through
the water, and, as it were nearly dark, although we ' hove to,'
and throw'd the life-buoy overboard, we never got no signs on
him. The ship must have passed right over him ; for he never
rose.

" Of course I was much cut up, and so was the whole ship's
company ; for Dickson was a favorite on board. That night
we sighted the island of Barbadoes, and were hugging the land
pretty closely, and I was sent aloft to look out for the lights
in the port we were approaching. Just as I hailed the deck,
singing out that I see'd the 1'ghts, a heavy squall struck the
ship and gave her a considerable lurch, and at the same moment

THE WATCHMAN. 149

I heard a voice holler out right under me, just like that of
Dickson's, and a Mother Carey's chicken a'most struck agin
my face. Now I allers had a belief that that 'ere voice was
Dickson's ; for he was used to be the reg'lar look-out in the
fore-top. More by token the next day, we stranded upori a
shoal just outside the harbor, and it's my opinion that 'ere
voice was a warning. I said as much to the leeftenant of my
watch, afterwards ; but he laughed at me, and would have it
that the voice was made by the old goat, who had her leg
broken by the fall of a cask, occasioned by the lurch just at the
moment I sung out; but I wants to know how a Mother
Carey's chicken came to be so near me at that time o' the
night, if it warn't Sam Dickson's spirit ? "

" Well, I guess," said Henry, " the lieutenant was right,
Jack, and that it was the goat made the noise, and I don't see
any great wonder in a solitary sea-bird hovering about the
vessel, although the hour was unusual."

"Henry, I'd have thought better of you bo'. That's just the
way long-shore folks talk ; but I won't believe but that 'ere
voice was the voice of my old shipmate 'specially as we got
ashore a few hours afterwards. Henry," continued Jack, after
a pause, " you're only a youngster, yet somehow or other I've
taken to you more than ever I did to any body, but poor Sam.
I don't like to talk of these 'ere matters at such times so we'll
speak o' something else. I'm a going to tell you a piece of my
rnind, as I've never told to any body afore 'cause why?
They'd maybe laugh at me, and call me an old fool ; but you
won ; t bo', will ye ? You won't call old Jack Jenkins, as is old
enough to be your granf 'ther, an old fool 1 " and he patted the
boy on the head.

" No, ' said Henry.

" Well then, ever since the morning you read out o' that
book, about the people on Pitcairn's Island, I've been a thinking
what a power of good / might do if I was to get to live ashore,
and become king o' one them cannibal islands as I've seen in

150 THE WATCHMAN.

the East Ingee seas, with nothing but naked savages on 'em.
I might train 'em up like old Adams did the t'others, in the
ways of vartue and religion, and so become a blessing to 'em.
I've often thought, when I've been wandering up and down the
deck, lonely-like, as how every man had some dooty to do in
this 'ere world, if so be as he hopes to clear out with clean
papers and a good conscience on his cruise to t'other one ; and
it appears to me as I had a ' call,' to civilize one of them 'ere
islands."

Young as Henry was, the idea of the old seaman seemed to
him so ludicrous, that notwithstanding his promise and his real
respect for Jack, he could hardly help laughing; but he
restrained himself, although he ventured on a joke, and said :

" What, and marry half-a-dozen wives, and become a grand
Turk on your own account, like the stories I sometimes read
in the ' Arabian Nights 1 ' "

" I didn't mean 'xactly that," continued the old man, seri
ously ; " though I can't see any thing wrong in that view of
the subject neither. Ye see I've studied it over in my mind
bo'. I'm a man, altho' a sailor, which professes religion, and I
knows that some o' the wisest men in the Bible had hundreds
of wives and conkerbines. Now these 'ere last I allers set my
mind agin, 'cause it's immoral ; but I'm not so sure o' t'other,
and though I'm not agoing to sot myself up with Scripture
kings of ancient times, as had their hundreds of wives, being
as how I'm only a boatswain's mate, yet I don't know, if it
was for the good of the island, you see, but I might be able to
manage half-a-dozen, so as train them and their children up in
the ways of vartue and religion. Any ways, it's not on that
'ere point, as I argues. It's just this, as I told ye bo' : I feels
a sort o' call to civilize an island."

The wind had lulled considerably while honest Jack Jenkins
had been displaying his peculiar views respecting his " call," to
his young friend, and it was evident that a change of weather
was to be expected. Just as he had concluded his harangue.

THE WATCHMAN. 151

the voice of the mate was heard from the quarter-deck,
shouting :

" Boatswain's mate, call all hands ! "

" Now you've got your call, Jack," said Henry, mischiev
ously, " and a call that I, boy as I am, think is more in your
line."

Jack did not reply ; but going to the forecastle hatch, he re
sponded to the order of the officer by striking several heavy
blows on the deck with a handspike, and shouting at the top of
his voice :

"All hands ahoy ! tumble up there, lads ! tumble up."

The boy Henry was called aft to the quarter-deck. On
reaching it, he found the captain, wrapped up in his boat-cloak
and with his souwester on his head and his speaking trumpet
in his hand, engaged in earnest conversation with the mate.

It was now almost calm, and the ship was rolling tremen
dously in the trough of the sea, having but little sail set aloft
and no wind to steady her. It was with extreme difficulty the
boy could keep his feet.

" Mr. Thomas," said the captain to the mate, " the weather has
a very strange aspect. The barometer, which has been very
low during this westerly breeze, has risen considerably, and
very suddenly. Had it risen slowly, I should have ascribed
the rise to the fact of the force of the gale dying out ; but in
connection with this sudden lull, it looks ominous. An easterly
gale, to last any time, is quite unusual at this season of the
year ; but I fear we shall have heavy weather from the east
ward, which with this cross-sea will be anything but pleasant.
If I thought it would last any length of time, I would not care,
since it would blow us off the land, and the sea would gradually
go down ; but I fear another sudden change, and if it comes on
to blow so that we cannot carry sail, it will, with the sea it will
occasion, render the ship almost unmanageable. You had better
furl the mizzen-topsail and mainsail, sir, and keep her under the

152 THE WATCHMAN.

two other close-reefed topsails and the storm staysail, until we
see how things look."

There was soon all the bustle, and to the eye of a landsman,
the apparent confusion incident to the shortening of sail in
heavy weather ; but the mainsail was at length taken in, and
still the ominous lull continued.

" We cannot be far off the land," said the Captain. " It is
now several days since we have been able to take an observa
tion ; but at the rate we have been running eastward, together
with the westerly ' set,' that must have been given us by this
heavy sea, we must be nearly in the longitude of Cape Town ;
perhaps to the eastward of it. I had no fears so long as the
wind remained steady ; because I know these westerly gales
seldom 'blow home,' and we should have found smoother
water had we run close in with the land. Heave her to, sir,
till daylight."

The bai'ometer continued to fall with startling rapidity ; and
just as day began to dawn, displaying the lowering, lead-colored
sky, and the dark, turbulent waves of the ocean, a broad
streak of light became visible low down in the horizon, to the
eastward, which gradually extended itself, until the entire south
eastern section of the sky was illumined with a fiery glow,
when, suddenly, a squall of tremendous force struck the vessel
and almost laid her on her beam-ends. The wind, blowing
directly against the heavy sea, caused the ship to labor excess
ively. But the first fury of the squall having spent its force,
the vessel became easier, and the weather becoming clearer as
the wind slightly moderated, the mainsail was reefed and set.
In an hour or so, a sudden lull again occurred, and the officer
of the watch gave orders to haul up and furl the mainsail again.
Meanwhile the captain, who had been up on deck the whole
night, had retired to his cabin to change his drenched clothing,
and to procure some refreshment.

" Bear a-hand, lads, and roll the sail up," shouted the mate.

THE WATCHMAN. 153

" We shall have a change of wind directly, and plenty of it, if
I am not mistaken."

And the men proceeded with the alacrity that the emergency
required, to their perilous duty for the yai'd-arms seemed to
dip in the waves with every roll of the vessel.

At this moment the captain rushed up from the cabin.

" Furl the mainsail," he shouted to the mate. " Oh, I see !
the men are now going aloft. The barometer has fallen again
nearly half-an-inch during the half-hour since I last examined it.
We are going to experience a tremendous ' blow,' from the
old quarter. I never saw weather look wilder," he continued,
as he anxiously scanned the horizon in the westerly direction.
Then suddenly turning round, he exclaimed :

" Here it comes, with a vengeance ! Down ! Down from
aloft, men ! Lay off the yards, every mother's son of you !
Let the sail fly !"

And at the same moment a gust of wind, of tremendous
force, struck the ship full on the beam, and laid her broadside
on the water. It was with difficulty that she righted, and was
got round for the time being, before the wind.

The hurricane now blew with irresistible fury, and the sea
made a clean breach over the vessel. Both topgallant masts
snapped short off, like carrots, and hung dangling and swinging
to and fro by their rigging, while the fury of the gale was such
that it was impossible to send hands aloft to clear the wreck ;
the mainsail, which had been handed up, but left unfurled, flew
to ribbands, and the close reefed foretopsail was blown from
the bolt-ropes. In a few minutes the greater part of the
planking of the bulwarks was washed away, and the sea rush
ing in in torrents at every roll, swept the decks, rendering the
crew at any moment liable to be washed overboard. One
quarter-boat was smashed to atoms 'by a stroke from a heavy
sea, and the other was torn from its tackles and washed away,
while each man of the crew clung with desperation to the
Delay ing-pins and rigging, to save himself from being washed
7*

154 THE WATCHMAN.

overboard. To stand unsupported on the deck, was impossi
ble. The cook's galley was washed overboard and the cop.
pers thrown into the lee-scuppers, seriously injuring the cook
himself and that of the seamen who were near at the time of
the accident. There were some half-dozen passengers on
board, and the consternation may be conceived better than it
can be described.

" We can't run on this course long, Mr. Thomas," said the
captain. " We must be in dangerous proximity with the land,
and will be on some of the reefs in the course of another half-
hour. We must ' heave to' again at all risks, although there is
a chance of the masts going by the board. If that should hap
pen, our case would be hopeless ; but if the maintopsail holds,
we may manage to keep her to the wind till the weather mod
erates. We are now running headlong to destruction."

"Land on the weather-bow!" sung out Jenkins, from the
forecastle, his voice scarcely audible, amidst the uproar of the
elements, and almost at the same moment, the flat, square top
of the Table Mountains, and the pointed, jagged peaks of the
Lion's Head and Rump were visible to all, through the hazy
drift.

" Land on the lee-bow ! "

" White water ahead ! " was shouted simultaneously by two
others of the crew.

" Heave to, directly, come what may ! " cried the captain.
" We are running right on to Green Point. If we strike the
shore there, nobody will live to tell the tale ; " and the helm
was put down and the yards swung round as rapidly as, under
the circumstances, was possible.

The force of the hurricane was, However, too much for the
overstrained cordage and taughtened canvas, and the former
parted and the latter fled from the bolt-ropes with a report
like that of a cannon, and the ship " broaded to," throwing the
men at the wheel in a complete somerset into the foaming

THE WATCHMAN. 155

urge. It was impossible even to make any attempt to save
them.

" God help us ! we can do nothing more," said the captain.
" Call the carpenter, and let him cut away the masts. Let us
show as little as possible to the wind, and then we must
endeavor to steer the vessel ashore on the softest spot we can
find. If we can hold to the westward of the Point, we may,
perhaps, run her on to a sand-bank, and save our lives."

" Breakers on the starboard-bow ! " shouted another voice,
and the attention of the crew being thus diverted to the spot, a
long line of white water was visible, extending, apparently, for
miles. To avoid striking on the reef, was impossible. The
crew clung convulsively to the life-ropes which had been
extended round the railings of the bulwarks, and breathlessly
awaited the concussion.

It came a shock that seemed to rend every timber of the
strong vessel asunder.

" Port your helm ! " cried the captain, " hard a-port ! Thank
God ! the ship is still manageable, wreck as she is ; but another
such a shock as that, will send us all into eternity."

" Land right ahead! " was shouted by one of the crew, and
consternation appeared in every visage. The captain gazed
anxiously towards it. At length his face brightened. "Thank
Heaven ! it is the very spot," said he. " It is the sand-bank I
spoke of, and the only low land on the coast. I know the spot
well. It forms a curve and makes a deep bay. Keep her
steady, my lads, and endeavor to steer right for the shore
ahead, and we may yet be safe. That reef, although it has
well nigh stove the ship's hull to atoms, has preserved our
lives. Had we passed clear, and outside of it, no earthly
power or skill could have saved us."

But he had been too sanguine, and the thick haze had deceived
him. The ship, when within a few hundred yards of the shore,
on which the inhabitants could be seen in crowds struck on
another reef with such violence, that her rail was broken, and

156 THE WATCHMAN.

the water poured in so rapidly that she soon filled. She had
rebounded with the shock and fallen into deeper water ; still
at every swell she thumped heavily, and the sea making a
clean breach over her, one by one the hapless crew were washed
away. Those on shore could afford no relief. They had no
life-boats, and had they possessed them, in that sea and upon
that reef, they would have been unavailable. It was several
hours before the wind moderated, and before that, nothing
remained of the gallant bark, but a host of floating pieces of
wreck, which were washed ashore, with the dead bodies of the
unfortunate crew, many of whom had at the last moment,
secured themselves to the wreck with cords.

The horror-stricken spectators closely scrutinized the man
gled bodies as they were washed up on the beach, in the hope
that life might yet remain in some ; but one by one they passed
them by. They were stiff and cold in death ; many of them
must have been killed by the blows they had received for
they were horribly bruised and mangled. At last a shout was
raised by a crowd who had collected at some distance from the
spot where the greater portion of the wreck had come ashore,
and as many immediately rushed to the spot whence the cry
had proceeded, they found that two bodies had drifted ashore
there, in whom the spark of life still existed, although they
were insensible.

One of these was an aged man ; the other a boy, of some
eleven or twelve years of age. They were borne to the town,
by the kind-hearted people, and every medical attendance pro
vided, and they were by these means speedily restored to
consciousness ; but without being questioned, they were put
to bed. It was found that with the exception of a few trivial
bruises and the exhaustion they had undergone, they were
unhurt, and the next day they were able to tell the name of
the ship, and to relate the details of the wreck. They were
Jack Jenkins and Henry Selby, the only survivors of a crew
of thirty hands, passengers included.

THE WATCHMAN. 137

Henry owed his life to old Jenkins, who had lashed the bey
to a piece of wreck which he considered to be of size sufficient
to bear them both, and happily by remaining by the vessel
until she parted, and then slipping over the piece of wreck on
the offside, they had drifted clear of the jagged pieces of rock,
and the frightful surf which had proved fatal to their ship,
mates, and being carried round the stern, had got into com
paratively smoother water.

Some time elapsed, however, before they were sufficiently
recovered to go abroad. Meanwhile a subscription was
raised for them in Cape Town, and they were provided with
clothing and such things as they stood in need of, and at the
expiration of three weeks, Jack Jenkins got a birth on board a
vessel bound from the Cape to Van Diernan's Land and New
Zealand ; and bidding a hearty farewell to Henry for this
mishap had united them as closely as though they had been
father and son Jenkins went to sea.

Henry's bruises had been more severe than those of the old
man, and a fortnight yet elapsed before he was able to go to
sea again. Then the captain of a homeward-bound vessel
going to London, offered to take him on board ; but another
country ship at the time being about to sail to the East India
Islands, and the captain being in want of a cabin-boy, Henry
chose the latter. He was resolved to visit the East Indies,
since he had got thus far, and notwithstanding this misfortune
in the outset of his career, he still determined to make the sea
his profession.

He was duly installed in his new berth, and in a few days
sailed for Pulo Penang.

158 THE WATCHMAN

CHAPTER XIV.

BAD NEWS FROM ABROAD.

" We discover virtues in the dead, -which we never dreamed the living
possessed. It is hard that it should be necessary for a man to die before his
friends can discover his good qualities." ANONYMOUS.

IN consequence of the anxiety of the Watchman to ascertain
in what ship Henry had sailed, Mr. Blunt, by diligent inquiry,
at length discovered that it was the Sea Gull, Captain Turner,
"bound to Calcutta and China. The person of the mate of that
vessel was known to some of his clerks, and they had noticed
him frequently speaking to the boy, and one of them had heard
them conversing together, when Henry was expressing a desire
to go to sea, and he believed the mate encouraged him in his
wish ; though at the time, the clerk thought nothing of it. As
to Mr. Blunt, although he had kindly taken charge of the boy,
he had never entertained a very high opinion of him. We
have seen that Henry was no great favorite with the family of
the merchant, and as all his reports of the lad were derived
through them, he had no reason to estimate his moral qualities
very highly. He therefore thought that perhaps the lad had
done the best thing for himself that he could have done, and he
so expressed himself to Joseph, when he informed him that he
had reason to believe that he had sailed in the Sea Gull.

" I have observed, Carter," he said, " that the boy possesses
a wild, independent spirit of his own, and the sea is the only
place to tame him. Had he remained with me and behaved
himself well, I would perhaps have done something better for
him ; but as it is, it is as well he is away. It is strange that

THE WATCHMAN. 159

these youngsters, whose earliest recollections are those of crime
and misery, seem to have become imbued with the vices of
their parents and associates. Perhaps I did wrong in taking
the boy into my family at all. Still, I wish him well, and hope
he will succeed in the rude calling he has chosen."

It was singular that a man naturally noble-minded and
generous like Mr. Blunt, should think and speak thus ; but
such is often the case. The best Samaritans among us all, are
prone to possess a Pharisaical spirit, and to thank God that we
are so much better than others ; forgetting that we owe all we
pride ourselves in to the Providence that caused us to be born
in a happier social sphere, and placed associations around us
during our tender years of infancy and early childhood, which
necessarily had an effect upon our future life. Some such
thoughts as these passed through the mind of the Watchman,
while Mr. Blunt was speaking, but he made no reply. Having
gained his object in ascertaining in what ship Henry was sup
posed to have sailed, he left the office and went about his
employment.

When, however, he returned home in the evening, he told
his wife and daughter what he had learnt, and Mrs. Carter
merely remarked that she was glad to hear the name of the
ship and she hoped Henry had a good captain, who would
treat the poor lad well. Mrs. Carter had always regarded the
boy much in the same light as Mr. Blunt. Not so, however,
little Ellen. She had listened eagerly to every word that had
fallen from her father's lips, and as she could now read and
write pretty well, she wrote the name of the ship and the
captain, in a little copy-book diary she was keeping, and de
termined to look every day in the shipping news of the daily
papers, in the hope of learning something further about him.
She commenced her daily examination of the shipping list im
mediately ; for she Knew nothing of the sea, poor little, simple
thing, and it did not cross her mind that, unless the ship should
chance to be spoken with, by some ship arrived at some port

160 THE WATCHMAN.

in the United States, months might elapse before the name of
the Sea Gull appeared in the papers.

We have not hitherto done more than allude to little Ellen
Carter in a cursory manner ; but we believe it is always satis
factory to the reader, to learn something of the personal, as
well as the moral qualifications of those that are introduced to
him in the pages of story or history.

At the period of the opening of our story, Ellen Carter was
five years of age ; she was now in her tenth year. She was a
fair, delicate, retiring child, affectionate towards those whom
she knew and loved, and who treated her with kindness, but
timid in regard to forcing herself into notice ; in this respect
differing entirely from her brother Willy, who was a bold,
manly lad, and whose dispositions required rather the bridle
than the spur.

Little Ellen was not what would generally be termed a beau
tiful child ; but no one who knew her could long have regarded
her without interest, and if her features had been closely criti
cised, it would have been difficult to have found a fault in them.
All that could be said, would be, that she wanted the elasticity
of spirit that is so attractive in children. Young as she was,
her features wore a pensive cast that would have befited a
grown up woman, and as she grew older, these very qualities
were calculated to cause her to make a deeper and more
enduring impression, than would have been qualities of a more
showy, dazzling character. Her face was oval, her hair brown
and curling in natural ringlets in great profusion : it was silky
in texture, and possessed that lustre which changes its shade in
every change of light. Her complexion was delicately fair, and
her form slender but rounded, and giving promise of great
elegance. Ellen Carter would have graced a much higher
social circle than that in which it had pleased Providence to
place her ; and, after all, those who had seen her enjoying her
self with her own chosen playmates, would have confessed, that
gentle and retiring as was her usual mood, she could romp, and

THE WATCHMAN. 161

run, and laugh with the best of them. She was the favorite
child of her father, as Willy was of her mother, and Willy
himself doted upon his little sister Ellen. Indeed their love
was mutual. No brother and sister could be more attached to
each other than were they.

Months passed away, and though the ship-news was every
day closely scanned by Joseph and his daughter, there was not
a word of the Sea Gull. But one evening, when Joseph had
brought home the paper as usual, and composed himself in his
arm-chair to read it, as was his wont, until his daughter had
completed the washing of the tea things, and the various little
chores about the house, (which had for some time since devolved
upon her, and right proud she was, too, of her office as house
keeper,) when he used to give the paper to the child and let her
read it aloud to him ; he suddenly laid it aside, saying :

" Come Nelly ; make haste, lassie, and come and read to
me ; they print the paper in such small type now, that my old
eyes can scarcely see it. I must get my spectacles changed
they are really of very little use to me."

" I am ready, papa," said the child, taking her accustomed
seat on a low stool between her father and mother, the latter of
whom was busily engaged with her needle. " Where shall I
begin 1 "

" On the third page," said Joseph, " there is a Ipng story of
some dreadful shipwreck there. I could just make out the
words, ' shipwreck and loss of life,' and that was all."

Anything relating to ships or to the sea had, since Henry
had gone, possessed, as we have observed, great interest in the
eyes of Joseph Carter and his daughter, and the latter eagerly
turned to the place indicated, and commenced :

" DREADFUL SHIPWRECK AND LOSS OF LIFE. We learn from
a file of papers, received from the Cape of Good Hope, per
favor of Captain Somers, of the ship Swan, from Canton, arrived
at this port that on the 16th of July last, during a violent hurri
cane from the westward tht ship Sea Gull, Captain Turner, of
11

162 THE WATCHMAN

this port bound to Calcutta and China, went ashore on the reefs
opposite Green Point, and became a total wreck. Every soul
on board, and the entire cargo, were lost. The inhabitants "

" Oh, papa, papa ! I cannot read any more now. I cannot
indeed. Poor Henry ! " and the child burst into a violent
flood of tears, and let the paper fall from her hands.

Joseph was scarcely less affected, and Mrs. Carter dropped
her work and appeared paralysed with the shock of the sudden
intelligence.

" Poor boy," said Joseph ; " I did not anticipate that he
would come to so untimely and so terrible an end."

" So young too, and so lonely and no mother near him
no one to care for him no one to weep over his loss, or even
to see him laid in the grave," said Mrs. Carter, whose motherly
and womanly feelings were now aroused, and who had forgotten
in a moment all that she had disliked in the boy, now that
she heard of his sad fate.

Joseph took Ellen upon his knee, and while his own voice
was nearly choked, endeavored to comfort her : but seeing that
it was in vain, and believing it best that her grief should find
vent, he persuaded her to go to bed, where she lay sobbing for
hours before she dropped asleep.

Mrs. Carter laid aside her work, and she and her husband
sat silently before the fire, the silence only being interrupted
as each would occasionally recall some recollection of the poor
friendless child.

At length Mrs. Carter said :

" Joseph, dear, if you can, try to read the whole account
aloud. Ellen is asleep now. I will light another candle."

And Joseph took the paper and rubbed his eyes with his
handkerchief, and then rubbed his glasses ; and with frequent
interruptions, read the sad story to the end.

The details were mainly correct ; but strangely enough, no
mention was made that any of the crew had been saved. The
account had been written and published on the very day the

THE WATCHMAN. 163

accident had occurred, and before, as it appeared, the reporters
and editors had heard that a man and a boy nad been washed
on-shore, alive.

It was long before Ellen overcame her childish grief for the
loss of her young playmate of former days. It could have been
only childish sorrow, for the little girl was not old enough to
have experienced feelings more powerful than girlish affection ;
but yet the recollection of Henry Selby, the poor outcast
orphan boy, clung to her memory even when the earliest grief
had subsided, and she could never hear his name mentioned
without emotion after months had elapsed since she had read
the intelligence of his loss.

Mr. Blunt, too, was sorry when he heard from the watch
man that the poor boy's career had been so suddenly brought
to a close ; and, as is often the case, persons grieved over
Henry's supposed death who would not have bestowed a
thought upon him while living. And yet, had it been known
that he lived, had he suddenly returned, and made his appear
ance before these sorrowing friends, there would have been a
warm welcome, and with very few exceptions, all would have
relapsed into their former coldness.

164 THE WATCHMAN.

CHAPTER XV.

A LAPSE OF YEARS.

"There have been changes, too, in the home-scenes; these graft ag
upon a man." IK MAB.VVJ.

A LAPSE of eight years has taken place since the events
occurred, recorded in our last chapter. Joseph Carter has
resigned his post as city Watchman, but is often employed in
a semi-official capacity, as an extra hand, when an officer is
deputed to attend public meetings, or to do duty in places of
public amusement. It has been a period of unexampled pros
perity, and business of all kinds has increased, consequently
Carter has found himself fully employed, and all has gone well
with him and his family. Little Ellen, his daughter, has
grown up to be a very pretty, and what is better, a very good
girl. She is still at school, although she has now reached her
eighteenth year, for Joseph Carter had resolved to give his
daughter a good education ; still she is of great assistance to
her mother at home, taking upon herself, with commendable
pride, the management of the domestic concerns of the family.
As a matter of course, she has many admirers, some of them
her superiors in social rank, for she has been educated above
her condition, and from time to time has been invited to Mr.
Blunt's house, being a great favorite with Mrs. Blunt ; but she
turns a deaf ear to all. She is too young to think of marrying
yet, she tells her mother, and the mother agrees with her ; but
the real fact is, that she has not yet forgotten the little outcast,
Henry Selby the sailor boy the boy-lover of her childhood ;

THE WATCHMAN. 165

though perhaps, she alone bears him now in remembrance, for
nothing has been heard of Henry, during all these long years.
He is thought to have perished at sea, either on the occasion
of the wreck of the Indiaman, narrated in a former chapter 5 or,
if by some miraculous interposition of Providence he escaped
that, to have perished during some subsequent voyage. Joseph
Carter, to be sure, occasionally, especially when perusing in
the newspapers some dreadful tale of storm and shipwreck,
henves a sigh to the memory of poor Henry ! And Mrs.
Carter sympathetically responds, for she knows the meaning of
the sigh ; but Ellen, strangely enough, will not believe that
Henry is dead. She does not possess much romance of dis
position ; still she has read of people, supposed long to have
been lost, turning up after years of absence, wealthy and
prosperous ; and she does allow a romantic fancy to reign in
her bosom, that Henry Selby will return some day, either
captain of a ship of his own, or a great merchant, or something
or other, indefinable, and strangely confused in her mind.
And yet, withal, she feels a sad, sickening sensation in her
heart when she thinks of him, and when at night she lies
wakeful in her bed, listening to the wild moaning of the wind,
which evidently shows that with all her buoyant hopefulness,
she feels that after all poor Henry may be dead.

During these years, William Carter has gradually risen
from being the office-boy in Mr. Blunt's establishment, to the
position of clerk, and at length, though but twenty-two years of
age, to assistant book-keeper, with a salary sufficient to
maintain him in respectability, and to enable him to make
many judicious presents to his father, mother, and sister. He
has turned out a smart, well conducted lad, and bids fair to
attain^, highly respectable position in society. In the course
of a few more years, when Mr. Blunt's present head book-keeper,
who is getting up in years, retires, the merchant has promised
William the vacant situation.

George Hartley is getting along famously at Messrs. Wilson

166 THE WATCHMAN.

& Co.'s, and for two years past has been the managing clerk
of the concern, with a salary of two thousand five hundred
dollars a-year.

With respect to Charles Edwards, matters do not look so
favorable. He got along pretty well in Boston for a year or
two, and in the course of that period paid Mr. Oliver the money
he had defrauded him of, and George Hartley began to hope
that he had completely reformed ; when one day he received
a letter from him, asking for a loan, and saying that he had
left his situation. Mr. Hartley, before replying, made inquiry
as to the truth of Edwards' statements, and found that he had
been dismissed on account of being repeatedly intoxicated.
He learnt that Mrs. Edwards, a worthy woman, was, with her
family, in great distress, and he sent her some money, and
wrote Charles a letter, in which, while he commented severely
upon his past failings, he urged him to reform ere it was yet
too late, if not for his own sake, for the sake of the wife and
children who were dependent upon his exertions. He received
no reply to the letter to Charles ; but Mrs. Edwards wrote to
him thanking him for his kindness and telling him, that she
believed her husband had taken his advice to heart and that
he was now striving to obtain some fresh engagement. Hart
ley was consequently greatly surprised some two months
afterwards, to receive a visit at Messrs. Wilson's office, from
a man shabbily dressed, and bearing in his countenance visi
ble imprints of intemperance. The appearance of the visitor
was such, as to cause George to blush with shame at the idea
of his employers and fellow clerks seeing a person of such
disreputable appearance call upon him. And he was shocked,
when upon a second glance at the bloated features of the
stranger, he recognized in him his once smart and good-
looking friend, Charles Edwards. He briefly desired him to
call that evening at his house, in Brooklyn. And giving him
a few shillings, at his earnest request, got him to leave the
office as quickly as possible.

THE WATCHMAN. 167

In the evening Edwards did call evidently half intoxicated
and related a long whining story, how he had been misused
in Boston, laying all his own misbehavior at the door of
others, and ending by declaring that it was utterly impossible
for him to obtain employment in Boston everybody was set
against him by his enemies and that he had brought his wife
and two children to New York, where he had placed them in
obscure lodgings, while he sought out his only friend, and
besought his aid to start him once again in the world.

The miserable man wept maudlin tears of drunkenness, and
promised most energetically to reform, if once again he were
placed in a position to maintain his family decently.

Thoroughly disgusted as was George Hartley, for the sake
of his former friendship, and for the sake of his distressed family,
he promised to try and do something for him, if he would con
sent to take the Temperance pledge and promise henceforward
to attend to his duties.

Edwards readily made the required promise ; and Charles,
notwithstanding he strongly distrusted him, gave him some
temporary relief he said his wife and children were starving
and promised to call on Mrs. Edwards the following day.

He fulfilled his promise, and found that in this respect
Edwards had told the truth. The poor woman was lodged
with her two children one of them a baby at the breast in
a miserable attic in Elm-street, altogether destitute of furniture
or food, except that which had been provided with the money
he had given her husband on the previous evening.

Hartley delicately requested her to relate the misfortunes
which had befallen her, and tell him how her husband had
become reduced to his present miserable condition ; and with
many tears and sobs, she told the sad story. It was art old
one. Rum rum. The vice of intemperance had wrought all
this misery. Yet with a wife and a woman's generous instinct,
while she told the sad tale, she sought to excuse her husband.
He was not so bad himself, she said ; but he had fallen in with

168 THE WATCHMAN.

evil companions. She hoped and trusted aye, trusted, as
woman will always do to the last, that he would yet reform.
He had promised her so only last night, and if he could obtain
only the poorest employment, he would in future abstain alto
gether from the intoxicating cup. " And if he will do that,"
she added, '' Charles will yet do well, for he is naturally of a
good disposition ; a kind husband and a loving father. Indeed,
Mr. Hartley, he never but twice actually ill-treated me or the
children ; and then he had drank very deeply, and^did not
know what he was doing. You should have seen, sir, how
sorry he was for it afterwards."

Hartley did not undeceive her, nor damp her hopes ; and
though he began almost to loathe the man, he promised to
endeavor once again to procure him a situation.

Mrs. Edwards told him that her husband was then out. He
had gone out early in the morning to take the pledge, and try
if he could get some employment. And, she believed he had
staid out because he had expected this promised call, and felt
ashamed to meet his friend.

Hartley urged a small trifle of money for her immediate
necessities, upon the almost heart-broken woman, and quitted
the house, leaving her weeping tears of gratitude and thankful
ness ; and as he returned to the office of his employers, cogi
tated in his own mind how he should best serve the drunken
husband, for the sake of the unhappy wife and children.

Mrs. Hartley had, during these years, had a happier lot.
" Her lines had fallen upon her in pleasant places." In her
marriage with George Hartley, she had been blessed with a
generous and loving husband ; and she had made him a good
wife. Their union had been blessed with three children a
boy and two girls and, although Mrs. Hartley still inclined
a little to show and extravagance, a failing the reader will re
collect we remarked on our first introduction of this lady to
his notice, she made Charles an excellent wife. This fondness

THE WATCHMAN. lf,9

for dress and show was her only failing, and as her husband
could afford it for to tell the truth she never went, or wished
go beyond bounds it was no great matter after all. Nay, it
seemed in some degree as a counterpoise, not to Hartley's
frugality, for he was generous as most of his countrymen, and
a kind friend to all who .merited and to many who did no*
merit his friendship but as a counterpoise to his carelessness
as regarded his own personal appearance, and to general out
ward adornment. That he was the neatest and smartest young
man in Messrs Wilson & Co.'s office, certainly was not owing
to his own personal fastidiousness, but to the good taste of his
little wife, who a pattern of neatness herself, took pride in the
appearance of her husband. Great was the trouble she took
with him every morning when he prepared to go to the city ;
tying his cravat with her own hands ; and taking upon herself
the arrangement of his rich, curly hair, and twitching up his
shirt-collar, and brushing down his clothes ; twisting and turn
ing him about, like one of the revolving figures in a tailor's
store, to make him, as she laughingly said, presentable ; and
as she would dismiss him with a kiss, she would tell him that,
but for her, he would, she really believed, be the worst-dressed
and untidiest man in the city. And George would laugh good
humoredly and say, he really believed she was telling nothing
but the truth. But with this foible, if foible it may be called,
Mrs. Hartley was a generous, kind-hearted, lively, loving little
woman ; ever ready to assist her husband in his charities ; and
she listened with feelings of lively interest to the story of Mrs.
Edwards' sufferings, and readily promised, at her husband's re
quest, to visit her in her poor lodgings, and talk with her and
comfort her, as women only know how to bestow comfort and
consolation upon women ; and to study how she could assist
her and her family.

Mr. Blunt during these years had prospered amazingly.
He had speculated largely, and all his speculations had pros
8

170 THE WATCHMAN.

pered. He had removed to a splendid mansion in the upper
part of the city, and was reputed to be one of the most thriving
merchants in New York.

Such were the positions of the principal characters in our
story, at the expiration of eight years from the period of Henry
Selby's departure.

THE WATCHMAN

CHAPTER XVI.

THE TIME OF TRIAL AND TROUBLE.

" Is our life a sun that it should radiate light and heat forever I Do not
the calmest, and brightest days of autumn, show clouds that drift their
ragged edges over the golden disc, and bear down swift, with their weight
of vapors until the whole sun's surface is shrouded, and you can see no
shadow of tree, or flower upon the laud, because of the greater ant
gulphing shadow of the cloud 1 " DK.EAM LIFE.

A PERIOD of deep and general depression had fallen upon the
land trade stagnates everywhere. The period to which our
tale at present 'alludes, will long be remembered as one of the
darkest in our brief existence as a commercial nation. The
wealthy merchant saw his riches fly from him without power
to arrest them his anticipations of still greater wealth fade to
mere shadows and then vanish, leaving but a blank in their
place. The reputed most stable firms became bankrupt,
involving scores of others in their ruin ; and creating a panic in
men's minds, as they listened to the ill-tidings, and asked fear
fully, " What shall we come to ? " The capitalist who had
possession of ready cash be the sum large or small clutched
it tightly in his grasp, as though fearful that no more money
could be earned ; and in his greed, determined to retain his
own, though aware that his want of confidence made the panic
greater and the distress deeper.

The banks refused to discount or lend, or worse than that,
failed, leaving their worthless notes floating about in the hands
of their dupes, chiefly in the hands of the poorer classes,
rendering still more gloomy the general distrust. The small

172 THE WATCHMAN.

tradesman contracted his expenditure, and strove to struggle,
often unavailingly, against the tide of misfortune, for he found
his customers drop off, or if they purchased still, for purchases
were necessary luxuries were now dispensed with and often,
credit, or no sales, was imperative upon him, let him parade
ever so large in flaunting letters, " POSITIVELY NO TRUST."
But to descend still lower in the scale of distress ; the mechanic
suffered yet more deeply. Vain was now the boast, that a man,
with a mechanical employment to fall back upon, need not
know penury. The artisan bred to his trade, and skilled in it
by years of labor, could find no work to do, and was only too
glad in his turn to fall back upon the unskilled toil of the daily
laborer ; and the laborer, he was now a beggar ! Happy he,
who in the day of prosperity had laid aside for the hour of
darkness and distress ; if indeed, he had not invested his little
savings injudiciously, and they were not swept away in the
general wreck. But, alas ! how few had done how few ever
do this 1 The sun shines brightly, and we think it will ever
shine ; the small cloud, " no bigger than a man's hand," rises
in the horizon but we heed it not it increases in size, and
spreads, and our attention is necessarily called to it, for it
already obscures the rays of the sun ; but we comfort ourselves
with the reflection that " 'Tis but a passing cloud that will
soon be gone by, and the sun 4 will shine out all the more
brightly from the contrast." But the sky is overspread, and
it is evident that the storm will not pass over, but will break
above our heads ; still we cry, " 'Tis but a summer storm, it
will rage but for a brief period, and the earth will be refreshed
by it, and all nature be rejuvenated." But it comes ; not a
passing storm, but a tempest of severe and lengthened dura
tion, and nature is prostrated before its fury. It must pass
away. It cannot last for ever, and the sky will be clearer, and
the sun will, seemingly, shine brighter when the clouds have
been dispersed, and nature will be rejuvenated. But before
that time comes, many of the oldest nd firmest, and most time-

THE WATCHMAN.

honored relics of nature and art will have been levelled to the
earth. The storm is typical of the commercial panic we see
both approaching in time, in most instances, at least partially,
to guard ourselves from their ravages; but we neglect the
means until it is too late.

Such a commercial convulsion racked the country, at the
period of which we are now about to write ; such a convulsion
threatens, nay, is upon us at the moment we pen these lines.
Pray God ! it may pass away, without leaving such sad traces
behind as those have done which have preceded it.

Joseph Carter came home one Saturday night, looking ex
ceedingly disconsolate. lie was usually so cheerful and good-
humored, that this sudden change naturally attracted the notice
of his wife and daughter.

" Are you not well, Joseph ? " What is the matter papa 1 "
inquired both mother and daughter, in the same breath.

" Nothing nothing," said Joseph ; " I feel a little tired and
low-spirited to-night, that's all ; I shall be better soon ; a cup
of tea will revive me, I dare say."

But the tea was drank, and still the gloom did not disappear
from Joseph's visage, although he made several attempts to be
cheerful. It was evident that something was wrong ; st:'l he
would not confess to it, notwithstanding the repeated affection
ate inquiries made by Mrs. Carter and Ellen.

Mrs. Carter had the habit of laying every evil that flesh is
neir to, mentally and physically, to a cold ; and her universal
specific was a basin of gruel, with plenty of molasses, and just
a thimble-full of- brandy in it ; and seeing her husband still
melancholy, and instead of entering, as was his custom, into
conversation with his family, buried deeply hi the contempla
tion of the columns of the evening paper : contemplation, we
say, because certainly Joseph was not reading it ; his eyes had
been fixed upon a trifling advertisement for the last ten min
utes, she actually commenced preparations to make the gruel,
when her husband chancing to notice her, observed

174: THE WATCHMAN.

" I am really quite well Mary I need no gruel ; I could net
take it if you were to prepare it."

" What then is the matter ? something, I am sure."

"Nothing, at least nothing, Mary, that you can remedy.
To tell the truth, I have been a little disconcerted to-day, but
I hope all will turn out right, after all, on Monday."

" William is not sick, Joseph," said the mother, her thoughts
immediately reverting to her son.

" No, mother, Willy is hearty enough."

"And he he has not done anything to get himself into
trouble at Mr. Blunt's, Joseph 1 " continued Mrs. Carter, still
unable to drive from her thoughts that something in relation to
the youth caused his father's unwonted dejection.

" Not he," answered Joseph, proudly. " Thank God ! a
better boy than Willy never lived."

" What then is the matter ?"

" Nothing I repeat, Mary, that you can remedy, or that will
be bettered by my disclosing it to-night. As I said, perhaps
on Monday, all will be right. If not, it will be soon enough for
you to be troubled with the knowledge of it."

Joseph Carter seldom kept any secrets from his wife : but
with all her many virtues, Mrs. Carter was a trifle given to in
dulge in the feminine propensity of gossiping, and the following
day being the Sabbath and a day of leisure, he thought he per
haps had better not unburthen his mind to her that night.

Mary Carter, therefore, seeing that she could gain nothing
by her pertinacity in asking questions, was compelled to satisfy
herself by obtaining a confession from her husband, that he
certainly was quite well in bodily health, as was also her son
Willy ; and then having sat for some time at needlework, k,
company with her daughter, she took down the old family bible
and read a chapter, her constant practice before retiring to rest,
and went to bed, leaving her husband still busied with his news
paper, and Ellen occupied in putting things to rights for the
morning.

THE WATCHMAN. 175

When his wife had retired, Joseph looked up from the paper
and addressing his daughter said:

" Your quarter is up to-day, is it not, Ellen ? "

" Yes, papa," replied the girl. " I intended to have given
you the account after tea; but you looked so dull I did not do
so."

" Give it me now, my dear."

Ellen reached him the bill for her last quarter's schooling ;
saying proudly as she did so :

"Miss Bettles says she is quite pleased, papa, with my
progress, and that if I remain another quarter at school, I shall
be head scholar."

Joseph raised his eyes from the bill, and gazed for a moment
proudly and yet sadly upon his daughter's beautiful and intel
ligent features.

At length he said ;

" I did not intend, Ellen, my love, to have broached the
subject to-night. To-morrow is Sunday, and I had thought to
have kept matters secret until the sacred day was over, in order
that we might not be pressed with worldly cares, at a time
wh<in our thoughts should be otherwise engaged. Things after
all may not be so bad as I think ; but you must keep what I
have to tell you secret, my child."

" From mother, papa ? "

" Yes, Ellen, from your mother, until Monday ; then I feai
she must know all. I would spare her till then : but I feel
the want of some one in my family to make a confidant of. I
will confide my troubles to you, my daughter."

Ellen drew nearer her father, and placing one arm round his
neck, stooped her fair face and kissed his wrinkled, weather-
beaten cheek.

" What have you to tell me, papa "? " she asked. " Has any
thing dreadful happened. Henry Selby has not "

"Poor Nelly," said Joseph, interrupting the girl. "You
still cling to the belief that Henry is living. I know not vrhy,

176 THE WATCHMAN.

Henry poor boy has, I fear, long since found a sailor's grave.
No, my daughter, nothing dreadful has happened : but some
thing very sad and unfortunate."

" Then tell me what it is, papa ? and if it concerns you, or
mamma, tell me if I can do any thing to remedy it."

" I fear not, dear ! " replied Joseph, and after a brief pause,
he added, " Have you set your heart on going to Miss Bettles'
another quarter, Ellen ?"

" I should like to, papa ! but not if you think otherwise."

" And I should much wish you to go, for I am truly proud
of my dear girl's progress ; but Ellen, I may as well tell you
at once, for I fear it is but too true. I am doubtful whether
I can pay your schooling for another quarter ; whether indeed,
I am in a position to pay this last quarter's account."

" Papa ! " exclaimed the girl, with trembling lip. " Why
did you not tell me before, you could not afford my expensive
schooling. I have already received an education, such as has
fallen to the lot of few of the companions of my earlier years.
You have done too much for me already ; but I thought my
acquirements might be turned to profitable account by-and-by,
and so you would be repaid ; papa, I think I have heard you
say that you had saved more than a thousand dollars !"

" So, until this morning, I thought I had, Ellen ; but you
know, my dear, how many of our largest merchants have
failed of late ; how many more are failing every day. You
know that at this present moment there are thousands of poor
people, men and women, out of employment, and on the verge
of starvation ? "

" I know it, papa," said Ellen, " and sincerely wish it was m
my power to relieve the distress that prevails. I feel for these
poor people deeply ; but papa, you have reason to be thankful
that you still have employment at Mr. Blunt's."

" I was coming to that, Ellen. There are rumors abroad
that Mr. Blunt has failed ; as yet I cannot be certain that is
the case ; it may be only a temporary suspension ; but the

THE WATCHMAN. 177

reports are, that he has failed for an almost incredible sum,
and that his creditors will not receive five cents in the dollar.
For some days past he has been reserved and melancholy, and
I anticipated something wrong ; but I judged it was merely the
pressure of the hard times, which even wealthy men, whose
money is invested in business, feel sorely. I little anticipated
that he was on the brink of ruin." And Joseph leant his head
upon the table, while his breast heaved as if he were endeavor
ing to stifle an almost uncontrolable emotion.

" Indeed, papa," rejoined Ellen, " I am sorry for poor Mr.
Blunt. It must be dreadful for a rich man like him, to be
reduced to poverty, and he growing old, too ; but surely he
must have a great many friends, and some of them will help
him. I am sorry for you too, papa, because you will be
deprived of your present employment ; but it is not so bad as
1 feared ; you may easily, by-and-by, when trade begins to
revive, find some fresh employment, and meanwhile, you have
money laid aside, while, as you just observed, there are
thousands with no money and no work."

" Ellen, if Mr. Blunt's failure is so heavy, so ruinous as I
am led to fear it is, I am a beggar."

" A beggar, papa ! "

" A beggar, my child. I could not tell your mother this
sad news to-night. I would rather encourage a false hope till
Monday, when the best and the worst will be known. Mr.
Blunt has always been the banker of my little savings and ha
has allowed me a higher rate of interest than I could otherwise
have obtained. Three months ago at his suggestion and
at the time, he meant well I invested fourteen hundred dollars,
all I had, in a speculation, in the success of which he was
largely concerned ; not only that, but on the credit of my
known industry, and my general good character for honesty
and integrity, I borrowed six hundred dollars more to make
up the sum of two thousand dollars in order to purchase the

requisite number of shares in this speculation. It has entirely
12

178 THE WATCHMAN.

failed, Ellen . Not only have I lost all the money I nad saved,
but I am. deeply in debt ; even my horse and cart, my sole
means of support, must be sold to pay it, and all our little
furniture and this at a time, when employment cannot be
obtained by the young and able-bodied, far less by me."

Joseph ceased speaking, and was unable any longer to con
trol the emotions he had so long struggled -against ; the tears
coursed down his furrowed cheeks, and his daughter wept with
him.

Ellen was the first to break the silence. " I shall not again
go to school, then, papa," she said. " Let me be thankful, in
deed, that I have received such an education as I now possess.
I may turn my acquirements to account ; perhaps be able to
support you and mamma, till better times come. I dare say we
shall do well enough, papa ; I am sorry that this trouble has
come, but let us hope that it will not afflict us so deeply as you
dread."

Joseph kissed his daughter's cheek, as he replied :

" God bless you, my Ellen; you are sanguine; I would not;
damp your hopes, my child ; but you have yet, I fear, to learn
that acquirements and accomplishments, such as you have so
studiously made yourself the mistress of, can scarcely find a
market, when it is known that their possessor is in a state of
poverty. You could readily, perhaps, have obtained the situ
ation of a governess, or a teacher of music, had this misfortune
not befallen your father ; but now, my child, I fear you will
find the endeavor an arduous one : but," he added, " it is wrong
for me thus to give way to despair ; let us hope, at all events,
for the best ; and, Ellen, let us unite in prayer, that this evil,
if it may not be averted from us, may still fall lightly ; and let
us not forget, while petitioning for ourselves at the throne of
Grace, to pray for the thousands who are as badly or worse
distressed than we."

And the father and daughter knelt in prayer, and rising from

THE WATCHMAN. 179

their knees, with a smile upon their lately mournful faces, they
embraced and parted for the night.

Nothing was said during the Sabbath, either by Joseph or
his daughter, relative to the prolonged conversation of the
previous night; although, perhaps, both were more subdued
in manner than usual, there was no other outward sign of the
anxiety which they suffered under ; and Mrs. Carter, happy
woman ! noticing the change in her husband's careworn visage,
and observing that his features had relaxed into their usual
serene expression, forgot her fears, and hoped that the trouble,
whatever it might have been, had passed away.

It was, however, with a heavy heart that Joseph left his house
on the Monday morning, to go to the store in South-street ; and
with many sad forebodings that his daughter saw him leave.

He reached the place, and there found that his worst antici
pations were more than realized. Mr. Blunt had not come
down to the warehouse ; but groups of anxious persons were
standing about, and ominous whispers and solemn shakes of the
head passed between them. He soon learnt that Mr. Blunt
had failed, as was reported, for more than a million of dollars,
and that his assets were comparatively nothing.

There were bitter upbraidings from those whom the mer
chant's bankruptcy had involved in a like, although a less terri
ble ruin. There were expressions of contemptuous pity, worse
to endure than the most bitter upbraidings, from others who
had long envied the merchant's apparent prosperity, and from
many who owed their own success in life to his generous assist
ance, but who, in the hour of his trouble had forgotten this,
and did not fail now to express their wonder at a man like him
being induced to speculate so rashly, and to applaud their own
superior sagacity in keeping themselves clear of the mania
which had involved so many in ruin, and had brought such
general distress upon the country. And there were many sor
rowful laments amongst the clerks and laborers who thronged
the store, who, like Joseph, had been thrown out of employ-

A 80' THE WATCHMAN.

merit, and reduced to destitution by the ruin of their employer
Although, to their honor be it said, these expressions were
more those of sorrow than anger, for Air. Blunt had been a gen.
erous and considerate employer, and these poor men did not
forget his past kindness in the hour of his trouble and their own.

When the circumstances relative to Joseph Carter became
known, and it was shown that he had lost his all in the wreck
of his employer's fortune, much sympathy was expressed
towards him, and Mr. Blunt was proportionately blamed, for
having allowed so old and faithful a servant thus to 'involve
himself; but Joseph took the entire blame on his own shoulders.
Pie had acted, he said, on his own responsibilty, and had no
one to blame but himself. Mr. Blunt had shown him the risk
he ran at that time very little, comparatively with the strong
prospects of gain and he had voluntarily pressed his employer
to invest his money in this unfortunate speculation.

But though sympathizers were numerous, few were willing to
do more than sympathize and creditors were inexorable. It
was not a period for men in business themselves not knowing
what a day might bring forth to stand upon ceremony or to
wait. Joseph's horse and cart were sold by auction, and his
furniture soon followed, and with the weight of more than fifty
years on his gray head, the cartman found himself cast destitute
upon the world, without employment, and with a wife and SOLI
and daughter dependent upon him ; for William Carter had, o*
course, lost his situation in consequence of his employer's bank
ruptcy ; and though the young man bore an unimpeachable
character, and was well skilled in his duties, immediate re-en-
gagement anywhere else was out of the question ; there were
hundreds older and more skilled than he, in the same unfortu
nate position.

Poor Mrs. Carter bore herself admirably under these mis-
fortunes ; by no word or sign did she betray any impatience,
or hint that her husband had acted imprudently ; but like a
good woman and a true wife, she set herself at once to work

THE WATCHMAN. 181

to do her part now towards the maintenance of her family. She
oouM procure employment where the others could not. She
had been used to hard labor when a younger woman, and she
immediately prepared to take in washing and ironing, and to go
out to clean offices, or to nurse, or to do anything eLe that fell
in her way ; and she soon did procure work, which went some
way, at any rate, towards their mutual support. And Joseph,
too, met with his reward for his long industrious and faithful
career ; one of the aldermen of the city, who had long known
him, heard of his misfortune, and unsolicited, procured him a
reappointment as a city watchman ; it was not much, nor was
it a situation that Joseph, with his increasing years and growing
infirmities, would have cared for under any other circumstances,
but now it was a Godsend : he felt it to be so, and thankfully
resumed the employment he had heretofore resigned ; thus the
" wolf was kept from the door," though poverty reigned in his
lately happy abode.

Meanwhile, Ellen had sought in vain for any engagement
suited to her capacity, and had given up the pursuit as hopeless,
while William had likewise in vain endeavored to obtain even
the humblest clerk or light portership, and but for his youth
and his sanguine disposition, would have given himself over a
prey to despair.

Thus for the present must we leave the worthy watchman
and his family, while we follow the fortunes of others of the
characters introduced nto our s^ory.

182 THE WATCHMAN.

CHAPTER XVII.
SELBF'S ARRIVAL IN INDIA, AND WHAT BEFEL HIM THEBB.

" The moon hath risen clear and calm,

And o'er the green sea, palely shines,
Kevealing Bahrein's groves of palm

And lighting Kishma's amber vines.
Fresh smells the shores of Araby,

While breezes from the Indian sea
Blow round Selama's sainted cape,

And curls the shining flood beneath,
Whose waves are rich with many a grape

And cocoa-nut, and flowery wreath."

LALLA KOOKH.

WE left Henry Selby, after his mishap at the Cape of Good
Hope, on the point of sailing for Pulo Penang, in the East
Indian Archipelago, on board a country ship, as the vessels
built in the East Indies are termed, the " Ram Chowdar," so
called, after a Hindoo merchant, one of its principal owners.

There were three or four passengers on board the "Ram
Chowdar," all of them military men, who had been spending
some time on furlough at the Cape, for the benefit of their
health, preferring not to go to the eastward of that promontory,
since by so doing they would forfeit the pay allowed to them
during their period of furlough. Among these was a Mr.
Donaldson, a young Scotchman of good family, who held a
commission as lieutenant in the Honorable East India Com
pany's Engineers.

To tell the truth, it was not altogether ill health which had
led Arthur Donaldson to indulge himself in the leisure of a

THE WATCHMAN. 183

furlough ; but he had been long enough in the service, ten
years, to entitle himself to it, having entered as a cadet, at the
age of sixteen, and finding his time lie idle on his hands in his
barracks at Cawnpore for it was one of the brief periods of
peace in India he had taken advantage of a visit about to be
paid to the Cape of Good Hope, by some of his brother
officers, and joined the party. All were now bound back to
India ; but their terms of furlough had not expired, and resolved
to make the most of the short leave of absence that yet
remained to them, they made up their minds, instead of going
direct to Bengal, to visit Pulo Penang, and some others of the
lovely islands of the Archipelago, on their way. Besides this,
Arthur Donaldson had another inducement for delaying his
arrival at Calcutta, for a few months. He was betrothed to a
beautiful girl, the daughter of a judge, who presided over a
Residency in the interior, in the Governorship of Agra ; and this
gentleman was expected to remove to Calcutta, with his daugh
ter, in the course of a few months ; therefore, by delaying his own
arrival at the metropolis of British India until about that
period, Lieutenant Donaldson hoped to meet the object of his
adoration, and if possible, to prevail on her father to allow the
marriage to take place there and then of the young lady's
consent, he entertained no doubts and so, take back with him
to the barracks of Cawnpore, a lovely bride to dissipate its
monotony.

Henry Selby's duties on board the " Earn Chowdar," were
those of a cabin-boy ; but the vessel, as is usually the case
M r ith country ships, being chiefly manned with Lascars and
Malays, the fair- faced, bright looking American boy was a
great favorite with the officers and passengers, more especially
Mr. Donaldson, who took as men will sometimes take a
fancy into his head, that the boy resembled a favorite female
cousin of his own, whose companion he had been, some years
previous to his departure from his native land.

Henry, consequently, had very little to dc in the cabin of

184 THE WATCHMAN

the " Ram Chowdar," except to keep himself neat, and almost
nominally, to attend upon the captain and passengers at table.
Arthur Donaldson would frequently converse with the boy for
hours together, during the evening, asking him questions about
New York, and telling him stories about India, and asking him
how he would like, indeed, almost endeavoring to persuade
him, to come and live with him at Cawnpore.

Thus the time passed away during the voyage, agreeably
enough, and six weeks after leaving Table Bay, the " Ram
Chowdar " cast anchor in the roadstead of Pulo Penang.

For the present we will leave her there while we take the
opportunity of introducing our readers to another scene, and to
some new characters.

It was on a fine morning in the month of January at which
season the fierce heat of the sun of India is cooled down to a
temperature which can be enjoyed that two young ladies
were seated beneath the shade of a cluster of mango trees, in a
delightful garden near Calcutta. The air was cool and refresh
ing for the clime of India ; an European would not have found
it too warm, while the natives shivered with the cold, of what
they are pleased to term the Indian winter. The two young
ladies were Ada Murray and her governess, Miss Dorcas.
Let us briefly introduce them to our readers :

Miss Ada Murray was a young girl of perhaps sixteen years
of age. But, having been born and having lived all her life
in India, she had acquired some of the characteristics of
the Orientals. She looked some years older than she was
and though so youthful, was a fully and perfectly developed
woman ; beautiful as the houris that poets dream of. The
blue veins could be distinctly traced beneath her fair skin,
through which the color mantled with a tint lovelier than that
of the newly-blown rose. Her dark almond-shaped eyes, and
abundant black, silky hair, gave a voluptuous cast to her fea
tures, which were as regular as if cut with the chisel of a sculp
tor. She appeared so truly beautiful, that Arthur Donaldson

THE WATCHMAN. 185

might well be excused for having fallen in love with her at first
sight on the occasion of his meeting her about a twelvemonth
before, at the Governor's levee at Calcutta. She owed much
of the Oriental style of her beauty to her mother, who was a
half-caste lady, whom the now Judge Murray had married,
when a young man, dependent for advancement on his own
exertions, he had met her shortly after his arrival in India,
twenty years before while the purity of her complexion was
due to the Saxon blood of her father. The love of the young
lieutenant had been reciprocated for he was a remarkably
handsome young man and it was Ada's first appearance in
public. She had been brought up in great seclusion, and
naturally was pleased with the attentions of one who, to her
eyes, appeared to be adorned with all the masculine graces
that her poetic temperament had dreamed of. And when the
judge heard the story of their love from the lips of Arthur
himself, he displayed no aversion to the prospect of their future
union. Although Arthur was but a humble lieutenant, and he
a puissant judge, he knew that the young man came of a good
family, and that honors and wealth awaited him in due time.
The only objections he urged was, that Ada was still too young,
and that he would wish them to wait two years before he gave
his consent ; and one year had gone by, and Arthur had grown
tired of waiting. And now, as we have stated, hearing that
the young lady was about to visit Calcutta, he thought it a good
time to press his suit.

Sarah Dorcas was the daughter of an assistant surgeon in the
Company's service, who had died leaving her a perilous orphan
her mother having died some years before and the judge,
who had been acquainted with her father in his younger days,
took upon himself the charge of the orphan girl, who was five
years older than his own daughter. She was nominally called
the governess of Ada ; but she was in reality the companion.
Each Tfias useful to the other; for while Miss Dorcas was

186 THE WATCHMAN.

skilled in the more grave studies, Ada was proficient in most
of the lighter accomplishments.

Poor Sarah had deeply mourned the loss of her father, and
for some time after her admission into the family of Judge
Murray, she had suffered much from melancholy, but this was
gradually dissipated as she grew intimate with her fair com
panion ; and she at length forgot much of her sorrow in the
progress of her and Ada's mutual instruction. Ada sung well,
and was a tolerable proficient in music; and though Miss
Dorcas had not been instructed in the art, she was fond of
music, and possessing herself a soft and pleasing voice, she
promised one day herself to become a musician. She read
.history and geography and French with Ada, and Ada sung
with her, or gave her lessons in drawing and painting, those
most attractive of the fine arts. The book of life was opened
to the orphan girl at a more interesting page. In the duties of
her occupation and in the society of her interesting companion,
she forgot for a time the sorrows that had so long weighed
upon her spirits ; and although a shade of tender melancholy
was still manifest at times upon her fair features, it was gradu
ally fading away before the example set her by the light-
hearted and joyous Ada. It was only occasionally, in the sol
itude of her own chamber in the still gloom of night, that
memory revived the recollection of her idolized father and
when those sad memories were thus revived, she still gave way
to overpowering bursts of grief that no mental sophistry could
subdue, until they had wrought their own relief by the intensity
of their power, and the almost heartbroken girl fell asleep, with
the tear-drops still clinging to her eyelids, to dream of her lost
parent, and perchance of one to whom it was whispered she
had given her young heart, and who had been carried off by
the same epidemic that had proved fatal to her father. The
sole physician for the heart's disease is Time the slow, though
sure assuager of all mental pangs ; if not the healer of tha

THE WATCHMAN. 187

wounded spirit and the blighted heart, at least the ministering
angel that charms their keenest pangs away.

Arthur had managed to send a letter to Ada, informing her
that he intended visiting Calcutta during her sojourn in that
city, on his way back from the Cape of Good Hope to the sta
tion of his regiment at Cawnpore, and this very morning she
had received the intimation.

The group that was assembled in the arbor, formed by the
cluster of mango trees, was worthy of an artist's pencil.

With a map of the world spread in the grass before her,
knelt Ada Murray, her face upturned to that of Sarah Dorcas,
who was busily tracing a line on the map, from the Cape of
Good Hope to Pulo Penang, and thence to Calcutta, eagerly
asking Sarah a variety of questions relative to the passage and
the distance her lover would have to sail, while the profusion
of fair tresses that drooped from the head of Miss Dorcas,
mingled in charming contrast with Ada's luxuriant, dark hair.
Near by, cross-legged on the ground, sat the Ayah, who had
been Ada's nurse from infancy, and who, though her place
had long been a sinecure, could not bring herself to feel at
ease if her young mistress were for a moment out of her sight.
Her swarthy countenance reflecting the eager delight she wit
nessed, lighting up the features of Ada, mingled with a painful
feeling of jealousy towards the " bibby sahib" (the white lady,)
who had, as she feared, supplanted her in the affections of her
foster-child, while a host of tame cockatoos, parrots, and minor
specimens of the feathered tribe, hopped hither and thither, to
and fro, anxious to attract attention by all manner of pet ex
pressions and endearments, the fruits of the teachings of former
days, when their education had formed the chief delight of Ada,
who was now so busily engaged with receiving her own, and with
other thoughts, as in some degree to neglect her favorites, who
seemed themselves to share in the jealousy of the poor Ayah.

" And that, you say, is the route that ships take on their
way hither from the Cape of Good Hope, dear Sarah?" said

188 THE WATCHMAN.

Ada. " Then surely Arthur should have been here before this.
Why let me see," and she took the letter from her bosom, and
looked at the date ; " this letter was written fully two months
ago!"

" You forget Ada," replied Miss Dorcas, " that Mr. Donald
son says in his letter, for so you read it to me, that he was
returning by way of Pulo Penang, and Prince Edward's
Island."

" Ah ! true, so he does ; but," exclaimed Ada, poutingly,
" one would think, if he were so exceedingly anxious to see me,
as he says he is, he would have come direct from the Cape to
Calcutta."

" You forget again, dear Miss Murray," said Sarah, laugh
ingly, " that he gives, in the very desire of his wishing to see
you here, the reason of his coming back by the somewhat
tortuous route he has chosen. The letter was not posted, or
at least would not leave the Cape, he says, until some time
after he had sailed, consequently you having only been here
three days, he would have arrived long before you, and on
reporting his arrival to the proper authorities here, he would
probably have been ordered immediately to join his regiment."

" Ah ! that then, explains it ; but surely he will arrive now
in a day or two. But here comes papa," cried the light-
hearted girl, as a portly white-haired gentleman alighted from a
palankeen in front of the bungalow, or Indian country house ;
and away she flew to meet him, leaving further conversation
respecting Arthur to another time.

" Well Ada, darling," said the judge, as he returned his
daughter's kiss ; " I've got some news for you. That young
scaiup, Arthur Donaldson, has just arrived, and will be here
to-night. He's in a great hurry to rob me of you ; but the
two years are not more than half up yet. Ah ! blushing,
eh 1 ?" Ada was blushing, partly with delight, on hearing of
Arthur's arrival, and partly at the thought of having received
a letter from her lover, without her father's knowledge. It

THE WATCHMAN. 189

was probably the first time she had had any concealment from,
him. " Ah ! what ! blushing, eh 1 " repeated the old gentleman,
appearing to take great delight in his daughter's confusion.
" Well, it is a great shame for the young scapegrace to come
upon us thus unawares, when we thought him far away at
Cawnpore. He's been to the Cape of Good Hope, he tells me,
on a six months' furlough, for the benefit of his health, forsooth !
Ha ! ha ! ha ! For the benefit of his health, and he looks as
ruddy, and as hearty, as if he had just left his native mountains
frightened of the liver complaint ! Good, that ! I warrant,
from the looks of him, he never had a touch of the jaundice in
his life. It's just a touch of laziness that has seized hold of
him ; and he's lost a whole year's service to gratify a fancy
to travel. When I was a young man things were different.
We stuck to our posts, liver complaint or no liver complaint.
If I had'nt done so, I shouldn't have been a judge now. How
ever, the young scamp has money and influential friends, and
that of course makes a difference. But come girl, don't blush
so ! If you don't want to see the scapegrace I wont admit
him pack him right off to Cawnpore about his business."

"That would be very rude and inhospitable, papa;" said
Ada, innocently.

" Ah ! so I've got you to speak at last, have I ? Well, since
that would very rude and inhospitable, papa, why I suppose
we must admit him for to-night, at any rate. We can pack
him off to Cawnpore in the morning you know, eh ? "

" Well, well, I see," resumed the jocular old gentleman,
after a pause, " we must make him welcome at our bungalow,
for a few days at least ; but hark'ee, Ada, dear, I can't think of
his flying off with my lamb to his sheep-fold yet. I stick to my
bargain Two full years." And so saying, the judge kissed his
daughter again, and entered the house.

Arthur Donaldson arrived in time for dinner, bringing
Henry Selby with him, as a sort of page or body-servant. He
had induced the lad to follow his fortunes ; while the " Kara

190 THE WATCHMAN.

Chowdar " was at Penang, and with some difficulty, Henry,
who himself was willing enough, had got the captain of the
vessel to consent to his leaving him, and following the fortunes
of the young officer.

They remained for the space of three weeks inmates of the
judge's hospitable bungalow ; but with all his persuasions
Arthur Donaldson could not get the old gentleman's consent
to wed his daughter before the expiration of the year yet to
elapse. And Ada, if she was willing to shorten the period of
probation, was too dutiful a child to offer any open opposition
to her father's wishes ; so, at the termination of the three
weeks, the lieutenant bade his inamorata a reluctant adieu,
and took his leave the promise of marriage at the end of
twelve months, having been renewed by both, in the presence
of the judge.

" What are you going to do with that boy, Arthur 1 " asked
the judge of the young lieutenant, on the morning of his
departure for Cawnpore.

" I'm sure, I don't know, sir attach him to my person-
make a sort of page of him, for the present, and perhaps, a
soldier by-and-by, if he fancies the trade."

" Who, or what is he ? "

" I only know," continued Arthur, " that he was a cabin-boy
on board the ship I came from the Cape in. He was ship
wrecked there, and all on board were lost but him and one old
seaman."

" Humph ! is he an English lad 1 "

" I don't know that even. I suppose he is an American, for
he recollects no other place but New York, and he came to the
Cape of Good Hope, on board an American vessel ; but, ac
cording to his own account and he's a shrewd lad it's diffi
cult to ascertain where such as he were born, so many poor
emigrants go to his country. Do you know the principal
reason that I had for taking a fancy to him, was because he
bears so strong a resemblance to a fair cousin of mine with an

THE WATCHMAN. 191

awfully Irish name, Alice Meehan. One of a host of poor rela
tions who used, when I was a boy, to visit my father's house
in Lanarkshire occasionally. She was I believe born in Ireland,
and if I mistake not, married a man named Hartley an Irish
farmer, or something of that sort and the consequence was
that she never came to Scotland to see us again. My father
thought she had lowered the dignity of the family by marry
ing beneath her station ; though, for the matter of that, I don't
suppose the prohibition did her much harm, since all she got
by visiting us once a year, was her board and lodging for a
fortnight, and the honor of having visited her rich relations at
her own expense. She was very pretty, and this boy though
not anything like so Handsome certainly does bear a strong
resemblance to her. She was several years older than I, but we
were very fond of each other. Poor Alice ! I wonder what
became of her after her marriage ! "

" A most quixotic idea of yours, I must say," said the
judge, " to saddle yourself with a young lad like that, sim
ply because he bears some fancied resemblance to a cousin you
once was partial to, and who has been several years married
to a person, who you say is disowned by your family. The
boy is certainly a smart lad enough : but if you want to train
up a servant, a native valet in this country is worth a dozen
Europeans."

" Agreed ; but I can't help it now : I've beguiled the boy
from the ship, and I can't cast him adrift, if I wished ; and I
don't wish, for I have really grown quite attached to him. A
servant I don't intend to make him, but if he behaves himself
I shall take it upon myself to push his fortunes, some way or
other."

" And should you die ? "

" Oh, judge ! don't talk to me of dying, at least till I have
become your son-in-law ; and then if I die before you do, I
shall leave the boy as a legacy to you."

" You are an incorrigible dog," said the judge ; " there's

192 THE WATCHMAN.

nothing to be gained in argument with you. But if you are
going to travel by dank (post) to-day, you had better be going.
The caravan will leave within half-an-hour."

" Let me once more bid adieu to Ada."

" No, no ! you've bidden her good-bye once, and unsettled
the silly girl for a week already "

" For a good many weeks, I hope, sir," saucily interrupted
the young man. " I hope she won't forgot this visit for twelve
months."

" Good-bye, good-bye," said the judge, as he laughingly ex
tended his hand, and in the course of another quarter-of-an-hour
Arthur Donaldson, and his young charge, Henry Selby, were
on cheir way to Cawnpore, where in due time they arrived in
safety, and there shall we for the present leave them, while we
again cross the ocean into another hemisphere, and return to
our old acquaintances in the city of New York.

THE WATCHMAN. 193

CHAPTER XVIIL

CHARLES EDWARDS' PROGRESS TOWARDS REFORMATION, AND
SUBSEQUENT RELAPSE.

" As a dog returneth to his vomit, so a fool returneth to his folly."

SOLOMON'S PEOVEKBS.

GEORGE HARTLEY faithfully fulfilled the promise he had
made to Mrs. Edwards. It is a difficult matter to procure a
situation for a man who can produce no testimonials of good
conduct and respectability, at any time, more especially if he
bears in his countenance the traces of debauchery, and the dif
ficulty in the present instance was enhanced, inasmuch as if
Edwards produced any testimonials at all, they must have been,
calculated only to injure him : added to which the general de
pression that existed, rendered employment most difficult to
obtain even by those who had good character and known in
dustry to recommend them. But George Hartley, through his
own good conduct, aided by a series of, to him, fortunate ex
traneous circumstances, had advantages in this regard, pos
sessed by few. Many persons who would have turned aside
from the humble petition for employment, presented them by
the honest, industrious and frugal, lent an attentive ear to the
persuasions of the managing clerk of the wealthy bankers,
Messrs. Wilson & Co., who had such opportunities of indi
rectly benefitug them. There was, however, another diffi.
13 "

194 THE WATCHMAN

culty in the way, which was hard to surmount ; it was this :
George Hartley could not, for the sake of his own reputation,
even had he not been withheld by other scruples, conscien
tiously recommend Edwards to the notice of any one whom
he could by any means deceive ; and notwithstanding his pro
mises of amendment notwithstanding he had really taken the
temperance pledge, he had but little faith in his good resolves ;
so he determined to state the facts as they were, making only
such reservations as he thought it was needless to disclose, to
the proprietor of a large shipping-house, in the neighborhood
of Fulton-street, on the East river. He told him of the dis
tress of the wife and family of Edwards, and his thorough
conviction of the poor woman's worthiness, and made it a special
favor to himself if he could find the unhappy man any employ
ment, that would not at the present time, until his promised
reformation had been fully tested, place him in any situation
of trust, while at the same time it would enable him, with the
exercise of industry, to support his family, at least in some
degree of comfort.

This, at length, the merchant promised, and in the course of
the week Edwards was engaged as porter in the house of
Messrs. Davis & Co., with a salary of eight dollars a week to
begin with, and a promise of a future increase if he conducted
himself well.

At the same time Mrs. Hartley provided Mrs. Edwards
with employment as a needle-woman, by recommending her to
several ladies of her acquaintance, and furthermore, by the di
rection of her husband, purchased for their forlorn abode such
articles of furniture as they stood in immediate need of; and
thus once more, by the kindness of George Hartley, was Charles
Edwards placed in a position to retrieve his fallen character,
and regain his social position in the world ; this too at a period
when many honest and trusty and capable men were starving.

For a time all went on well ; Edwards faithfully kept his
pledge of temperance, and soon began to recover his former

THE 'WATCHMAN. 195

healthy looks. Mrs. Edwards became cheerful, and the chil
dren throve rapidly ; happiness once more became an inmate
of the reclaimed drunkard's home.

At the termination of six months, Mr. Davis was so satisfied
with the assiduity of his employee, that he voluntarily raised
his wages and placed him in a better position in his service,
and Hartley really began to have faith in Edwards' thorough
reformation ; but " the dog will return to his vomit, and the
sow to her wallowing in the mire."

Six months more passed away the gloomy cloud which had
hung like a pall over the prospects of the mercantile commu
nity began to look brighter and clearer, and to give signs of
the sunshine that was behind it. Business still w^as dull, but
it visibly commenced to improve.

The commercial community had been thoroughly purged of
all that was rotten in its midst, and those who had weathered
the storm, now began again to hold up their heads and to look
hopefully into the future. There was now no longer a lack of
employment ; rather there was a difficulty in finding persons
to accept employment, for thousands had gone elsewhere,
during the period of depression, to seek the work they could
not obtain in the city. Mr. Davis had discovered that George
Edwards was a skilful penman, and an excellent accountant,
and he had conducted himself so well, shown himself so
thoroughly industrious, so apparently trustworthy, and so
anxious to serve his employers' interests, that the merchant
conceived the idea of giving him a desk in his office, and
raising his salary to eight hundred dollars a-year.

Before he did this, however, he called upon George Hartley,
and acquainting him with his half-formed resolve, asked his
opinion with regard to it.

" What do you wish me to say, Mr. Davis ? " asked
Hartley.

u Simply, I ask whether you think Edwards is worthy

190 THE WATCHMAN.

of the preferment I have in view for him ;" returned the
merchant.

* Of that, sir," replied George, " you at present are neces
sarily a better judge than I. You do not wish me to recom
mend him ; to become in any way responsible for his future
good conduct ? "

"Not exactly that, of course, but do you not consider,
viewing his behavior during the twelve months he has been
in my employ, that I should be justified in placing him in my
office?"

" Mr. Davis," replied George, " I shall be rejoiced to hear
of any good fortune that may befall Charles Edwards. In the
first place, on account of his wife, whom I believe to be a most
estimable woman ; and secondly, because such a desire on
your part implies that he has reformed his conduct, and I know
that the situation he has held in your employ, is unworthy of
his talents ; but once I nearly forfeited my own character by
becoming security, to a certain degree, for his conduct, when I
fully believed him to be a deserving man. I have resolved
never to compromise myself in that manner again."

" Then you think I should do wrong in advancing him ? "

" Nay, 1 do not say that ; but I repeat, you sir, have had a
far better opportunity of judging him of late than I have had."

" Answer me one thing, Mr. Hartley, and then I shall form
my own judgment. You are acquainted with Edwards' con
duct at his own home ; has that been correct during the period
he has been in my employ ? "

" To the best of my belief, *it has been perfectly so," replied
Hartley.

"Then," said Mr. Davis, "I shall risk it. I am desirous of
serving the young man ; and to tell the truth, just now, it is
difficult to procure the services of such men as he."

" I am rejoiced to find you entertain so good an opinion of
Edwards," said Hartley, " and I assure you I most sincerely

THE WATCHMAN. 197

hope that your good opinion may be borne out by his own
good behavior. If he deceives you after this, he will merit no
further consideration." f

" Good day, Mr. Hartley," said the merchant, as he left the
office, and the conversation ended.

George Edwards, greatly to his own delight, as well as that
of his wife, who was more pleased at the proof this kindness
afforded of his having gained the perfect confidence of his em
ployer than at the increased prospect of comfort it afforded to
his family, was placed in Mr. Davis' counting-room, and for
some months all went apparently well with him. Mr. 1 Davis
met Hartley, and told him that he was quite pleased with his
new clerk's good conduct and ability ; and even Hartley, at last,
fully believed in his perfect reformation.

So matters rested for the space of three months, when one
day Mr. Davis burst into the office of the Messrs. Wilson, aud
going directly to Hartley's desk, exclaimed in evident trepida
tion " That villain, Edwards Mr. Hartley, he has deceived
me ; robbed me to an incredible amount."

" What has he done 1 " asked Hartley, himself so shocked at
the sudden intelligence, that he was scarcely able to speak.

" He has committed forgery forgery to a large amount. I
have only discovered it to day, in consequence of his having
absented himself for two days from the office. I find that he
commenced a regular system of forging the very week after
I placed him in my counting-room."

" Good Heavens ! " exclaimed George, " and where is he
now ? "

" I know not ; he has a'bsconded. I have been to his house,
and there found his wife in a state of the greatest distress. She
evidently knows nothing of his whereabouts."

" And what do you propose doing now ? "

" I am going to the chief's office, to set the police on his
track. If he cannot be found, I am a ruined man."

198 THE WATCHMAN.

In a state almost of frenzy, Mr. Davis rushed from the of
fice. It was nearly four o'clock, and Hartley was so discom
posed that he felt he could do nothing more that day. He
closed his books, and went home.

" Good God ! " thought he, as he wended his way towards
the ferry " what will become of the wretched man's wife and
family 1 " His thoughts then took another turn, and he mut
tered half aloud " I am truly thankful that / had nothing to
do with obtaining him a seat in Mr. Davis' counting-room."

THE WATCHMAN. 199

CHAPTER XIX.

THE MARRIAGE OF ARTHUR DONALDSON AND ADA MURRAY.

WHAT BEFALLS HENRY SELBY.

"For know, poor Edwin was no vulgar boy ;

Deep thought oft seemed to fix his infant eye ;
Dainties he heeded not, nor gaud, nor toy,
Silent when glad ; affectionate, though shy."

The patronage system in India, has, ever since the East
India Company, by dint in the first place of cautious and cun
ning diplomacy, and subsequently by conquest, obtained pos
session of Hindoostan, and reduced the native Rajahs and Nau-
bubs to the position of mere tributary nonentities, rendered it
impossible for any person from England to push himself for
ward, no matter how great his abilities, nor how industrious
his habits, unless he possessed friends amongst the Board of
Directors in Leadenhall-street, who virtually preside over the
destinies of that vast empire. Consequently there was little
chance afforded to Henry Selby of bettering his condition.
Lieutenant Donaldson had taken a liking to the lad, for reasons
already explained ; but the most that he intended, or perhaps
could be expected to do for him, was to make him his own
favorite attendant. The young officer had, in his own estimation,
already materially bettered the lad's condition, for he had found
him a, humble cabin-boy, and had removed him from the drudg
ery iyf the ship, and installed him into the lighter and cleanlier
offio of a page. On the lieutenant's arrival at Cawnpore, he had
provided Henry with suitable clothing, and the lad was forth-

200 THE WATCHMAN.

with initiated into an acquaintance with the duties required
from him at the mess-table.

For two years he remained in this humble position, and at
the expiration of that period accompanied his master now
Captain Donaldson to Calcutta, to pay another visit to Judge
Murray, and according to promise, having completed his term
of probation, according to the judge's own agreement to claim
the hand of Ada. It were needless to say that this visit had
been long looked forward to with anxiety by the young officer
and it is extremely probable that the lady had not been al
together careless or indifferent with regard to it and Henry,
although he had not the same interest with regard to the visit
that Ada and Captain Donaldson possessed was not a little
delighted at the thought of exchanging the dull monotony of
Cawnpore for the bustle and liveliness of the capital of British
India.

In due time they reached Calcutta, and the young captain,
very shortly after his arrival, made his appearance unannounced
at Judge Murray's Bungalow at Garden Reach.

The judge was in the city ; but Ada and Sarah Dorcas were
at home, and sitting in the arbor, where we first introduced
them to the reader ; Sarah reading aloud to Ada, who was
busied with some fancy needlework.

Ada was the first to hear the footsteps of Captain Donaldson,
who had crept lightly to the arbor, along the path leading from
the gate of the Bungalow, in hopes of coming upon the ladies
unawares; and she raised her head from the work, and re
quested Miss Dorcas to cease reading for a moment.

" Why, Ada," asked Sarah " what is the matter ] "

" I thought I heard a footstep on the gravel walk."

" Your papa, dear, most likely," carelessly observed Sarah.

" No, it's too soon yet for papa to return home. You know
he said when he went out this morning that he should not
return till dinner-time, and it yet wants two hours to five
o'clock."

THE WATCHMAN. 201

Ellen rose from her seat, and stepping out from the arbor,
looked along the path. (Captain Donaldson, meanwhile, had
succeded in effectually screening himself from observation
behind the dense foliage of a group of tamarind trees, which
stood amidst an undergrowth of plants and bushes of various
kinds, where he could hear all that was said.)

"There is no one, Ada," said Sarah, returning again to her
seat, " your ears must have deceived you."

" Perhaps so ; but do you know, Sarah, I thought that I
heard a footstep, strangely like Arthur's."

" Indeed ! " said Sarah, archfy. " The wish, I presume, was
father to the thought eh, Ada 1 " Ada smiled and blushed.

" Well, perhaps it was," she replied. " Do you know, Sarah,
it is two years, this very day, since Arthur left for Cawnpore,
and"

" And what ? " said Sarah, laughing.

" What a torment you are. You know that he was to return
in two years and "

" Another, and " said Miss Dorcas, smiling archly. " Why,
Ada, dear, you speak enigmatically to-day. How am I possibly
to understand what you mean by the repetition of that little
conjunction, and "? "

" You know what I mean well enough, Sarah, only you are
determined to tease me."

" And, he might arrive to day, and you were thinking of
him, while I was wasting my breath, reading aloud to you,
and, your thoughts led you to deceive your senses and so it
was that you fancied you heard his footsteps. Now, my dear,
there's a string of conjunctions, very neatly joined together.
Am I not right ? "

" Perhaps so," replied Ada, blushing again, and laughing.

" And of course, a true knight like Lieutenant Captain
Donaldson, though, he is now ; I beg his pardon. Of course a
true knight, like Arthur, would be on the spot at the very
9*

202 THE WATCHMAN.

minute. Let me see, my dear, at what hour did he take his
departure ? was it morning, noon, or night ? if he is not here,
and to the moment, I would discard him, if I were you, for a
recreant lover."

" Well, he ought to be true to his promise, even to the day
at least; but then you know the ' dauk? is often delayed;
besides, many things may have happened to delay his departure
from Cawnpore, and consequently his arrival here."

" Oh, no," said Miss Dorcas, gaily, " there can be no
excuse in affairs of the heart. A true lover will overcome all
obstacles ; in fact, set them at naught."

" Nonsense what nonsense you are talking, Sarah," replied
Ada ; " I'm sure that Arthur will be here as soon as possible,
and that he would rather forestall the time of his arrival than
fall behind, poor fellow."

" Are you sure of that, Ada ? " asked Miss Dorcas.

" Quite sure."

" Then you are a most trusting damsel," said Sarah, gaily,
" and Arthur is a most happy lover. But Ada, dear, you
must never let Arthur know how much faith you place in him,
or how anxiously you looked for his arrival. The men, you
know, are so vain, you would set the poor man beside himself."

" Never fear rne, Sarah I wouldn't have Arthur hear of our
conversation for the world. When he comes, I shall scold him
for his dilatoriness, and if he doesn't come to-day, or to-morrow,
at furthest, I shall punish him by receiving him coolly and not
speaking to him only, of course, in the way of common
politeness for a week."

" And if he does come to-day, what then 1 " said Arthur,
stepping from his retreat into the presence of the two ladies.

"Then, I presume, since his punishment for misbehavior
would be so great, he will be entitled to half-a-dozen kisses, at
least, to begin with, and then "

What then ] the young soldier did not say, for suiting the
action to the word, he had caught hold of botk Ada's hands,
and interrupted her speech by pressing his lips repeatedly to

THE -WATCHMAN. 203

her forehead ; but Ada speedily disengaged herself, and, blush-
ing deeply, retreated to the side of Sarah, whose arm she took.

" Oh, Arthur, you have been acting the spy," she said
" you have been listening I never should have imagined that
you could be guilty of so mean an act ! "

" Nor would I, if I could have helped it," said Arthur, in a
bantering tone of voice. " You know it is said that listeners
never hear any good of themselves, and I fancy Miss Dorcas
has been sadly traducing my character men are so vain, you
know and really, Ada, your remarks were almost enough to
set an ardent lover like me beside himself."

" Then you heard all that we said ? " said Ada, blushing still
more deeply.

" All, dear Ada," replied Arthur, " from the moment you
raised your head from your needle-work and inquired of Miss
Dorcas whether she heard a footstep on the gravel walk. I
stepped behind yon clump of trees to conceal myself, and,
really, I was made very happy by what I heard. After all,
listeners do not always hear evil of themselves."

'' Then they ought to," interposed Sarah.

" Come, come," answered Arthur ; " this is folly. You
Know that I was anxious to be here the fact of my arrival on
the very day appointed, proves that and I heard enough,
unintentionally, to satisfy me that you are glad to see me here ;
so cease that pretty pouting, both of you, ladies ; it's very be
coming, but smiles are still more becoming, and I know this
assumption of displeasure is only pretence. Where's the
judge 1 Ada, where is your father ? "

" You are very impudent, sir ! " said Ada.

" I know that. I was always noted for impudence from a
boy," gaily replied Arthur, advancing, and again taking Ada's
hand in his, at the same time shaking the hand of Miss Dorcas.
" But you haven't replied to my question ; I didn't ask you
whether I was impudent, but where was your father."

" He has not yet returned from the city," said Ada, unable

204 THE WATCHMAN.

any longer to keep up the pretence of ill-humor. Arthur sat
down in the arbor, and the ladies took a seat, one on each side
of him, and all three were soon engaged in animated conver
sation. Vito ~

An hour passed speedily away, when Judge Murray made
his appearance. The arbor in which his daughter and her
friends were seated overlooked the road, and the Judge
espied Arthur almost as soon as he had alighted from his
palanquin, and hastily advancing towards the bower, he met
the young man, who on his part had dutifully advanced to meet
his future father-in-law, halfway.

" 'Pon my word," said the judge, as he grasped the proffered
hand of the young man and shook it heartily ; " Ton my word,
my young friend, you appear to have presumed already upon
your relationship in posse, if not in esse. I find you actually
in possession of my castle, and for aught I know, if I had not
come in the nick of time, you would have carried my daughter
off without leave or license."

" Except that which you yourself gave me, sir," said Captain
Donaldson, interrupting the old gentleman. " You recollect,
sir, you put me upon two years' probation, and then promised
me your daughter's hand. That period has expired to-day."

" No, not 'till to-morrow," said the judge; "not till to-mor
row, Master Donaldson. You have forestalled the time, sir."

" At twelve o'clock to-day, sir," interposed the young officer,
" the two years expired."

" And you actually were silly enough to ask for leave of
absence from your regiment, for the sole object of coming here
and keeping your tryst with that foolish child."

" I was, sir," replied the young man, " and surely you don't
blame me for so doing? "

" Why, not exactly," rejoined the judge ; " for I was weak
enough to do a good many foolish things, when I was a youngster,
and paying my court to Ada's mother. I suppose young men and
young lasses will be foolish in this regard until the end of time.

THE WATCHMAN.

We can't put old heads upon young shoulders. But I am right
glad to see you at all events, and by-the-by, I must congratu
late you upon your promotion. Ada read your appointment
to a Captaincy, in the Gazette."

'"Ada did?"

" Yes, Ada did," continued the judge. " Somehow or other,
she always glances at the army list, the first thing, when she
gets hold of the newspaper. And," added the judge, looking
archly at the young man, " she has a peculiar interest, it seems
to me, in a certain regiment, quartered at Cawhpore."

The judge and his young friend had by this time reached
the mansion, and having been joined by the two ladies, who had
left the arbor when they saw Mr. Murray engaged in conversa
tion with Arthur, they entered together.

It is unnecessary to the subject of our story to pursue the
theme of Arthur's and Ada's courtship in detail ; suffice it to
say, that three weeks after the date of Arthur's arrival from
Cawnpore they were married by the Bishop of Calcutta, who
out of friendship for his friend the judge, had offered his services
upon the occasion.

Arthur Donaldson's leave of absence from his regiment ex
tended for three months, during which period, the newly
wedded pair resided with the judge at his bungalow on the
banks of the Hooghley, at Garden Eeach. We observed that
Captain Donaldson had brought with him from Cawnpore, his
young protege, Henry Selby, and, as there was an entire
army of native servants in the judge's household, the lad had
very little to do ; many of the little services that he had been
accustomed to render to his master, being now dispensed with,
or performed by Ada's female attendant. Henry, when he left
Mr. Blunt's house in New York to try his fortunes, had made
a mental resolve that he would never return home, unless he
had succeeded in bettering his condition ; indeed that he never
would write even to Joseph Carter, his first and best friend,
unless he were in a position to write favorably with regard to

206 THE WATCHMAN.

his future prospects. He often thought of the watchman and
his family, and especially of little Ellen, whom he had resolved,
if ever he lived to be worthy of her, and to support her as he
believed she deserved to be supported, should be his wife.
There were many years to pass away before either of them
would be old enough to think of marriage, and many things
might happen, in the meanwhile, to overthrow and crush the
hopes and aspirations of youth ; but, although separated from
little Ellen by thousands of leagues of land and ocean, some
thing in the breast of the lone boy whispered that Ellen would
no more forget him than he could banish her image from his
memory, and he hoped and trusted on, allowing no unworthy
fears or feeble hesitations to interfere with the course he had
marked out for himself.

And what was this course 1 Henry was a boy of no ordi
nary capabilities ; that the reader of this tale must have already
perceived. He had been born in poverty and misery, nurtured
amidst vice and wretchedness ; and had not providence sent
Joseph Carter to his relief, the night he had been discovered
sitting on the doorstep, ready to perish amidst the storm of
sleet and rain that had chilled his infant limbs, he might have
died a miserable victim to social corruption and mismanage-
ment ; or, worse still, might have lived to swell the numbers of
those wretched beings, who become pests to society, and thieves v
and murderers, simply because society has made them so
This simple incident was the turning-point in his career. Hi*
young mind had already become hardened, and, in some meas
ure, corrupted, and his dawning moral perceptions blunted, as
the reader has seen ; but the kindness of Joseph Carter had,
from the first, worked upon his feelings with a secret but strong
t influence ; and although still bowed down by the pressure of
adverse circumstances, he had, child as he was, risen superior
to the influences which depressed him, and proved that supe
riority even by the reserve, and apparent sullenness and
obstinacy, which had estranged from him many friends who

THE WATCHMAN. 207

might otherwise have served him. But Henry wanted not
such service as they were willing to render. He had, as we
have said, marKed out a course for himself, and had placed a
goal in the distance which he determined to reach. To be sure,
the path was beset with many obstacles, and the goal was far
off, and shrouded in darkness he had to grope his way to
reach it, but he possessed a stout heart and a strong will, and
was not of a temperament to be daunted with trifles. The
associations of his infant life, if they had touched, had not con
taminated his soul, for he was one to whom the verse of tte
poet might have been well applied

" For know, poor Edwin, was no vulgar boy ;
Deep thought oft seemed to fix his infant eye ;
Dainties he heeded not, nor gaud, nor toy
Silent when glad, affectionate, though shy."

Young as he was, when he had, two years before the period
of which we now speak, accompanied Arthur Donaldson to
Cawnpore, he had sense enough to perceive that only by the
most extraordinary endeavor could he hope ever to escape from
the thraldom of poverty and life-long servitude. The barriers
which separated him from those more favored than he, in the
position they held in the social scale were, he perceived, more
difficult to pierce through in India, than they would have been
had he remained in America, although there, he had seen
enough to know, that despite of political freedom, and so-called
social equality, a wide gap, well nigh impassable to all but
those especially endowed with vigor and talent, divided the sons
and daughters of poverty and toil, from those of wealth ; but
so much the greater need of exertion, and, if possible, he re
solved to succeed to work, and wait, and hope and bide his
time.

And work he did. The duties imposed by his master were
light, and left him abundance of leisure ; and this leisure, while
his master imagined he was idly amusing himself, he was all
tb,3 time carefully improving.

208 THE WATCHMAN 1 .

" So, Arthur, you leave us for Cawnpore, to-morrow, eh 1
Time's up," said the judge, one morning after tiffin* " and Ada
goes with you. Well, well, it must be so, I suppose. The
young birds will leave the parent-nest when they are fully
fledged ; but the bungalow will be very lonesome when you are
gone. You take Sarah with you, too, and leave the old man
quite alone."

" For a short time, sir," replied Arthur, " but not, I hope,
for long, if you succeed in the kind effort you are making in
my behalf; and there is no doubt your influence is sufficient to
enable you to accomplish your object."

" And make you a major, eh ? " said the judge, smiling.
" You not only steal the old man's daughter away, but you
force him into your service by promising, that if his wealth and
influence can succeed in pushing you forward, you will consent
to come and live near him, knowing that he will do anything
for the sake of enjoying his child's society."

" You know, sir," replied the captain, " that I am not
actuated by mercenary motives, and that for your sake, and
that of Ada's, I would gladly exchange into the regiment
stationed at Fort William, in order that we may be near you,
although I were still only to retain my rank of captain ; yet,"
he added, smilingly, " if you are willing that I should gain by
the exchange, and rise a step in rank, I can't say that I shall
have any objection."

" You think Major Donaldson, of the staff, at Fort William,
Calcutta, will sound better than simple Captain Donaldson of

the th regiment, Cawnpore, eh ? Well, so it will and

more than'that / think you merit the title if I didn't think
so, you should never have had my permission to wed my
daughter."

" Then, sir, let us hope that we shall soon return from
Cawnpore, and take up our permanent residence near you. As
a married officer, belonging to the staff, I shall not be required

* Lunch a favorite meal in India.

THE WATCHMAN. 209

to reside within the fortress. We may be able to obtain a
bungalow near your present residence."

" And why not reside with me. There is surely plenty
of room at least for some years to come. By-and-by,
perhaps " and the old gentleman looked archly askanco
at his son-in-law, " there may be some additions to tho
family, which may make more room desirable But, we are
talking too fast, Arthur, my boy ' counting our chickens
before they are hatched,' as the old proverb says. It will
be time enough to think of a residence when the exchange is
effected, and you have got the majority ; and time enough to
think of a larger residence, when the family has increased suf
ficiently to render it necessary. However, in two months from
this, I hope to have all matters satisfactorily arranged, and
it will take that time to arrange your affairs at Cawnpore, and
to bid farewell to your friends there. Let me see ; how long
have you been quartered at Cawnpore, Arthur ? "

" Nearly all the time I have been in the country. I went
there, you know, before I was out of my cadetship."

" Yes you are attached to the place, I suppose ? "

" Not particularly I shall be glad of a change. I would
sooner reside at Calcutta. Cawnpore is exceedingly dull
Calcutta always possessed attractions for me."

" Ah ! I know that to my cost," resumed the Judge. " You
were attracted by my nest, and at last you run off with my
fledgling ; but I had almost forgotten something I intended to
speak to you about. Do you intend to take that boy, Henry,
with you back again 7 "

" I suppose so. I don't know what else J can do with him,
than keep him in my service; although, to tell the truth, I
shall have now very little need of him."

" Had you ever much need of him ? " asked the judge.

" I can't say that I had ; fur native servants are plenty
enough : but you recollect, I told you the cause of my having

taken a fancy to the boy."
14

210 THE WATCHMAN.

" You did and I must say that I think you acted foolishly
The boy can't always remain a page ; he's growing too big for
it already. He might have got on as a sailor ; now you've
pampered him, and used him to habits of idleness and indul
gence, and, as it appears to me, the only resource left him
is, by-and-by, to enlist and perhaps, rise in time to be a
sergeant, or a sergeant-major no very flattering prospect, at
the best."

" Oh, I shall retain him in my service for a year or two
yet ; and, at the expiration of that period, perhaps something
may turn up that will suit him."

" Idle expectations, Arthur. You know, without interest and
education, it is impossible to get forward in this country
where a knowledge of the languages of India is indispensable
to the European. Now, suppose that we waived the boy's
social position, and assisted him with our interest, what educa-
tion can he be expected to have, and he is too old now to com-
mence to Jearn. You'd better have left him on board the ship,
Arthur and the next best thing is to get rid of him before he
becomes a fixture in the family."

" I can't think of turning the poor fellow adrift," returned
the captain, " I must think, as I told you, how I can best pro
vide for him, by-and-by. You say," he added jocosely, " a
knowledge of the oriental languages is necessary to the Euro
pean who would rise in India. So it is ; but judge, this boy,
recollect, is an American at least, so he tells me and they
manage to push their way in the world, generally speaking,
where anybody else would fail."

" I'll tell you what I was thinking of," resumed the judge.
fc The boy can write T'

" Oh yes he writes a pretty fair hand."

" Well, then, the junior native clerk in my office, Tullah
Beg, is very ill, and I am at a loss for somebody to do the
rough work of the office. He may do that well enough for
the present; suppose you leave him with me until you return."

THE WATCHMAtf. 211

" I am quite agreeable if the boy is," answered the captain.

" Call him then and ask him if he is willing to remain here
for a couple of months."

Henry was. summoned, and upon his appearance the ques
tion was put to him by the judge.

The young lad expressed great satisfaction at the prospect
thus opened to him. So much the judge thought, and he ob
served

" You see, my boy, I shall only need your services while
my clerk remains ill ; by-and-by we must see and do some
thing for you more congenial to your habits and education.
You will soon be too old for a mere page, and of course are
unfited by education for any civil employment that my influ
ence could obtain for you. The remuneration you will receive
now will be but small, for the duties required of you could be
performed by any English charity-school boy. However, let
me see you do your best, and you will always have a friend in
me."

Henry, with a secret satisfaction he could with difficulty con
ceal, reasserted his readiness to accept the offer, and he was
told to appear at the office of the judge on the day following.

" That's a clever boy," said the judge as the lad left the
room. " It really is a pity, Arthur, that you took him from
the ship. He might have become a mate or a captain in
time."

" It can't be helped now, sir," replied Arthur. And Ada
and Sarah entering the room, the conversation was changed to
the subject of their approaching departure.

Matters were all satisfactorily arranged, and on the follow
ing morning Captain Donaldson and his wife, accompanied by
Miss Dorcas and Ada's native Ayah, left by "rfawvfc" for
Cawnpore. And Henry Selby, commencing life again in a
new phase, duly presented himself at Judge Murray's office,
near Chundpaul Ghaut, in the city of Calcutta.

212 THE WATCHMAN.

CHAPTER XX.

STILL THE DARK CLOUD HOVERS OVERHEAD.

" There is no spot so dark on earth
But love can shed bright glimmers there ,
Nor anguish known of human birth,
That yieldeth not to faith and prayer."

THE winter passed slowly and drearily away. It was not a
very severe winter so far as frost and cold were concerned ; if
it had been, the deep distress that pervaded the laboring classes
of the community would have been greatly increased ; still the
chill winds and rains, and the damp cold air, and the dark,
gloomy weather, were hard enough to bear. We listen com
placently to the howling of the tempest and the pattering
of the rain and sleet when we are snugly housed and the
shutters are closed, and the curtains snugly drawn, and the fire
burns cheerfully and crackles merrily in the grate, and the
lighted candles add to the comfortable aspect of the room ;
and when all our daily wants are amply provided for, and we
have not to look anxiously forward to the morrow, uncertain
whether we shall find means to obtain a meal then we may
often give vent to an expression of pity for those who are less
fortunate than ourselves ; but it is too often but a passing senti
ment, unimbued with any feeling of real benevolence. As
Joseph Carter remarked, when his wife observed on the occa
sion of his bringing little Henry to the house, " There are thou -
sands and tens of thousands worse off than we. We ought to
be thankful." " Ah ! wife, so we ought more thankful than
we are ; and yet, Mary, it always appears to me to be a sel
fish sort of thankfulness that leads us to rejoice that we are

THE WATCHMAN. 213

better off than others quite as good, in the sight of God, as
we." There is too much of this tinsel of philanthropy in the
world, passing current as real benevolence.

We left the Watchman and his family in the midst of trou
ble and poverty. Poor Joseph was compelled again to accept
the post of city watchman, and to depend upon the petty emolu
ment of the arduous office, almost solely for the support of his
family for as the winter passed its slow length away, and the
distress among the poor became more pressing every day, the
competitors among the wives and daughters of laboring men
for such employment as Mary Carter had sought in the early
pare of the winter to obtain, became so great, and the remune
ration, small as it was at the best, decreased so much, that it
was rarely now that she could get a job to do ; and when she
did it scarcely paid for the food she required to enable her to
bear up under this hard and long unaccustomed bodily labor.
William Carter could obtain no employment at all, and he had
given up all hope of doing so until the spring, when he trusted
there would be a revival ; and to crown their distress, Joseph
caught a severe cold in consequence of having been exposed to
the weather, and remaining in wet clothing all night during one
of the stormiest nights of the season, which resulted in an at
tack of rheumatism that confined him to his bed. Now, the
" wolf could no longer be kept from the door" and hope
the last resource of the wretched seemed ready to fly from
the Watchman's home. Resolved to make one last effort,
Ellen set out one morning, determined to make application for
employment as a shirt-sewer at every store she could find
where such work was let out. But at the miserable remunera
tion of six, and ten cents a shirt, she found there was a supply
of labor greater than the demand. She was about to give up
further search in despair, and to return to her once happy, now
wretched home, when she noticed a store in Chatham-street at
which she had not yet made application. With a failing heart
and trernbing limbs she entered this store, and with a faltering

214 THE WATCHMAN.

voice requested to Know if they were in want of any person to
do plain needlework.

" No," was the surly reply. " We are bothered out of our
lives with applications for work. You girls are more trouble
some than the beggars."

Sick at heart, the poor girl turned away, and was about
leaving the store, when the proprietor looked up. He had
not thought it worth while to do so before ; and either moved
with pity as he watched Ellen's look of despondency or, more
probably, struck with her beauty, he said :

" Stay awhile ; you needn't be in such a hurry in taking a
denial; you're not like most of the girls I can hardly get
them out of the store, sometimes. I may, perhaps, find you a
job what can you do 1 "

" Anything in the way of needlework, sir," replied Ellen.
" I can do fine work, and of course should prefer that which
pays best ; but I am ready to do anything ; we are starving
at home."

" Ah ! that's what you all say that's an old story I hear
it fifty times a-day ; but I can't help that, even if you're telling
the truth. If I was to give work to everybody that's starving,
I should soon be in a fair way of starving myself; but you
seem to be an honest sort of girl, and if I can find you some
thing to do, I will."

" Oh, thank you, sir thank you," said Ellen, forgetting the
brutality of the first portion of the man's speech, Sn the promise
of work he held out at it's close.

" You would be willing to make up shirts, I suppose ? "

" I am willing to do anything I am able, sir."

" Then here's material for half-a-dozen shirts ; and here's one
for a pattern," continued the shopkeeper, as he took a bundle
of linen from a drawer. " I give ten cents a shirt, and if you're
smart, you can sew one a-day ; it's more than is commonly
paid now, since there are so many seeking employment, and

THE WATCHMAN

more perhaps than I ought to pay these hard times, but I like
to behave liberally to my employees."

" Ten cents as a remuneration for the toil necessary in order
to complete one shirt a-day ! " thought Ellen. " Ten cents a-day
to serve for the joint support of my poor father and mother,
and myself and my brother ! " but she signified her willingness
to accept the task, and was about to take up the work, when
the shopkeeper stopped her.

" Wait a minute, young woman," said he " you are an
honest girl, I dare say, but I can't swear to that fact you
haven't said where you live "

" I had forgotten," said Ellen, hastily interrupting the trades
man " I live in Mulberry-street," giving him the number of
the house " and my name is Ellen Carter. My father is one
of the city watchmen, but he is now confined to his bed with a
fit of sickness ; I will write the address down for you if you
please."

" You can do so, young woman ; but I've something more to
say ; you must leave a deposit of two dollars as a security for
the material. When you cease working for us, the money will
be returned to you."

" Two dollars, sir ! God knows I haven't a dollar in the
world."

" You must raise the money somehow before you can have
the work," replied the shopkeeper, deliberately proceeding to
replace the goods in the drawer, but noticing Ellen's look of
despair, he added

" Surely you must have some friend who can lend you the
money, or something or other you can raise it upon at the
the pawnbroker's, you know, eh 1 "

The tradesman had accompanied this last speech with such a
cunning leer, that Ellen was frightened and disgusted. She
was hastily leaving the store, when a gentleman who had
entered while she had been talking, and made some trifling
purchase from the clerk, advanced to the proprietor, and said,

216 THE WATCHMAN.

" Let the young lady take the shirts, sir ; I will advance the
two dollars necessary as security ;" and he laid a two-dollar
bill on the counter as he spoke.

Ellen would have refused to accept this assistance from a
stranger, great as was her distress, and that of the family at
home ; but the shopkeeper had taken up the bill and placed it
in a drawer, and before she had time to speak a word in reply
to the stranger's offer, he had withdrawn.

" You're in luck's way, young woman," observed the trades
man ; " first to be able to get work to do at all now there's so
many applications and then to find a gentleman willing and
ready to find the money for your security. Now you can take
the work home, and get it done as soon as you can : and if you
satisfy me, you shall have plenty more."

" I don't know whether I ought to take the work, sir, or to
accept assistance from a person I am unacquainted with," said
Ellen, timidly.

" You should have thought of that, young woman, before the
gentleman left the store," returned the tradesman. " The
money's in my till now ; it's too late to make any objections :
besides, I can't see what objections you can have to make.
Come, take the work or leave it, whichever you please."
Ellen took the bundle in her arms, and hurriedly stepping out
of the store, without replying to the tradesman's last remarks,
hastened home.

She found her father sitting up and feeling a little better.
Her mother had, like herself, succeeded that morning in obtain
ing some work, and had gone out, and her brother was sitting
moodily over the scanty fire, brooding over his inability to
obtain employment. Ellen spoke cheerfully to her father, and
told her brother that she had at last obtained work, in the
hope of cheering him out of his despondency ; but her endeavor
was useless it rather had the effect of rendering him more
gloomy still. He muttered something about his being only a

THE WATCHMAN. 217

burthen to the rest of them, and rising hastily from his seat,
he took his hat and went out.

Ellen looked tearfully after him as she saw him walk rapidly
along the street, with his head bent towards the ground, and
then she commenced her task at once. She had not the heart
to tell her father the conversation that had passed between her
and the shopkeeper, nor the paltry pittance she was to receive
for her labor, when her task was completed ; neither did she
say anything with regard to the deposit demanded, nor the
stranger who had so generously interposed and placed the two
dollars in the tradesman's hands. She knew that the relation
of all these details would only vex her father, without effecting
any good purpose, but she resolved, when her mother returned
in the evening, to tell her of the circumstance, for she was far
from being easy in her mind about it, and she busied her
thoughts as she sat rapidly plying her needle upon the object
he could have had in so promptly advancing the money. She
could scarcely bring herself to think that he had been actuated
by any other than good intentions ; still she had a presentiment
of some coming evil, arising from this incident, that she could
not account for.

The evening came, and Mrs. Carter and her son both
returned home, the former happy in the consciousness that she
had that day earned something, however small her earnings
had been, towards the support of her family, and the latter, we
regret to say, greatly to the distress of his mother and sister,
(his father had retired to bed and did not see him,) for the first
time in his life, intoxicated.

He was very sick, and his poor mother persuaded him, after
some time, to retire to bed. And then the mother and sister
wept together over this last great misfortune that had befallen
them. William had always been his mother's hope and pride.
She had in happier days formed ambitious aspirations with
regard to his future career. Were these to be dashed to the
ground ? She felt that she would rather follow her son,
10

218 THE "WATCHMAN.

beloved as he was, to the grave, than see him live to become
a drunkard.

Ellen strove to comfort her mother, and succeeded in leading
her to hope that this his first offence would be his last, and then
she related her morning's adventure in Chatham-street, and told
how a stranger had advanced the two dollars, unasked for,
without which she could not have obtained the work upon
which she was engaged.

Mrs. Carter heard the story, and then advised her daughter
to finish the work and take it home : but advised her also to
take no more work from the store, unless she was fully satis
fied as to the motives of the gentleman in coming to her assist
ance.

It was late in the day when Ellen commenced her work ;
but she resolved to finish one shirt, the daily task she had set
herself to perform, before she retired to rest. With her
mother's assistance, this was effected by midnight, and then
kneeling together in prayer, thanking God for his goodness,
and praying that the dark cloud that had so long hovered
above and around them might be dispersed in his good time,
and especially praying for his blessing upon the erring son and
brother, who had allowed the demon of intemperance to over
come him, Mary Carter and her daughter sought their
pillows, and slept more sweetly and soundly, perchance, than
hundreds who were surrounded with all the comforts and
luxuries that wealth can bestow : for they had toiled hard,
and with a good purpose, and they had no accusing conscience
to disturb their rest or to disquiet their peaceful dreams.

THE WATCHMAN. 219

CHAPTER XXI.

THE FORGER.

Vice is a monster of so foul a mien
As to be bated, needs but to be seen ;
But seen too oft, familiar with tbe face,
We first endure, then pity, then embrace

" I AM sure there is something the matter, George," said
Mrs. Hartley for the third time since her husband had come
home, each time previous having received a reply that nothing
at all was the matter. " You are not well ?"

" Quite well, my dear, in bodily health at least," replied
George, taking the youngest child upon his knee. He had a
family of four children now ; but although it was evident from
the child's actions that her father's knee was her accustomed
seat after dinner, even the infant appeared to feel that some
thing was wrong to-day. She endeavored to entice her father
to play with her by making her little childish efforts to attract
his notice, as usual ; but finding after three or four attempts
that her efforts were in vain, she relapsed into silence, and soon
fell asleep, her head resting upon her father's arm.

The other children also seemed to find the parlor dull that
evening ; they had made no remonstrance when their mother
told them it was time for them to go to bed ; but had allowed
the nurse to lead them away, without pleading as usual to be
allowed to sit up " only a little while longer." There was
evidently a feeling of constraint possessing the household of
George Hartley.

When the nurse had withdrawn with the older children,

220 THE WATCHMAN.

Mrs. Hartley gently lifted the sleeping pet of the family from
her father's lap, and laying the child down in the cradle, she
drew her chair close to her husband, and taking his hand in
her's, said :

"Dear George, I am sure there is something serious the
matter. Whatever it be, do not fear to tell me of it. It is
worse to bear this suspense, and see you suffer alone and in
silence, than it can be to know the worst and share your troubles
with you. Who so fitting to be your confidant as I, George ?
You say you are quite well in health. Something then has
occurred to disturb your mind. Is there anything the matter
at the office ? "

*' No, my dear," returned George. " Nothing has happened
which has anything directly to do with us. Set your mind at
ease on that score. But I'll tell you, now the children have
left the room, Ellen. Edwards has committed an extensive
forgery upon Mr. Davis, who has behaved towards him with
so much generosity, and has absconded."

To say that Mrs. Hartley did not experience a sensation ot
relief, when she learnt that the trouble which evidently had
weighed upon her husband's spirits, had no relation to his own
affairs, would be folly, for it was natural that such should have
been the case. She was almost ready to exclaim, " Thank
God ! that this is all ;" for the poor woman had began to
imagine all sorts of gloomy things ; but she checked herself,
and instead of giving vent to a selfish expression of joy, she
said with deep and real feeling :

" Poor Mrs. Edwards ! and the children. What will become
of the dear children ? "

" Aye," said her husband, " it is of them, poor things, that
I have been thinking. Charles has now placed himself beyond
the pale of sympathy ; but his wife, poor woman ! it will be a
shocking blow to her."

" And then think of the poor children, George ! "

" Yes, my love. I sincerely pity them, poor little things ! "

THE WATCHMAN. 221

" Has Mrs. Edwards heard of it yet 1 "

" I don't know. Mr. Davis called at Mr. Wilson's, and told
me of it. He was almost distracted. He said he only dis
covered it to-day."

" How did he make the discovery ? "

"I have not heard. He gave no particulars. Indeed, he
was too much agitated to enter into details."

" What is the amount of his loss 1 "

" That I know not : but I presume it must be very great, or
he would not be so distressed about it. He merely said that
his suspicions had been aroused in consequence of Charles hav
ing absented himself for two days from the office."

There was a ring at the bell of the front door, and shortly
afterwards a servant entered the parlor, and said that Mrs.
Edwards had called and wished to see Mr. Hartley.

" Show her in, Jane," said Hartley. " Ellen, my dear (to
his wife) perhaps you had better retire."

Mrs. Hartley was only too glad to leave the room, and
escape the distress of being present during the interview.

" I will send for you, Ellen, if you are wanted," said her
husband, as she retired and she had hardly passed through the
folding door before Mrs. Edwards, evidently in a state of great
perturbation of mind, entered the parlor.

" Oh, Mr. Hartley ! " she cried almost dropping into the
seat that George had hastened to place for her "do you know
where my husband is 1 He has not been home these two
days. I was uneasy yesterday ; but still I thought that pro
bably they had been very much occupied at the office, and he
had slept there, as he has done once or twice; but having
heard nothing from him this morning he always sent me a
message in the morning when he had been detained before I
called at the office at noon to-day, and was told that he had not
been seen there for two days ; and I am certain something
dreadful has happened. They were evidently afraid to teli me.
Mr. Davis left the counting-room when he saw me enter and

222 THE WATCHMAN.

the clerks looked so strange and mysterious. Surlly, Charles
cannot have met with any accident. They should let me
know where he is, if that is the case. I returned home, but I
could not rest, and I at length determined to call upon you, for
if you know anything of him I am sure you will tell me all.
My husband is not ill, Mr. Hartley 1 "

" I have no reason to imagine he is, Mrs. Edwards," said
George. " I have not seen him for some weeks."

There was, however, in spite of Hartley's endeavor to
appear composed, something in the expression of his counte
nance or in the tone of his voice, which seemed still more to
alarm the terrified woman and she said :

" Mr. Hartley, if you have not seen my husband, I know
that you are aware of what has befallen him. Tell me all.
Tell me at once. I am able to bear it. Anything is prefera
ble to this dreadful suspense."

The poor woman's anguish was so great, that George
dreaded to disclose the facts of her husband's dishonesty, and
subsequent flight ; but he felt that the intelligence had to reach
her, and that it had better come from him an old friend, and
one upon whom she had been accustomed to rely, than from a
stranger, or from the reports which would be sure to appear hi
the newspapers perhaps greatly exaggerated, and embellished
with comments, which would fall still more harshly and fear
fully upon the unhappy woman's ears.

He was silent for a few minutes, and then he said

" Mrs. Hartley, I will not deny that I have heard something
relative to your husband which it will pain me to repeat and
you to hear ; but you must endeavor to bear it. After all,
matters may not be so bad as they are represented."

l ' Tell me tell me at once," almost screamed the poor wo
man. " My husband is not ill, you said. It is worse he is
dead. I had a strange dream last night of the water as I sat
up waiting for him by the fireside. Some accident has befallen
him crossing the ferry."

" It were better that it had been so better that he were

THE WATCHMAN. 223

dead," thought George Hartley, as he looked with pity upon
the anguish depicted in the poor abused wife's features ; but he
replied, " Mrs. Edwards, Charles is, I have reason to believe,
living and well in health, but prepare yourself to hear sad
news. He has absconded, after having, as Mr. Davis inform
ed me to-day, committed forgery to a large amount upon the
firm by whom he has been employed."

The unhappy woman uttered a piercing shriek and fell sense
less to the floor.

George immediately rang the bell and desired his wife to be
summoned, but Mrs. Hartley had anticipated the summons
and entered the parlor immediately after the servant. George
in the meantime had raised Mrs. Edwards from the floor, and
placing her upon the sofa, he left her in charge of his wife and
the servant girl, bidding them send for him if they could not
succeed in restoring her, and he would immediately procure
medical assistance, and then he retired to the library to await
the result of his wife's endeavors.

It was long before the poor lady was sufficiently restored to
be enabled to leave the house. She fell into a succession of
fainting fits, accompanied with hysterics, which sometimes as
sumed an alarming, appearance ; but at last she became more
composed, and expressed a wish to return home. George and
his wife both pressed her to occupy a bed in their house for the
night ; but she said that she had left the children alone, and
she must return to them ; George therefore accompanied her
home, leaving her at the door they having hardly exchanged
a word during the walk, the subject which in reality engrossed
the thoughts of both being avoided as if by mutual though tacit
consent.

On the following morning, as George Hartley had anticipa
ted, the newspapers published an account of the forgery, which
was stated to involve a sum amounting to nearly twenty thou
sand dollars ; and it was said that the fraud had been going on
for a length of time, indeed almost from the day Mr. Davis

224 THE WATCHMAN.

had promoted the dishonest clerk from the store to the count-
ing-room.

It appeared that perfect confidence had been reposed in the
young man by his too-confiding employer, who had allowed
him even to sign checks in his name when he was absent frcm
the city the peculiar nature of his business often calling him
away. An arrangement to this effect had been made with Mr.
Davis's bankers, so that the clerk had had things all his own
way; and he had succeeded in eluding discovery or even sus
picion, by making false entries in the books and summing up
his cash accounts so as to make them balance fairly. Mr.
Davis was severely and justly blamed for his want of business
caution, but he was pitied likewise, for as a man of business he
was generally esteemed for his integrity. The loss was indeed
a severe one to him, for he was not in a very extensive way of
business; and had not his creditors, in consideration of his
misfortune, allowed him time, he would have been ruined. It
was stated in the newspapers likewise that it was suspected
that the clerk, Charles Edwards, had started for Texas ; and
.as he had had nearly three days start before his frauds had
been discovered, and as there were no electric telegraphs in
those days, there was every probability that he would make
good his escape. All this was corroborated by the statements
of Mr. Davis himself to George Hartley, who called during
the day at his place of business. The merchant felt at first a
little embittered towards George, in consequence of his having
in the first place procured Edwards the situation at his store ;
but at length he acknowledged that Mr. Hartley was not in
fault, as he had been especially cautious, even to forewarning,
when asked by Mr. Davis what he thought of his intention of
promoting Edwards to a seat in his counting-house.

Mrs. Edwards and the children were left destitute by the
unfeeling husband and father, who appeared to have given him
self up entirely to evil courses. This was evident from the
subsequent conversation held on various occasions between

THE WATCHMAN. 225

Mrs. Hartley and Mrs. Edwards ; for though the latter, like all
women, was unwilling to criminate her husband, she could not
help, at times, letting fall remarks, from which Mrs. Hartley
inferred the course of life the miserable Edwards had led;
still it was evident that Mrs. Edwards knew nothing of her
husband's criminality with regard to his employer. It only
transpired, by slow degrees, that he had lived extravagantly,
and as both George Hartley and his wife believed, had been
addicted to gambling, drinking, and low company, although
with the shrewdness necessary to the character of a thorough
rogue, he had managed to disguise his fondness for these low
pursuits from his employer.

Once again George Hartley stood the friend of the unfortu
nate woman. Mrs. Hartley hired a small store for her, for
the sale of millinery and fancy goods, which George stocked,
and thus she was placed in a position to maintain herself and
her children, l>y the exercise of honest industry.

Months passed away, and nothing was heard of Edwards
His wife, however, prospered in her undertaking, mainly
through the good offices of Mrs. Hartley, who recommendec
her to the patronage of her friends, and by degrees she repaid
the funds which George had advanced to start her in business.
Meanwhile, Hartley himself continued to prosper. He had
taken the " tide in the affairs of men," which Shakspeare speaks
of as happening once in a lifetime to all, at the flood, and it
really appeared to be leading him on to fortune ; but his good
foitune was truly owing to his own industry and attention to
business, which had secured for him, from the first day of his
entering the counting-house of Messrs. Wilson, the favor and

confidence rf his employers.
15

226 THE WATCHMAN

CHAPTER XXII.

HENRY SELBY'S SUCCESS IN INDIA HE WRITES TO JOSEPH
CARTER AND ELLEN.

" Everything is possible to him who wills."

THE FRENCHMAN AT MARSEILLES TO KOSSUTH.

HENRY SELBY pursued his occupation at the office of the
judge with unwearied diligence. It was the first time in his
life that he found himself occupied in an employment agree
able to him, for although it was dull, monotonous work enough,
this copying of dry law papers, it was an employment that at
least opened to him a prospect of future advancement, aud
enable him at present to make use of his self-taught acquire
ments.

The judge was pleased, not only with his industry, but with
the facility with which he comprehended the nature of any task
set before him. He performed the duties of his office much
better than Mr. Murray had anticipated, and better than his
predecessor, Tullah Beg, the Hindoo clerk, had done, for he
wrote English with greater facility and correctness than the
young Oriental.

One day the judge was more busy than usual, and although
he had several translators in his employment, there was not
apparently a sufficient number to accomplish the work required
with the necessary rapidity.

" Now, if you could only translate Hindoostanee, Henry,"
said he, " how glad I should be. I'm sure I hardly know how
I shall get these papers completed in time."

THE WATCHMAN. 227

Henry had patiently, yet hopefully, waited for such an occa
sion as this.

" Will you allow me to try, sir," he modestly observed.

" Allow you to try to translate Hindoostanee," said the
judge, laughing at the very idea of a boy of Henry's condition
being competent to translate an Oriental language into English.
" Why, boy, what do you know of the language ; I don't sup
pose you know even one character from another."

" I believe I do, sir," returned Henry. " I employed my
leisure time, during the two years I was at Cawnpore, in
endeavoring to learn Hindostanee and Bengalee, and, although
I do not imagine I am a master of either language, I know
enough to read Hindostanee, and, I think, to translate it
freely."

" Indeed !" exclaimed the judge, in a tone and with a look
of incredulity ; " let me hear you read this," and he handed
the boy a Hindostanee document which lay on the table.

To his astonishment, Henry read it with perfect facility, and
with a correct pronunciation.

" Now," continued the judge, " let me hear you translate
that paragraph into English."

Henry accomplished this with equal readiness.

The judge appeared to be struck with amazement.

" Why, Henry," said he, " who was your instructor in the
Oriental languages'?"

" No one, sir," replied the boy ; " I taught myself to read
and write Hindostanee, and one of the Zeminders of Captain
Donaldson's regiment, taught me the correct pronounciation.
As to the Bengalee, I was in the habit of hearing that constantly
spoken. I learnt to speak it myself easily enough ; but I as
sure you, sir, I found the Hindostanee sufficiently difficult; for
the first year I made little progress, but afterwards it became
much easier to me."

" I should think, my boy," said the judge, " that you did find
^.t difficult enough. Why it's positively wonderful. Very few

228 THE WATCHMAN.

of our young Writers, who have been grounded in the rudl>
ments of the language in England, before they obtain their
appointments, and who are compelled to devote their whole
time, for years after their arrival in this country, to the task
of perfecting themselves in Hindostanee, acquire so perfect a
knowledge of it as you seem to possess."

" They, perhaps, have not generally the same incentive to
study that I had, sir," modestly rejoined the youth."

" Indeed, my boy ; and what was your incentive ? "

Henry blushed, as he timidly replied " I did not wish always
to remain in the humble position in which fortune had placed
me, sir."

" A very laudable ambition," returned the judge. " But
Captain Donaldson never told me anything of this. Was he
aware that you were improving your time in this manner?"

" No, sir."

" And why did you keep it a secret from him ? "

" Because I wished first to try whether I was able, with the
limited means at my command, to accomplish the task I set
myself. I was afraid of being laughed at, if I let it be known
that I, a poor servant boy, was endeavoring to become an
Oriental linguist ; besides, I did not know that he would ap
prove of my so employing myself. He might have thought I
was too proud for my situation, and when I had succeeded so
much better than J had anticipated, / was too proud to boast
of what I had accomplished ; I waited for the opportunity to
come when the acquirement would be of service to me," and
again the boy blushed deeply.

"You are a brave fellow," said the judge. "Your talents
and perseverance will not only be useful to you now, but to me,
likewise. I must talk with you again, by-and-by. Now, how
ever, set to work and translate these documents. Tullah Beg
is getting well again ; he would shortly have resumed his post,
and I should have put you to your former duties. Now ha

THE WATCHMAN. 229

shall resume his place, and, for the present, I shall employ you
as a translator."

So saying, he placed the bundle of documents before the boy,
and, turning away, resumed his own studies.

Henry set to work with a will, and when the hour arrived
for closing the office for the day, he had accomplished nearly
double an ordinary task.

The judge expressed himself delighted, and after dinner that
evening, he summoned Henry to his study.

There he held a long conversation with him, asking him
about his parents and friends, and demanding his reasons for
having left his home.

Henry told him the plain unvarnished story of his child
hood's and early boyhood's career, to which the judge listened
attentively.

" Then you never knew your parents ? " he said, when the
lad had concluded his story.

" No, sir."

" Is Selby your real name ? "

" It is the only name by which I have known myself to be
called, sir."

" Humph ! You are an astonishingly clever lad, Henry, and
will make your way upwards in the world, mark my words.
Captain Donaldson and Ada will return here in the course of a
few weeks. I have effected the exchange in his favor, and have
procured him his majority. When he comes, he and I must
hold some conversation with regard to you ; meanwhile you will
attend the office as usual. Be as industrious and attentive as
you have hitherto shown yourself, and be sure that you will
always have a friend in me."

From the period of this conversation, the judge showed a
marked difference in his behavior to Henry. He had always
been kind to him, as he was to every one with whom he came
in contact, but now he treated him as he would have treated a
son of his own.

230 THE WATCHMAN.

At the expiration of three weeks, Captain Donaldson, and
his wife, and Miss Dorcas, returned from Cawnpore, and
Captain, now Major Donaldson, took up his abode with the
judge.

The latter suffered very little time to elapse before he related
to the astonished major the discovery he had made of the re
markable acquirements of his late servant and protege.

" What to do with the boy, in order to advance his interests
in the best way for himself, is what puzzles me," said the
judge, after he had concluded the relation. " He has abilities
sufficient to enable him to attain rank and fortune, either in the
civil or military service of the country ; but you see it would
be the next thing to an impossibility, to procure him a writer-
ship, or even a cadetship, in the Company's service. All my
influence, I fear, would be of little avail ; they stand so much
upon their aristocracy ; and unless he obtains a commission,
there is a bar to his advancement at once."

" What then do you think of doing with him ? " asked the
major.

" I hardly know. I fancy the best plan would be to get him.
articled to some mercantile firm, where his birth and antece
dents would not be so greatly detrimental to his success
indeed, in such a position, they need not be known : I could in
troduce him as a young friend of yours from Europe, or some
thing of that sort."

" And, upon my life," replied the major, " I'm half inclined
to believe that the boy is better born than he is aware of. You
recollect what I told you about his astonishing resemblance to
a pretty cousin of mine, named Meehan, who married a man
named Hartley. Supposing, now, he should turn out some day
actually to be a sort of relative of mine, it would be quite ro
mantic, wouldn't it 1 And to think, too, that I picked the poor
fellow up on board ship ! "

"Very romantic, indeed," replied the judge, laughing, "but

THE WATCHMAN. 23

not at all probable ; however, I will think over what I have
said, and see what I can do for the youngster."

The judge was as good as his word, and the result was that
Henry Selby was placed as an articled clerk in the Portuguese
firm of De Sylva & Co., general Calcutta merchants, the judge
promising to allow him two thousand rupees a year for two
years, when, according to agreement, if he gave satisfaction, he
was to receive a salary from the firm of three thousand rupees a
year. Henry Selby, by dint of his own good conduct and
strong resolve, thus found himself raised, while still a mere
boy, from poverty and dependence to comfort and respecta
bility, with every prospect of fortune before him.

He served his two years' apprenticeship to the perfect satis
faction of his employers, and entered upon the receipt of his
promised salary. At the expiration of two years more this
salary was doubled, and, at the end of four years from this
period, the once poor, destitute beggar boy, found himself the
head clerk of one of the wealthiest mercantile houses in Cal
cutta, in the receipt of an income of twenty thousand rupees
a year, and with a prospect, in a few years more, of becoming
a partner in the firm.

The judge, and Major, now Colonel Donaldson, still remain
ed his steadfast friends, and he was as comfortably situated, in
every respect, as he could wish for.

And now, for the first time since he had run away from Mr.
Blunt's house in New York, he made up his mind to write to
his first friend, the watchman, and to little Ellen, whom he had
always remembered with tenderness, and whom he now pleased
himself with fancying a beautiful woman. The watchman's
family had never for a day been forgotten ; but he had regis
tered a vow, when a destitute boy he left New York, that they
should never hear of him again, unless they heard of him as a
successful man, and now the time had arrived. It was with
feelings of pride, not unmingled with misgivings, that he dis
patched his letter to New York ; for although he had an

THE WATCHMAN.

intuitive knowledge of Ellen's fidelity to her boy-lover, he
knew not what changes these long years, which had been pro
ductive of such change to him, had made amongst his former
friends and protectors, but he hoped for the best. The letter
was sent on its long journey, and Henry anxiously looked for
ward to the time when he might reasonably expect a reply, if
indeed his humble friends were stil! alive, and living still in the
city of New York.

THE WATCHMAN. 333

CHAPTER XXIII.

WOLF IN SHEEP'S CLCTHINO.

" Oh, Heaven 1 that such companions thou'dst unfold,
And put in every honest hand a whip
To lash the rascal naked through the world.
Even from east to west." SHAKSPKAHE.

ELLEN CARTER finished her task a* quickly as she was able,
giving herself no rest, beyond what was absolutely requisite,
until it was completed ; and then with a beating heart and
somewhat reluctant steps, she wended her way to the store
in Chatham- street, for she hoped and yet dreaded to hear
something relative to the stranger, who had so singularly inter
posed in her behalf: and yet she thought, as she hurried along
the crowded streets, "It is likely that I may hear nothing
further with regard to this gentleman; perhaps, even, he is
unknown to the proprietor of the store. It may have been an
impulse of pure gener .wifcy which impelled him to come to my
assistance. I am sure I should be glad to do a similar kind
ness to any one in distress, were I in a position to do so.
Mother thinks I had better make some inquiry about him, and we
did think it would be advisable to take no more work from the
store, until we discover who our unknown friend is. But, then,
I have no means yet of repaying the money, and the proprietor
will return it to me if I take no more work. It would be
wrong for me to take it, since it was given in trust to the
storekeeper, in order that by that means I might obtain work.
I had better say nothing about it, perhaps ; at least, until I

234: THE WATCHMAN.

have saved money enough to repay it, and to pay the deposit
myself." Then her thoughts took another turn, and the recol
lection of her brother's late intemperate conduct recurred tc
her, and she mentally prayed that he might obtain some em
ployment, which would occupy his mind and save him from
the temptation to mix with idle and dissolute companions ; for
since the day he had returned home in a state of intoxication,
William Carter's behavior had given his parents and his sister
great uneasiness. He had never drank so deeply again, as to
be really intoxicated ; but he had more than once shown signs
of having indulged in drink, and every day since, he had spent
hours from home without giving any explanation of the causes
which led him abroad, and still he had obtained no employ
ment ; his mother and sister feared that he had ceased to exert
himself to procure it.

Thinking over these various painful matters, Ellen found
herself at last opposite the shirt-store, and she crossed the
treet and went in.

Timidly she laid her bundle on the counter, and without
saying a word, waited while the master of the store was set
tling with a young woman whose errand, apparently, was of
the same nature as her own.

" This work is very carelessly done " said the tradesman,
examining a seam in one of the garments. " Very carelessly
done, indeed. You have been afraid of your stitches, surely.
Why the stuff will hardly hang together. It would not be a
matter of much difficulty to count the stitches."

" It has taken me a day-and-a-half to make each of those shirts,
sir," said the young woman ; " and I am only to get ten cents
a-piece for them. Indeed I have done the best I can, and after the
cost of the needles and thread is deducted, it does not leave me
live cents a-day. I could work faster ; but my baby occupies
so much of my time."

" That is no business of mine," said the shopman. " You
should not apply for work if you have other matters to occupy

THE WATCHMAN.

your attention. See here : do you think I can afford to pay
you ten cents a shirt for such work as this 1 " and, with a sud
den and powerful jerk he ripped open a seam from top to bottom.
" Take back this shirt, young woman, and sew it over again.
The rest are badly done, but I'll let these pass this time : and
when you return this garment we'll talk about payment."

"But, you'll pay me for the other eleven shirts'?" said the
young woman, imploringly.

"No I never pay for a job until it is finished. That's a
rule I've adopted, and I won't change it to please any one. Do
as you please; either take back this shirt and sew it over
again, and then come for your money, or else leave the bundle,
and get your pay how you can."

The young woman burst into tears, but without saying a
word, she took the torn shirt, and rolling it up, left the store.

How Ellen's heart beat for her. How she wished that she
were able to offer her assistance ; or that, as had been the case
on the day she had made application for employment, some
generous stranger had interposed with the obdurate shop
keeper, in behalf of the poor young widow for that she was a
widow, her attire testified, scanty and shabby as it was. But
then she was a plain looking young woman, worn with suffering
and sorrow. There was nothing in her appearance to attract
the notice and enlist the sympathies of the charitable!

It was only when the sobbing woman had left the store, that
Ellen thought that perhaps she might meet with similar treat
ment ; and she half feared even to offer her work for the criti
cism of the hard-faced, keen shop-keeper ; but he saw and recog
nised her, and to her great relief, although somewhat to hex
astonishment, he addressed her with kindness.

" So, young woman," he said, " you have brought back your
work, eh ? You have got your task completed quickly ; that's
what I like to see. Let me examine it." And he opened the
bundle but merely glancing at the shirts, continued

" It seems pretty well done. Let me see six shirts at ten

THE WATCHMAN.

cents each is sixty cents. Here is the money ; and he handed
her the poor pittance she had so hardly earned.

"I suppose you would like to take some more \vork home
with you ? " he said, as Ellen was placing the money she had
received in her pocket.

" I should be glad to do so, sir," replied Ellen.

" Ah yes well. Do you live far from here?"

" In Mulberry-street, sir. 1 told you so when I was here the
other day."

" Yes, but I had forgotten. I asked, because I have no more
material ready for you just now ; but I shall have some in an
hour's time. Do you think you could manage to look in again
in the course of an hour ? "

Ellen felt a little disappointed, for it was hardly worth her
while to return home and come back again for that would
occupy the entire hour and to wander about the streets for an
hour was still more tiresome. However, she decided upon the
former plan, and promising to be back at the time appointed,
she hastened home with the proceeds of her earnings, and
returned at the expiration of the hour to the store.

This time there was a gentleman in the store, busily engaged
in examining some handkerchiefs. His back was turned
towards her, and she could not see his face as she passed by
him to the back part of the store, where it was the custom to
give out the work. The shopkeeper had been true to his pro
mise ; the linen was cut out and rolled up ; and, with some
fresh compliments upon her diligence, he placed the bundle in
her hands, and she passed out of the store into the street, fol
lowed by the gentleman, who had at this moment completed
his purchases.

She hastened home again with all possible despatch, not
being aware that she was followed, at a short distance, by the
stranger she had seen in the shop. But just as she reached the
door of the tenement occupied by her parents, the stranger
came up with her, and, to her surprise, she recognized the gen

THE WATCHMAN. 337

tleman who, on the occasion of her first visit, had advanced the
two dollars deposit to the proprietor of the store, in her behalf.

He bowed to her, and she blushingly returned the salutation,
and was passing into the house, when the gentleman addressed
her.

" You reside here, Miss 1" he said.

"Yes, sir."

" By yourself?"

" Oh no, sir ; I reside with my father and mother, and bro
ther "

" Indeed ! You may think me impertinent, but allow me to
ask you, what is your father, and how is it that a young lady
like you, has become so far reduced as to seek for such employ
ment as this ?" pointing to the bundle Ellen had under her arm.

" My father is one of the city watchmen," replied Ellen ;
" but during the past winter he has been laid upon a bed of
sickness, and we have been reduced to a condition of poverty
that we have never heretofore experienced." Then suddenly
recollecting the conversation she had held with her mother with
regard to the object of the stranger who had taken such interest
in her, and perhaps also somewhat disconcerted by the familiar
manner in which he had addressed her, and by the recollection
that he must have followed her all the way from the store, she
added, " allow me to thank you, sir, in the name of my parents,
for your kindness to me the other day ; as soon as ever I have
it in my power I will repay the money I will leave it for you
at the store."

She was turning away, when the stranger stopped her by
observing,

" Oh, you allude to that trifle I advanced as a deposit ; I had
really forgotten it, and I beg ycu will think no more about it ;
I don't expect you to repay it."

" I shall repay it the moment I am able to do so, sir," said
Ellen.

" It was advanced with no sucn expectation, I assure you,"

238 THE WATCHMAN.

continued the gentleman. " So far from that, I should only be
too happy to assist your father. It is a pity to see a young
lady like you engaged in the laborious and badly remunerated
employment of a seamstress."

" I must do what I can to obtain my living honestly," an
swered Ellen, again turning away and entering the hall of the
tenement.

" Do not be in so great a hurry, Miss," said the stranger.
"I have no doubt I that is my friends could procure you
more remunerative and more agreeable employment than this
miserable shirt-sewing. I should like to speak with you upon
that subject. Where can I meet you ? do you never go out ?
Suppose now you meet me in the Park this evening, and I will
take you to my mother's house."

" I could not think of such a thing, sir," said Ellen, quickly.
" If you wish to speak on such a subject, sir, you can see me
here, in the presence of my father and mother." And without
waiting for any reply, she hurried along the passage and ran up
the stairs which led to the portion of the house occupied by the
family of Joseph Carter.

Her mother was at home, and calling her on one side, she
hastily related the substance of the conversation that had passed,
and both came to the conclusion that as soon as the work that
she had then obtained from the store was finished, no more
should be accepted, unless, in the meanwhile, the stranger
should call, and in the presence of the parents of the young
woman he had voluntarily assisted, explain his motives for hav
ing done so, and for following her from the store to her dwell
ing, and making the additional offers of assistance. It had not
struck Ellen ; but the anxiously suspicious mother doubted
not that the hour's delay demanded by the proprietor of the
store had been asked with the object of again bringing her
daughter into contact with the stranger.

A thousand anxious thoughts were engendered by this little
episode. Mrs. Carter obtained but little sleep that night.

THE WATCHMAN ,

CHAPTER XXIV.

THE DARK HOUR AND THR DAWN. j

" Despairing saints, fresh courage take,

The cloud ye so much dread,
Is big \vith mercy, and will break
In blessings on your head." COWPKR.

NOTWITHSTANDING the remonstrances and entreaties of his
parents and sister, William Carter continued to pursue the evil
course upon which he had entered. The patience with which he
had in the first instance borne with his misfortunes, degenerated
into moodiness, which in its turn gave place to recklessness.
William Carter was now seldom at home until a late hour of the
night, and when he did return, he was generally disguised in
liquor ; and more than once he was absent for the whole night,
and when he came home in the morning, jaded and care-worn,
his eyes bloodshot, and his once ruddy cheeks sallow and
shrunken, he would retire to the bedroom, throw himself on
the bed in his clothing, and sleep for hours, and then rise to go
abroad again, heedless of the commands of his father or the
persuasions of his mother and sister, and absolutely refusing to
give any account of himself or to say where he was going.

Many and bitter were the tears of his mother many the
prayers of his father and sister, still William went on his way
from bad to worse, for the vice of intoxication grew upon him,
and soon became habitual.

At length he came not home at all, and notwithstanding all
the efforts of the family to find out what had become of him,
nothing could be heard of him.

240 THE WATCHMAN.

Weeks passed away without any improvement in the pros,
pects of the family of Joseph Carter ; for four weeks he had
neither heard of nor seen his unhappy son. Ellen had over
worked herself, and her close confinement at her needle, aided
by the anxiety of mind she felt with regard to her brother,
brought on a fit of sickness, which temporarily confined her to
her bed, and the consequence was, that the work she had
engaged to do for the Chatham-street storekeeper remained
unfinished. Mrs. Carter was compelled to remain at home,
and look after the lodgings, and attend upon her daughter ; and
upon Joseph who again felt twinges of the rheumatism
devolved the entire support of the family, out of the poor pit
tance he received from his office an occupation he would fain
have given up, for he was quite unfit now for its arduous
duties, but he dared not : there was no alternative but to labor
on, or to starve. Often he was tempted to exclaim " What
have I done, that the anger of the Almighty should thus heaviiy
be visited upon me ? " but he forbore to murmur, and patiently
and submissively resigned himself to the Divine will.

The shopkeeper sent repeatedly after his goods, urging the
completion of Ellen's work, and sometimes threatening if it was
not returned, to prefer a charge of theft against her. Alarmed
at these threats, and wearied with the cruel pertinacity of the
tradesman, Ellen, long before she was in a fit state of health to
do so, resumed her employment, and at last the work was fin
ished. To the last insulting message of her employer, she
replied, that the work should be returned, completed, at noon
on the following day.

True to her engagement, she was at the store at the
appointed hour, and with fear and trembling she produced her
bundle, anticipating incivility, and perhaps rudeness, from the
proprietor of the store. To her surprise, however, she was again
kindly received ; her work was praised, and the trifling amount
due to her promptly paid. She was asked whether she would
take out any more work. " No, thank you," she replied,

THE WATCHMAN. 541

"much as I need employment, I find that I am unfit to labor
just now ; perhaps in the course of a week or two, I shall be
glad to accept your offer."

" Then I will repay you the deposit you made," said the
man, taking two dollars from the till.

" No, sir," said Ellen, refusing the money that was offered
to her; " that money is not mine."

" It was paid over to me on your account," replied the shop
keeper "of course it was intended for your benefit. It is
false delicacy on your part not to accept it;'* and again he
attempted to put the money in her hands.

But Ellen steadily refused to accept it. " Return it," she
said, " to the person who was kind enough to lend it me."

" I do not know him," answered the keeper of the store.

" Nevertheless you will probably see him here again. Keep
the money in your possession till then," replied Ellen ; and she
was about to leave the store, when the very person of whom
she was speaking came out of the small parlor behind the
counter, and united his persuasions with those of the shop-
keeper.

Then the idea flashed upon the im'nd of Ellen, which had
already been conceived by her mother, that the young man had
purposely met her at the store, at the instance of the proprie
tor, and that his intentions were evil.

Greatly alarmed, she hurried from the place, without speak
ing another word ; but she had not proceeded far before she
was overtaken by the young man in question, who as soon as
he came up with her, endeavored to enter into conversation.
Her replies, however, were brief, and she redoubled her haste
to get home and thus free herself from his importunities. Her
endeavors, however, were useless ; he refused to be shaken offj
and at last he offered her his arm. j

He was indignantly repulsed ; but he still continued his im
portunities, and at last he caught hold of her and passed her
arm within his own.
16

242 THE WATCHMAN

While Ellen was struggling to disengage herself aimost
inclined to cry for help from the passers-by a young man
came up, attracted by the struggles of the girl, for the attention
of several persons had been drawn to her and her insulting
companion.

It was George Hartley.

"Why, Potter," he said, indignantly. "What is this?
what are you doing with this young lady ? surely you ought
to be ashamed of such behavior as this in the public streets,
too ! "

The young man addressed as Potter, whom the reader will
recognize as the person who had informed Edwards of the
vacancy in the house of Wilson & Co., which had subse
quently been filled by George Hartley walked hastily away,
muttering something to himself about the impertinence of
certain stuck-up puppies, who thought nobody so good as
themselves, but who would have starved had they not wormed
themselves into situations that ought to have been filled by other
people, until he turned off down the first by-street he came to.

Hartley paid no attention to him : for observing that Ellen
was very much distressed, and perceiving at once, from her
appearance, that she was not one of the unfortunate class of
beings he had conceived her to be, on account of the situation in
which he had found her, he asked where she lived, and offered to
conduct her home, in order that she might not again be insulted.

Ellen, who had drawn down her veil, to cover her confusion,
and avoid the impuder.t gaze of those persons who had been
attracted by Potter's impertinence towards her, now raised it,
and looking Hartley in the face her own countenance suffused
with blushes gave him the desired information ; but, at the
same time, while she thanked him for -his kindness, said that
she did not not feel the least alarmed, since she feared no
further interruption from the young man who had so grossly
insulted her.

" You will excuse me, Miss," said Hartley, scrutinising her

THE WATCHMAN. 243

features as though he had some recollection of having seen her
before. " I mean no offence ; but is not your name Carter ? "

" It is, sir," replied Ellen, who saw that no impertinence
vas intended in the question.

" And your father is sometimes employed as a watchman,
is he not? I think some twelve months ago he was em
ployed as a private watchman by Mr. Wilson, of Wall-street,
and you sometimes came to the office for his salary. It is
there that I must have seen you before, for I have a perfect re
collection of your features."

" He was occasionally employed by Mr. Wilson, sir, some
time ago," replied Ellen ; " and I think I recollect seeing you
at the bank."

" And what is he doing now ? I have not seen him for a
long while."

" He is still employed as a city watchman, sir ; but he has
been very ill, and I fear the duty is too arduous for him."

" Then why not give it up ? But I see, I see," added Hartley,
checking himself, as he glanced at the faded and worn, though
perfectly clean and whole attire of the , young woman. " I am
far from wishing to give offence, Miss," he continued, and his
tone and manner were such as to satisfy Ellen that he spoke
the truth, "but I presume that your father and his family
have suffered much during the late sad depression in business.
Let me see. If I mistake not, your father when he was em
ployed by our firm was at the same time in the employ of
some merchant in South-street, as a porter or carman ? "

" He was regularly employed by Mr. Blunt, sir, before he
failed," replied Ellen. " Since that period, he has scarcely
been able to find any work to do."

" And you have suffered much from poverty ? " said Hartley,
in a kind tone.

" We have, sir. Indeed, we have," answered Ellen, almost
overcome by the evident sympathy of the young man.

By this time they had reached Joseph Carter's in Mul

244 THE WATCHMAN.

berry-street, and Ellen was about to wish her companion good
day, and again to thank him for the service he had rendered
her, when a sudden thought struck Hartley :

" Is your father at home now, Miss ? " he asked.

" Yes sir," replied Ellen. " He seldom stirs abroad during
the day, for he can obtain no other employment but his nigh f ,
duties ; and indeed they fatigue him so much for his health is
very feeble that he is little fitted to do anything else, even if
he had it to do."

" Well then, perhaps you would have no objection to my
stepping up and seeing him. You know," he observed smi
lingly, " your father is an old acquaintance of mine."

Ellen could make no reasonable objection ; and indeed, if
she had been so minded, Hartley did not give her time to
reply, for he had entered the house as he spoke, and running
up the stairs before her, he stood on the landing, awaiting her
slower arrival, to point him out the door by which he was to
enter.

Ellen opened the door, and Hartley passing in, introduced
himself to Joseph, who readily recognized him ; and the young
man quickly setting the invalid at his ease, was soon engaged
with him in animated conversation ; and before Joseph Carter
was aware of it, he had gleaned from him the story of all his
distresses.

When Hartley had expressed to Ellen his wish to see her
father, his object had been to render the old Watchman a ser
vice, if he found, upon entering into conversation with him,
that he would be enabled to do so ; and after hearing his story,
he asked him whether he would have any objection to remove
with his family to Philadelphia.

" Certainly not, if by so doing I can procure the employ
ment that I have sought so long in vain in this city," replied
Joseph. " This night-duty does not enable me to support my
family, and it is wearing out my strength fast."

" Then I think I can get you a situation as warehouse-man

THE WATCHMAN. 245

and light porter, at our branch house in Philadelphia. Only
this morning Mr. Wilson was speaking to me about finding a
trustworthy man for the place. The work is not heavy, and
the hours are not long; and though the salary is not very
large, yet it is considerably more than you get now, in the
unpleasant duty you are nightly called upon to perform. I
must go to the office now, but you shall hear from me to
morrow. Good day and keep up your spirits : things will
turn out right in the end." And thus saying, Hartley shook
the old Watchman by the hand, and wishing Ellen and Mrs.
Carter good-bye, hurried back to the office in Wall-street.

The next day, true to his promise, Hartley called, and
informed Joseph that he had procured him the situation ; and
that he was required to start for Philadelphia immediately.
The young man, moreover, insisted upon advancing money to
pay the expenses of the removal of the family the money to
be repaid at any future time, when Joseph found himself able
to do so without difficulty. The gratitude of Joseph Carter
and his family, thus assisted by a stranger, was unbounded ;
but Hartley would listen to no thanks and wishing them all
prosperity, he hastily withdrew.

Within a week Joseph Carter was established in his new sit
uation in Philadelphia. Better prospects appeared to be
dawning : there was only one sore trial remaining. Nothing
had been heard of William Carter but Hartley promised to
exert himself to the, utmost to find out the youth, if he were
in New York, and encouraged them to hope that all would be
well with him. " Perhaps," he said, " William had left New
York for Philadelphia, in search of employment himself, and
they might meet him there."

It was poor comfort to offer to his sorrowing parents and
sister but they had learned to place their trust in the kind
Providence which had ever befriended them, and brought them
safely through all their trials, and they still prayed, and did
not despair.

THE "WATCHMAN

CHAPTER XXV.

REVERSES AND SUCCESSES.

" The chiefest action for a man of great spirit,
Is never to be out of action. We should think
The soul was never put into the body
Which has so many rare and curious pieces
Of mathematical motion, to stand still."

WEBSTER'S PLATS.

WE closed a preceding chapter after having brought Henry
Selby's continuous endeavors to succeed, to a point in which
his reward appeared to be at hand. He had written, in the
gladness of his heart, to his early friends, and was anxiously
waiting a reply. His salary far exceeded the requirements of
his moderate wants, and his future prospects were brighter than
the most sanguine anticipations of his early ambition. He had
refrained from drawing his entire salary from his employers
having for some time left in their hands all the monies that he
did not actually need for his present expenses, in the hope
that in time he might find some favorable opportunity to invest
his savings. But India, like all other places, is liable to re
verses. A time of trouble was at hand. Over speculation had
created the same depression in Calcutta, that the like reckless
endeavors to make money more rapidly than legitimate trade
will admit of, had so often done elsewhere, and the result was
that several of the hitherto considered most stable and wealthy
firms in the city were reduced to insolvency. Amongst these

THE WATCHMAN. 247

failures, and one of the most serious of them all, was that of
the firm of De Sylva & Co. The announcement that the firm
had suspended payment came like a death knell upon the city.
So many smaller firms were connected with them in business,
that their failure also involved these in ruin ; and when their
affairs were looked into, it was found that they would not be
able to pay one anna in the rupee. Poor Henry who believed
that he was the possessor of at least twenty thousaud rupees,
found himself, through the recklessness of his employers, reduced
to beggary.

His letter, too, to his friends in New York was not respond
ed to. Mail after mail arrived, and still there was no letter
from America for him. He had written his letter just at the
time that Joseph Carter was thinking of removing with his
family to Philadelphia, and the watchman could not be found.
He sometimes thought of writing again, but his own affairs had
now assumed so disastrous a shape that he gave up the idea for
the time being, resolving to wait until fortune should again
prove propitious, and he should be enabled to clutch the fickle
goddess by the robe and prevent her from freeing herself from
his hold.

All this time, notwithstanding his own career had been so
full of change and incident, he never thought that it was possi
ble that changes should have taken place amongst the distant
friends of his childhood. He still pictured them in his mind's
eye inhabiting the same humble quarters in Mulberry-street,
New York, still engaged in their former daily routine of busi
ness ; the Watchman still keeping patrol three times a week,
and still daily employed at Mr. Blunt's warehouse ; and Mrs.
Carter still busied with her matronly cares; and Ellen and
Willy still going to school every day, and amusing themselves
in the evening with reading aloud to their parents, or learning
their lessons for the following day. And at Mr. Blunt's house
the panorama still presented the features it had exhibited when
he was a member, though a humble one, of the merchant's

248 THE WATCHMAN.

family. It never crossed his mind that changes and vicissitudes
might have befallen them as well as him, and he fancied that
he had but to write at any moment, and in due time the letter
would reach them in the same old home. So it is with us all.
We know how we ourselves have been buffeted about in the
world, but we imagine that we alone are the sport and football
of fortune, and that others pursue, almost without a sign or
thought of change, the even tenor of their way. Sometimes
he would think that it was possible that Ellen Carter might
forget her little boy-lover, but the fancy was so pregnant with
unpleasant associations, that he ever strove to put it to flight
when it intruded itself upon him. And so time passed away,
and waiting to embrace fortune on a firmer pedestal, Henry
Selby forbore and forbore to write. Meanwhile, while he was
struggling with adverse fortune, his early patron, Arthur Donald
son, had advanced to the grade of lieutenant-colonel.

Arthur Donaldson and Judge Murray had however kept an
eye upon their youthful protege. They had heard of his mis
fortunes not through himself for he had too much pride to
come to them with lamentations, who had already interested
themselves so much in his behalf. But they had watched him
anxiously with the view of ascertaining how he would conduct
himself amidst his reverses, having resolved that after having
left him to struggle for a time with his difficulties, they would
again step forward and help him to retrieve himself.

The crisis was over ; some of the fallen houses had resumed
business again ; but the firm of De Sylva was a complete
wreck, and Henry without a hope remaining of obtaining a
rupee of the money he had lost, had succeeded in obtaining a
humble clerkship in another house.

Now, however, that Lieutenant-Colonel Donaldson was on
the point of leaving the city for a distant province, he thought
the young man's industry and integrity and ability to bear re
verses had been sufficiently tested, and a few days before he

THE WATCHMAN. 249

took his departure for Delhi, while seated in conversation with
the judge after dinner, he introduced the subject.

" By-the-bye," he observed, " we ought to do something
towards setting that young fellow Selby up again. He
appears to be a most industrious and worthy young man.
What can we do for him, judge?"

" Why," replied the judge, " he has got a situation now. I
was thinking of helping him on ; but it is a bad practice to
present a young man with money, and I don't think Henry
would willingly accept it. He will get friends, doubtless, in
the house in whose employ he is at present, and if any oppor
tunity offers of advancement, we can assist him."

" I don't think," replied Arthur," that he has much chance
of rapid advancement where he is. A clerk without a pice to
help himself with, in a small firm, has not much prospect of
getting up in the world. Henry will eventually succeed of
that I have no doubt but I should wish, before I leave Cal
cutta, to give him a lift. I do not like the idea of having him
perpetually chained to the desk, tied neck and heels to dull
routine."

" But what can we do, Arthur," said the judge. " I cannot
get him a government appointment, for reasons I have explain
ed before, and which you know as well as I. If he can't help
himself, how can we help him 1 "

" I did not mean to infer that he could not help himself,"
replied the colonel. " I believe the boy would find means to
climb some rounds of the ladder of fame or fortune, place him
ever so low ; but I'll tell you what I have thought. Although
the gates of advancement in the service are barred against him,
commerce offers him an open field in which to compete with his
fellows for a prize "

" He has tried the pursuits of commerce, and has succeeded
once. His losses are not to be charged to his own neglect or
want of industry. He has now a new opening. Let him exert

11*

250 THE WATCHMAN.

himself for a few years, and I have no doubt he will be as suc
cessful as ever," interrupted the judge.

" I am going to leave Calcutta," continued the lieutenant-
colonel, " and before I leave, I should like to see Henry set
fairly going again. I have an idea in my head, and with yom
assistance, I think it can be carried out."

" What would you advise 1 "

" This," continued the lieutenant-colonel, " that we you are
a much wealthier man than I, yet I will go shares with you in
the expense that we lend the youth a sufficient capital to pur
chase a share in some rising mercantile house. A few thou
sand rupees will do to start with since it must be a young
firm none of the older ones would take a partner. Let Henry
understand that he is to repay the money advanced to him,
when and how best he is able, by instalments or otherwise, as
he may think fit, and then let him shift for himself. Take my
word for it, that once again set fairly going, he will not fail to
do well."

" I have little doubt of that myself," replied the judge ;
" though the idea never struck me before, I know so little
about commercial matters ; but I am opposed to the plan of
starting in life with borrowed capital ; could not the boy, now
he is in the receipt of a fair salary, save up a capital of his
own, and push himself forward 1 "

" Just as well, my dear judge," returned the colonel, " as he
could push himself forward in your office ; with this difference,
that in the one case, the doors are barred against him, because
he has neither capital nor family influence, atid in the other the
want of capital alone forms the barrier. You know it is very
different in India from Europe or America. All the heads of
commercial houses here start with some capital. The inferior
clerkships, are as they are in offices under the government,
held by natives who rarely, if ever, advance to a position of
wealth and influence. Of course, according to the plan 1 suggest,
Henry would have to perform, for some time at least, the duties

THE WATCHMAN. 251

of a clerk: but it would be with the consciousness that he
would eventually rise, and that at once a portion although a
Email one of the profits of the house, would come to him."

"Well, Arthur, I will think about it," said the judge.
u Come, let us join the ladies," and the two gentleman quitted
the dining room together.

On the following morning, the judge informed the lieutenant-
colonel that he had come to the conclusion to befriend the lad,
according to the proposition of the previous evening. Henry
was summoned to their presence, and informed of their inten
tions. He thanked them sincerely for their generous kindness,
but characteristically made no promises. Henry seldom did.
His golden rule was to act ; to work and wait.

Arthur Donaldson, who was enthusiastic in everything that
he undertook, soon made arrangements with the firm of Daw-
son and Brother, then newly established ; with whom, on the
payment of five thousand rupees, Henry Selby was to be ad
mitted into co-partnership, to receive no salary nor profits for
the first year, while he was acquiring a knowledge of commer
cial matters ; but after that to be entitled to one third of the
entire profits of the house. The judge and the colonel
advanced the money required, and also a sufficient sum to pay
his expenses for one year, and Henry immediately entered
upon his duties. His thorough acquaintance with the written
and oral languages of the country, and his close habits of in
dustry, trained as he had been in Judge Murray's bureau,
proved of great advantage to him, and at the expiration of the
year of probation, he was gladly admitted to a fair and equable
share of the profits of the firm, which assumed the name of
Dawson, Brother and Selby, and which already bid fair to be
come a wealthy house.

Meanwhile Lieutenant-Colonel Donaldson remained at Delhi
with his wife, while Miss Dorcas acted as house-keeper to Judge
Murray, who still continued to reside at his bungalow at Garden
Reach.

252 THE WATCHMAN.

It was at the expiration of the year of probation, when Henrj
Selby assumed an acknowledged and responsible position ir,
the firm with which he had incorporated himself, that he wrote
again to Joseph Carter and Ellen, telling them of his difficul
ties and struggles, and his present prospects of good fortune,
and expressing a hope to return home, if not to stay, at least for
a long visit, in the course of a year or two.

The letter to Ellen contained also some matter for her
private ear, which it is not necessary for us to expatiate on,
since the reader will readily guess its nature, and since
neither of the letters were received by the parties to whom
they were addressed. They were directed as before to the old
house in Mulberry-street, New York ; which had, since Joseph
Carter had left it, changed tenants three or four times, and the
watchman's family were already forgotten ; none of the neigh
bors even knew where they had removed to.

Henry again waited patiently for a reply, but the period when
he anticipated the arrival of letters, in answer to his own, passed
by, and some time afterwards his own letters were returned
from the dead-letter office at Washington " Parties not to be
found," inscribed in large scrawling letters on the envelope.

Then Henry bitterly bewailed his folly and pride, in not
having kept himself informed as he might easily have done
of the movements and fate of the only friends his desolaW
childhood had known.

THE WATCHMAN 253

CHAPTER XXVI.

A RETROSPECT.

" This world is all a fleeting show,
For laan'a illusion given." MOOEK.

IN our last chapter we summed up the history of a consider
able lapse of time with our friends in India. Let us now briefly
review the movements during that period, of others of the char-
acters introduced to the reader in the course of our story,
whom we left in America, in order to make a connecting link
in the chain of our narrative.

In a former chapter, the reader will recollect that we left
George Hartley progressing gradually, but firmly, in the favor
of his employers. He held then as he held still, at the expi
ration of the period we are briefly summing up, the highest
and most influential position he could hold in the office of
Messrs. Wilson & Co., unless he were admitted as a junior
partner in the firm. As might be expected, he met with
numerous trials, which sorely tested his patience, arising as
they did in most instances out of the jealousy and envy of
those persons who had been less fortunate, generally because
less deserving, than he of the favors of fortune, and who could
not look upon his success without endeavoring to undermine
him in his employers' confidence, by various mean and paltry
devices ; but strong in his integrity, George Hartley overcame
them all, and at the period when we shall again resume the
thread of our story, he had expectations, in the course of a
year or two, of obtaining an interest in the banking-house in
which he had served so faithfully and so well.

254 THE WATCHMAN.

Mrs. Edwards was getting along famously with her millinery
establishment. She employed several young women, and had
long since repaid the money so generously advanced her by
Hartley. Nothing that could be relied on as authentic had
been heard of Charles Edwards, although various reports had
from time to time reached her, to the effect that he had been
seen one time rumor said in Texas another time in the then
little known territory of California and again that he had gone
to sea, and that the vessel on board of which he had sailed had
been lost. The poor woman still grieved over him, and
prayed for him, for her trials had chastened her spirit ; and
Mrs. Edwards, at all times an amiably disposed, had now
become a truly pious woman. She loved her husband ; for,
excepting when he had been maddened with intoxication, he
had always been kind and gentle with her and his children, and
she still indulged a hope that she should see him again, a& she
humbly trusted, reformed in character ; and, as he was still
comparatively a young man, fitted to become a useful member
of society. Her children were fast growing up, but were yet
at school, and Mr. Hartley had promised when the boy was
old enough, to interest himself in procuring him a situation in
some respectable mercantile establishment. Altogether, since
we last had occasion to speak of her, things had gone well
with the widowed wife.

Joseph Carter had succeeded well in Philadelphia. He had
soon proved to his new employers the industry and faithful
ness of his character, and as his labors were light and his wages
liberal, he had recovered his health, and was now as hale and
hearty a man of sixty, as could easily be found.

Mrs. Carter was as industrious and thrifty as ever, and had
quite recovered her former matronly looks, which in her years
of trial and trouble had been worn down with the physical
hardships and mental inquietude she had undergone.

Ellen was remarked as being one of the most elegant young
women to be met with k the city. Of course we don't mean,

THE WATCHMAN. 255

elegant as the term applies to the butterflies of fashion, but she
was beautiful and healthy in appearance, neat and tasteful,
without being gaudy in her attire, pure in heart and gentle and
loving in her disposition. She had had several advantageous
offers of marriage some of them from persons far above her in
their social sphere ; but she had, as most of her friends thought
unaccountably, refused to listen to any of them. Her father
and mother, however, knew that she still cherished a belief
that Henry Selby, to whose keeping she had given her childish
affections, yet lived, and until she was certain that such was
the case, she had resolved never to marry. Both Joseph and
his wife, thought she was visionary in this belief, but they
forbore to urge her, notwithstanding they would have been
glad to have seen her the happy wife of one of her many
admirers, before they were laid in the grave. They were
growing old, and they felt that many years, at the furthest,
could not elapse ere, in the course of nature, the grave closed
over them. They were poor, and their daughter was young
and beautiful. With perfect faith in their daughter's purity
of heart, they knew that for such as she many snares are set, and
therefore wished to see her comfortably settled in life before
they closed their aged eyes to the world in the sleep of death.

But there was a skeleton in the otherwise happy abode of
Joseph Carter, as there is sure to be, in every family. During
all the years he had been absent, they had heard no tidings
of their son. The most diligent inquiries had been made both
by Joseph, and by George Hartley, but all had been made in
vain.

The family had been settled a long time in Philadelphia, when a
letter, bearing half-a-dozen foreign post-marks, was received by
Ellen Carter. It had evidently traversed half the globe before
it had found its way into her hands ; and at last it was re
ceived through a friend who had chanced to see it advertised
in the post-office list in New York.

Ellen tremblingly broke the seal, and hastily glancing at the

256 THE WATCHMAN.

signature, uttered an exclamation of glad surprise and thank
fulness, and then sun* down in her chair, unable to read it.

" What is the matter, Ellen," asked Mrs. Carter, who, with
her husband had been watching her daughter's proceedings,
anxious to know from whom the letter could have come.

" It is from Henry," gasped Ellen ; " read it, mother I
cannot ;" and she placed the letter in her mother's hands.
" Thank God ! Henry still lives," she continued after a pause ;
" the letter is dated only a twelvemonth ago." Only one
twelvemonth ago ! It was a long period to elapse between the
writing and the receipt of a letter ! But to her, who had for
many, many times that period, cherished the hope against hope,
that her boy -lover still lived, and had not forgotten her twelve
months seemed but as yesterday.

Mrs. Carter put on her spectacles, and read the letter aloud.
It told of Henry's adventures his difficulties, and his present
happy prospects and how, long as he had been silent, he had
never forgotten Joseph Carter, nor his wife nor, above all, his
little Ellen. Joseph and Mrs. Carter could not forbear
smiling when they heard how he spoke of their tall and hand
some daughter, as if she were still a child ; but Ellen drank in
every word, as if it were a draught of happiness, which she had
long sought in vain, until at last hope, itself, had almost fled.
Henry spoke kindly of every one whom he had known : of Mr,
Blunt, and the youth, his son, who had treated him so badly
when he was a humble dependant in the merchants' household ;
and the tears came into the eyes of all as he alluded to the
many happy hours he had spent with Wiliy Carter.

" God be praised ! " exclaimed Joseph, when his wife, having
finished the perusal of the letter, refolded it, and returned it to
Ellen. " God be praised ! His ways are mysterious. We
are humble instruments in his hands, but I always hoped and
believed, until lately, when Henry's long silence of years
caused me to give up all thought of seeing the boy again, that
my steps were not directed towards him for nothing, when I

THE WATCHMAN. 257

found him, poor little fellow, sitting on the stone steps, oppo
site Trinity Church, in New York, nearly starved and half
frozen to death ! But what does he say Mary 1 that he is going
to pay us a visit in a year or two ? It is a year since that let
ter was written perhaps he is on his way home now, poor lit
tle fellow ! though what am I thinking about he is not a poor
little fellow now, but a grown man, and a rich man too. Well,
rich or poor, I shall be right glad to see him, and so will some
body else, I warrant ;" and the old man glanced archly towards
Ellen.

But Ellen, amidst her delight at hearing of Henry's existence
and his happy prospects, had other thoughts intervening, which
considerably modified the pleasure she might otherwise have
experienced. She rejoiced at Henry's success ; but though she
Knew it was selfish and wrong, she could not help wishing in
her heart that he had not succeeded quite so well as his letter
seemed to infer that he was not quite so rich a man. Perhaps
now there might be an impassable barrier between her and
mm, whose image she had so long and faithfully treasured up
in her heart of hearts. She had strong faith in him, and her
faith was strengthened by the tone of his letter. He must still
love her, she thought, to think of her after so many years,
amidst all the changes he had passed through ; but perhaps
Henry Selby, the rich India merchant, would only think of her
as a humble playmate of his youth when he was Henry Selby,
the poor orphan boy, rescued from starvation by her father,
and dependant upon his bounty. Poor Ellen ! her doubts and
fears were very natural.

Henry had stated in this letter that it was the sixth he had
written, and that of these four had, after many wanderings,
been returned to him, through the dead letter office but that
he had resolved still to write on, in hopes that at last some one
of the letters might reach its destination. " He would never,"
he said, " give up the search after his old friends and benefactors."

" You must write to him immediately, Ellen," said Joseph,

258 THE WATCHMAN.

" Let me see, what's the direction : ' Henry Selby, Esq., mer
chant, &c., Calcutta, British India.' The letter has a long way
to go Calcutta, British India, must be a matter of twenty
thousand miles off."

" Not quite so far as that, dear father," said Ellen. " But if
Henry Mr. Selby I mean" poor girl, she was already afraid
to call him by the old, familiar name " if Mr. Selby has
sailed from India, or if he does sail before my letter reaches
him, my epistle will meet with the same fate as his, be doomed
to wander to and fro, seeking an owner half over the civilized
world."

" At all events, Ellen, the safest way, now we have heard
tidings of the boy, will be to write," said Joseph. " If the let
ter misses him, we can't help it ; and we shall, at least, be bet
ter satisfied if we send one. 1 think you had better write,
Ellen."

And Ellen did write, although it cost her a deal of trouble,
and the waste of over a quire of post paper, before she could
get one worded to suit her. Indeed, she did not succeed at
all ; but, in despair, sent off the last one she had written.
Poor Ellen, how easily she could have written a letter to poor
Henry Selby ! How difficult it was to write one to Henry
Selby, Esq., merchant, of Calcutta, British India !

She might, however, have spared herself the pains. The let
ter reached Calcutta after Henry Selby had sailed for England.
It did eventually reach him ; but it was received by him at
New York, to which place it had been re-posted by his partners
in Calcutta ; and before that period he had seen and spoken

with Ellen, and had but we forbear. We will not antici-

cipate our story.

Mr. Blunt, during the period of which we speak, had not re-
covered from the effects of his disastrous failure. He was now
a book-keeper in a house in Water-street.

Thus matters rested five years from the date of Joseph Car
ter's removal from New York to Philadelphia.

THE WATCHMAN

CHAPTER XXVII.

MYSTERIOUS INQUIRIES.
What is your parentage ?"

" Above my fortunes ; yet my state is well
I am a gentleman."

WHAT Yoc WILL.

ABOUT five years, perhaps a little more, after the period
when we last brought George Hartley into immediate con
nexion with the reader, he had entered the office in Wall-street,
as usual, about nine o'clock. Shortly afterwards the postman
entered with a bundle of letters, amongst which there was a
packet from India. One of these letters contained an invoice
of goods, shortly expected to arrive in the Montezuma, East
Indiaman, which were chiefly consigned to the house of Wilson
& Co. ; for in addition to doing an extensive banking business,
this firm received and shipped a great quantity of goods from
and to all parts of the world. The reading of the invoice fell
within the province of the managing clerk, George Hartley ;
but the letters, two of which were especially marked " pri
vate," were of course laid on the table in the inner office,
usually occupied by the Messrs. Wilson. At ten o'clock those
gentlemen reached the office, and immediately proceeded to
open and read their correspondents' letters. Very soon Mr.
Hartley was summoned to wait upon his principals.

" You have received the invoice of the Montezuma's cargo^
Mr. Hartley 1 " said the senior member of the firm.

" Yes, sir."

260 THE WATCHMAN.

" Very well. I have here two private letters, one of them
is from Mr. Selby, one of the partners of the house of Dawson &
Selby, who have done so much business with us for these three
years past ; the other is from a gentleman who has taken pass
age on board the Montezuma from Calcutta. He is an Eng
lishman and a man of rank. Lord Mordant, as I understand
from some remarks in another letter, Henry Mordant he signs
his name. However, singularly enough, both letters, though
evidently written without any pre-arrangement on the part of the
writers, have allusion to the same matter. Mr. Selby wishes
me to discover, if possible, whether a man named Joseph Carter,
or any of his family, are now residing in New York, or if they
have left, where they are to be found. He says, this man
Carter was formerly a city watchman, and a carman in the
employ of Mr. Blunt. Mr. Blunt let me think that was the
name of the merchant who failed during the hard winter five or
six years ago. If we can find him out, he may know something
of the man or his family. I should like to do all I can to find
him, for I wish to oblige Mr Selby. His house has dealt very
liberally with us since we have done business with the firm."

" Carter Joseph Carter, sir," said Mr. Hartley " that must
be the person whom I recommended to you as a light porter
for our house in Philadelphia. He is still living there, and
filling the situation ; they speak very favorably of him. It
will be easy enough to find him."

"Indeed. Well, it is singular," continued Mr. Wilson v
" that the very man so particularly inquired for should actually
be in our employ. You are not mistaken in the man, Mr
Hartley 1 ?"

" I think not, sir. This Joseph Carter was formerly one of
the watchmen of the city, and often engaged as a private watch
man. He has been employed several times to keep wtch in
this very house, at times when we have had a large Amount of
specie on hand."

" The request in the other letter," continued the merchant

THE WATCHMAN. 261

the one from Henry Mordant, or Lord Mordant, is still more
singular. The gentleman or nobleman, wishes also to know
whether an old man named Carter, a city watchman, is still
alive. But that is not all. He asks me to ascertain whether
there is a person or family named Hartley, of Irish descent,
living in the city of New York, and if such be the case, to
advise him on his arrival where they can be found."

" Hartley !" exclaimed George. " That's my name certainly,
and I am of Irish descent, in fact of immediate Irish parentage ;
but I know no such person as Lord Henry Mordant, though I
believe there was a nobleman of that name whose estates lay
contiguous to the town in which I was born."

" Then, I presume," said Mr. Wilson, " his lordship must
refer to you. Perhaps he claims you as a relative, Mr. Hart
ley, or maybe some one has left you a legacy. In either case,"
he added, smilingly, " I am selfish enough to hope that he may
not proffer such advantageous offers to you as may induce you
to leave our firm. We should be sorry to lose your services
now, Mr. Hartley."

" I'm afraid, sir, there's not much hope of that," observed
George. " However, it's rather singular that the inquiry should
be made At all events, he'll experience no difficulty in find
ing me out."

" But about this man, Carter," interrupted Mr. Wilson. " At
what date may the Montezuma be expected to arrive in port,
Mr. Hartley ? "

" I believe she may be expected, sir, in about three or four
weeks from this. The invoice was despatched by the overland
route, and when it left she had sailed from Calcutta full a fort
night."

" Suppose we send for Carter to come here. Do you think
we could find him employment 1 "

" Davidson is going to leave, sir. I dare say Carter is com
petent to take his place as messenger."

" Well, write then to the house in Philadelphia, and tell

268 THE WATCHMAN.

them to send Carter on here with his family. I should like
him to be here when Mr. Selby and this other gentleman
arrives."

Mr. Hartley did as his employer desired, and the question'
having been put to Joseph Carter by his employers in Philadel
phia, whether he would like to return to New York, and occupy
a better situation, he gladly accepted the offer, and within a
week he and his family again found themselves in New York.

George Hartley told his wife of the strange inquiry that had
been made by Lord Mordant, but neither of them could im
agine any satifactory reason wherefore it had been made or
what it foreboded. All that remained was patiently to await
the arrival of the good shiD Montezuma.

THE WATCHMAN 263

CHAPTER XXVIII. 1

8TRANGE DEVELOPMENTS THE DEATH OP JUDGE MURRAY

THE DEPARTURE FOR NEW YORK.

Truly may it be said, " In the midst of life, we are in death."

LET us again change the scene of our story, and return in
imagination once more to the banks of the Hooghly river.
During the five years and upwards that have elapsed since we
left Henry Selby just entering upon his novel duties, a great
change has taken place amongst our old acquaintances in Cal
cutta.

The firm with which Henry Selby had then become con
nected, had rapidly extended its business, and was now one of
the most nourishing commercial establishments in the city. Its
success was, in a great measure, owing to the indefatigable en
deavors of the junior partner, whose perfect acquaintance with
the oriental languages, most in vogue in business transactions,
gave him an advantage over most of the merchants in the city,
in the same line of business, who being but imperfect oriental
linguists, were obliged to leave a great portion of their duties
to native clerks who, besides being naturally indolent, are not
remarkable for their honesty. Again, most of the European
merchants are men of good family, as it is termed that is to
say, men who had never been used to labor, and who gladly
availed themselves of the dolce far niente, allowed by the
custom of the country, and devoted very little time every day
to business, and even then merely occupied themselves with a
general supervision ; leaving their subordinates to do the rest.

264 THE WATCHMAN.

The consequence was that they were plundered on all hands,
and independently of this, lost a good deal of business, in con
sequence of negligence on the part of their employees. Henry
Selby considered it fair to take advantage of this. He did not
conceive, because it was the custom of the country to give
way to langor, and to indulge in indolent habits, that he was
obliged to do so ; and though he created a great many enemies
among the merchants who were envious of the growing pros
perity of the house with which he was connected, he counted
amongst his best friends, several of the most respected and most
influential residents. He however found at length, that he had
taxed his energies too greatly, and that his health was not so
good as it had been, and as it was found advisable for one of
the firm to visit the United States, with which country the
house did a great amount of business, it was settled that Mr.
Selby should be entrusted with that commission.

Henry Selby had long since since repaid the money, so
generously advanced by Judge Murray and Lieutenant-Colonel
Donaldson, and both of these gentleman he now numbered
amongst his wannest friends.

When he had decided upon going to America, he called upon
the Judge to acquaint him with his determination, and greatly
to his surprise and delight, he found at the Judge's bungalow,
the Lieutenant-Colonel, whom he had seen but once since he
had quitted Calcutta for Delhi ; but who had now retired
from the service, a full colonel, and who was thinking of
shortly returning himself to England.

It was altogether a most gratifying reunion. Ada was there,
4 blooming matron ; her youthful beauty scarcely touched by
the hand of time, although she was now the mother of two
handsome children. Miss Dorcas, too, was there, as cheerful
and contented as when we first introduced her to the reader
nay, more cheerful for she had forgetten her sorrows, and
report said, had attracted the notice and gained the affections of

THE WATCHMAN. 265

an officer in tho army a nobleman of great wealth who had
been for some years in India with his regiment.

The Jud,"-e was as cheerful as he had been of old, and he was

O *

glad to see Henry for he was truly proud of him and now
claimed him equally with the Colonel as his protege.

"When do you t"hink of sailing, Henry 1 " asked the Judge,
when the cloth was removed from the dinner table, and the
servants had retired. Judge Murray still called the young
man by the old familiar name.

" I sail on board the Montezuma, which will be ready to
leave this port for New York, about the middle of next month,"
replied Henry.

" Do you know, Selby," said the Colonel, " I have a great
mind to take passage with Ada on board the same ship. We
can easily get to England from New York, and I intend, at all
events, to visit the United States. I have lately received let
ters from Scotland, having reference to a fair cousin of mine,
Alice Meehan, who married an Irishman, named Hartley.
There is a large property depending upon the discovery of her,
or her descendants. It falls equally to her or them, and to
myself; but if she or her heirs cannot be found, the estate will
be thrown into chancery, and then good-bye to it, at any rate
for the term of my natural life ; besides, I should like to see
Alice ; she was a great favorite of mine when we were children
together : do you know, Selby, it was in consequence of some
real or fancied resemblance to her, that I first took a fancy to
you."

" A fancy that has certainly been most beneficial to me,'
replied Henry. " At all events, I have reason to be gratefoS
to this lady ; but since you say, Colonel, that you intend So
visit the United States, why not obey your impulse and take
passage with me 1 It will render the voyage more agreeable
to both of us. I, like yourself, have to seek out some old
friends in New York, whom I have written to repeatedly, but

from whom I have received no reply. I may be enabled to
12

266 THE WATCHMAN.

aid you in your search our house does business with a very
extensive firm in New York Wilson & Co., and I have written
to them to-day with respect to the parties I wish to discover."

" Well, I'll think of it, and decide to-morrow. What say
you, Ada, should you like to visit America before we go to
England ? "

" If you think it advisable, Arthur," said Ada. " I'm sure
I shall offer no objection. I think, with Mr. Selby, the com
panionship of friends will render the voyage more pleasing."

" Then we'll go with you, Selby," said the Colonel.

Lord Mordant, the nobleman alluded to, who had listened
attentively to the conversation, without joining in it, now
interposed.

" What name was that you mentioned just now, Colonel ?
Hartley 1 "

''Yes," replied Colonel DonaMc-oh

" It 's singular," continued his lordship ; " but one reason for
my wishing to hasten home in fact the chief one is, that my
solicitor and land-agent, in Ireland, has written me to the effect
that a flaw has been discovered in the title-deeds of one of my
most valuable estates, and that the difficulty can only be
adjusted by tracing out a man named Hartley, who emigrated
from Ireland to the United States, some twenty-five years ago.
I have written this very day to New- York, to the house of which
you speak, Mr. Selby Messrs- Wilson & Co. I was recom
mended to do so by Mr. D."-so,, one of your partners, I
believe. I happened to ha>e some business to transact with
him, and I mentioned the matter to him in the course of con
versation ; and on my saying that I thought of returning to
England, by way of New York, he recommended me to write
to Mr. Wilson, and beg him to exert himself to discover the
party of whom I am in search. I have already engaged a pas
sage on board the Montezuma."

" So much the better the more the merrier," interrupted
the Colonel.

THE WATCHMAN. 267

" I have not yet told all my story," resumed Lord Mordant.
"Some years ago, when quite a young man, I visited the
United States I was rather a wild chap in those days (don't
frown, Miss Dorcas, I have sown all my wild oats long since),
and I got into a little difficulty one night in New York. I,
with a friend, who accompanied me, was hustled and robbed by
a party of men whom I have reason to believe were themselves
the constituted guardians of the city. There was one, however,
amongst them, more honest than the rest, who saved me from
being totally despoiled by his fellow-custodians, who were sc
annoyed at his honesty, that they endeavored to fix upon him
the theft of a valuable breast-pin. However, I was not so
obtuse as they deemed me to be, and I witnessed the whole
affair. I cleared the honest fellow of the charge, and offered him
money, which he refused to accept, declaring that he had done
no more than his duty. Perhaps he had not ; but if we all did
our duty ; and none of us received any reward for it, I fancy most
of us would be poor enough. However, to make my story
short, I wrote my name on a scrap of paper and gave it to
the man, and receiving his in return, placed the card on which
it was written in my pocket-book. Now, that very scrap of
paper which I gave the watchman, was part of a letter, which,
if I can recover, will serve very much to simplify this matter
of which I have spoken ; I have preserved the remaining portion
of the letter to the present day, but the most important part,
the signature, is wanting that may be still in this man's pos
session, if indeed he is yet alive. His name was Joseph Carter.
While writing to Mr. Wilson to-day, and speaking of Hartley,
I mentioned also, that he would greatly oblige me, if he would
institute some inquiry for this honest fellow."

" Joseph Carter, did your lordship say 1 " asked Henry
Selby.

"Yes, sir," replied Lord Mordant; "that was the man's
name."

" He is the person who I am so desirous to learn something

268 THE WATCHMAN.

of," returned Henry. " It is singular that your lordship should
happen to have an interest in the same person."

" Upon my word," said the Judge, " you gentleman are in-
termingi ng your private affairs most strangely. We shall
hear by-and-by of your all being related in some way or other.
You are a Scotchman, Colonel. You believe in the blood re
lationship of cousins to the thirty-second remove, I have heard."

The Colonel smiled, but made no reply ; and shortly after
wards the gentleman rejoined the ladies, who had a few minutes
before returned to the drawing-room. How true it is :

" In the midst of life we are in death."

When the party separated for the night, Judge Murray was
as well in health as ever he had been. Any insurance company
would have taken a lease of his life for twenty years.

The next morning at daylight, Henry Selby was startled and
grieved to hear from a messenger sent expressly from Garden
Reach, by the Colonel, to inform him that his benefactor, the
kind-hearted old Judge, had died suddenly of disease of the
heart a disease the very existence of which he had not been
aware of. Murray Bungalow, but yesterday the house of feast
ing, was now turned into a house of mourning ; nor was the
mourning confined to the relatives and the members of the
Judge's household. He was beloved and reverenced by all
who were acquainted with him. Henry hastened immediately
to Garden Reach. He found Ada Donaldson almost wild
with grief, for she perfectly idolized her father. But the fell
destroyer had dealt his unerring blow, and all that remained
was to submit to the inscrutable decrees of Providence.

The funeral as is the case always in India took place on the
same day on which the Judge died, and Henry with a heavy
heart, joined the funeral cortege. The body of the good old
man, lately the life and soul of every assemblage which he
joined, was laid in the grave. Orders were given to erect a
monument to his memory, and that was the " last of earth "

THE WATCHMAN'. 269

with Judge Murray. He had died without having made any
will, and consequently the whole of his large fortune devolved
upon his daughter, Ada, who thus unexpectedly yet sorrow
fully found herself one of the wealthiest heiresses in India.
Presents were given freely to all the old servants, and the
bungalow and furniture were sold, since it was not now the
intention of Colonel Donaldson or Ada to return to India.

It was now necessary to make arrangements for the approach-
ing departure of the whole party ; and perhaps it was well for
Ada that such was the case, since the necessary occupation
served, in some measure, by partially occupying her mind to
moderate her excessive sorrow. At length the day appointed
for the sailing of the vessel drew nigh. The day before she
actually sailed, Sarah Dorcas was united in the bonds of wed
lock to Lord Mordant, and twenty-four hours after the cere
mony, Lord and Lady Mordant, Colonel Donaldson and his
wife, and Henry Selby, were off Sauger Island, and on their
way to America.

270 THE -WATCHMAN.

CHAPTER XXIX.

MUTUAL RECOGNITIONS.

" And here we wander in illusions.
Some blessed power, deliver us from hence."

COMEDY OF ERRORS.

FOR some days after the Montezuma sailed, the passengers,
who numbered some twenty individuals, were too much occu
pied in setting things in order and endeavoring to make matters
comfortable for the voyage, or were too unwell, to take any
interest in the ship, beyond what immediately affected them
selves. However, before the vessel had got clear of the Bay
of Bengal, sea-sickness had generally disappeared, and with the
prospect of a long voyage before them, cooped up in a narrow
compass, a mutual feeling of good-will had effected wonders,
and everything was arranged to the general satisfaction. There
were ladies on board ; and what with music, and card parties,
and conversational parties, and reading and smoking clubs,
everything promised happily, and there was every prospect
that the ennui, so often experienced in a sea voyage, would be
banished from the cabin of the good ship Montezuma.

Some of the passengers were old travellers, and these walked
the deck as if " to the manner born," and formed the acquain
tance of the sailors, and kept the " first watch," from eight
o'clock till midnight, with the most praiseworthy regularity ;
and if additional force during that watch made a more effective
crew, the captain of the Montezuma had reason to congratulate
himself upon the efficiency of his command; but though naval

THE WATCHMAN 271

(stage attire) was consulted freely, according to the bizarre
taste of the various amateurs, it was extremely doubtful if
more than one in ten of the soldiers and merchants, and pro
fessionals, dressed in sailor garb, knew the maintop-bowline
from the topsail-halliards, or the jib-sheet from the trysail-
downhaul. However, amongst the most active of the passen
gers was Henry Selby. He had been a sailor in early youth,
as the reader is aware, and still he was in the very spring-tide
of manhood. He had not yet lost sight of his early recollec
tions, and as the gallant ship bounded over the waters of the
Southern Ocean, and he stood upon the quarter-deck, leaning
over the bulwarks, and gazing upon the flashes of phosphores
cent light as the vessel's keel glided swiftly through the water,
the sight brought old recollections to his mind, and released
from the cares of business, he felt happier and lighter in heart
than he had done since he was a humble cabin-boy on board
the ship from which his early benefactor and protector, now his
friend and equal, had taken him years before.

Although Henry had received no reply to the various letters
he had sent to the United States, he still did not despair. He
had thought the matter over; he knew that Joseph Carter
occupied a humble station ; various causes might have led to
his removal from the old house in Mulberry-street perhaps
from New York and if even his old and first friend were dead,
he cherished the hope, amounting almost to a certainty, that he
should be enabled to find his wife, or at least Ellen and Willy.
Ah, Ellen ! if you had but known the real sentiments of the
poor little outcast, Henry Selby ; had you but known how he
cherished your fair image in his fondest recollections, how much
doubt and how many heart-aches would have been spared you!

The ship had been at sea about a fortnight she had left
behind the Bay of Bengal, and had fairly entered the great
Southern Ocean, when one morning, Henry, who had risen
earlier than usual, came on deck and stood watching the busy
sailors occupied in their every morning duty of "holy-stoning, 1 '

272 THE WATCHMAN.

or scrubbing the decks with smooth stones, the planks having
been previously wetted and sanded. As yet he had made but
little acquaintance with the sailors ; the crew was numerous,
and it required some time to distinguish the particular features
of each ; but this morning he was struck with the appearance
of a young man, apparently about his own age, who was passing
water from the gangway to the officers on duty. It seemed to
him that he had seen the face before, yet where or when, he
could not recollect ; it was as though he had seen it in a dream,
still although he thought that probably it was merely some
fancied resemblance to a friend that he could not immediately
recollect, such as we often meet with amongst strangers, he
could not shake off the impression that the features had made
upon him ; and, at length, after having watched the man for
some minutes, he turned upon his heel, and walking aft,
addressed the man at the wheel, asking him the name of the
sailor who had so much interested him.

" That tall chap, handing along water, sir," said the old man
at the helm : " Is it he you mean 1 "

" Yes," replied Henry ; but now his attention was directed
to the helmsman, for there was something in his voice and
manner which awakened even stronger recollections than the
features of the younger seaman.

" We calls him, Bill," continued the old man ; " what his
other name is, I do not know. I've been many a vy'ge with a
shipmate ' ithout knowing the tail-end of his name ; but I guess
you'll find it on the ship's articles ; that is to say, leastwise,
unless he sails under a purser's name, as many a good man
dcxBs, for reasons best known to himself, and which ain't no
concani of any body else's."

Henry, however, had lost all interest in the young man who
had previously attracted his attention. His gaze was now
riveted upon the face of the old seaman who was speaking. He
felt certain that he had seen his face, aye, and heard his voice,
Wo, before. Suddenly his memory flew ba/k to the period

THE WATCHMAN. 273

when he had ran away from New York and secreted himself
on board the shif which had brought him to the Cape of Good
Hope, where he had so nearly found a watery grave ; and then
he recognized in the old man, Jack Jenkins, his old shipmate,
and the sharer of his perils on the night of the shipwreck.
He resolved, however, to test the old man's memory before
he made himself known, and with this object, he said, " What
is your name, my friend ? we shall be shipmates together, per
haps, for some months, and I like to be friendly with those
whom I must meet every day."

" Bob Davis is my name," replied the old man.

" Bob Davis," thought Henry ; " then I must be mistaken ; "
but recollecting the words the old man had spoken a few
moments before, and confident still, that it must be Jack
Jenkins to whom he was speaking, he said slyly :

" Bob Davis, eh 1 Are you certain, Bob Davis, that that is
not a purser's name? I once had a shipmate one Jack
Jenkins and my memory fails me sadly, if Bob Davis and
Jack Jenkins are not one and the same persons."

The old man pricked up his ears at the mention of the name
of Jenkins, and gazed earnestly into the face of his interlocutor.

" No, no ! It can't be," he muttered ; " and yet the face is
wonderful like, too ; but no, that's unpossible ; that young
boy could never have got to be a gentleman such as this.
Tho' for the matter o' that he was a cute lad, and had gump
tion enough to come to anything." Then, speaking more
audibly, and addressing Henry, he said :

" Well, sir, ye knows me, it appears, and it ain't o' no use
to fight shy of an old acquaintance, more by token when a
man ain't got no cause to be ashamed of any name as he has
carried on a ship's articles. I won't deny but my name was
once Jack Jenkins, but I've laid that ere name aside fur many
a year. I got tired on it. Lor bless you, sir, I've had a score
o' names since I was a boy, and never was ashamed o' none on
*em ; but you see, I gets weary and longs for a change. It's
18

274 THE WATCHMAN.

a fancy o' mine. But your calling on me by that ere name,
brings up a strange heap o' recollections, and I seem to remem
ber your phiz, sir axing your pardon if it wasn't a moral
impossiblity, I should say as you was the youngster growed
to be a man as was saved from the wreck of the Ingeeman at
the Cape of Good Hope, a matter o' nine or ten years ago, or
maybe more ; but as I say, that's unpossible."

" By no means impossible, my old friend and shipmate,"
said Henry, slapping the old sailor familiarly on the shoulder.
"I am Henry Selby, the sailor boy, to whom you behaved
with so much kindness, and who in fact owes his life to your
courage and skill."

" What, little Harry ! " exclaimed the old man, letting go of
the wheel for a moment, in his surprise, and very nearly letting
the ship broach to. " I beg your pardon, sir, for calling on
you little Harry ; but I'm so glad to see you, and you grown
to be such a tall, strong man, and a gentleman, too! Well,
well ! strange things come to pass in this world ! "

" Strange things indeed, Jack," replied Henry, as he thought
now singularly fortunate had been his own career, since he had
kept watch with Jack on board the Sea Gull, with no prospect
then before him of reaching the position he now occupied.
' Strange things indeed, Jack," he repeated. " We don't know
what is to befall us. I thought that shipwreck a great misfor
tune at the time and so it was but it was probably my first
stepping-stone to fortune. Had that misfortune not befallen
me, I might now be a common sailor, or at best, mate or
second mate of a ship. It was the cause of my introduction to
friends whom otherwise I should never have known."

" And to me, master Harry I beg your pardon, Mr. Selby
I should say now it was the greatest misfortune as ever hap
pened ; so it is one man's luck is another man's disaster."

" How so, Jack 1 " asked Henry.

" It's a long story to tell, sir," replied the old sailor; " but
if so you've a mind, for the sake of old times, to listen to my

THE WATCHMAN. 275

yarn, I'll spin it out to you to-night in the first watch, if you
don't object to come for'ard to the folk 'sel, and hold a palaver
with an old sailor."

" By no means," replied Henry, " and especially shall I
enjoy a chat with an old friend and shipmate like you."

" Well then, sir beggin' yer pardon for being so bold
" the skipper '11 be on deck presently, and the rules is that
none o' the passengers shall talk to the man at the wheel ; and
the rules, you know sir, must be kept aboard ship, or discipline

'11 go to the . 'Praps, sir, you'd just walk bac'ards and

for'ards, and not talk any more just now, for I see the chief
mate a lookin' this way, and he won't be pleased to see you a
talking with me."

" Certainly," said Henry. " I ought to have known better
myself than to talk to you while you are on duty ; but you
know Jack, my old friend, folks who have been living a long
time on shore, forget the schooling they have had at sea ; that
is, when they have been fortunate to have had any salt water
teachings. I shan't forget our engagement to-night," and Henry
walked forward to the break of the poop, and resumed his oc
cupation of watching the sailors, who were now employed in
swabbing the decks, the holy -stoning having been completed.

There again his attention was attracted to the man whom
Jenkins had designated as " Bill," and the more he looked at
him the more sure he became that he had seen his face some
where before nay, more, that it was familiar to him, though
where or when, he could not call to mind.

However, he resolved to question the captain, and to ascer
tain by what name the man was entered upon the ship's arti
cles.

At " one bell " half-past eight o'clock that evening, Henry
Selby lit a segar, and walked forward to the weather-side of
the forecastle, where, according to preconcerted agreement, he
found Jack Jenkins expecting him.

" Take a segar, Jack," said the young man, handing his

276 THE -WATCHMAN.

segar-case to his old shipmate, " and now for your yarn stay,
though, first let me give you a brief sketch of my own career
since we clung together to the same plank in Table Bay."

Henry then told him how he had shipped as cabin-boy on board
a vessel bound to India, and how he had attracted the notice
of an army officer on board, who had persuaded him to leave
the ship and how this gentleman and a relative of his a
Judge of the Supreme Court in Calcutta, had together pushed
his fortunes ; and further, how he had succeeded so well, that
still in the first flush of manhood he had become a rich man.
He did not think it necessary to say, that the officer, who had,
under Providence, been the originator of his good fortune, was
on board the vessel in which he now sailed, as he knew the
garrulity of Jack Jenkins, and feared that if he should do so,
the fact that he had told his history to one of the sailors would
come to the ears of the Colonel. "And now, Jack," said
Henry, " I have made a clean breast with you. Now let me
hear of your adventures, and how it happened that the ship
wreck in Table Bay turned out to be such an unfortunate
affair as regarded your subsequent career. Let me think,
Jack" and Henry glanced laughingly at the old man. "I
think I recollect some fancy of yours to become governor of
an island, like Sancho Panza : I hope, if you succeeded, your
government was not so unfortunate as was his."

"There, Master Henry Mr. Selby, I mean axin' your
pardon ; there you've hit upon the very rock upon which I
split. You sees me here, sir, a sailor, afore the mast, and
agrowin' to be an old hulk, as is no longer o' use to his fellow-
mortials, and it all comes out o' that foolish fancy o' mine, to
get to be guv'ner of an island."

" Indeed, Jack, and how was that ; surely you did not sue
ceed in your ambitious aspirations, and discover, as poor Sancho
Panza did, when his desires were gratified, that he had under
rated the care and trouble that attach themselves to authority ? "

" I don't know, Mr. Selby, what you mean by Sancerpansee,

THE WATCHMAN. 277

nor by a good many other dictionary words as you uses ; but
you allers did have the knack o' saying them fine words when
you were a sailor-boy, afore you was a gentleman ; but I did
become guv'ner of an island, and the wust day's work as ever
I did was the day when I sot foot on that ere island's shores,"

" Indeed ! and how was that, Jack ? " asked Henry, greatly
amused at his old shipmate's earnestness and simplicity.

" Why, it happened this a- wise, sir ; I shipped on board of a
whaler from the Cape, leavin' you, you know, fast moored in
hospital ; but doin' well, and likely to come out all right. That
ere foolish idee o'mine clung fast hold onto me like grim death
to a marlin' spike, and when we got into the South Seas, I
thinks to myself, ' Jack Jenkins,' thinks I, ' now's your time,
if you wants to fulfil your manifest destiny, and go ahead a
convertin' savages, and so laying up riches in the kingdom of
Heaven ; ' for I did think it was my manifest destiny, Mr. Selby,
and no mistake. Well, sir, we stopped at the Marquesas
Islands, and I watches my opportunity and desarts from the
ship, hiding myself among the mountains till she had sailed,
and then I makes my appearance amongst the savages, and
tells 'em for I knowed something of the Kanaka lingo as
how I'd had a call to come and civilize 'em, and make human
creetures out on 'em.

" At first they didn't receive me very favorably ; in fact, I
began to think I had got into the wrong box, for I found out that
they were cannibals, and they looked at me with greedy eyes,
as though they thou't I had been especially sent among 'em to
gratify their beastly appetites ; but I know'd they were fond
o' music, and having a pretty good voice for a roaring sea-song,
I burst out with one, and you wouldn't believe it, Mr. Selby,
but in less than no time I had all the village dancing round
me like mad.

" Finding that I'd, in a manner, got a hold of their feelings
and. sympathies, I makes this fact a pint in my plans, and tho*
J sung till I was as hoarse as a bo'seu afore I succeeded, I at

278 THE WATCHMAN.

last got to be appointed singer-in-ehief to the king of the island,
and had to take the lead in all their religious ceremonies, and
all their war processions ; and tho' I says it myself, I believe
my voice did more to frighten the enemy iu one or two great
battles that took place with the people of a neighboring island,
than all the clubs and spears the naked so'gers possessed. In
one of these fights, however, the king and his son were killed ;
and I had got to be such a favorite amongst the people, that
they, with one voice, insisted that I should take the late king's
place and rule over 'em.

"This was what I wanted. I wasn't tired yet of the savage
life I was leading, and I thought how I had gained the height of
my ambition, and come to be ruler over the island. And now
1 devised a plan to civilize the natives, and to bring 'em to the
truths of religion, leastways so much as I, a poor ignorant
sailor, knows on it. Howsomever, I found that there was a
thorn at the tail-end of a