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WORKS  OF   CHAELES  DICKENS. 

VOL.  XXIL 
CHRISTMAS    BOOKS. 


'l   ^yO^. 


'CPi^ 


CHRISTMAS    BOOKS. 


By  CHAELES  DICKENS. 


WITH    ILLUSTRJTJONS. 


LONDON : 
CHAPMAN    AND    HALL,     Limited. 


'SSd 


')5^' 


ri 


■^ 


PEEFACE. 


The  narrow  space  witliin  which  it  was  necessary  to  confine 
these  Christinas  Stories  when  they  were  originally  published, 
rendered  their  construction  a  matter  of  some  difficulty,  and 
almost  necessitated  what  is  peculiar  in  their  machinery.  I 
never  attempted  great  elaboration  of  detail  in  the  working 
out  of  character  within  such  limits,  believing  that  it  could  not 
succeed.  My  purpose  was,  in  a  whimsical  kind  of  masque 
which  the  good  humour  of  the  season  justified,  to  awaken 
some  loving  and  forbearing  thoughts,  never  out  of  season  in 
a  Christian  l-^nd. 


A  CHRISTMAS  CAROL, 

IN  PROSE. 
BEING  A  GHOST  STORY  OF  CHRISTMAS. 


A  CHRISTMAS   CAROL. 


STAVE  ONE. 


MARLEY  S    GHOST. 


Marley  was  dead,  to  begin  •with.  There  isr  no  doubi 
•whatever  about  that.  The  register  of  his  burial  was  signed 
by  the  clergyman,  the  clerk,  the  undertaker,  and  the  chief 
mourner.  Scrooge  signed  it.  And  Scrooge's  name  was  good 
upon  'Change,  for  anything  he  chose  to  put  his  hand  to. 

Old  Marley  -w^as  as  dead  as  a  door-nail. 

Mind  !  I  don't  mean  to  say  that  I  know,  of  my  own  know- 
ledge, what  there  is  particularly  dead  about  a  door-nail.  I 
might  have  been  inclined,  myself,  to  regard  a  coifin-nail  as 
the  deadest  piece  of  ironmongery  in  the  trade.  But  the 
wisdom  of  our  ancestors  is  in  the  simile  ;  and  my  unhallowed 
hands  shall  not  disturb  it,  or  the  Country 's  done  for.  You 
wiU  therefore  permit  me  to  repeat,  emphatically,  that  Marley 
was  as  dead  as  a  door-nail. 

Scrooge  knew  he  was  dead  ?  Of  course  he  did.  How 
could  it  be  otherwise  ?  Scrooge  and  he  were  partners  for  I 
don't  know  how  many  years.  Scrooge  was  his  sole  executor, 
his  sole  administi'ator,  his  sole  assign,  his  sole  residuary 
legatee,  his  sole  friend,  and  sole  mourner.  And  even  Scrooge 
was  not  so  dreadfully  cut  up  by  the  sad  event,  but  that  he  was 
an  excellent  man  of  business  on  the  very  day  of  the  funeral, 
and  solemnised  it  with  an  undoubted  bargain. 

The  mention  of  Marley' s  funeral  brings  me  back  to  the 
point  I  started  from.  There  is  no  doubt  that  Marley  was 
dead.  This  must  be  distinctly  understood,  or  nothing  wonder- 
ful can  come  of  the  story  I  am  going  to  relate.  If  we  were 
not  perfectly  convinced  that  Hamlet's  Father  died  before  tlic 

.T  2 


4  A   CHRISTMAS   CAROL. 

plaj  began,  there  would  be  nothing  more  remarkable  in  his 
taking  a  stroll  at  night,  in  an  easterly  wind,  upon  his  own 
ramparts,  than  there  would  be  in  any  other  middle-aged  gen- 
tleman rashly  turning  out  after  dark  in  a  breezy  spot — say 
Saint  Paul's  Church-yard  for  instance — literally  to  astonish 
his  son's  weak  mind. 

Scrooge  never  painted  out  Old  Marley's  name.  There  it 
stood,  years  afterwards,  above  the  warehouse  door :  Scrooge 
and  i\Iarley.  The  firm  was  known  as  Scrooge  and  Marley. 
Sometimes  people  new  to  the  business  called  Scrooge  Scrooge, 
and  sometimes  Marley,  but  he  answered  to  both  names.  It 
was  all  the  same  to  him. 

Oh !  But  he  was  a  tight-fisted  hand  at  the  grindstone, 
Scrooge  !  a  squeezing,  wrenching,  grasping,  scraping,  clutch- 
ing, covetous,  old  sinner  !  Hard  and  sharp  as  flint,  from 
which  no  steel  had  ever  struck  out  generous  fire ;  secret,  and 
self-contained,  and  solitary  as  an  oyster.  The  cold  within 
him  froze  his  old  features,  nipped  his  pointed  noise,  shrivelled 
his  cheek,  stiffened  his  gait :  made  his  pvps  red,  his  thin  lips 
blue  ;  and  spoke  out  shrewdly  in  his  grating  voice.  A  frosty 
rime  was  on  his  head,  and  on  his  eyebrows,  and  his  wiry  chin. 
He  carried  his  own  low  temperature  always  about  with  him ; 
he  iced  his  office  in  the  dog-days ;  and  didn't  thaw  it  one 
degree  at  Christmas. 

External  heat  and  cold  had  little  influence  on  Scrooge.  No 
warmth  could  warm,  no  wintry  weather  chill  him.  No  wind 
that  blew  was  bitterer  than  he,  no  falling  snow  was  more  intent 
upon  its  purpose,  no  pelting  rain  less  open  to  entreaty.  Foul 
weather  didn't  know  where  to  have  him.  The  heaviest  rain, 
and  snow,  and  hail,  and  sleet,  could  boast  of  the  advantage 
over  him  in  only  one  respect.  They  often  "  came  down " 
handsomely,  and  Scrooge  never  did. 

Nobody  ever  stopped  him  in  the  street  to  say,  -mth  glad- 
some looks,  "  My  dear  Scrooge,  how  are  you  ?  \^Tien  will 
you  come  to  see  me  ?  "  No  beggars  implored  him  to  bestow 
a  trifle,  no  children  asked  him  what  it  was  o'clock,  no  man  or 
woman  ever  once  in  all  his  life  inquired  the  way  to  such  and 
such  a  place,  of  Scrooge.  Even  the  blindmen's  dogs  appeared 
to  know  him  ;  and  when  they  saw  him  coming  on,  would  tug 
their  owners  into  doorways  and  up  courts  ;  and  then  would 
wag  their  tails  as  though  they  said,  "  no  eye  at  all  is  better 
than  an  evil  eye.  dark  master  !  " 


A    CHRISTMAS   CAROL.  B 

But  -what  did  Scrooge  care  !  It  was  the  very  thing  he  liked. 
To  edge  his  way  along  the  crowded  paths  of  life,  warning  all 
human  sjTnpathy  to  keep  its  distance,  was  what  the  knowing 
ones  call  "  nuts"  to  Scrooge. 

Once  upon  a  time — of  aR  the  good  days  in  the  year,  on 
Christmas  Eve — old  Scrooge  sat  .busy  in  his  counting-house. 
It  was  cold,  bleak,  biting  weather :  foggy  withal :  and  he 
could  hear  the  people  in  the  court  outside,  go  wheezing  up  and 
down,  beating  their  hands  upon  their  breasts,  and  stamping 
their  feet  upon  the  pavement  stones  to  warm  them.  The  city 
clocks  had  only  just  gone  three,  but  it  was  quite  dark  already 
— it  had  not  been  light  all  day — and  candles  were  flaring  in 
the  windows  of  the  neighbouring  offices,  like  ruddy  smears 
upon  the  palpable  brown  air.  The  fog  came  pouring  in  at 
every  chink  and  keyhole,  and  was  so  dense  without,  that 
although  the  court  was  of  the  narrowest,  the  houses  opposite 
were  mere  phantoms.  To  see  the  dingy  cloud  come  drooping 
down,  obscuring  everything,  one  might  have  thought  that 
Nature  lived  hard  by,  and  was  brewing  on  a  large  scale. 

The  door  of  Scrooge's  counting-house  was  open,  that  he 
might  keep  his  eye  upon  his  clerk,  who  in  a  dismal  little  cell 
beyond,  a  sort  of  tank,  was  copying  letters.  Scrooge  had  a 
very  small  fire,  but  the  clerk's  fire  was  so  very  much  smaller 
that  it  looked  like  one  coal.  But  he  couldn't  replenish  it,  for 
Scrooge  kept  the  coal-box  in  his  own  room ;  and  so  surely  as 
the  clerk  came  in  with  the  shovel,  the  master  predicted  that  it 
would  be  necessary  for  them  to  part.  Wherefore  the  clerk 
put  on  his  white  comforter,  and  tried  to  warm  himself  at  the 
candle  ;  in  which  efibrt,  not  being  a  man  of  strong  imagina- 
tion, he  failed. 

"A  merry  Christmas,  uncle!  God  save  you!"  cried  a 
cheerful  voice.  It  was  the  voice  of  Scrooge's  nephew,  who 
came  upon  him  so  quickly  that  this  was  the  first  intimation 
he  had  of  his  approach. 

'  Bah  !  "  said  Scrooge,  "  Humbxig  !  " 

He  had  so  heated  himself  with  rapid  walking  in  the  fog  and 
frost,  this  nephew  of  Scrooge's,  that  he  was  all  in  a  glow ; 
his  face  was  ruddy  and  handsome ;  his  eyes  sparkled,  and  his 
breath  smoked  again. 

"  Christmas  a  humbug,  uncle !  "  said  Scrooge's  nephew. 
**  You  don't  mean  that,  I  am  sure  ?  " 

"I  do,"  said  Scrooge.      "Merry  Christmas!     ^Vhat  right 


6  A   CEfRISTMAS   CAROL. 

have  you  to  be  merry  ?  What  reason  have  you  to  be  merry  P 
You're  poor  enough." 

"  Come  then,"  returned  the  nephew  gaily.  "  What  right 
have  you  to  be  dismal  ?  What  reason  have  you  to  be  morose  ? 
You're  rich  eaougu." 

Scrooge  Lav.Jig  no  better  answer  ready  on  the  spur  of  the 
moment,  said,  "  Bah ! "  again ;  and  followed  it  up  with 
"  Humbug ! " 

"  Don't  be  cross,  uncle  !  "  said  the  nephew. 

"  What  else  can  I  be,"  returned  the  uncle,  "  when  I  live 
in  such  a  world  of  fools  as  this  ?  Merry  Christmas  !  Out 
upon  merry  Christmas  !  What 's  Christmas  time  to  you  but 
a  time  for  paying  bills  without  money ;  a  time  for  finding 
yourself  a  year  older,  and  not  an  hour  richer ;  a  time  for 
balancing  your  books  and  having  every  item  in  'em  through 
a  round  dozen  of  months  presented  dead  against  you  ?  If  I 
could  work  my  wili"  said  Scrooge  indignantly,  "  every  idiot 
who  goes  about  with  '  Merry  Christmas,'  on  his  lips,  should 
be  boiled  with  his  own  pudding,  and  buried  with  a  stake  of 
holly  through  his  heart.     He  should  !  " 

"  Uncle  !  "  pleaded  the  nephew. 

"  Nephew  !  "  rerurned  the  uncle,  sternly,  "  keep  Christmas 
in  your  own  way,  and  let  me  keep  it  in  mine." 

"Keep  it!  "  repeated  Scrooge's  nephew.  "  But  you  don't 
keep  it." 

"  Let  me  leave  it  alone,  then,"  said  Scrooge.  "  Much  good 
may  it  do  you  !     Much  good  it  has  ever  done  you  !  " 

"  There  are  many  things  from  which  I  might  have  derived 
good,  by  which  I  have  not  profited,  I  dare  say,"  returned  the 
-nephew,  "  Christmas  among  the  rest.  But  I  am  sure/l  have 
always  thought  of  Christmas  time,  when  it  has  come  roimd — 
apart  from  the  veneration  due  to  its  sacred  name  and  origin, 
if  anything  belonging  to  it  can  be  apart  from  that — as  a  good 
time  ;  a  kind,  forgi\dng,  charitable,  pleasant  time ;  the  only 
time  I  know  of,  in  the  long  calendar  of  the  year,  when  men 
and  women  seem  by  one  consent  to  open  their  shut-up  hearts 
freely,  and  to  think  of  people  below  them  as  if  they  really 
were  fellow-passengers  to  the  grave,  and  not  another  race  of 
creatures  bound  on  other  journeys. ^  And  therefore,  uncle, 
though  it  has  never  put  a  scrap  of  gold  or  silver  in  my  pocket, 
I  believe  that  it  has  done  me  good,  and  will  do  me  good  ;  and 
I  say,  God  bless  it !  " 


A   CHRISTMAS  CAROL.  V 

The  clerk  in  the  tank  involuntarily  applauded.  Becoming 
immediately  sensible  of  the  impropriety,  he  poked  the  fire, 
and  extinguished  the  last  frail  spark  for  ever. 

"  Let  me  hear  another  sound  from  you,"  said  Scrooge, 
"  and  you  '11  keep  your  Christmas  by  losing  your  situation  ; 
You  're  quite  a  powerful  speaker,  «ir,"  he  added,  turning  to 
his  nephew.      "  I  wonder  you  don't  go  into  Parliament." 

"  Don't  be  angry,  uncle.    Come  !  Dine  -wdth  us  to-morrow." 

Scrooge  said  that  he  would  see  him — yes,  indeed  he  did. 
He  went  the  whole  length  of  the'  expression,  and  said  that  he 
would  see  him  in  that  extremity  first. 

"  But  why  ?  "  cried  Scrooge's  nephew.      "  Why  ?  " 

"Why  did  you  get  married  ?"  said  Scrooge. 

"  Because  I  fell  in  love." 

"  Because  you  fell  in  love ! "  growled  Scrooge,  as  if  that 
were  the  only  one  thing  in  the  world  more  ridiculous  than,  a 
merry  Christmas.      "  Good  afternoon  !  " 

"  Nay,  uncle,  but  you  never  came  to  see  me  before  that 
happened.     Why  give  it  as  a  reason  for  not  coming  now  ?  " 

"  Good  afternoon,"  said  Scrooge. 

"  I  want  nothing  from  you ;  I  ask  nothing  of  you ;  why 
cannot  we  be  friends  ?  " 

"  Good  afternoon,"  said  Scrooge. 

"  I  am  sorry,  with  all  my  heart,  to  find  you  so  resolute. 
We  have  never  had  any  quarrel,  to  which  I  have  been  a  party. 
But  I  have  made  the  trial  in  homage  to  Christmas,  and  I  '11 
keep  my  Christmas  humour  to  the  last.  So  A  Meny  Christ 
mas,  Tincle  ! " 

"  Good  afternoon  !  "  said  Scrooge. 

"  And  A  Happy  New  Year  !  " 

"  Good  afternoon  !  "  said  Scrooge. 

His  nephew  left  the  room  without  an  angry  word,  notwith- 
standing. He  stopped  at  the  outer  door  to  bestow  the 
greetings  of  the  season  on  the  clerk,  who,  cold  as  he  was. 
was  warmer  than  Scrooge ;  for  he  returned  them  cordially. 

''There's  another  feUow,"  muttered  Scrooge;  who  over- 
heard him  :  "  my  clerk,  with  fifteen  shillings  a- week,  and  a 
wife  and  family,  talking  about  a  merry  Christmas.  I  '11  retire 
to  Bedlam." 

This  lunatic,  in  letting  Scrooge's  nephew  out,  had  let  two 
other  people  in.  They  were  portly  gentlemen,  pleasant  to 
behold,  and  now  stood,  with  their  hats  off,  in  Scrooge's  office 


8  A  CHRISTMAS  CAROL. 

They  had  books  and  papers  in  their  hands,  and  Lowed  to 
him, 

"  Scrooge  and  Marley's,  I  believe,"  said  one  of  the  gentle- 
men, referring  to  his  list.  "  Have  I  the  pleasure  of  address- 
ing Mr.  Scrooge,  or  Mr.  Marley  ?  " 

"  Mr.  Marley  has  been  dead  these  seven  years,"  Scrooge 
replied.      "  He  died  seven  years  ago,  this  very  night." 

"  We  have  no  doubt  his  liberality  is  well  represented  by 
his  surviving  partner,"  said  the  gentleman,  presenting  his 
credentials. 

It  certainly  was ;  for  they  had  been  two  kindred  spirits. 
At  the  ominous  word  "  liberality,"  Scrooge  frowned,  and 
shook  his  head,  and  handed  the  credentials  back. 

"  At  this  festive  season  of  the  year,  Mr.  Scrooge,"  said  the 
gentleman,  taking  up  a  pen,  "  it  is  more  than  usually  desir- 
able that  we  should  make  some  slight  provision  for  the  Poor 
and  destitute,  who  suffer  greatly  at  the  present  time.  Many 
thousands  are  in  want  of  common  necessaries  ;  hundreds  of 
thousands  are  in  want  of  common  comforts,  sir." 

"  Are  there  no  prisons  ?  "  asked  Scrooge. 

*'  Plenty  of  prisons,  '  said  the  gentleman,  laying  down  the 
pen  again^ 

"And  the  Union  workhouses?  "  demanded  Scrooge.  "  Are 
they  still  in  operation  ?  " 

"They  are.  Still,"  returned  the  gentleman.  "I  wish  I 
could  say  they  were  not." 

"The  Treadmill  and  the  Poor  Law  are  in  full  vigour, 
then  ?  "  said  Scrooge. 

"  Both  very  busy,  sir." 

"  Oh !  I  was  afraid,  from  what  you  said  at  first,  that  some- 
thing had  occurred  to  stop  them  in  their  useful  course,"  said 
Scrooge.      "  I  am  very  glad  to  hear  it." 

"  Under  the  impression  that  they  scarcely  furnish  Christian 
cheer  of  mind  or  body  to  the  multitude,"  returned  the  gentle- 
man, "  a  few  of  us  are  endeavouring  to  raise  a  fund  to  buy 
the  Poor  some  meat  and  drink,  and  means  of  warmth.  We 
choose  this  time,  because  it  is  a  time,  of  all  others,  when 
Want  is  keenly  felt,  and  Abundance  rejoices.  What  shall  I 
put  you  down  for  ?  " 

"  Nothing  !  "  Scrooge  replied. 

"  YoTi  wish  to  be  anonymous  ?  " 

*'  I  wish  to  be  left  alone,"  said  Scrooge.     "  Sinco  you  ask 


A   CHRISTMAS   CAROL.  9 

me  what  I  wish,  gentlemen,  that  is  my  answer.  I  don't  make 
merry  myself  at  Christmas,  and  I  can't  afford  to  make  idle 
people  merry.  I  help  to  support  the  establishments  I  have 
mentioned — they  cost  enough  :  and  those  who  are  badly  off 
must  go  there." 

"  Many  can't  go  there  ;  and  many  would  rather  die." 

"  If  they  would  rather  die,"  said  Scrooge,  "  they  had  better 
do  it,  and  decrease  the  surplus  population.  Besides — excuse 
me — I  don't  know  that." 

"  But  you  might  know  it,"  observed  the  gentleman. 

"  It 's  not  my  business,"  Scrooge  returned.  "  It's  enough 
for  a  man  to  understand  his  own  business,  and  not  to  interfere 
with  other  people's.  Mine  occupies  me  constantly.  Good 
afternoon,  gentlemen !  " 

Seeing  clearly  that  it  would  be  useless  to  pursue  their  point, 
the  gentlemen  withdrew.  Scrooge  resumed  his  laboixrs  with  an 
improved  opinion  of  himself,  and  in  a  more  facetious  temper 
than  was  usual  with  him. 

MeanwhUe  the  fog  and  darkness  thickened  so,  that  people 
ran  about  with  flaring  links,  proffering  their  services  to  go 
before  horses  in  carriages,  and  conduct  them  on  their  way. 
The  ancient  tower  of  a  church,  whose  gruff  old  bell  was 
always  peeping  sHly  down  at  Scrooge  out  of  a  gothic  window 
in  the  wall,  became  invisible,  and  struck  the  hours  and 
quarters  in  the  clouds,  with  tremulous  vibrations  afterwards, 
as  if  its  teeth  were  chattering  in  its  frozen  head  up  there. 
The  cold  became  intense.  In  the  main  street,  at  the  corner 
of  the  court,  some  labourers  were  repairing  the  gas-pipes, 
and  had  lighted  a  great  fire  in  a  brazier,  round  which  a  party 
of  ragged  men  and  boys  were  gathered  :  warming  their  hands 
and  winking  their  eyes  before  the  blaze  in  rapture.  The 
water-plug  being  left  in  solitude,  its  overflowings  suddenly 
congealed,  and  turned  to  misanthropic  ice.  The  brightness 
of  the  shops  where  holly  sprigs  and  berries  crackled  in  the 
lamp  heat  of  the  windows,  made  pale  faces  ruddy  as  they 
passed.  Poulterers'  and  grocers'  trades  became  a  splendid 
joke :  a  glorious  pageant,  with  which  it  was  next  to  impos- 
sible to  believe  that  such  dull  principles  as  bargain  and  sale 
had  anything  to  do.  The  Lord  Mayor,  in  the  stronghold  of 
the  mighty  Mansion  House,  gave  orders  to  his  flfty  cooks  and 
butlers  to  keep  Christmas  as  a  Lord  Mayor's  household 
should;  and  even  the  little  tailor,  whom   he   had   fined  five 


10  A   CHRISTMAS   CAROL. 

shillings  on  the  previous  Monday  for  being  drunk  and  blood- 
thirsty in  the  streets,  stirred  up  to-morrow's  pudding  in  hie 
garret,  while  his  lean  wife  and  the  baby  sallied  out  to  buy 
the  beef. 

Foggier  yet,  and  colder  !  Piercing,  searching,  biting  cold. 
If  the  good  St.  Dunstan  had  but  nipped  the  Evil  Spirit's  nose 
with  a  touch  of  such  weather  as  that,  instead  of  using  his 
familiar  weapons,  then  indeed  he  would  have  roared  to  lusty 
purpose.  The  owner  of  one  scant  young  nose,  gnawed  and 
mumbled  by  the  hungry  cold  as  bones  are  gnawed  by  dogs, 
stooped  down  at  Scrooge's  key-hole  to  regale  him  with  a 
Christmas  carol ;  but  at  the  first  sound  of 

*'  God  bless  you  merry  gentleman, 
May  nothing  you  dismay  ! " 

Scrooge  seized  the  ruler  with  such  energy  of  action,  that  the 
singer  fled  in  terror,  leaving  the  key-hole  to  the  fog,  and  even 
more  congenial  frost. 

At  length  the  hour  of  shutting  up  the  counting-house 
arrived.  With  an  ill-will  Scrooge  dismounted  from  his  stool, 
and  tacitly  admitted  the  fact  to  the  expectant  clerk  in  the 
Tank,  who  instantly  snuffed  his  candle  out,  and  put  on 
his  hat. 

"  You  '11  want  all  day  to-morrow,  I  suppose  ?  "  said  Scrooge. 

"  If  quite  convenient,  sir." 

"It's  not  convenient,"  said  Scrooge,  "and  it's  not  fair. 
If  I  was  to  stop  half-a-crown  for  it,  you  'd  think  yourself  ill- 
used,  I  '11  be  bound  ?  " 

The  clerk  smiled  faintly. 

"And  yet,"  said  Scrooge,  "you  don't  think  me  iU-used, 
when  I  pay  a  day's  wages  for  no  work." 

The  clerk  observed  that  it  was  only  once  a  year. 

"  A  poor  excuse  for  picking  a  man's  pocket  every  twenty- 
fifth  of  December  !  "  said  Scrooge,  buttoning  his  great  coat  to 
the  chin.  "  But  I  suppose  you  must  have  the  whole  day.  Be 
here  aU  the  earlier  next  morning-." 

The  clerk  promised  that  he  would ;  and  Scrooge  walked 
out  with  a  growl.  The  office  was  closed  in  a  twinkling,  and 
the  clerk,  with  the  long  ends  of  his  white  comforter  dangling 
below  his  waist  (for  he  boasted  no  great  coat),  went  down  a 
slide  on  Cornhill,  at  the  end  of  a  lane  of  boys,  twenty  times, 
m  honor  of  its  being   Chi'istmas-eve.    and  then  ran  home  to 


A   CHRISTMAS   CAROL.  11 

Camden  Town  as  hard  as  he  could  pelt,  to  play  at  blindman's 
buff. 

Scrooge  took  his  melancholy  dinner  in  his  usual  melancholy 
tavern ;  and  having  read  all  the  newspapers,  and  beguiled  the 
rest  of  the  evening  with  his  banker' s-book,  went  home  to  bed. 
He  lived  in  chambers  which  had  once  belonged  to  his  deceased 
partner.  They  were  a  gloomy  suite  of  rooms,  in  a  lowering 
pile  of  building  up  a  yard,  where  it  had  so  little  business 
to  be,  that  one  could  scarcely  help  fancying  it  must  have 
run  there  when  it  was  a  young  house,  playing  at  hide-and- 
seek  with  other  houses,  and  have  forgotten  the  way  out  again. 
It  was  old  enough  now,  and  dreary  enough ;  for  nobody  lived 
in  it  but  Scrooge,  the  other  rooms  being  all  let  out  as  offices. 
The  yard  was  so  dark  that  even  Scrooge,  who  knew  its  every 
stone,  was  fain  to  grope  with  his  hands.  The  fog  arid  frost 
80  hung  about  the  black  old  gateway  of  the  house,  that  it 
seemed  as  if  the  Genius  of  the  Weather  sat  in  mournful 
meditation  on  the  threshold. 

Now,  it  is  a  fact,  that  there  was  nothing  at  all  particular 
about  the  knocker  on  the  door,  except  that  it  was  very  large. 
It  is  also  a  fact,  that  Scrooge  had  seen  it,  night  and  morning, 
during  his  whole  residence  in  that  place ;  also  that  Scrooge 
had  as  little  of  what  is  called  fancy  about  him  as  any  man  in 
the  City  of  London,  even  including — which  is  a  bold  word — 
the  corporation,  aldermen,  and  livery.  Let  it  also  be  borne 
in  mind,  that  Scrooge  had  not  bestowed  one  thought  on 
Marley  since  his  last  mention  of  his  seven-years'  dead  partner 
that  afternoon.  And  then  let  any  man  explain  to  me,  if 
he  can,  how  it  happened  that  Scrooge,  having  his  key  in 
the  lock  of  the  door,  saw  in  the  knocker,  without  its  under- 
going any  intermediate  process  of  change — not  a  knocker, 
but  Marley' 8  face. 

Marley's  face.  It  was  not  in  impenetrable  shadow,  as  the 
other  objects  in  the  yard  were,  but  had  a  dismal  liglit 
about  it,  like  a  bad  lobster  in  a  dark  cellar.  It  was  not 
dngry  or  ferocious,  but  looked  at  Scrooge  as  Marley  used  to 
look :  with  ghostly  spectacles  turned  up  on  its  ghostly  fore- 
head. The  hair  was  curiously  stirred,  as  if  by  breath  or 
hot-air ;  ,  and,  though  the  eyes  were  wide  open,  they  were 
perfectly  motionless.  That,  and  its  livid  colour,  made  it 
horrible  ;  but  its  horror  seemed  to  be  in  spite  of  the  face,  and 
beyond  its  control,  rather  than  a  part  of  its  own  expressioa. 


12  A   CHRISTMAS   CAROL. 

As  Scrooge  looked  fixedly  at  this  phenomenon,  it  was  a 
knocker  again. 

To  say  that  he  was  not  startled,  or  that  his  blood  was 
not  conscious  of  a  terrible  sensation  to  which  it  had  been 
d  stranger  from  infancy,  would  be  untrue.  But  he  put  his 
hand  upon  the  key  he  had  relinquished,  turned  it  sturdily, 
walked  in,  and  lighted  his  candle. 

He  did  pause,  with  a  moment's  irresolution,  before  he  shut 
the  door ;  and  he  did  look  cautiously  behind  it  first,  as  if  he 
half -expected  to  be  terrified  with  the  sight  of  Marley's  pig- 
tail sticking  out  into  the  hall.  But  there  was  nothing  on 
the  back  of  the  door,  except  the  screws  and  nuts  that  held 
the  knocker  on,  so  he  said,  "  Pooh,  pooh !  "  and  closed  it 
with  a  bang. 

The  sound  resounded  through  the  house  like  thunder. 
Every  room  above,  and  every  cask  in  the  wine-merchant's 
cellars  below,  appeared  to  have  a  separate  peal  of  echoes  of 
its  own.  Scrooge  was  not  a  man  to  be  frightened  by  echoes. 
He  fastened  the  door,  and  walked  across  the  hall,  and  up  the 
stairs  ;  slowly  too  :  trimming  his  candle  as  he  went. 

You  may  talk  vaguely  about  driving  a  coach-and-six  up  a 
good  old  flight  of  stairs,  or  through  a  bad  young  Act  of 
Parliament ;  but  I  mean  to  say  you  might  have  got  a  hearse 
up  that  staircase,  and  taken  it  broadwise,  with  the  splinter- 
bar  towards  the  wall  and  the  door  towards  the  balustrades : 
and  done  it  easy.  There  was  plenty  of  width  for  that,  and 
room  to  spare ;  which  is  perhaps  the  reason  why  Scrooge 
thought  he  saw  a  locomotive  hearse  going  on  before  him 
in  the  gloom.  Half  a  dozen  gas-lamps  out  of  the  street 
wouldn't  have  lighted  the  entry  too  well,  so  you  may  suppose 
that  it  was  pretty  dark  with  Scrooge's  dip. 

Up  Scrooge  went,  not  caring  a  button  for  that.  Darkness 
is  cheap,  and  Scrooge  liked  it.  But  before  he  shut  his 
heavy  door,  he  walked  through  his  rooms  to  see  that  all 
was  right.  He  had  just  enough  recollection  of  the  face  to 
desire  to  do  that. 

Sitting-room,  bed-room,  lumber-room.  All  as  they  should 
be.  Nobody  under  the  table,  nobody  under  the  sofa;  a 
small  fire  in  the  grate ;  spoon  and  basin  ready ;  and  the 
b'ttle  saucepan  of  gruel  (Scrooge  had  a  cold  in  his  head)  upon 
the  hob.  Nobody  under  the  bed;  nobody  in  the  closet; 
nobody  in  liis  dressing-gown,   which  was  hanging  up  in  a 


A   CIIEISTMAS   CAROL.  13 

suspicious  attitude  against  the  wall.  Lumber-room  as  usual. 
Old  fire-guard,  old  shoes,  two  fish-baskets,  washing-stand  on 
three  legs,  and  a  poker. 

Quite  satisfied,  he  closed  his  door,  and  locked  himself  in ; 
double-locked  himself  in,  which  was  not  his  custom.  Thus 
secured  against  surprise,  he  took  off  his  cravat ;  put  on  his 
dressing-gown  and  slippers,  and  his  night-cap  ;  and  sat  down 
before  the  fire  to  take  his  gruel. 

It  was  a  very  low  fire  indeed ;  nothing  on  such  a  bitter 
night.  He  was  obliged  to  sit  close  to  it,  and  brood  over  it. 
before  he  could  extract  the  least  Sensation  of  warmth  from 
such  a  handful  of  fuel.  The  fireplace  was  an  old  one,  built 
by  some  Dutch  merchant  long  ago,  and  paved  all  round  with 
quaint  Dutch  tiles,  designed  to  illustrate  the  Scriptures. 
There  were  Cains  and  Abels,  Pharaoh's  daughters.  Queens  of 
Sheba,  Angelic  messengers  descending  through  the  air  ou 
clouds  like  feather-beds,  Abrahams,  Belshazzars,  Apostles 
putting  off  to  sea  in  butter-boats,  hundreds  of  figures  to 
attract  his  thoughts ;  and  yet  that  face  of  Marley,  seven 
years  dead,  came  like  the  ancient  Prophet's  rod,  and  swallowed 
up  the  whole.  If  each  smooth  tile  had  been  a  blank  at  first, 
with  power  to  shape  some  picture  on  its  surface  from  the 
disjointed  fragments  of  his  thoughts,  there  would  have  beeu 
a  copy  of  old  Marley's  head  on  every  one. 

"  Humbug  !  "  said  Scrooge  ;   and  walked  across  the  room. 

After  several  turns,  he  sat  down  again.  As  he  threw  his 
head  back  in  the  chair,  his  glance  happened  to  rest  upon  a 
bell,  a  disused  beU,  that  hung  in  the  room,  and  communi- 
cated for  some  purpose  now  forgotten  with  a  chamber  in  the 
highest  story  of  the  building.  It  was  with  great  astonish- 
ment, and  with  a  strange,  inexplicable  dread,  that  as  he 
looked,  he  saw  this  bell  begin  to  swing.  It  swung  so  softly 
in  the  outset  that  it  scarcely  made  a  sound  ;  but  soon  it  rang 
out  loudly,  and  so  did  every  bell  in  the  house. 

This  might  have  lasted  half  a  minute,  or  a  minute,  but  it 
seemed  an  hour.  The  bells  ceased  as  they  had  begun,  together. 
They  were  succeeded  by  a  clanking  noise,  deep  down  below, 
as  if  some  person  were  dragging  a  heavy  chain  over  the  casks 
in  the  wine-merchant's  cellar.  Scrooge  then  remembered  to 
Uave  heard  tliat  ghosts  in  haunted  houses  were  described  as 
dragging  chains. 

The  cell;Lr-door  flew  open  with  a  booming  sound,  and  then 


14  A   CHRISTMAS   CAROL. 

he  heard  the  noise  much  louder,  oa  the  floors  below ;  tliHii 
coming  up  the  stairs ;  then  coming  straight  towards  his  door 

"  It 's  humbug  stiU !  "  said  Scrooge.     "  I  won't  believe  it." 

His  colour  changed  though,  when,  without  a  pause,  it  came 
on  through  the  heavy  door,  and  passed  into  the  room  before 
his  eyes.  Upon  its  coming  in,  the  dying  flame  leaped  up,  as 
though  it  cried  "  I  know  him !  Mar  ley's  ghost !  "  and  fell 
again. 

The  same  face :  the  very  same.  Marley  in  his  pip'-tail, 
usual  waistcoat,  tig-hts,  and  boots;  the  tassels  on  the  Iaf:tex 
bristling,  like  his  pig-tail,  and  his  coat-skirts,  and  the  hair 
upon  his  head.  The  chain  he  drew  was  clasped  about  his 
middle.  It  was  long  and  wound  about  him  like  a  tail ;  and 
it  was  made  (for  Scrooge  observed  it  closely)  of  cash-boxes, 
keys,  padlocks,  ledgers,  deeds,  and  heavy  purses  wrouglit  in 
steel.  His  body  was  transparent ;  so  that  Scrooge,  observing 
him,  and  looking  through  his  waistcoat,  could  see  the  two 
buttons  on  his  coat  behind. 

Scrooge  had  often  heard  it  said  that  Marley  had  no  bowels, 
but  he  had  never  believed  it  until  now. 

No,  nor  did  he  believe  it  even  now.  Though  he  looked 
the  phantom  through  and  through,  and  saw  it  standing  before 
him ;  though  he  felt  the  chilling  influence  of  its  death-cold 
eyes ;  and  marked  the  very  texture  of  the  folded  kerchief 
bound  about  its  head  and  chin,  which  wrapper  he  had  not 
observed  before ;  he  was  still  incredulous,  and  fought  against 
his  senses. 

"  How  now ! "  said  Scrooge,  caustic  and  cold  as  ever. 
"  What  do  you  want  with  me  ?  " 

"  Much !  " — Marley 's  voice,  no  doubt  about  it. 

''  Who  are  you  ?  " 

"  Ask  me  who  I  was." 

"  Who  were  you  then  ?  "  said  Scrooge,  raising  his  voice. 
"  You  're  particular,  for  a  shade."  He  was  going  to  say  "  to 
a  shade,"  but  substituted  this,  as  more  appropriate. 

•'  In  life  I  was  your  partner,  Jacob  Marley." 

"  Can  you — can  you  sit  down '?  "  asked  Scrooge,  looking 
doubtfully  at  him. 

"  I  can." 

"  Do  it,  then." 

Scrooge  asked  the  question,  because  he  didn't  know  whether 
a  gJiost  so  transparent  might  find  himself  in  a  conditioa  to 


c^^Uzyt^.^^ 


A   CHRISTMAS   CAROL.  16 

take  a  chair ;  and  felt  that  in  the  event  of  its  being  impos- 
sible, it  might  involve  the  necessity  of  an  embarrassing 
explanation.  But  the  ghost  sat  down  on  the  opposite  side  of 
the  fireplace,  as  if  he  were  quite  used  to  it. 

*'  You  don't  believe  in  me,"  observed  the  Ghost. 

"1  don't,"  said  Scrooge. 

•  "  What  evidence  would  you  have ''of  my  reality  beyond 
that  of  your  own  senses  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know,"  said  Scrooge. 

"  "Why  do  you  doubt  your  senses  ?  " 

''  Because,"  said  Scrooge,  "  a  little  thing  affects  them.  A 
slight  disorder  of  the  stomach  makes  them  cheats.  You  may 
be  an  undigested  bit  of  beef,  a  blot  of  mustard,  a  crumb  of 
cheese,  a  fragment  of  an  underdone  potato.  There  's  more  of 
gravy  than  of  grave  about  you,  whatever  you  are !  " 

Scrooge  was  not  much  in  the  habit  of  cracking  jokes,  nor 
did  he  feel  in  his  heart,  by  any  means  waggish  then.  The 
truth  is,  that  he  tried  to  be  smart,  as  a  means  of  distracting 
his  own  attention,  and  keeping  down  his  terror ;  for  the 
spectre's  voice  disturbed  the  very  marrow  in  his  bones. 

To  sit,  staring  at  those  fixed  glazed  eyes,  in  silence  for  a 
moment,  would  play,  Scrooge  felt,  the  very  deuce  with  him. 
There  was  something  very  awful,  too,  in  the  spectre's  being 
provided  with  an  infernal  atmosphere  of  his  own.  Scrooge 
could  not  feel  it  himself,  but  this  was  clearly  the  case  ;  for 
though  the  Ghost  sat  perfectly  motionless,  its  hair,  and  skirts, 
and  tassels,  vrere  still  agitated  as  by  the  hot  vapour  from  an 
oven. 

"  You  see  this  toothpick  ?  "  said  Scrooge,  returning  quickly 
to  the  charge,  for  the  reason  just  assigned ;  and  wishing, 
though  it  were  only  for  a  second,  to  divert  the  vision's  stony 
gaze  from  himself. 

"  I  do,"  replied  the  Ghost. 

"  You  are  not  looking  at  it,"  said  Scrooge. 

"  But  I  see  it,"  said  the  Ghost,  "notwithstanding." 

"  WeU  !  "  returned  Scrooge,  "  I  have  but  to  swallow  this, 
and  be  for  the  rest  of  my  days  persecuted  by  a  legion  of 
goblins,  all  of  my  own  creation.  Humbug,  I  tell  you; 
humbug  I  " 

At  this  the  spirit  raised  a  frightful  cry,  and  shook  its  chain 
Tvith  such  a  dismal  and  appalling  noise,  that  Scrooge  held  on 
tight  to  his  chair,  to  save  himself  fi-om  falling  in  a  swoon. 


16  A   CHRISTMAS   CABOL. 

But  how  much  greater  was  his  horror,  when  the  phantom 
taking-  off  the  bandage  round  his  head,  as  if  it  were  too 
warm  to  wear  in-doors,  its  lower  jaw  dropped  down  upon  its 
breast ! 

Scrooge  fell  upon  his  knees,  and  clasped  his  hands  before 
his  face. 

"  Mercy  !  "  he  said.  "  Dreadful  apparition,  why  do  you 
trouble  me  ?  " 

"  Man  of  the  worldly  mind!  "  replied  the  Ghost,  "do  you 
believe  in  me  or  not  ?  " 

"  I  do,"  said  Scrooge.  "  I  must.  But  why  do  spirits  walk 
the  earth,  and  why  do  tliey  come  to  me  ?  " 

"  It  is  required  of  every  man,"  the  Ghost  returned,  "  that 
the  spirit  within  him  should  walk  abroad  among  his  fellow- 
men,  and  travel  far  and  wide ;  and  if  that  spirit  goes  not 
forth  in  life,  it  is  condemned  to  do  so  after  death.  It  is 
doomed  to  wander  through  the  world — oh,  woe  is  me  ! — and 
witness  what  it  cannot  share,  but  might  have  shared  on  earth, 
and  turned  to  happiness  !  " 

Again  the  spectre  raised  a  cry,  and  shook  its  chain  and 
wrung  its  shadowy  hands. 

"You  are  fettered,"  said  Scrooge,  trembling.  "Tell  me 
why  ?  " 

"  I  wear  the  chain  I  forged  in  life,"  replied  the  Ghost. 
"  I  made  it  link  by  link,  and  yard  by  yard ;  I  girded  it  on  of 
my  own  free  will,  and  of  my  own  free  wiU  I  wore  it.  Is  its 
pattern  strange  to  you  ?  " 

Scrooge  trembled  more  and  more. 

"  Or  would  you  know,"  pursued  the  Ghost,  "  the  weight 
and  length  of  the  strong  coil  you  bear  yourself?  It  was  full 
as  heavy  and  as  long  as  this,  seven  Christmas  Eves  ago.  You 
have  laboured  on  it  since.      It  is  a  ponderous  chain !  " 

Scrooge  glanced  about  him  on  the  floor,  in  the  expectation 
of  finding  himself  surrounded  by  some  fifty  or  sixty  fathoms 
of  iron  cable  ;  but  he  could  see  nothing. 

"  Jacob,"  he  said  imploringly.  "  Old  Jacob  Marley,  tell 
me  more.      Speak  comfort  to  me,  Jacob  !  " 

"  I  have  none  to  give,"  the  Ghost  replied.  "  It  comes 
from  other  regions,  Ebenezer  Scrooge,  and  is  conveyed  by 
other  ministers,  to  other  kinds  of  men.  Nor  can  I  tell  you 
what  I  would.  A  very  little  more,  is  all  permitted  to  me. 
I  cannot  rest,  I  cannot  stay,  I  cannot  linger  anywhere.     Mj 


A   CHRISTMAS   CAROL.  17 

spirit  never  walked  bej'ond  our  counting-house^mark  me  ! — 
-in  ]ife  my  spii'it  never  roved  beyond  the  narrow  limits  of  oux 
money-changing  hole  ;   and  weary  journeys  lie  before  me  I  " 

It  was  a  habit  with  Scrooge,  whenever  he  became  thought- 
ful, to  put  his  hands  in  his  breeches'  pockets.  Pondering  on 
what  the  Ghost  had  said,  he  did  so  now,  but  without  lifting  up 
his  eyes,  or  getting  off  his  knees.         =, 

"  You  must  have  been  very  slow  about  it,  Jacob,"  Scrooge 
observed,  in  a  business-like  manner,  though  with  humility 
and  deference. 

"  Slow  !  "  the  Ghost  repeated. 

"  Seven  years  dead,"  mused  Scrooge.  "  And  travelling  all 
the  time  ?  " 

"  The  whole  time,"  said  the  Ghost.  "  No  rest,  no  peace. 
Incessant  torture  of  remorse." 

"  You  ti-avel  fast  ?  "  said  Scrooge. 

"  On  the  wings  of  the  wind,"  replied  the  Ghost. 

"  You  might  have  got  over  a  great  quantit}'-  of  ground  in 
seven  years,"  said  Scrooge. 

The  Ghost,  on  hearing  this  set  up  another  cry,  and  clanked 
its  chain  so  hideously  in  the  dead  silence  of  the  night,  that  tlie 
Ward  would  have  been  justified  in  indicting  it  for  a  nuisance. 

"  O  !  captive,  bound,  and  double -ironed,"  cried  the  phantom. 
"  ^t  to  know  that  ages  of  incessant  labour,  by  immortal 
xreatures,  for  this  earth  must  pass  into  eteruitj'  before  the 
good  of  which  it  is  susceptible  is  all  developed.  Not  to  know 
that  any  Christian  spirit  working  kindly  in  its  little  sphere, 
whatever  it  may  be,  will  find  its  mortal  life  too  short  for  its 
vast  means  of  usefulness.  Not  to  know  that  no  space  of 
regret  can  make  amends  for  one  life's  opportimities  misused  I 
Yet  such  was  I  !     Oh  !  such  was  I !  " 

"  But  you  were  always  a  good  man  of  business,  Jacob." 
faltered  Scrooge,  who  now  began  to  apply  tliis  to  himself. 

"  Business ! "  cried  the  Ghost,  wi'inging  its  hands  again. 
"  Mankind  was  my  business.  The  common  welfare  was  my 
business ;  charity,  mercy,  forbearance,  and  benevolence,  were, 
all,  my  business.  The  dealings  of  my  trade  were  but  a  di\)p 
of  water  in  the  comprehensive  ocean  of  my  business  !  " 

It  held  up  its  chain  at  arm's  length,  as  if  that  were  the 
cause  of  all  its  unavailing  grief,  and  tiuug  it  heavily  upon  the 
ground  again. 

"  x\.t  this  time   of  the   rolling  year,"   the   spectre  said,  "I 

c 


1*?  A   CHRISTMAS   CAROL. 

suffer  most.  Why  did  I  walk  through  crowds  of  fellow -beings 
with  my  eyes  turned  down,  and  never  raise  them  to  that  blessed 
Star  wliich  led  the  Wise  Men  to  a  poor  abode !  Were  there 
no  poor  homes  to  which  its  light  would  have  conducted  me ! " 

Scrooge  was  very  much  dismayed  to  hear  the  spectre  goingf 
on  at  this  rate,  and  began  to  quake  exceedingly. 

"  Hear  me  !"  cried  the  Ghost.      "  My  time  is  nearly  gone." 

"  I  will,"  said  Scrooge.  "  But  don't  be  hard  upon  me ! 
Don't  bo  flowery,  Jacob  !     Pray  !  " 

"  How  it  is  that  I  appear  before  you  in  a  shape  that  you 
can  see,  I  may  not  teU.  I  have  sat  invisible  beside  you  many 
and  many  a  day." 

It  was  not  an  agreeable  idea.  Scrooge  shivered,  and  wiped 
the  perspiration  from  his  brow. 

"  That  is  no  light  part  of  my  penance,"  pursued  the  Ghost. 
"  I  am  here  to-night  to  warn  you,  that  you  have  yet  a  chance 
and  hope  of  escaping  my  fate.  A  chance  and  hope  of  my 
procuring,  Ebenezer," 

"  You  were  always  a  good  friend  to  me,"  said  Scrooge. 
"  Thank 'ee!" 

"  You  will  be  haimted,"  resumed  the  Ghost,  "  by  Tliree 
Spirits." 

Scrooge's  countenance  fell  almost  as  low  as  the  Ghost's  had 
done. 

"  Is  that  the  chance  and  hope  you  mentioned,  Jacob  ?  "  he 
demanded,  in  a  faltering  voice. 

"  It  is." 

"  I — I  think  I  'd  rather  not,"  said  Scrooge. 

"  Without  their  visits,"  said  the  Ghost,  "you  cannot  hope 
to  shun  the  path  I  tread.  Expect  the  first  to-morrow,  w^hen 
the  beU  toUs  One." 

"  Couldn't  I  take  'em  all  at  once,  and  have  it  over,  Jacob  ?" 
hinted  Scrooge. 

"  Expect  the  second  on  the  next  night  at  the  same  hour. 
The  third,  upon  the  next  night  when  thei  last  stroke  of  Twelve 
has  ceased  to  vibrate.  Look  to  see  me  no  more ;  and  look 
that,  for  your  own  sake,  you  rem.omber  what  has  passed 
between  us !  " 

When  it  had  said  theee  words,  the  spectre  took  its 
wrapper  from  the  table,  and  bound  it  round  its  head,  as 
before.  Scrooge  knew  tliis  by  the  smari;  sound  its  teeth  made, 
wnen  the  jaws  were  brought  together  by  the  banda<^e.     He 


A    CHRISTMAS    CAUOL.  19 

veutured  to  raise  his  eyes  again,  and  found  his  supernatural 
visitor  confronting  him  in  an  erect  attitude,  with  its  chain 
wound  over  and  about  its  arm. 

The  apparition  walked  backward  from  him ;  and  at  every 
step  it  took,  the  window  raised  itself  a  little,  so  that  when 
the  spectre  reached  it,  it  was  wide  open.  It  beckoned  Scrooge 
to  approach,  which  he  did.  When  they  were  within  two 
paces  of  each  other,  Marley's  Ghost  held  up  its  hand,  warn- 
ing him  to  come  no  nearer.      Scrooge  stopped. 

Not  so  much  in  obedience,  as  in  surprise  aud  fear ;  for  on 
the  raising  of  the  hand,  he  became  sensible  of'  confused  noises 
in  the  air ;  incoherent  sounds  of  lamentation  and  regret  ; 
wailings  inexpressibly  sorrowful  and  self-accusatory.  The 
spectre,  after  listening  for  a  moment,  joined  in  the  mournful 
dirge  ;  and  floated  out  upon  the  bleak,  dark  night. 

Scrooge  followed  to  the  window  :  desperate  in  his  curiosity. 
He  looked  out. 

The  air  was  filled  with  phantoms,  wandering  hither  and 
thither  in  restless  haste,  and  moaning  as  they  went.  Every 
one  of  them  wore  chains  like  Marley's  Ghost ;  some  few  (they 
might  be  guilty  governments)  were  linked  together  ;  none  were 
free.  Many  had  been  personally  known  to  Scrooge  in  their 
lives.  He  had  been  quite  familiar  with  one  old  ghost,  in  a 
white  waistcoat,  with  a  monstrous  iron  safe  attached  to  its 
ancle,  "ndio  cried  piteously  at  being  unable  to  assist  a  wretched 
woman  with  an  infant,  whom  it  saw  below  upon  a  door-step. 
The  misery  with  them  all  was,  clearly,  that  they  sought  to 
interfere,  for  good,  in  human  matters  and  had  lost  the  power 
for  ever. 

Whether  these  creatures  faded  into  mist,  or  mist  enshrouded 
them,  he  could  not  tell.  But  they  and  their  spirit  voices 
faded  together  ;  and  the  night  became  as  it  had  been  when  he 
walked  home. 

Scrooge  closed  the  window,  and  examined  the  door  by 
which  the  Ghost  had  entered.  It  was  double-locked,  as  he 
had  locked  it  with  his  own  hands,  and  the  bolts  were  un- 
distiu'bed.  He  tried  to  say  "  Humbug  I  "  but  stopped  at  the 
first  syllable.  And  being,  from  ttie  emotion  he  had  undergone, 
or  the  fatigues  of  the  day,  or  his  glimpse  of  the  Invisible 
World,  or  the  dull  conversation  of  the  Ghost,  or  the  lateness 
of  the  hour,  much  in  need  of  repose,  went  straight  to  bed, 
without  undressing,  and  fell  asleep  upon  the  instaufc. 


Sa  A   CHRISTMAS  CAROL. 


STAVE  TWO. 

THE    FIRST    OF   THE   THREE    SPIRITS. 

When  Scrooge  awoke,  it  was  so  dark,  that,  looking  out  of 
bed,  he  could  scarcely  distinguish  the  transparent  window 
trom  the  opaque  walls  of  his  chamber.  He  was  endeavour- 
ing to  pierce  the  darkness  with  his  ferret  eyes,  when  the 
chimes  of  a  neighboui-ing  church  struck  the  four  quarters. 
So  he  listened  for  the  hour. 

To  his  great  astonishment,  the  heavy  bell  went  on  from  .six 
to  seven,  and  from  seven  to  eight,  and  regularly  up  to 
twelve ;  then  stopped.  Twelve !  It  was  past  two  when  he 
went  to  bed.  Tlie  clock  was  wrong.  An  icicle  must  have 
got  into  the  works.      Twelve  ! 

He  touched  the  spring  of  his  repeater,  to  correct  this  most 
preposterous  clock.  Its  rapid  little  pulse  beat  twelve,  and 
stopped. 

"  Why,  it  isn't  possible,"  said  Scrooge,  "  that  I  can  have 
slept  through  a  whole  day  and  far  into  another  night.  It 
isn't  possible  that  anything  has  happened  to  the  sun,  and  this 
is  twelve  at  noon  !  " 

The  idea  being  an  alarming  one,  he  scrambled  out  of  bed, 
and  groped  his  -uay  to  the  window.  He  was  obliged  to  rub 
the  frost  off  with  the  sleeve  of  his  dressing-gown  before  lie 
could  see  anything ;  and  could  see  very  little  then.  All  he 
could  make  out  was,  that  it  was  still  very  foggy  and  ex- 
tremely cold,  and  that  there  was  no  noise  of  people  running 
to  and  fro,  and  making  a  great  stir,  as  there  unquestionably 
would  have  been  if  night  had  beaten  off  bright  day,  and 
taken  possession  of  the  world.  This  was  a  great  relief, 
because  "  Three  days  after  sight  of  this  First  of  Exchange 
pay  to  Mr.  Ebenezer  Scrooge  or  his  order,"  and  so  fortli, 
would  have  become  a  mere  United  States'  secmity  if  there 
were  no  days  to  count  by. 

fci'jruoge  went  to  bed  again,  and  thought,  and  thought,  and 


A   CHRISTMAS  CAROL.  til 

thought  it  over  and  over,  and  could  make  nothing  of  it.  The 
more  he  thought,  the  more  perplexed  he  was ;  and  the  more 
he  endeavoured  not  to  think,  the  more  he  thought. 

Marley's  Ghost  bothered  him  exceedingly.  Every  time  he 
resolved  within  himself,  after  mature  inquiry,  that  it  was  all 
a  dream,  his  mind  flew  back  again,  like  a  strong  spring  re- 
leased, to  its  first  position,  and  presenfed  the  s;ime  problem  to 
be  worked  all  through,  "  Was  it  a  dream  or  not  ?  " 

Scrooge  lay  in  this  state  until  the  chime  had  gone  three 
quarters  more,  when  he  remembered,  on  a  sudden,  that  the 
Ghost  had  warned  him  of  a  visitation  when,  the  bell  tolled 
one.  He  resolved  to  lie  awake  until  the  hour  was  passed ; 
aud,  considering  that  he  could  no  more  go  to  sleep  than  go  to 
Heaven,  this  was  perhaps  the  wisest  resolution  in  his  power. 

The  quarter  was  so  long,  that  he  was  more  than  once  con- 
vinced he  must  have  sunk  into  a  doze  unconsciously,  and 
missed  the  clock.     At  length  it  broke  upon  his  listening  ear. 

"  Ding,  dong !  " 

"  A  quarter  past,"  said  Scrooge,  counting. 

"  Ding,  dong  !  " 

*'  Half-past !  "  said  Scrooge. 

"  Ding,  dong  !  " 

"  A  quarter  to  it,"  said  Scrooge. 

"  Ding,  dong  !  " 

"The  hour  itself,"  said  Scrooge,  triumphantly,  "  and  no- 
thing else !  " 

He  spoke  before  the  hour  bell  sounded,  which  it  now  did 
with  a  deep,  dull,  hollow,  melancholy  One.  Light  flashed  up 
in  the  room  upon  the  instant,  and  the  curtains  of  his  bed  were 
drawn. 

The  curtains  of  his  bed  were  drawn  aside,  I  tell  you,  by  a 
hand.  Not  the  curtains  at  his  feet,  nor  the  curtains  at  his 
back,  but  those  to  which  his  face  was  addressed.  The  curtains 
of  his  bed  were  drawn  aside ;  and  Scrooge,  starting  up  into  a 
half-recumbent  attitude,  found  himself  face  to  face  with  the 
unearthly  visitor  who  drew  tliem  :  as  close  to  it  as  I  am  now 
to  you,  and  I  am  standing  in  the  spirit  at  your  elbow. 

It  was  a  strange  figure — like  a  child :  yet  not  so  like  a 
child  as  like  an  old  man,  viewed  through  some  supernatural 
medium,  which  gave  him  the  appearance  of  having  receded 
from  the  view,  and  being  diminished  to  a  child's  proportions. 
Its  hair,  which  hung   about   its  neck  and  down  its  back,  was 


22  A   CHRISTMAS   CAROL. 

white  as  if  with  age ;  and  yet  the  face  had  not  a  wrinkle  in 
it,  and  the  tenderest  bloom  was  on  the  skin.  The  arms  were 
very  long  and  muscular ;  the  hands  the  same,  as  if  its  hold 
were  of  uncommon  strength.  Its  legs  and  feet,  most  deli- 
cately formed,  were,  like  those  upper  members,  bare.  It 
wore  a  tunic  of  the  purest  white ;  and  round  its  waist  was 
bound  a  lustrous  belt,  the  sheen  of  which  was  beautiful.  It 
held  a  branch  of  fresh  green  holly  in  its  hand ;  and,  in  sin- 
gular contradiction  of  that  wintry  emblem,  had  its  dress 
trimmed  with  summer  flowers.  But  the  strangest  thing  about 
it  was,  that  from  the  crown  of  its  head  there  sprung  a  bright 
clear  jet  of  light,  by  which  aU  this  was  visible ;  and  which 
was  doubtless  the  occasion  of  its  using,  in  its  duller  moments, 
a  great  extinguisher  for  a  cap,  which  it  now  held  under  its 
arm. 

Even  this,  though,  when  Scrooge  looked  at  it  with  increas- 
ing steadiness,  was  not  its  strangest  quality.  For  as  its  belt 
sparkled  and  glittered  now  in  one  part  and  now  in  another, 
and  what  was  light  one  instant,  at  another  time  was  dark,  so 
the  figure  itself  fluctuated  in  its  distinctness  :  being  now  a 
thing  with  one  arm,  now  with  one  leg,  now  with  t\venty  legs, 
now  a  pair  of  legs  without  a  head,  now  a  head  without  a 
body  :  of  which  dissolving  parts,  no  outline  would  be  visible 
in  the  dense  gloom  wherein  they  melted  away.  And  in  the 
very  wonder  of  this,  it  woidd  be  itself  again ;  distinct  and 
clear  as  ever. 

"  Are  you  the  Spirit,  sir,  whose  coming  was  foretold  to 
me  ?  "  asked  Scrooge. 

"  I  am  !  " 

The  voice  was  soft  and  gentle.  Singularly  low,  as  if  instead 
of  being  so  close  beside  him,  it  were  at  a  distance. 

"Who,  and  what  are  you?"  Scrooge  demanded. 

"  I  am  the  Ghost  of  Christmas  Past." 

"  Long  Past  ?  "  inquired  Scrooge ;  observant  of  its  dwarfish 
stature. 

"No.     Your  past." 

Perhaps,  Scrooge  could  not  have  told  anybody  why,  if  any- 
body could  have  asked  him  ;  but  he  had  a  special  desire  to 
see  the  Spirit  in  his  cap ;  and  begged  him  to  be  covered. 

"What!"  exclaimed  the  Ghost,  "would  you  so  soon  put 
out,  with  worldly  hands,  the  light  I  give  ?  Is  it  not  enough 
that  you  are  one  of  those  whose   jjassions  made  this  cap,  and 


A   CHRISTMAS   CAROL.  23 

force  me  througli  whole  trains  of  years  to  wear  it  low  upon 
my  brow  !  " 

Scrooge  reverently  disclaimed  all  intention  to  offend  or  any 
knowledge  of  having  wilfully  "bonneted"  the  Spirit  at  any 
period  of  his  life,  i  He  then  made  bold  to  inquire  what  busi- 
ness brought  him  there. 

"  Your  welfare  !  "  said  the  Ghost.  - 

Scrooge  expressed  himself  much  obliged,  but  could  not 
help  thinking  that  a  night  of  unbroken  rest  would  have  been 
more  conducive  to  that  end.  The  Spirit  must  have  heard  him 
thinking,  for  it  said  immediately :  ' 

"  Yonr  reclamation,  then.     Take  heed  !  " 

It  put  out  its  strong  hand  as  it  spoke,  and  clasped  him 
gently  by  the  arm. 

"  Rise  !  and  walk  with  me  !  " 

It  would  have  been  in  vain  for  Scrooge  to  plead  that  the 
weather  and  the  hour  were  not  adapted  to  pedestrian  purposes ; 
that  bed  was  warm,  and  the  thermometer  a  long  way  below 
freezing ;  that  he  was  clad  but  lightly  in  his  slippers,  dress- 
ing-gown, and  nightcap ;  and  that  he  had  a  cold  upon  him  at 
that  time.  The  grasp,  though  gentle  as  a  woman's  hand, 
was  not  to  be  resisted.  He  rose  :  but  finding  that  the  Spirit 
made  towards  the  window,  clasped  its  robe  in  supplication. 

"I  am  a  mortal,"  Scrooge  remonstrated,  "and  liable  to 
faU." 

*'  Bear  but  a  touch  of  my  hand  there,"  said  the  Spirit,  laying 
it  upon  his  heart,  "  and  you  shaU  be  upheld  in  more  than  this  !  " 

As  the  words  were  spoken,  they  passed  through  the  wall, 
and  stood  upon  an  open  country  road,  with  fields  on  either 
hand.  The  city  had  entirely  vanished.  Not  a  vestige  of  it 
was  to  be  seen.  The  darkness  and  the  mist  had  vanished 
with  it,  for  it  was  a  clear,  cold,  winter  day,  with  snow  upon 
the  ground. 

"  Good  Heaven  !  "  said  Scrooge,  clasping  his  hands  together, 
as  he  looked  about  him.  "  I  was  bred  in  this  place.  I  was 
a  boy  here  !  " 

The  Spirit  gazed  upon  him  mildly.  Its  gentle  touch, 
though  it  had  been  light  and  instantaneous,  appeared  still 
present  to  the  old  man's  sense  of  feeling.  He  was  conscious 
of  a  thousand  odours  floating  in  the  air,  each  one  connected 
with  a  thousand  thoughts,  and  hopes,  and  joys,  and  cares  long, 
long,  forgotten ! 


24  A   CHRISTMAS   CAROL. 

"Your  lip  is  trembling,"  said  the  Ghost.  "And  what  is 
that  upon  your  cheek  ?  " 

Scrooge  muttered,  with  an  unusual  catching  in  his  voice, 
that  it  was  a  pimple ;  and  begged  the  Ghost  to  lead  him 
where  he  would. 

"  You  recollect  the  way  ?  "  inquired  the  Spirit. 

"Remember  it!"  cried  Scrooge  with  fervour;  "I  could 
walk  it  blindfold." 

"  Strange  to  have  forgotten  it  for  so  many  years  !  "  observed 
the  Ghost.      "  Let  us  go  on." 

They  walked  along  the  road.  Scrooge  recognising  every 
gate,  and  post,  and  tree ;  until  a  little  market-town  appeared 
in  the  distance,  with  its  bridge,  its  church,  and  winding  river. 
Some  shaggy  ponies  now  were  seen  trotting  towards  them  with 
boys  upon  their  backs,  who  called  to  other  boys  in  country 
gigs  and  carts,  driven  by  farmers.  All  these  boys  were  in 
great  spirits,  and  shouted  to  each  other,  until  the  broad  fields 
were  so  full  of  merry  music,  that  the  crisp  air  laughed  to 
hear  it. 

"  These  are  but  shadows  of  the  things  that  have  been," 
said  the  Ghost.      "  They  have  no  consciousness  of  us." 

The  jocund  travellers  came  on ;  and  as  they  came,  Scrooge 
knew  and  named  them  every  one.  Why  was  he  rejoiced 
beyond  all  bounds  to  see  them  !  Why  did  his  cold  eye 
glisten,  and  his  heart  leap  up  as  they  went  past !  Why  was 
he  filled  with  gladness  when  he  heard  them  give  each  other 
Merry  Christmas,  as  they  parted  at  cross-roads  and  bye  •wa3^s, 
for  their  several  homes !  What  was  merry  Christmas  to 
Scrooge  ?  Out  upon  merry  Christmas  !  What  goo.i  had  it 
ever  done  to  him  ? 

"  The  school  is  not  quite  deserted,"  said  the  Ghost.  "  A 
solitary  child,  neglected  by  his  friends,  is  left  there  still." 

Scrooge  said  he  knew  it.     And  he  sobbed. 

They  left  the  high-road,  by  a  well-remembered  lane,  and 
soon  approached  a  mansion  of  dull  red  brick,  with  a  little 
weathercock -surmounted  cupola,  on  the  roof,  and  a  bell  hanging 
in  it.  It  was  a  large  house,  but  one  of  broken  fortunes ;  for 
the  spacious  offices  were  Kttle  used,  their  walls  were  damp 
and  mossy,  their  windows  broken,  and  their  gates  decayed. 
Fowls  clucked  and  strutted  in  the  stables ;  and  the  coach- 
houses and  sheds  were  over-run  with  grass.  Nor  was  it  more 
retentive  of  its  ancient  state,  witliiu  ;  for  entering  the  dreary 


A    CHRISTMAS   CAROL.  25 

hall,  and  glancing  through  the  open  doors  of  many  rooms, 
they  found  them  poorly  furnished,  cold,  and  vast.  There  was 
an  earthy  savour  in  the  air,  a  chilly  bareness  in  the  place, 
M'hich  associated  itself  somehow  with  too  much  getting  up 
by  candle-light,  and  not  too  much  to  eat. 

They  went,  the  Ghost  and  Scrooge,  across  the  hall,  to  a 
door  at  the  back  of  the  house.  It  opened  before  them,  and 
disclosed  a  long,  bare,  melancholy  room,  made  barer  still  by 
lines  of  plain  deal  forms  and  desks.  At  one  of  these  a  lonely 
boy  was  reading  near  a  feeble  fire ;  and  Scrooge  sat  down 
upon  a  form,  and  wept  to  see  his  poor  forgotten  self  as  he  had 
used  to  be. 

Not  a  latent  echo  in  the  house,  not  a  squeak  and  scuffle 
from  the  mice  behind  the  panelling,  not  a  drip  from  the  half- 
thawed  water-spout  in  the  dull  yard  behind,  not  a  sigh 
among  the  leafless  boughs  of  one  despondent  poplar,  not  the 
idle  swinging  of  an  empty  storehouse-door,  no,  not  a  clicking 
in  the  fire,  but  fell  upon  the  heart  of  Scrooge  with  softening 
influence,  and  gave  a  freer  passage  to  his  tears. 

The  spirit  touched  him  on  the  arm,  and  pointed  to  his 
younger  self,  intent  upon  his  reading.  Suddenly  a  man  in 
foreign  garments :  wonderfully  real  and  distinct  to  look  at : 
stood  outside  the  window,  with  an  axe  stuck  in  his  belt,  and 
leading  by  the  bridle  an  ass  laden  with  wood. 

"  Why,  it 's  Ali  Baba ! "  Scrooge  exclaimed  in  ecstasy. 
•'It's  dear  old  honest  Ali  Baba!  Yes,  yes,  I  know.  One 
Christmas  time,  when  yonder  solitary  child  was  left  here  all 
alone,  he  did  come,  for  the  first  time,  just  like  that.  Poor 
boy !  And  Valentine,"  said  Scrooge,  "  and  his  wild  brother, 
Orson ;  there  they  go  !  And  what 's  his  name,  who  was  put 
down  in  his  drawers,  asleep,  at  the  gate  of  Damascus  ;  don't 
you  see  him  !  And  the  Sultan's  Groom  turned  upside  down 
by  the  Genii :  there  he  is  upon  his  head  !  Serve  him  right. 
I  'm  glad  of  it.  What  business  had  he  to  be  married  to  the 
Princess !  " 

To  hear  Scrooge  expending  aJI  the  earnestness  of  his  nature 
on  such  subjects,  in  a  most  extraordinary  voice  between  laugh- 
ing and  crying  ;  and  to  see  his  heightened  and  excited  face ; 
would  have  been  a  surprise  to  his  business  friends  in  the  city, 
indeed. 

"  There 's  the  Parrot !  "  cried  Scrooge.  "  Green  body  and 
yellow  tail,  with  a  thing  like  a  lettuce  growing  out  of  the  top 


C^ 


26  A   CHEISTMAS   CAROL. 

of  his  head ;  there  he  is  !  Poor  Robin  Crusoe,  he  called  him, 
when  he  came  home  again  after  sailing  round  the  island, 
'  Poor  Robin  Crusoe,  where  have  you  been,  Robin  Crusoe  ?  ' 
The  man  thought  he  was  dreaming,  but  he  wasn't.  It  wag 
the  Parrot,  you  know.  There  goes  Friday,  running  for  his 
life  to  the  little  creek  !     Halloa  !     Hoop  !     Halloo  !  " 

Then,  with  a  rapidity  of  transition  very  foreign  to  his  usual 
character,  he  said,  in  pity  for  his  former  self,  "  Poor  boy  ! " 
and  cried  again, 

"  I  wish,"  Scrooge  muttered,  putting  his  hand  in  his 
pocket,  and  looking  about  him,  after  drying  his  eyes  with  his 
cuff :   "  but  it 's  too  late  now." 

"  Wliat  is  the  matter  ?  "  asked  the  Spirit, 

"Nothing,"  said  Scrooge.  "Nothing.  There  was  a  boy 
singing  a  Christmas  Carol  at  my  door  last  night,  I  should 
like  to  have  given  him  something  :  that 's  all." 

The  Ghost  smiled  thoughtfully,  and  waved  its  hand  :  saying 
as  it  did  so,  "  Let  us  see  another  Christmas  !  " 

Scrooge's  former  self  grew  larger  at  the  words,  and  the 
room  became  a  little  darker  and  more  dirty.  The  panels 
shrunk,  the  windows  cracked ;  fragments  of  plaster  fell  out  of 
the  ceiling,  and  the  naked  laths  were  shown  instead ;  but  how 
all  this  was  brought  about,  Scrooge  knew  no  more  than  you 
do.  He  only  knew  that  it  was  quite  correct :  that  everything 
had  happened  so  ;  that  there  be  was,  alone  again,  when  all  the 
other  boys  had  gone  home  for  the  jolly  holidays. 

He  was  not  reading  now,  but  walking  up  and  down  de- 
spairingly. Scrooge  looked  at  the  Ghost,  and  with  a  mournfiil 
shaking  of  his  head,  glanced  anxiously  towards  the  door. 

It  opened ;  and  a  little  girl,  much  younger  than  the  boy, 
came  darting  in,  and  putting  her  arms  about  his  neck,  and 
often  kissing  him,  addressed  him  as  her  "  Dear,  dear 
brother." 

"  I  have  come  to  bring  you  home,  dear  brother  I  "  said  the 
child,  clapping  her  tiny  hands,  and  bending  down  to  laugh, 
"  To  bring  you  home,  home,  home  !  " 

"  Home,  little  Fan?  "  returned  the  boy. 

"Yes!"  said  the  child,  brimful  of  glee.  "Home,  for 
good  and  all.  Home,  for  ever  and  ever.  Father  is  so  much 
kinder  than  he  used  to  be,  that  home  's  like  Heaven !  He 
spoke  so  gently  to  me  one  dear  night  when  I  was  going  to 
bed.  that  I  was  not  afi-aid  to  ask  him  once  more  if  you  might 


A   CHRISTMAS   CAROL.  27 

come  home ;  and  he  said  Yes,  you  should ;  and  sent  me  in 
a  coach  to  bring  you.  And  you  're  to  be  a  man  !  "  said  the 
child,  opening  her  eyes;  "and  are  never  to  come  back  here  ; 
but  first,  we  're  to  be  together  all  the  Christmas  long,  and 
have  the  merriest  time  in  all  the  world." 

"  You  are  quite  a  woman,  little  Fan !  "  exclaimed  the  boy. 

She  clapped  her  hands  and  laughed,_  and  tried  to  touch  his 
head ;  but  being  too  little,  laughed  again,  and  stood  on  tiptoe 
to  embrace  him.  Then  she  began  to  drag  him,  in  her 
childish  eagerness,  towards  the  door ;  and  he,  nothing  loth  to 
go,  accompanied  her. 

A  terrible  voice  in  the  haU  cried,  "  Bring  down  Master 
Scrooge's  box,  there !  "  and  in  the  hall  appeared  the  school- 
master himself,  who  glared  on  Master  Scrooge  with  a  ferocious 
condescension,  and  threw  him  into  a  dreadful  state  of  mind 
by  shaking  hands  with  him.  He  then  conveyed  him  and  his 
sister  into  the  veriest  old  well  of  a  shivering  best-parlor  that 
ever  was  seen,  where  the  maps  upon  the  wall,  and  the 
celestial  and  terrestrial  globes  in  the  windows,  were  waxy 
with  cold.  Here  he  produced  a  decanter  of  curiously  light 
wine,  and  a  block  of  curiously  heavy  cake,  and  administered 
instalments  of  those  dainties  to  the  young  people  :  at  the 
same  time,  sending  out  a  meagre  servant  to  offer  a  glass  of 
"something  '•'  to  the  postboy,  who  answered  that  he  thanked 
the  gentleman,  but  if  it  was  the  same  tap  as  he  had  tasted 
before,  he  had  rather  not.  Master  Scrooge's  trunk  being  by 
this  time  tied  on  to  the  top  of  the  cliaise,  the  children  bade 
the  schoolmaster  good-bye  right  willingly ;  and  getting  into 
it,  drove  gaily  down  the  garden-sweep  :  the  quick  wheels 
dashing  the  hoar-frost  and  snow  from  off  the  dark  leaves  of 
the  evergreens  like  spray. 

"  Always  a  delicate  creature,  whom  a  breath  might  have 
withered,"  said  the  Ghost.      "  But  she  had  a  large  heart !  " 

"  So  she  had,"  cried  Scrooge.  "  You  're  right.  I  will  not 
gainsay  it,  Spirit,      God  forbid  !  " 

"  She  died  a  woman,"  said  the  Ghost,  "  and  had,  as  I 
think,  children." 

"  One  child,"  Scrooge  retvtrned. 

"  True,"  said  the  Ghost.     "  Your  nephew  !  " 

Scrooge  seemed  uneasy  in  his  mind ;  and  answered  briefly, 
"  Yes." 

Although  they  had  but  that  moment  left  the  school  behind 


28  A   CHRISTMAS   CAROL. 

them,  tliey  were  now  in  the  busy  thoroughfares  of  a  city, 
where  shadowy  passengers  passed  and  repassed;  where 
shadowy  carts  and  coaches  battled  for  the  way,  and  all  the 
strife  and  tumult  of  a  real  city  were.  It  was  made  plain 
enough,  by  the  dressing  of  the  shops,  that  here  too  it  was 
Christmas  time  agaia ;  but  it  was  evening,  and  the  streets 
were  lighted  up. 

The  Ghost  stopped  at  a  certain  warehouse  door,  and  asked 
Scrooge  if  he  knew  it. 

"  Know  it !  "  said  Scrooge.      "  Was  I  apprenticed  here  !  " 

They  went  in.  At  sight  of  an  old  gentleman  in  a  Welsh 
wig,  sitting  behind  such  a  high  desk,  that  if  he  had  been  two 
inches  taller  he  must  have  knocked  his  head  against  the 
ceiling,  Scrooge  cried  in  great  excitement : 

"  Why,  it 's  old  Fezziwig  !  Bless  his  heart ;  it 's  Fezziwig 
alive  again !  " 

Old  Fezziwig  laid  down  his  pen,  and  looked  up  at  the 
clock,'  which  pointed  to  the  hour  of  seven.  He  rubbed  his 
hands ;  adjusted  his  capacious  waistcoat ;  laughed  all  over 
himself,  from  his  shoes  to  his  organ  of  benevolerce;  and 
called  out  in  a  comfortable,  oily,  rich,  fat,  jovial  voice : 

"Yo  ho,  there!      Ebenezer !      Dick!" 

Scrooge's  former  self,  now  grown  a  yoimg  man,  came 
briskly  in,  accompanied  by  his  fellow-'prentice. 

**  Dick  Wilkins,  to  be  sure  !  "  said  Scrooge  to  the  Ghost. 
"  Bless  me,  yes.  There  he  is.  He  was  very  much  attached 
to  me,  was  Dick.     Poor  Dick  !     Dear,  dear  !  " 

"  Yo  ho,  my  boys  !  "  said  Fezziwig.  "  No  more  work  to- 
night. Christmas  Eve,  Dick.  Christmas,  Ebenezer  !  Let 's 
have  the  shutters  up,"  cried  old  Fezziwig,  with  a  sharp  clap 
of  his  hands,  "  before  a  man  can  say  Jack  Robinson  !  " 

You  wouldn't  believe  how  those  two  fellows  went  at  it  I 
They  charged  into  the  street  with  the  shutters — one,  two, 
three — had  'em  up  in  their  places — four,  five,  sis — barred 
'em  and  pinned  'em — seven,  eight,  nine  —  and  came  back 
before  you  could  have  got  to  twelve,  panting  like  race-horses. 

"  Hilli-ho  !  "  cried  old  Fezziwig,  skipping  down  from  the 
high  desk,  with  wonderful  agility.  "  Clear  away,  my  lads, 
and  let 's  have  lots  of  room  here  !  Hilli-ho,  Dick  !  Chirrup, 
Ebenezer!  " 

Clear  away !  There  was  nothing  they  wouldn't  have 
cleared   away,    or    couldn't    have    cleared   away,    with    old 


A   CHRISTMAS    CAROL.  2P 

Fezziwig  looking  on.  It  was  done  in  a  minute  Every 
movable  was  packed  off,  as  if  it  were  dismissed  from  public 
life  for  evermore ;  the  floor  was  swept  and  watered,  the  lamps 
were  trimmed,  fuel  was  heaped  upon  the  fire ;  and  the  ware- 
house was  as  snug,  and  warm,  and  dry,  and  bright  a  ball- 
room, as  you  would  desire  to  see  upon  a  winter's  night. 

In  came  a  fiddler  with  a  music-book,  and  went  up  to  the 
lofty  desk,  and  made  an  orchestra  of  it,  and  tuned  like  fifty 
stomach-aches.  In  came  Mrs.  Fezziwig,  one  vast  substantial 
smile.  In  came  the  three  Miss  Fezziwigs,  beaming  and 
loveable.  In  came  the  six  young  followers  whose  hearts  they 
broke.  In  came  all  the  young  men  and  women  employed  in 
the  business.  In  came  the  housemaid,  with  her  cousin  the 
baker.  In  came  the  cook,  with  her  brother's  particular 
friend,  the  milkman.  In  came  the  boy  from  over  the  way, 
who  was  suspected  of  not  having  board  enough  from  his 
master;  trying  to  hide  himself  behind  the  girl  from  next 
door  but  one,  who  was  proved  to  have  had  her  ears  pulled  by 
her  mistress.  In  they  all  came,  one  after  another ;  some 
shyly,  some  boldly,  some  gracefully,  some  awkwardly,  some 
pushing,  some  pulling ;  in  they  all  came,  anj'how  and  every- 
how.  Away  they  all  went,  twenty  couple  at  once ;  hands 
half  round  and  back  again  the  other  way ;  down  the  middle 
and  up  again ;  round  and  round  in  various  stages  of  affec- 
tionate grouping ;  old  top  couj^le  alwaj's  turning  up  in  the 
wrong  place  ;  new  top  couple  starting  off  again,  as  soon  as 
they  got  there ;  all  top  couples  at  last,  and  not  a  bottom  one 
to  help  them !  When  this  result  was  brought  about,  old 
Fezziwig,  clapping  his  hands  to  stop  the  dance,  cried  out, 
"  WeU  done!"  and  the  fiddler  plunged  his  hot  face  into  a 
pot  of  porter,  especially  provided  for  that  purpose.  But 
scorning  rest  upon  his  reappearance,  he  instantly  began  again, 
though  there  were  no  dancers  yet,  as  if  the  other  fiddler  had 
been  carried  home,  exhausted,  on  a  shutter,  and  he  were  a 
bran-new  man  resolved  to  beat  him  out  of  sight,  or  perish. 

There  were  more  dances,  and  there  were  forfeits,  and  more 
dances,  and  there  was  cake,  and  there  was  negus,  and  there 
was  a  great  piece  of  Cold  Roast,  and  there  was  a  great  piece 
of  Cold  Boiled,  and  there  were  mince-pies,  and  plenty  of  beer. 
But  the  great  effect  of  the  evening  came  after  the  Iloast  and 
Boiled,  when  the  fiddler  (an  artful  dog,  mind !  The  sort  of 
man  who  knew  his  business  better  than  you  or  I  could  have 


so  A   CHRISTMAS   CAP.OL. 

told  it  him  !)  struck  up  "  Sir  Roger  de  Coverley."'  Then  old 
Fezziwig  stood  out  to  dance  with  ^Nlrs.  Fezziwig.  Top  couple, 
too ;  with  a  good  stiff  piece  of  work  cut  out  for  them  ;  three 
or  four  and  twenty  pair  of  partners  ;  people  who  were  not  to 
be  trifled  with ;  people  who  would  dance,  and  had  no  notion 
of  walking. 

But  if  they  had  been  twice  as  many — ah,  four  times — old 
Fezziwig  would  have  been  a  match  for  them,  and  so  would 
Mrs.  Fezziwig.  As  to  her,  she  was  worthy  to  be  his  partner 
in  every  sense  of  the  term.  If  that 's  not  high  praise,  tell  me 
higher,  and  I  '11  use  it.  A  positive  light  appeared  to  issue 
from  Fezziwig' s  calves.  They  shone  in  every  part  of  the 
dance  like  moons.  You  couldn't  have  predicted,  at  any  given 
time,  what  would  become  of  them  next.  And  when  old 
Fezziwig  and  Mrs.  Fezziwig  had  gone  all  through  the  dance  ; 
advance  and  retire,  both  hands  to  your  partner,  bow  and  curtsey, 
corkscrew,  thread-the-needle,  and  back  again  to  your  place ; 
Fezziwig  "  ciit  " — cut  so  deftly,  that  he  appeared  to  wink 
with  his  legs,  and  came  upon  his  feet  again  without  a  stagger. 

When  the  clock  struck  eleven,  this  domestic  ball  broke  up. 
Mr.  and  Mrs.  Fezziwig  took  their  stations,  one  on  either  side 
the  door,  and  shaking  hands  with  every  person  individually 
as  he  or  she  went  out,  wished  him  or  her  a  Merry  Christmas. 
Wlien  everybody  had  retired  but  the  two  'prentices,  they  did 
the  same  to  them ;  and  thus  the  cheerful  voices  died  away, 
and  the  lads  were  left  to  their  beds ;  which  were  under  a 
counter  in  the  back-shop. 

During  the  whole  of  this  time,  Scrooge  had  acted  like  a 
man  out  of  his  wits.  His  heart  and  soul  were  in  the  scene, 
and  with  his  former  self.  He  corroborated  everything, 
remembered  everything,  enjoyed  everything,  and  underwent 
the  strangest  agitation.  It  was  not  until  now,  when  tlie 
bright  faces  of  his  former  self  and  Dick  were  turned  from 
them,  that  he  remembered  the  Ghost,  and  became  conscious 
that  it  was  looking  full  upon  him,  while  the  light  upon  its 
head  burnt  very  clear. 

"A  small  matter,"  said  the  Ghost,  "to  make  these  silly 
folks  so  full  of  gratitude." 

"  Small !  "  echoed  Scrooge. 

The  Spirit  signed  to  him  to  listen  to  the  two  apprentices, 
who  were  pouring  out  their  hearts  in  praise  of  Fezziwig; 
and  when  he  had  done  so  said, 


A   CHRTSTMAS   CAROL.  31 

'  M^ij !  Is  it  not  ?  He  has  spent  but  a  few  pounds  of 
your  mortal  money  :  three  or  four,  perhaps.  Is  that  so  much 
that  he  deserves  this  praise  ?  " 

"  It  isn't  that,"  said  Scrooge,  heated  by  the  remark,  and 
speaking  unconsciously  like  his  former,  not  his  latter  self. 
"  It  isn't  that,  Spirit.  He  has  the  power  to  render  us  happy 
or  unhappy ;  to  make  our  service  lig^t  or  burdensome ;  a 
pleasure  or  a  toil.  Say  that  his  power  lies  in  words  and 
looks ;  in  things  so  slight  and  insignificant  that  it  is  impos- 
sible to  add  and  coimt  'em  up  :  what  then  ?  The  happiness 
he  gives,  is  quite  as  great  as  if  it  cost  a  fortune." 

He  felt  the  Spirit's  glance,  and  stopped. 

"  ^\T]at  is  the  matter  ?  "  asked  the  Ghost. 

"Nothing  particular,"  said  Scrooge. 

"  Something,  I  think  ?  "  the  Ghost  insisted. 

"  No,"  said  Scrooge,  "  No.  I  should  like  to  be  able  to 
say  a  word  or  two  to  my  clerk  just  now.     That 's  aU." 

His  former  self  turned  down  the  lamps  as  he  gave 
utterance  to  the  wish ;  and  Scrooge  and  the  Ghost  again 
stood  side  by  side  in  the  open  air. 

"My  time  grows  short,"  observed  the  Spirit.      "  Quick  I  " 

This  was  not  addressed  to  Scrooge,  or  to  any  one  whom  ho 
could  see,  but  it  produced  an  immediate  effect.  For  again 
Scrooge  saw  himself.  He  was  older  now;  a  man  in  the 
prime  of  life.  His  face  had  not  the  harsh  and  rigid  lines  of 
later  years ;  but  it  had  begun  to  wear  the  signs  of  care  and 
avarice.  There  was  an  eager,  greedy,  restless  motion  in  the 
eye,  which  showed  the  passion  that  had  taken  root,  and 
where  the  shadow  of  the  growing  tree  would  ftill. 

He  was  not  alone,  but  sat  by  the  side  of  a  fair  young  girl  in  a 
mourning-dress :  in  whose  eyes  there  were  tears,  which  sparkled 
in  the  light  that  shone  out  of  the  Ghost  of  Clmstmas  Past. 

"  It  matters  little,"  she  said,  softly.  "To  you,  very  little. 
Another  idol  has  displaced  me ;  and  if  it  can  cheer  and 
comfort  you  in  time  to  come,  as  I  would  have  tried  to  do,  I 
have  no  just  cause  to  grieve." 

"  What  Idol  has  displaced  you? "  he  rejoined. 

"  A  golden  one." 

"  This  is  the  even-handed  dealing  of  the  world  !  "  he  said. 
"  There  is  nothing  on  which  it  is  so  hard  as  povert}^ ;  and 
tiere  is  nothing  it  professes  to  condemn  with  such  severity  as 
the  pursuit  of  wealth !  " 


32  A   CHRISTMAS   CAROL. 

•'You  fear  the  world  too  much,"  she  answered,  gently, 
"  All  your  other  hopes  have  merged  into  the  hope  of  being 
beyond  the  chance  of  its  sordid  reproach.  I  have  seen  your 
nobler  aspirations  fall  off  one  by  one,  untU  the  master- 
passion.  Gain,  engrosses  you.      Have  I  not?  " 

"What  then?"  he  retorted.  "Even  if  I  have  grown  so 
much  wiser,  what  then?     I  am  not  changed  towards  you." 

She  shook  her  head. 

"Am  I?" 

"  Our  contract  is  an  old  one.  It  was  made  when  we  were 
both  poor  and  content  to  be  so,  imtil,  in  good  season,  we 
could  improve  our  worldly  fortune  by  our  patient  industry. 
You  are  changed.  When  it  was  made,  you  were  another 
man." 

"  I  was  a  bo3%"  he  said  impatiently. 

"  Your  o-«Ti  feeling  tells  you  that  you  were  not  what  you 
are,"  she  returned.  "  I  am.  That  which  promised  happiness 
when  we  were  one  in  heart,  is  fraught  with  misery  now  that 
we  are  two.  How  often  and  how  keenly  I  have  thought  of 
this,  I  will  not  say.  It  is  enough  that  I  have  thought  of  it. 
and  can  release  you." 

"  Have  I  ever  sought  release  ?  " 

"  In  words.     No.     Never." 

"In  what,  then?" 

"In  a  changed  nature ;  in  an  altered  spirit ;  in  another 
atmosphere  of  life  ;  another  Hope  as  its  great  end.  In  every- 
thing that  made  my  love  of  any  worth  or  value  in  your  sight. 
If  this  had  never  been  between  us,"  said  the  girl,  looking 
mildly,  but  with  steadiness,  upon  him;  "tell  me,  would  you 
seek  me  out  and  try  to  win  me  now  ?     Ah,  no  '  " 

He  seemed  to  yield  to  the  justice  of  this  supposition,  in 
spite  of  himself.  But  he  said,  with  a  struggle,  "  You  think 
not." 

"  I  would  gladly  think  otherwise  if  I  could,"  she  answered, 
"Heaven  knows!  When  I  have  learned  a  Truth  like  this. 
I  know  how  strong  and  irresistible  it  must  be.  But  if  you 
■were  free  to-day,  to-morrow,  yesterday,  can  even  I  believe 
that  you  would  choose  a  dowerless  girl — yoM  who,  in  your 
very  confidence  with  her,  weigh  everything  by  Gain :  or, 
choosing  her,  if  for  a  moment  you  were  false  enough  to  your 
one  guiding  principle  to  do  so,  do  I  not  know  that  yottr  re- 
pentance   and    regret   would    surely    follow  ?     I    do ;    and   I 


A    CHRISTMAS    CAKOL.  S3 

release  you.  With  a  full  heart,  for  the  love  of  him  you  once 
vrere." 

He  was  about  to  speak ;  but  with  her  head  turned  from 
him,  she  resumed. 

"  You  may — the  memory  of  what  is  past  half  makes  me 
hope  you  will — have  pain  in  this.  A  very,  very  brief  time, 
and  you  wOl  dismiss  the  recollection  of  it,  gladly,  as  an  un- 
profitable dream,  from  which  it  happened  well  that  you  awoke. 
May  you  be  happy  in  the  life  you  have  chosen !  " 

She  left  him  and  they  parted. 

"  Spirit !  "  said  Scrooge,  "  show  me  no  more  !  Conduct  me 
home.     Why  do  you  delight  to  torture  me  ?  " 

*'  One  shadow  more  !  "  exclaimed  the  Ghost. 

"  No  more  !  "  cried  Scrooge.  "  No  more.  I  don't  wish  to 
see  it.     Show  me  no  more  I  " 

But  the  relentless  Ghost  pinioned  him  in  both  his  arms,  and 
forced  him  to  observe  what  happened  next. 

They  were  in  another  scene  and  place ;  a  room,  not  very 
large  or  handsome,  but  full  of  comfort.  Near  to  the  winter 
fire  sat  a  beautiful  young  girl,  so  like  that  last  that  Scrooge 
believed  it  was  the  same,  until  he  saw  her,  now  a  comely 
matron,  sitting  opposite  her  daughter.  The  noise  in  this 
room  was  perfectly  tumultuous,  for  there  were'  more  children 
there,  than  Scrooge  in  his  agitated  state  of  mind  could  count ; 
and,  unlike  the  celebrated  herd  in  the  poem,  they  were  not 
forty  children  conducting  themselves  like  one,  but  every  child 
was  conducting  itself  like  forty.  The  consequences  were 
uproarious  beyond  belief;  but  no  one  seemed  to  care;  on  the 
contrary,  the  mother  and  daughter  laughed  heartily,  and 
enjoyed  it  very  much;  and  the  latter,  soon  beginning  to 
mingle  in  the  sports,  got  pillaged  by  the  young  brigands  most 
ruthlessly.  AVhat  would  I  not  have  given  to  be  one  of  them  I 
Though  I  never  could  have  been  so  rude,  no,  no !  I  wouldn't 
for  the  wealth  of  all  the  world  have  crushed  that  braided 
hair,  and  torn  it  down ;  and  for  the  precious  little  shoe,  1 
wouldn't  have  plucked  it  off,  God  bless  my  soul !  to  save  my 
life.  As  to  measuring  her  waist  in  sport,  as  they  did,  bold 
young  brood,  I  couldn't  have  done  it ;  I  should  have  expected 
my  arm  to  have  grown  round  it  for  a  punishment,  and  never 
come  straight  again.  And  yet  I  should  have  dearly  liked,  I 
own,  to  have  touched  her  lips ;  to  have  questioned  her,  that 
she  might  have  opened  them ;  to  have  looked  upon  the  lashoa 


34  A   CHRISTMAS   CAROL. 

of  her  downcast  eyes,  and  never  raised  a  bliisli ;  to  liave  let 
loose  waves  of  hair,  an  inch  of  which  would  be  a  keepsake 
beyond  price :  in  short,  I  should  have  liked,  I  do  confess,  to 
have  had  the  lightest  licence  of  a  child,  and  yet  to  have  been 
man  enough  to  know  its  value. 

But  now  a  knocking  at  the  door  was  heard,  and  such  a  rush 
immediately  ensued  that  she  with  laughing  face  and  plundered 
dress  was  borne  towards  it  in  the  centre  of  a  flushed  and 
boisterous  group,  just  in  time  to  greet  the  father,  who  came 
home  attended  by  a  man  laden  with  Christmas  toys  and 
presents.  Then  the  shouting  and  the  struggling,  and  the 
onslaught  that  was  made  on  the  defenceless  porter !  The 
scaling  him,  with  chairs  for  ladders,  to  dive  into  his  pockets, 
despoil  him  of  brown-paper  parcels,  hold  on  tight  by  his 
cravat,  hug  him  roimd  the  neck,  pommel  his  back,  and  kick 
his  legs  in  irrepressible  affection  !  The  shouts  of  wonder  and 
delight  with  which  the  development  of  every  package  was 
received  !  The  terrible  announcement  that  the  baby  had  been 
taken  in  the  act  of  putting  a  doll's  frying-pan  into  his  mouth, 
and  was  more  than  suspected  of  having  swallowed  a  fictitious 
turkey,  glued  on  a  wooden  platter !  The  immense  relief  of 
hnding  this  a  false  alarm !  The  joy,  and  gratitude,  and 
ecstasy  !  They  are  all  indescribable  alike.  It  is  enough  that, 
by  degrees,  the  children  and  their  emotions  got  out  of  the 
parlor,  and,  by  one  stair  at  a  time,  up  to  the  top  of  the  house, 
where  they  went  to  bed,  and  so  subsided. 

And  now  Scrooge  looked  on  more  attentively  than  ever, 
when  the  master  of  the  house,  having  his  daughter  leaning 
fondly  on  him,  sat  down  with  her  and  her  mother  at  his  own 
fireside ;  and  when  he  thought  that  such  another  creature, 
(juite  as  graceful  and  as  full  of  promise,  might  have  caUed 
liim  father,  and  been  a  spring-time  in  the  haggai'd  winter  of 
his  life,  his  sight  grew  very  dim  indeed. 

"  Belle,"  said  the  husband,  turning  to  his  wife  with  a 
smile,  "  I  saw  an  old  friend  of  yours  this  afternoon." 

"Who  was  it?" 

"  Guess ! " 

"  How  can  I  ?  Tut,  dont  I  know,"  she  added,  in  the  same 
breath,  laughing  as  he  laughed.      "  Mr.  Scrooge." 

"Mr.  Scrooge  it  was.  I  passed  his  office  window;  and  as 
it  was  not  shut  up,  and  he  had  a  candle  inside,  I  could 
scarcely  help  seeing  nim.     His  partner  lies  upon  the  point  oi 


A   CHRISTMAS   CAROL.  3/5 

Seatli,  I   liear ;   and  there  he  sat  alone.      Quite  alone  in  the 
world,  I  do  believe." 

"  Spirit !  "  said  Scrooge,  in  a  broken  voice,  "  remove  me 
from  this  place." 

"  I  told  you  these  were  shadows  of  the  things  that  have 
been,"  said  the  Ghost.  "  That  they  are  -what  they  are,  do  not 
blame  me  !  "  ^ 

"  Remove  me  !  "  Scrooge  exclaimed.      "  I  cannot  bear  it !  '* 

He  turned  upon  the  Ghost,  and  seeing  that  it  looked  upon 
him  with  a  face,  in  which  in  some  strange  way  there  were 
-fragments  of  all  the  faces  it  had  shown  him,  wrestled  with  it. 

"  Leave  me  !     Take  me  back.      Haunt  me  no  longer  I  " 

111  the  struggle — if  that  can  be  called  a  struggle  in  which 
the  Gliost.  with  no  visible  resistance  on  its  own  part  was 
undisturbed  by  any  effort  of  its  adversary — Scrooge  observed 
that  its  light  was  burning  high  and  bright ;  and  dimly  con- 
necting that  with  its  influence  over  him,  he  seized  the  ex- 
tinguisher-cap, and  by  a  sudden  action  pressed  it  down  upon 
its  head. 

The  Spirit  dropped  beneath  it,  so  that  the  extinguisher 
covered  its  whole  form ;  but  though  Scrooge  pressed  it  dowTi 
•«ath  all  his  force,  he  could  not  hide  the  light,  which  streamed 
from  under  it,  in  an  unbroken  flood  upon  the  ground. 

He  was  conscious  of  being  exhausted,  and  overcome  by  an 
irresistible  drowsiness ;  and,  further,  of  being  in  his  own  bed 
room.  He  gave  the  cap  a  parting  squeeze,  in  which  his  hand 
relaxed ;  and  had  barely  time  to  reel  to  bed,  before  ho  sauJc 
into  a  heavy  slo«^p. 


86  A   CHRISTMAS   CAROL. 


STAYE  THREE. 


THE    SECOND    OF    THE    THKEE    SPIRITS. 


Awaking  in  tlie  middle  of  a  prodigiously  tough  snore,  and 
dtting  up  in  bed  to  get  his  thoughts  together,  Scrooge  had  no 
occasion  to  be  told  that  the  bell  was  again  upon  the  stroke  of 
One.  He  felt  that  he  was  restored  to  consciousness  in  the 
right  nick  of  time,  for  the  especial  purpose  of  holding  a 
conference  with  the  second  messenger  despatched  to  him 
through  Jacob  Marley's  intervention.  But,  finding  that  he 
turned  uncomfortably  cold  when  he  began  to  wonder  which  of 
his  curtains  this  new  spectre  would  draw  back,  he  put  them 
every  one  aside  with  his  own  hands,  and  lying  down  again, 
established  a  sharr)  look-out  aU  round  the  bed.  For  he 
wished  to  challenge  the  Spirit  on  the  moment  of  its  appear- 
ance, and  did  not  msh  to  be  taken  by  surprise  and  made 
nervous. 

Gentlemen  of  tha  free  and  easy  sort,  who  plume  themselves 
on  being  accquainied  with  a  move  or  two,  and  being  usually 
equal  to  the  time-of-day,  express  the  wide  range  of  their 
capacity  for  adventure  by  observing  that  they  are  good  for 
anything  from  pitch-and-toss  to  manslaughter ;  between  which 
opposite  extremes,  no  doubt,  there  lies  a  tolerably  wide  and 
comprehensive  range  of  subjects.  Without  ventui'ing  for 
Scrooge  quite  as  hardily  as  this,  I  don't  mind  calling  on  you 
to  believe  that  he  was  ready  for  a  good  broad  field  of  strange 
appearances,  and  that  nothing  between  a  baby  and  rhinoceros 
would  have  astonished  him  very  much. 

Now,  being  prepared  for  almost  anything,  he  was  not  by 
any  means  prepared  for  nothing ;  and,  consequently,  when  the 
Bell  struck  One,  and  no  shape  appeared,  he  was  taken  with  a 
violent  fit  of  trembling.  Five  minutes,  ten  minutes,  a  quarter 
of  an  hour  went  by,  yet  nothing  came.  All  this  time,  he  lay 
upon  his  bed,  the  very  core  and  centre  of  a  blaze  of  ruddy 
Light,  'ffhich  streamed  upon  it  when  the  clock  j)roclaimed  the 


A   CHRISTMAS   CAROL.  37 

hcvir  ;  and  w^hich.  being  only  light,  was  more  alarming  than  a 
dozen  ghosts,  as  he  was  powerless  to  make  out  what  it  meant, 
or  would  be  at;  and  was  sometimes  appreliensive  that  he 
might  be  at  that  very  moment  an  interesting  case  of  spon- 
taneous combustion,  without  having  the  consolation  of  know  - 
ing  it.  At  last,  however,  he  began  to  think — as  you  or  I 
would  have  thought  at  fii'st ;  for  it  is  always  the  person  not  in 
the  predicament  who  knows  what  ought  to  have  been  done  in 
it,  and  would  unquestionably  have  done  it  too — at  last,  I  say, 
he  began  to  think  that  the  source  and  secret  of  this  ghostly 
light  might  be  in  the  adjoining  room,  from  whence,  on  further 
tracing  it,  it  seemed  to  shine.  This  idea  taking  full  possession 
of  his  mind,  he  got  up  softly  and  shuffled  in  his  slippers  to 
the  door. 

The  moment  Scrooge's  hand  was  on  the  lock,  a  strange  voice 
called  him  by  his  name,  and  bade  him  enter.     He  obeyed. 

It  was  his  own  room.  There  was  no  doubt  about  that. 
But  it  had  undergone  a  surprising  transformation.  The  walls 
and  ceiling  were  so  hung  with  living  green,  that  it  looked  a 
perfect  grove ;  from  every  part  of  which,  bright  gleaming 
berries  glistened.  The  crisp  leaves  of  hoUy,mistletoe,  and  ivy 
reflected  back  the  light,  as  if  so  many  little  mirrors  had  been 
scattered  there ;  and  such  a  mighty  blaze  went  roaring  up  the 
chimney,  as  that  duU  petrifaction  of  a  hearth  had  never  known 
in  Scrooge's  time,  or  Marley's,  or  for  many  and  many  a  winter 
season  gone.  Heaped  up  on  the  floor,  to  form  a  kind  of 
throne,  were  turkeys,  geese,  game,  poultry,  brawn,  great 
joints  of  meat,  sucking-pigs,  long  wreaths  of  sausages,  mince- 
pies,  plum-puddings,  barrels  of  oysters,  red-hot  chestnuts, 
cherry-cheeked  apples,  juicy  oranges,  luscious  pears,  immense 
twelfth-cakes,  and  seething  bowls  of  punch,  that  made  the 
chamber  dim  with  their  delicious  steam.  In  easy  state  upon 
this  couch  there  sat  a  jolly  Giant,  glorious  to  see ;  who  bore  a 
glowing  torch,  in  shape  not  imlike  Plenty's  horn,  and  held  it 
up,  high  up,  to  shed  its  light  on  Scrooge,  as  he  came  peeping 
round  the  door. 

"  Come  in  !  "  exclaimed  the  Ghost.  "  Come  in  !  and  know 
me  better,  man  !  " 

Scrooge  entered  timidly,  and  hung  his  head  before  tin's 
Spirit.  He  was  not  the  dogged  Scrooge  he  had  been ;  and 
though  the  Spirit's  eyes  were  clear  and  kind,  he  did  not  liko 
to  meet  them. 


38  A   CHRISTMAS   CAROL. 

"  I  am  the  Ghost  of  Christmas  Present,"  said  the  Spiiit. 
"  Look  upon  me  !  " 

Scrooge  reverently  did  so.  It  was  clothed  in  one  simple 
deep  green  robe,  or  mantle,  bordered  with  white  fur.  This 
garment  hung  so  loosely  on  the  figure,  that  its  capacious 
breast  was  bare,  as  if  disdaining  to  be  warded  or  concealed  by 
any  artifice.  Its  feet,  observable  beneath  the  ample  folds  of 
the  garment,  were  also  bare ;  and  on  its  head  it  wore  no  other 
covering  than  a  holly  wreath,  set  here  and  there  with  shiaing 
icicles.  Its  dark  brown  cui-ls  were  long  and  free  ;  free  as  its 
genial  face,  its  sparkling  eye,  its  open  hand,  its  cheery  voice, 
its  unconstrained  demeanour,  and  its  joyful  air.  Girded  round 
its  middle  was  an  antique  scabbard ;  but  no  sword  was  in  it, 
and  the  ancient  sheath  was  eaten  up  with  rust. 

"  You  have  never  seen  the  Hke  of  me  before  ! "  exclaimed 
the  Spirit. 

''  Never,"  Scrooge  made  answer  to  it. 

"Have  never  walked  forthwith  the  younger  members. of 
my  family ;  meaning  (for  I  am  very  young)  my  elder  brothers 
born  in  these  later  years  ?  "  pui'sued  the  Phantom. 

"  I  don't  think  I  have,"  said  Scrooge.  "  I  am  afraid  I 
have  not.     Have  you  had  many  brothers,  Spirit  ?  " 

"More  than  eighteen  hundred,"  said  the  Ghost. 

"  A  tremendous  family  to  provide  for,"  muttered  Scrooge. 

The  Ghost  of  Christmas  Present  rose. 

"Spirit,"  said  Scrooge  submissively,  "conduct  me  where 
you  will.  I  went  forth  last  night  on  compulsion,  and  I  learnt 
a  lesson  which  is  working  now.  To-niglit,  if  you  have  aught 
to  teach  me,  let  me  profit  by  it." 

"  Touch  my  robe  !  " 

Scrooge  did  as  he  was  told,  and  held  it  fast. 

Holly,  mistletoe,  red  berries,  ivy,  turkeys,  geese,  game, 
poultry,  brawn,  meat,  pigs,  sausages,  oysters,  pies,  puddings, 
fruit,  and  punch,  all  vanished  instantly.  So  did  the  room, 
the  fire,  the  ruddy  glow,  the  hour  of  night,  and  they  stood 
in  the  city  streets  on  Christmas  morning,  where  (for  the 
weather  was  severe)  the  people  made  a  rough,  but  brisk  and 
not  unpleasant  kind  of  music,  in  scraping  the  snow  from  the 
pavement  in  front  of  their  dwellings,  and  from  the  tops  of 
their  houses,  whence  it  was  mad  deliglit  to  the  boys  to  see  it 
come  plumping  down  into  the  road  below,  aud  splitting  into 
artificial  little  snow-storms. 


^^^-^^^Ji  /^^^^  :^^^^: 


A   CHRISTMAS   CAROL.  S9 

The  house  fronts  looked  black  enough,  and  the  •svindofl  s 
blacker,  contrasting  with  the  smooth  white  sheet  of  snow 
upon  the  roofs,  and  with  the  dirtier  snow  upon  the  ground ; 
which  last  deposit  had  been,  ploughed  up  in  deep  furrows  by 
the  heavy  wheels  of  carts  and  waggons ;  furrows  that  crossed 
and-recrossed  each  other  hundreds  of  times  where  the  great 
streets  branched  off;  and  made  intricate  channels,  hard  to 
trace,  in  the  thick  yellow  mud  and  icy  water.  The  sky  was 
gloomy,  and  the  shortest  streets  were  choked  up  with  a  dingy 
mist,  half  thawed,  half  frozen,  whose  heavier  particles 
'descended  in  a  shower  of  sooty  atoms',  as  if  all  the  chimneys 
in  Great  Britain  had,  by  one  consent,  caught  fire,  and  were 
blazing  away  to  their  dear  hearts'  content.  There  was 
nothing  very  cheerful  in  the  climate  or  the  town,  and  yet  was 
there  an  air  of  cheerfulness  abroad  that  the  clearest  summer 
air  and  brightest  summer  sun  might  have  endeavoured  to 
diffuse  in  vain. 

For,  the  people  who  were  shovelling  away  on  the  house- 
tops were  jovial  and  full  of  glee ;  calling  out  to  one  another 
from  the  parapets,  and  now  and  then  exchanging  a  facetious 
snowball — better-natured  missile  far  than  many  a  wordy  jest 
— laughing  heartily  if  it  went  right,  and  not  less  heartily  ii 
it  went  wrong.  The  poulterers'  shops  were  still  half  open, 
and  the  fruiterers'  were  radiant  in  their  glory.  There  were 
great,  round,  pot-bellied  baskets  of  chestnuts,  shaped  like  the 
waistcoats  of  jolly  old  gentlemen,  lolling  at  the  doors,  and 
tumbling  out  into  the  street  in  their  apoplectic  opulence. 
There  were  ruddy,  bro^Ti-faced,  broad- girthed  Spanish  onions, 
shining  in  the  fatness  of  theii'  growth  like  Spanish  Friars,  and 
winking  from  their  shelves  in  wanton  sl;yTiess  at  the  girls  aa 
they  went  by,  and  glanced  demurely  at  the  hung-up  mistletoe. 
There  were  pears  and  apples,  clustered  high  in  blooming 
pyramids ;  there  were  bunches  of  grapes,  made,  in  the  shop- 
keepers' benevolence,  to  dangle  fi-om  conspicuous  hooks  that 
people's  mouths  might  water  gratis  as  they  passed ;  there 
were  piles  of  filberts,  mossy  and  brown,  recalling,  in  their 
fragrance,  ancient  walks  among  the  woods,  and  pleasant 
shufflings  ankle  deep  through  withered  leaves ;  there  weie 
Norfolk  Biffins,  squab  and  swarthy,  setting  off  the  yellow  of 
the  oranges  and  lemons,  and,  in  the  great  compactness  of  their 
juicy  persons,  urgently  entreating  and  beseeching  to  be  carried 
home  in  paper  bags  and  eaten  after  dinner.     The  very  gold 


40  A   CHRISTMAS  CAROL. 

and  silver  fish,  set  forth  among  these  choice  fruits  in  a  bowl, 
though  members  of  a  dull  and  stagnant-blooded  race,  appeared 
to  know  that  there  was  something  going  on ;  and,  to  a  fish, 
went  gasping  round  and  round  their  little  world  in  slow  and 
passionless  excitement. 

The  Grocers'  !  oh  the  Grocers'  !  nearly  closed,  with  perhaps 
two  shutters  down,  or  one ;  but  through  those  gaps  such 
glimpses !  It  was  not  alone  that  the  scales  descending  on  the 
counter  made  a  merry  sound,  or  that  the  twine  and  roller  parted 
company  so  briskly,  or  that  the  canisters  were  rattled  up  and 
down  like  juggling  tricks,  or  even  that  the  blended  scents  of 
tea  and  coffee  were  so  grateful  to  the  nose,  or  even  that  the 
raisins  were  so  plentiful  and  rare,  the  almonds  so  extremely 
white,  the  sticks  of  cinnamon  so  long  and  straight,  the  other 
spices  so  delicious,  the  candied  fruits  so  caked  and  spotted 
with  molten  sugar  as  to  make  the  coldest  lookers  on  feel  faint 
and  subsequently  bilious.  Nor  was  it  that  the  figs  were  moist 
and  pulpy,  or  that  the  French  plums  blushed  in  modest  tart- 
ness from  their  highly-decorated  boxes,  or  that  everything  was 
good  to  eat  and  in  its  Christmas  dress;  but  the  customers 
were  all  so  hurried  and  so  eager  in  the  hopeful  promise  of  the 
day,  that  they  tumbled  up  against  each  other  at  the  door, 
crashing  their  wicker  baskets  wildly,  and  left  their  purchases 
upon  the  counter,  and  came  running  back  to  fetch  them,  and 
committed  hundreds  of  the  like  mistakes,  in  the  best  humour 
possible ;  while  the  Grocer  and  his  people  were  so  frank  and 
fresh  that  the  polished  hearts  with  which  they  fastened  their 
aprons  behind  might  have  been  their  own,  worn  outside  for 
general  inspection,  and  for  Christmas  daws  to  peck  at  if  they 
chose. 

But  soon  the  steeples  caUed  good  people  aU,  to  church  and 
chapel,  and  away  they  came,  flocking  through  the  streets  in 
their  best  clothes,  and  with  their  gayest  faces.  And  at  the 
same  time  there  emerged  from  scores  of  bye-streets,  lanes,  and 
nameless  turnings,  innumerable  people,  carrying  their  dinners 
to  the  bakers'  shops.  The  sight  of  these  poor  revellers  appeared 
to  interest  the  Sjjii-it  very  much,  for  he  stood  with  Scroogo 
beside  him  in  a  baker's  doorway,  and  taking  off  the  covers  aa 
their  bearers  passed,  sprinkled  incense  on  their  dinners  from 
his  torch.  And  it  was  a  very  uncommon  kind  of  torch,  for 
onc^  or  twice  when  there  were  angry  words  between  some 
dinner-carriers  who  had  jostled  each  other,  he  shed  a  few 


A   CHRISTMAS   CAROL.  41 

drops  of  water  on  them  from  it,  and  their  good  humour  was 
restored  directly.  For  they  said,  it  was  a  shame  to  quarrel 
upon  Christmas  Day.    And  so  it  was !     God  love  it,  so  it  was  ! 

In  time  the  beUs  ceased,  and  the  bakers  were  shut  up  ;  and 
yet  there  was  a  genial  shadowing  forth  of  all  these  d)r>ners 
and  the  progress  of  their  cooking,  in  the  thawed  blotch  of  wet 
above  each  baker's  oven ;  where  the  pavement  smoked  as  if 
its  stones  were  cooking  too. 

"  Is  there  a  peculiar  flavour  in  what  you  sprinkle  from  your 
torch  ?  "  asked  Scrooge. 

"  There  is.     My  own." 

"  Would  it  apply  to  any  kind  of  dinner  on  this  day  ? " 
asked  Scrooge. 

"  To  any  kindly  given.     To  a  poor  one  most." 

"  Why  to  a  poor  one  most  ?  "  asked  Scrooge. 

"  Because  it  needs  it  most." 

"Spirit,"  said  Scrooge,  after  a  moment's  thought.  "I 
wonder  you,  of  all  the  beings  in  the  many  worlds  about  us, 
should  desire  to  cramp  these  people's  opportunities  of  innocent 
enjoyment." 

"  I !  "  cried  the  Spirit. 

"  You  would  deprive  them  of  their  means  of  dining  every 
seventh  day,  often  the  only  day  on  which  they  can  be  said  to 
dine  at  all,"  said  Scrooge  ;   "  wouldn't  you  ?  " 

"  I !  "  cried  the  spirit. 

"  You  seek  to  close  these  places  on  the  Seventh  Day  ?  "  said 
Scrooge.      "  And  it  comes  to  the  same  thing." 

"  /  seek  !  "  exclaimed  the  Spirit. 

"  Forgive  me  if  I  am  wrong.  It  has  been  done  in  your 
name,  or  at  least  in  that  of  your  family,  "  said  Scrooge. 

"There  are  some  upon  this  earth  of  yours,"  returned  the 
Spirit,  "  who  lay  claim  to  know  us,  and  who  do  their  deeds  of 
passion,  pride,  ill-will,  hatred,  envy,  bigotry,  and  selfishness 
in  our  name,  who  are  as  strange  to  us  and  all  our  kith  and 
kin,  as  if  they  had  never  lived.  Remember  that,  and  charge 
their  doings  on  themselves,  not  us." 

Scrooge  promised  that  he  would ;  and  they  went  on,  in- 
visible, as  they  had  been  before,  into  the  suburbs  of  the  town. 
It  was  a  remarkable  quality  of  the  Ghost  (which  Scrooge  had 
observed  at  the  baker's),  that  notwithstanding  his  gigantic 
size,  he  could  accommodate  himself  to  any  place  with  ease ; 
and  that  he  stood  beneath  a  low  roof  quite  as  gracefully  and  like 


42  A   CHRISTMAS   CAROL. 

8  supernatural  creature  as  it  was  possible  lie  could  have  done 
in  any  lofty  hall. 

And  perhaps  it  was  the  pleasure  the  good  Spirit  had  in 
showing  off  this  power  of  his,  or  else  it  was  his  own  kind, 
generous,  hearty  nature,  and  his  sjonpathy  with  all  poor  men, 
*,hat  led  him  straight  to  Scrooge's  clerk's ;  for  there  he  went, 
and  took  Scrooge  with  him,  holding  to  his  robe  ;  and  on  the 
tlireshold  of  the  door  the  Sj^irit  smiled,  and  stopped  to  bless 
Bob  Cratchit's  dwelling  with  the  sprinklings  of  his  torch. 
Think  of  that !  Bob  had  but  fifteen  "  Bob  "  a-week  himself;  he 
pocketed  on  Saturdays  but  fifteen  copies  of  his  Christian  name ; 
and  yet  the  ghost  of  Christmas  Present  blessed  his  four-roomed 
house ! 

Then  up  rose  Mrs.  Cratchit,  Cratchit's  wife,  dressed  out  but 
poorly  in  a  tAvice-turned  gown,  but  brave  in  ribbons,  which 
are  cheap  and  make  a  goodly  show  for  sixpence  ;  and  she  laid 
the  cloth,  assisted  by  Belinda  Cratchit,  second  of  her 
daughters,  also  brave  in  ribbons ;  while  Master  Peter 
Cratchit  plunged  a  fork  into  the  saucepan  of  potatoes,  and 
getting  the  corners  of  his  monstrous  shirt-collar  (Bob's  private 
property,  conferred  upon  his  son  and  heir  in  honour  of  the 
day)  into  his  mouth,  rejoiced  to  find  himself  so  gallantly 
attired,  and  yearned  to  show  his  linen  in  the  fashionable  Parks. 
And  now  two  smaller  Cratchits,  boy  and  girl,  came  tearing  in, 
screaming  that  outside  the  baker's  they  had  smelt  the  goose, 
and  known  it  for  their  own  ;  and  basking  in  luxurious  thoughts 
of  sage  and  onion,  these  young  Cratchits  danced  about  the 
table,  and  exalted  Master  Peter  Cratchit  to  the  skies,  while  he 
(not  proud,  although  his  collars  near  choked  him)  blew  the 
fire,  untn  the  slow  potatoes  bubbling  up,  knocked  loudly  at 
the  saucepan-Hd  to  be  let  out  and  peeled. 

"  What  has  ever  got  your  precious  father  then  ?  "  said  Mrs. 
Cratchit.  "  And  your  brother,  Tiny  Tim  !  And  Martha 
warn't  as  late  last  Christmas  Day  by  haLf-an-hour !  " 

"Here's  Martha,  mother. "  said  a  girl  appearing  asshespoke. 

"  Here  's  Martha,  mother !  "  cried  the  two  young  Cratchits, 
"  Hurrah  !     There  's  such  a  goose,  Martha  !  " 

"  Why,  bless  your  heart  aHve,  my  dear,  how  late  you  are  !  " 
said  Mrs.  Cratchit,  kissing  her  a  dozen  times,  and  taking  ofl 
her  shawl  and  bonnet  for  her  with  ofiicious  zeal. 

"  We'  d  a  deal  of  work  to  finish  up  last  night,"  replied  the 
girl,  "  and  had  to  clear  away  this  morning,  mother!" 


A  CHRISTMAS    CAROL.  4S 

''  Well !  never  mind  so  long  as  you  are  come,"  said  Mrs. 
Cratcliit.  "  Sit  ye  down  before  the  fire,  my  dear,  and  have  a 
warm,  Lord  bless  ye  !  " 

"  No  no !  There  's  father  coming,"  cried  the  two  young 
Cratchits,  Mdio  were  everywhere  at  once.   "  Hide,  Martha,  hide  I '' 

So  Martha  hid  herself,  and  in  came  little  Bob,  the  father, 
with  at  least  three  feet  of  comfortei-  exclusive  of  the  fringe 
hanging  down  before  him ;  and  his  threadbare  clothes 
darned  up  and  brushed,  to  look  seasonable ;  and  Tiny  Tim 
upon  his  shoulder.  Alas  for  Tiny  Tim,  he  bore  a  littlo 
crutch,  and  had  his  limbs  supported  by  an  iron  frame  ! 

"  Why,  where  's  our  Martha  ?  "  cried  Bob  Cratchit  looking 
round. 

"  Not  coming,"  said  Mrs.  Cratchit. 

"Not  coming!"  said  Bob,  with  a  sudden  declension  in 
liis  high  spirits ;  for  he  had  been  Tim's  blood  horse  all  the 
As'ay  from  church,  and  had  come  home  rampant.  "  Not 
coming  upon  Christmas  Day  !  " 

Martha  didn't  like  to  see  him  disappointed,  if  it  were 
only  in  joke  ;  so  she  came  out  prematurely  from  behind  the 
closet  door,  and  ran  into  his  arms,  while  the  two  young 
Cratchits  hustled  Tiny  Tim,  and  bore  him  off  into  the  wash- 
house,  that  he  might  hear  the  pudding  singing  in  the 
copper. 

"And  how  did  little  Tim  behave?"  asked  Mrs.  Cratchit, 
when  she  had  rallied  Bob  on  his  credulity,  and  Bob  hud 
hugged  his  daughter  to  his  heart's  content. 

"  As  good  as  gold,"  said  Bob,  "  and  better.  Somehow  he  gets 
tlioughtful,  sitting  by  himself  so  much,  and  thinks  the  strangest 
tilings  jou  ever  heard.  He  told  me,  coming  home,  that  he 
hoped  the  people  saw  him  in  the  church,  because  he  was  a 
cripple,  and  it  might  be  pleasant  to  them  to  remember  upon 
Christmas  Day,  who  made  lame  beggars  walk  and  blind  men 
see." 

Bob's  voice  was  tremulous  when  he  told  them  this,  and 
trembled  more  when  he  said  that  Tiny  Tim  was  growing 
strong  and  hearty. 

His  active  little  crutch  was  heard  upon  the  floor,  and  back 
came  Tiny  Tim  before  another  word  was  spoken,  escorted 
by  his  brother  and  sistei  to  liis  stool  beside  the  fire;  and 
while  Bob,  turning  up  hiS  cuti'b — as  if,  poor  fellow,  they  were 
capa))le  of  being  made   more  shalby — compounded  some  hot 


t4  A  CHRISTMAS  CAROL. 

mixture  in  a  jug  with  gin  and  lemons,  and  stirred  it  round 
id  round  and  put  it  on  the  hob  to  simmer ;  Master  Peter 
and  the  •  two  ubiquitous  young  Cratchits  went  to  fetch  the 
goose,  with  which  they  soon  returned  in  high  procession. 

Such  a  bustle  ensued  that  you  might  have  thought  a  goose 
the  rarest  of  all  birds  ;  a  feathered  phenomenon,  to  which  a 
black  swan  was  a  matter  of  course — and  in  truth  it  was  some- 
thing very  like  it  in  that  house.  Mrs.  Cratchit  made  the 
gravy  (ready  beforehand  in  a  lirtle  saucepan)  hissing  hot; 
Master  Peter  mashed  the  potatoes  with  incredible  vigour; 
Miss  Belinda  sweetened  up  the  apple  sauce  ;  Martha  dusted  the 
hot-plates ;  Bob  took  Tiny  Tim  beside  him  in  a  tiny  corner  at 
the  table  ;  the  two  young  Cratchits  set  chairs  for  everybody, 
not  forgetting  themselves,  and  mounting  guard  upon  their 
posts,  crammed  spoons  into  their  mouths,  lest  they  should 
shriek  for  goose  before  their  turn  came  to  be  helj)ed.  At 
last  the  dishes  were  set  on,  and  grace  was  said.  It  was 
succeeded  by  a  breathless  pause,  as  Mrs.  Cratchit,  looking 
slowly  aU.  along  the  carving-knife,  prepared  to  plunge  it  in 
the  breast;  but  when  she  did,  and  when  the  long-expected 
gush  of  stuffing  issued  forth,  one  murmur  of  delight  arose 
aU  round  the  board,  and  even  Tiny  Tim,  excited  by  the 
two  young  Cratchits,  beat  on  the  table  with  the  handle  of 
his  knife,  and  feebly  cried  Hurrah  ! 

There  never  was  such  a  goose.  Bob  said  he  didn't  believe 
there  ever  was  such  a  goose  cooked.  Its  tenderness  and 
flavour,  size  and  cheapness,  were  the  themes  of  universal 
admiration.  Eked  out  by  apple-sauce  and  mashed  potatoes, 
it  was  a  sufficient  dinner  for  the  whole  family;  indeed,  as 
Mrs.  Cratchit  said  with  great  delight  (surveying  one  small 
atom  of  a  bone  upon  the  dish),  they  hadn't  ate  it  all  at 
last !  Yet  every  one  had  had  enough,  and  the  youngest 
Cratchits  in  particular,  were  steeped  in  sage  and  onion  to  the 
eyebrows !  But  now  the  plates  being  changed  by  Miss 
Belinda,  Mrs.  Cratchit  left  the  room  alone — too  nervous  to 
bear  witnesses — to  take  the  pudding  up,  and  bring  it  in. 

Suppose  it  should  not  be  done  enough  !  Suppose  it  should 
break  in  turning  out !  Suppose  somebody  should  have  got 
over  the  wall  of  the  backyard,  and  stolen  it,  while  they  were 
merry  with  the  goose — a  supposition  at  which  the  two  young 
Cratchits  became  livid  !     All  sorts  of  horrors  were  supposed. 

Hallo  !     A  great  deal  of  steam  !     The  pudding  was  out  ol 


A   CHRISTMAS   CAROL.  45 

tlie  copper.  A  smell  like  a  washing-day !  That  was  the 
cloth.  A  smell  like  an  eating-house  and  a  pastrycook's  next 
door  to  each  other,  with  a  laundress's  next  door  to  that ! 
That  was  the  pudding !  In  half  a  minute  Mrs.  Cratchit 
entered — flushed,  but  smiling  proudly — with  the  pudding, 
like  a  speckled  cannon-ball,  so  hard  and  firm,  blazing  in  half 
of  half-a-quartern  of  ignited  brandy,  and  bedight  with 
Christmas  holly  stuck  into  the  top. 

Oh,  a  wonderful  pudding  !  Bob  Cratchit  said,  and  calmly 
too,  that  he  regarded  it  as  the  greatest  success  achieved  by 
Mrs.  Cratchit  since  their  marriage.  Mrs.  Cratchit  said  that 
now  the  weight  was  off  her  mind,  she  would  confess  she  had 
lier  doubts  about  the  quantity  of  flour.  Everybody  had  some- 
thing to  say  about  it,  but  nobody  said  or  thought  it  was  at 
all  a  small  pudding  for  a  large  family.  It  would  have  been 
flat  heresy  to  do  so.  Any  Cratchit  would  have  blushed  to 
liint  at  such  a  thing. 

At  last  the  dinner  was  all  done,  the  cloth  was  cleared,  the 
hearth  swept,  and  the  fire  made  up.  The  compound  in  the 
jug  being  tasted,  and  considered  perfect,  apples  and  oranges 
were  put  upon  the  table,  and  a  shovel  full  of  chestnuts  on  the 
fire.  Then  all  the  Cratchit  family  drew  round  the  hearth,  in 
what  Bob  Cratchit  called  a  circle,  meaning  half  a  one  ;  and  at 
Bob  Cratchit' s  elbow  stood  the  family  display  of  glass.  Two 
tumblers  and  a  custard- cup  without  a  handle. 

These  held  the  hot  stviff  from  the  jug,  however,  as  well  as 
golden  goblets  would  have  done ;  and  Bob  served  it  out  with 
beaming  looks,  while  the  chestnuts  on  the  fixe  sputtered  and' 
cracked  noisily.     Then  Bob  proposed  : 

"  A  Merry  Christmas  to  us  all,  my  dears.     God  bless  us  I" 

Wliich  aU  the  family  re-echoed. 

"  God  bless  us  every  one  I  "  said  Tiny  Tim,  the  last  of  all. 

He  sat  very  close  to  his  father's  side,  upon  his  little  stool. 
Bob  held  his  withered  little  hand  in  his,  as  if  he  loved  the 
child,  and  wished  to  keep  him  by  his  side,  and  dreaded  that 
he  might  be  taken  from  him. 

"  Spirit,"  said  Scrooge,  with  an  interest  he  had  never  felt 
before,  "  tell  me  if  Tiny  Tim  will  live  " 

"  I  see  a  vacant  seat,"  replied  the  Ghost,  "  in  the  poor 
chimney-corner,  and  a  crutch  without  an  owner,  carefully 
preserved.  If  these  shadows  remain  unaltered  by  the  Future 
the  child  will  die." 


46  A   CHRISTMAS   CAROL. 

**  No,  no,"  said  Scrooge.  "  Oh,  no,  kind  Spirit !  say  he 
will  be  spared." 

"  Tf  these  shadows  remain  unaltered  by  the  Future,  none 
other  of  my  race,"  returned  the  Ghost,  "  will  find  him  here. 
What  then  ?  If  he  be  like  to  die,  he  had  better  do  it,  and 
decrease  the  surplus  popvdation." 

Scrooge  hung  liis  head  to  hear  his  own  words  quoted  by  the 
Spirit,  and  was  overcome  with  penitence  and  grief. 

"  Man,"  said  the  Ghost,  "if  man  you  be  in  heart,  not 
adamant,  forbear  that  wicked  cant  until  you  have  discovered 
What  the  surplus  is,  and  ^Vhere  it  is.  Will  you  decide  what 
men  shall  live,  what  men  shall  die  ?  It  may  be,  that  in  the 
sight  of  Heaven,  you  are  more  worthless  and  less  fit  to  live 
than  millions  like  this  poor  man's  child.  Oh  God !  to  hear 
the  Insect  on  the  leaf  pronouncing  on  the  too  much  life 
among  his  hungry  brothers  in  the  dust !  " 

Scrooge  bent  before  the  Gliost's  rebuke,  and  trembb'ng  cast 
his  eyes  upon  the  groimd.  But  he  raised  them  speedily,,  on 
hearing  his  own  name. 

"Mr.  Scrooge!"  said  Bob;  "  I 'U  give  you  Mr.  Scrooge, 
the  Founder  of  the  Feast !  " 

"The  Founder  of  the  Feast  indeed  I "  cried  Mrs.  Cratchit 
reddening.  "  I  wished  I  had  him  here.  I  'd  give  him  a 
piece  of  my  mind  to  feast  upon,  and  I  hope  he  'd  have  a  good 
appetite  for  it." 

"  My  dear,"  said  Bob,  "  the  children  !     Christmas  day." 

"  It  should  be  Christmas  Day,  I  am  sure,"  said  she,  "  on 
which  one  drinks  the  health  of  such  an  odious,  stingy,  hard, 
unfeeling  man  as  Mr.  Scrooge.  You  know  he  is,  Robert ! 
Nobody  knows  it  better  than  you  do,  poor  fellow  ?  " 

"  My  dear,"  was  Bob's  mild  answer.      "  Christmas  Day." 

"  I  'U  drink  his  health  for  your  sake  and  the  Day's,"  said 
Mrs.  Cratchit,  "  not  for  his.  Long  life  to  him !  A  merry 
Christmas  and  a  happy  new  year  !  He  '11  be  very  merry  and 
very  happy,  I  have  no  doubt !  " 

Tlie  children  drank  the  toast  after  her.  It  was  the  first  of 
their  proceedings  which  had  no  heartiness  in  it.  Tiny  Tim 
drank  it  last  of  all,  but  he  didn't  care  twopence  for  it. 
Scrooge  was  the  Ogre  of  the  family.  The  mention  of  his 
name  cast  a  dark  shadow  on  the  party,  which  was  not 
dispelled  for  fidl  five  minutes. 

After  it  had  passed  away,  they  were  ten  "Jrnes  merrier  than 


A  CHRISTMAS   CAROL.  47 

before,  from  the  mere  relief  of  Scrooge  the  Baleful  beiuj'  done 
with.  Bob  Cratchit  told  them  how  he  had  a  situation  in  his 
eye  for  Master  Peter,  which  would  bring  in,  if  obtained,  full 
five-and-sixpence  weekly.  The  two  young  Cratchits  laughed 
tremendously  at  the  idea  of  Peter's  being  a  man  of  business  ; 
and  Peter  himself  looked  thoughtfully  at  the  fii'e  from  between 
his  collars,  as  if  he  were  deliberating  Mdiat  particular  invest- 
ments he  should  favour  when  he  came  into  the  receipt  of  that 
bewildering  income.  Martha,  who  was  a  poor  apprentice  at 
a  milliner's,  then  told  them  what  kind  of  work  she  had  to  dc, 
and  how  many  hours  she  worked  at  a  stretch,  and  how  she 
'  meant  to  lie  a-bed  to-morrow  morning  for  a  good  long  rest ; 
to-morrow  being  a  holiday  she  passed  at  home.  Also  how 
8he  had  seen  a  countess  and  a  lord  some  days  before,  and  how 
the  lord  "  was  much  about  as  tall  as  Peter  ;"  at  which  Peter 
pulled  up  his  collars  so  high  that  you  couldn't  have  seen  his 
head  if  you  had  been  there.  All  this  time  the  chestnuts  and 
the  jug  went  round  and  round  ;  and  bye  and  bye  they  had  a 
song,  about  a  lost  child  travelling  in  the  snow,  from  Tiny  Tim, 
who  had  a  plaintive  little  voice,  and  sang  it  very  well  indeed. 

There  was  nothing  of  high  mark  in  this.  They  were  not 
a  handsome  family  ;  they  were  not  well  di-essed  ;  their  shoes 
were  far  from  being  waterproof ;  their  clothes  were  scanty ; 
and  Peter  might  have  known,  and  very  likely  did,  the  inside 
of  a  pawnbroker's.  But,  they  were  happy,  grateful,  pleased 
with  one  another,  and  contented  with  the  time ;  and  w'hen 
they  faded,  and  looked  happier  yet  in  the  bright  sprinklings 
of  the  Spirit's  torch  at  parting,  Scrooge  had  his  eye  upon 
them,  and  especially  on  Tiny  Tim,  until  the  last. 

By  this  time  it  was  getting  dark  and  snowing  pretty  heavily; 
and  as  Scrooge  and  the  Spirit  went  along  the  streets,  the 
brightness  of  the  roaring  fires  in  kitchens,  parlors,  and  all 
sorts  of  rooms,  was  wonderful.  Here,  the  flickering  of  the 
blaze  showed  preparations  for  a  cosy  dinner,  with  hot  plates 
baking  through  and  through  before  the  fire,  and  deep  red 
curtains,  ready  to  be  drawn  to  shut  out  cold  and  darkness. 
There,  all  the  cliildren  of  tlie  house  were  rimning  out  into  the 
snow  to  meet  their  married  sisters,  brothers,  cousins,  uncles, 
aunts,  and  be  the  first  to  greet  them.  Here,  again,  were 
shadows  on  the  window-blinds  of  guests  assembling ;  and 
there  a  group  of  handsome  girls,  all  hooded  and  fur-booted, 
and   all  chattering   at  once,  tripped  lightly  off  to  some  neju 


*8  A   CHRISTMAS   CAROL. 

neighbour's  house  ;  where,  wo  upon  the  single  man  who  saw 
them  enter — artful  witches,  well  they  knew  it — in  a  glow  ! 

But,  if  you  had  judged  from  the  numbers  of  people  on 
their  way  to  friendly  gatherings,  you  might  have  thought  that 
no  one  was  at  home  to  give  them  welcome  when  they  got 
there,  instead  of  every  house  expecting  company,  and  piling 
up  its  fires  half-chimney  high.  Blessings  on  it,  how  the 
Ghost  exulted  !  How  it  bared  its  breadth  of  breast,  and 
opened  its  capacious  palm,  and  floated  on,  outpouring,  with  a 
generous  hand,  its  bright  and  harmless  mirth  on  everything 
within  its  reach  !  The  very  lamplighter,  who  ran  on  before, 
dotting  the  dusky  street  with  specks  of  light,  and  who  was 
dressed  to  spend  the  evening  somewhere,  laughed  out  loudly 
as  the  Spirit  passed,  though  little  kenned  the  lamplighter  that 
he  had  any  company  but  Christmas  ! 

And  now,  without  a  word  of  warning  from  the  Ghost,  they 
stood  upon  a  bleak  and  desert  moor,  where  monstrous  masses 
of  rude  stone  were  cast  about,  as  though  it  were  the  burial- 
place  of  giants ;  and  water  spread  itself  wheresoever  it  listed ; 
or  would  have  done  so,  but  for  the  frost  that  held  it  prisoner ; 
and  nothing  grew  but  moss  and  furze,  and  coarse,  rank  giass. 
Down  in  the  west  the  setting  sun  had  left  a  streak  of  fiery  red, 
which  glared  upon  the  desolation  for  an  instant,  like  a  sullen 
eye,  and  frowning  lower,  lower,  lower  yet,  was  lost  in  the 
thick  gloom  of  darkest  night. 

"  What  place  is  this  ?  "  asked  Scrooge. 

"A  place  where  Miners  live,  who  labour  in  the  bowels 
of  the  earth,"  returned  the  Spirit.  "  But  they  know  me. 
See ! " 

A  light  shone  from  the  window  of  a  hut,  and  swiftly  they 
advanced  towards  it.  Passing  through  the  wall  of  mud  and 
stone,  they  found  a  cheerful  company  assembled  round  a 
glowing  fire.  An  old,  old  man  and  woman,  with  their  chil- 
dren and  their  children's  children,  and  another  generation 
beyond  that,  all  decked  out  gaily  in  their  holiday  attire.  The 
old  man,  in  a  voice  that  seldom  rose  above  the  howling  of  the 
wind  upon  the  barren  waste,  was  singing  them  a  Christmas 
song  ;  it  had  been  a  very  old  song  when  he  was  a  boy ;  and 
from  time  to  time  they  all  joined  in  the  chorus.  So  surely  as 
they  raised  their  voices,  the  old  man  got  quite  blithe  and  loud  ; 
and  so  surely  as  they  stopped,  his  vigour  sank  again. 

The  Spirit  did  not  tarry  here,  but  bade  Scrooge  hold  hir 


A  CHRISTMAS   CAROL.  49 

robe,  and  passing  *on  above  the  moor,  sped  whitber  ?  Not  to 
eea  ?  To  sea.  To  Scrooge's  horror,  looking  back,  he  saw 
the  last  of  the  land,  a  frightful  range  of  rocks,  behind  them  ; 
and  his  ears  were  deafened  by  the  thundering  of  water,  as  it 
rolled,  and  roared,  and  raged  among  the  dreadful  caverns  it 
had  worn,  and  fiercely  tried  to  undermine  the  earth. 

Built  upon  a  dismal  reef  of  sunken  rocks,  some  league  or 
so  from  shore,  on  which  the  waters  chafed  and  dashed,  the 
wild  year  through,  there  stood  a  solitary  lighthouse.  Great 
heaps  of  sea-weed  clung  to  its  base,  and  storm-birds — born 
of  the  wind  one  might  suppose,  as  sea-weed  of  the  water — 
'rose  and  feU  about  it,  like  the  waves  they  skimnled. 

But  even  here,  two  men  who  watched  the  light  had  made  a 
fixe,  that  tlu'ough  the  loophole  in  the  thick  stone  wall  shed 
out  a  ray  of  brightness  on  the  awful  sea.  Joining  their 
horny  hands  over  the  rough  table  at  which  they  sat,  tliey 
wished  each  other  Merry  Christmas  in  their  can  of  grog  ; 
and  one  of  them :  the  elder  too,  with  his  face  aU  damaged 
and  scarred  with  hard  weather,  as  the  figure-head  of  an  old 
ship  might  be :  struck  up  a  sturdy  song  that  was  like  a  gale 
in  itself. 

Again  the  Ghost  sped  on,  above  the  black  and  heaving  sea 
— on,  on — until,  being  far  away,  as  he  told  Scrooge,  from  any 
shore,  they  lighted  on  a  ship.  They  stood  beside  the  helms- 
man at  the  v/heei,  the  look-out  in  the  bow,  the  ofiicers  who  had 
the  watch ;  dark,  ghostly  figures  in  their  several  stations ;  but 
every  man  among  them  hummed  a  Christmas  tune,  or  had  a 
Christmas  thought,  or  spoke  below  his  breath  to  his  companion 
of  some  by-gone  Christmas  Day,  with  homeward  hopes  belong- 
ing to  it.  And  every  man  on  board,  waking  or  sleeping,  good 
or  bad,  had  had  a  kinder  word  for  one  another  on  that  day 
than  on  any  day  in  the  year ;  and  had  shared  to  some 
extent  in  its  festivities ;  and  had  remembered  those  he  cared 
for  at  a  distance,  and  had  known  that  they  delighted  to 
remember  him. 

It  was  a  great  surprise  to  Scrooge,  while  listening  to  the 
moaning  of  the  mnd,  and  thinking  what  a  solemn  thing  it 
was  to  move  on  through  the  lonely  darkness  over  an  ^mkno^vu 
abyss,  whose  depths  were  secrets  as  profound  as  Death :  it 
was  a  great  surprise  to  Scrooge,  whUe  thus  engaged,  to  liear 
a  hearty  laugh.  It  was  a  much  greator  surprise  to  Scrooge 
to  recognise  it  as  his  own  nephew's,  and  to  find  himself  in  a 

E 


50  A   CHRISTMAS   CAROL. 

bright,  diy,  gleaming  room,  with  the  Spirit  standing  smiling 
by  his  side,  and  looking  at  that  same  nephew  with  approving 
affability  ! 

"  Ha  !  ha  !  "  laughed  Scrooge's  nephew.      "  Ha,  ha,  ha  !  " 

If  you  should  happen,  by  any  unlikely  chance,  to  know  a 

man  more  blest  in  a  laugh  than  Scrooge's  nephew,  all  I  can 

say  is,  I  should  like  to  know  him  too.      Introduce  him  to  me, 

and  I  'U  cultivate  his  acquaintance. 

I^,  is  a  fair,  even-handed,  noble  adjustment  of  things,  that 
while  there  is  infection  in  disease  and  sorrow,  there  is  nothing 
in  the  world  so  irresistibly  contagious  as  laughter  and  good- 
humour.  When  Scrooge's  nephew  laughed  in  this  way  : 
holding  his  sides,  rolling  his  head,  and  twisting  his  face  into 
tlie  most  extravagant  contortions  :  Scrooge's  niece,  by 
marriage,  laughed  as  heartily  as  he.  And  their  assembled 
friends  being  not  a  bit  behindhand,  roared  out  lustily. 
"  Ha,  ha  !     Ha,  ha,  ha,  ha  !  " 

"  He  said  that  Christmas  was  a  humbug,  as  I  live !  "  cried 
Scrooge's  nephew.     "  He  believed  it  too  !  " 

"  More  shame  for  him,  Fred !  "  said  Scrooge's  niece,  indig- 
nantly. Bless  those  women  !  they  never  do  anything  by 
halves.     They  are  always  in  earnest. 

She  was  very  pretty ;  exceedingly  pretty.  With  a  dimpled, 
surprised-looking,  capital  face  ;  a  ripe  little  mouth,  that 
seemed  made  to  be  kissed — as  no  doubt  it  was  ;  all  kinds  of 
good  little  dots  about  her  chin,  that  melted  into  one  another 
when  she  laughed ;  and  the  sunniest  pair  of  eyes  you  ever 
saw  in  any  little  creature's  head.  Altogether  she  was  what 
you  would  have  called  provoking,  you  know ;  but  satisfactory, 
loo.     Oh,  perfectly  satisfactory. 

"  He  's  a  comical  old  fellow,"  said  Scrooge's  nephew,  "that's 
the  truth ;  and  not  so  pleasant  as  he  might  be.  However, 
his  offences  carry  their  own  punishment,  and  I  have  nothing 
IjQ  say  against  him." 

"  I  'm  sure  he  is  very  rich,  Fred,"  hinted  Scrooge's  nieo«. 
**  At  least  you  always  tell  me  so." 

"  What  of  that,  my  dear !  "  said  Scrooge's  nephew.  "  His 
wealth  is  of  no  use  to  him.  He  don't  do  any  good  with  it. 
He  don't  make  himself  comfortable  with  it.  He  hasn't  the 
satisfaction  of  thinking — ha,  ha,  ha ! — that  he  is  ever  going 
to  benefit  Us  with  it." 

"  I  have  no  patience  with  him,"  observed  Scrcoge's  niew. 


A    CHRISTMAS   CAROL.  51 

Scrooge's  niece's  sisters,  and  all  the  other  ladies,  expressed  the 
same  opinion. 

"Oh,  I  have!"  said  Scrooge's  nephew.  "I  am  sorry  for 
him  ;  I  couldn't  be  angry  with  hira  if  I  tried.  Who  suffers 
by  his  ill  whims  !  Himself,  always.  Here,  he  takes  it  into 
his  head  to  dislike  us,  and  he  won't  come  and  dine  with  us. 
What's  the  consequence  ?     He  don't  lose  much  of  a  dinner." 

"  Indeed,  I  think  he  loses  a  very  good  dinner,"  interrupted 
Scrooge's  niece.     Everybody  else  said    the    same,   and    they 
must  be  allowed  to  have  been  competent  judges,  because  they 
had  just  had  dinner ;   and  with  the  .dessert  upon  the   table 
'were  clustered  round  the  fire,  by  lamplight. 

"  Well !  I  am  very  glad  to  hear  it,"  said  Scrooge's  nephew, 
"  because  I  haven't  any  great  faith  in  these  young  house- 
keepers.    What  do  you  say.  Topper  ?  " 

Topper  had  clearly  got  his  eye  upon  one  of  Scrooge's  niece's 
sisters,  for  he  answered  that  a  bachelor  was  a  wretched  out- 
cast, who  had  no  right  to  express  an  opinion  on  the  subject. 
Whereat  Scrooge's  niece's  sister — the  plump  one  with  the  lace 
tucker  :  not  the  one  with  the  roses — blushed. 

"  Do  go  on,  Fred,"  said  Scrooge's  niece,  clapping  her  hands. 
"  He  never  finishes  what  he  begins  to  say  !  He  is  such  a 
ridiculous  fellow !  " 

Scrooge's  nephew  revelled  in  another  laugh,  and  as  it  was 
impossible  to  keep  the  infection  off ;  though  the  plump  sister 
tried  hard  to  do  it  with  aromatic  vinegar ;  his  example  was 
unanimously  followed. 

"I  was  only  going  to  say,"  said  Scrooge's  nephew,  "that 
the  consequence  of  his  taking  a  dislike  to  us,  and  not  making 
merry  with  us,  is,  as  I  think,  that  he  loses  some  pleasant 
moments,  which  could  do  him  no  harm.  I  am  sure  he 
loses  pleasanter  companions  than  he  can  find  in  his  own 
thoughts,  either  in  his  mouldy  old  office,  or  his  dusty  cham- 
bers. I  mean  to  give  him  the  same  chance  every  year, 
whether  he  likes  it  or  not,  for  I  pity  him.  He  may  rail  at 
Christmas  till  he  dies,  but  he  can't  help  thinking  better  of  it 
■ — I  defy  him — if  he  finds  me  going  there,  in  good  temper, 
year  after  year,  and  saying,  '  Uncle  Scrooge,  how  are  you  ? ' 
If  it  only  puts  him  in  the  vein  to  leave  his  poor  clerk  fifty 
pounds,  that's  something ;  and  1  think  I  shook  him,  yesterday." 

It  was  their  turn  to  laugh  now,  at  the  notion  of  his  shakiii;^ 
Scrooge.     But  being  thoroughly  good-natured,  and  not  mutih 


52  A   CHRISTMAS   CAROL. 

caring  what  they  laughed  at,  so  that  they  laughed  at  any  rate, 
he  encouraged  them  in  their  merriment,  and  passed  the  bottle, 
joyously. 

After  tea,  they  had  some  music.  For  they  were  a  musical 
family,  and  knew  what  they  were  about,  when  they  sung  a 
Glee  or  Catch,  I  can  assure  you :  especially  Topper,  who 
could  growl  away  in  the  bass  like  a  good  one,  and  never  sweU 
the  large  veins  in  his  forehead,  or  get  red  in  the  face  over  it. 
Scrooge's  niece  played  well  upon  the  harp ;  and  played  among 
other  tunes  a  simple  little  air  (a  mere  nothing  :  you  might 
learn  to  whistle  it  in  two  minutes),  which  had  been  familiar 
to  the  child  who  fetched  Scrooge  from  the  boarding-school,  as 
he  had  been  reminded  by  the  Ghost  of  Christmas  Past.  When 
this  strain  of  music  sounded,  all  the  things  that  Ghost  had 
shown  him,  came  upon  his  mind  ;  he  softened  more  and  more  ; 
and  thought  that  if  he  could  have  listened  to  it  often,  years 
ago,  he  might  have  cultivated  the  kindnesses  of  life  for  his 
own  happiness  with  his  own  hands,  without  resorting  to'  the 
sexton's  spade  that  buried  Jacob  Marley. 

But  they  didn't  devote  the  whole  evening  to  music.  After 
a  while  they  played  at  forfeits ;  for  it  is  good  to  be  children 
sometimes,  and  never  better  than  at  Christmas,  when  its  mighty 
Founder  was  a  child  himself.  Stop  !  There  was  first  a  game 
at  blind-man's  buff.  Of  course  there  was.  And  I  no  more 
believe  Topper  was  really  blind  than  I  believe  he  had  eyes  in 
his  boots.  My  opinion  is,  that  it  was  a  done  thing  between  him 
and  Scrooge's  nephew ;  and  that  the  Ghost  of  Christmas 
Present  knew  it.  The  way  he  went  after  that  plump  sister  in 
the  lace  tucker,  was  an  outrage  on  the  credulity  of  human 
nature.  Knocking  down  the  fire-irons,  tumbling  over  the 
chairs,  bumping  up  against  the  piano,  smothering  himself 
amongst  the  curtains,  wherever  she  went,  there  went  he  !  He 
always  knew  where  the  plump  sister  was.  He  wouldn't  catch 
anybody  else.  If  you  had  fallen  up  against  him,  (as  some  of 
them  did)  on  purpose,  he  would  have  made  a  feint  of  endea- 
vouring to  seize  you,  vrhich  would  have  been  an  affront  to  your 
understanding,  and  woidd  instantly  have  sidled  off  in  the 
direction  of  the  plump  sister.  She  often  cried  out  that  it 
wasn't  fair ;  and  it  really  was  not.  But  when  at  last,  he 
caught  her  ;  Vv-hen,  in  spite  of  all  her  silken  rustlings,  and  her 
rapid  flutterings  past  him,  he  got  her  into  a  corner  whence 
there  was  no  escape  ;  thou  his  conduct  was  the  most  execrable. 


A   CHRISTMAS   CAROL.  5S 

For  liis  pretending  not  to  know  her ;  his  pretending  that  it  was 
necessary  to  touch  her  head-dress,  and  further  to  assure  him- 
self of  her  identity  by  pressing  a  certain  ring  upon  her  finger, 
and  a  certain  chain  about  her  neck  ;  was  vile,  monstrous  I  No 
doubt  she  told  him  her  opinion  of  it,  when,  anotner  blind- 
man  being  in  office,  they  were  so  very  confidential  together, 
behind  the  curtains. 

Scrooge's  niece  was  not  one  of  the  blind-man's  bufi"  party, 
but  was  made  comfortable  with  a  large  chair  and  a  footstool, 
in  a  snug  corner  where  the  Ghost  and  Scrooge  were  close 
behind  her.  But  she  joined  in  the  forfeits,  and. loved  her  love 
to  admiration  with  all  the  letters  of  the  alphabet.  Likewise 
at  the  game  of  How,  When,  and  AVhere,  she  was  very  great, 
and,  to  the  secret  joy  of  Scrooge's  nephew,  beat  her  sisters 
hoUow :  though  they  were  sharp  girls  too,  as  Topper  could 
have  told  you.  There  might  have  been  twenty  people  there, 
young  and  old,  but  they  all  played,  and  so  did  Scrooge ;  for, 
wholly  forgetting  in  the  interest  he  had  in  what  was  going  on, 
that  his  voice  made  no  sound  in  their  ears,  he  sometimes  came 
out  with  his  guess  quite  loud,  and  veiy  often  guessed  right, 
too ;  for  the  sharpest  needle,  best  Whitechapel,  warranted 
not  to  cut  in  the  eye,  was  not  sharper  than  Scrooge ;  blunt 
as  he  took  it  in  his  head  to  be. 

The  Ghost  was  greatly  pleased  to  find  him  in  this  mood, 
and  looked  upon  him  with  such  favour,  that  he  begged  like  a 
boy  to  be  allowed  to  stay  until  the  guests  departed.  But  this 
the  Spirit  said  could  not  be  done. 

"Here  is  a  new  game,"  said  Scrooge.  "One  half  hoiir. 
Spirit,  only  one  !" 

It  was  a  Game  called  Yes  and  No,  where  Scrooge's  nephew 
had  to  think  of  something,  and  the  rest  must  fiud  out  what ; 
he  only  answering  to  their  questions  yes  or  no,  as  the  case  was. 
The  brisk  fire  of  questioning  to  which  he  was  exposed,  elicited 
from  him  that  he  was  thinking  of  an  animal,  a  live  animal, 
rather  a  disagreeable  animal,  a  savage  animal,  an  animal  that 
growled  and  grunted  sometimes,  and  talked  sometimes,  and 
lived  in  London,  and  walked  about  the  streets,  and  wasn't 
made  a  show  of,  and  wasn't  led  by  anybody,  and  didn't  live 
in  a  menagerie,  and  was  never  killed  in  a  market,  and  was 
not  a  horse,  or  an  ass,  or  a  cow,  or  a  bull,  or  a  tiger,  or  a  dog, 
or  a  pig,  or  a  cat,  or  a  bear.  At  every  fresh  question  that 
was  put   to  him,    this  nephew  burst   into   a  fresh   roar  of 


M  A  CHRISTMAS   CAROL. 

laughter ;  and  ■vras  so  inexpressibly  tickled,  that  he  -was 
obliged  to  get  up  off  the  sofa  and  stamp.  At  last  the  plump 
sister,  falling  into  a  similar  state,  cried  out : 

"  I  have  found  it  out !  I  know  what  it  is,  Fred  !  I  know 
what  it  is  !  " 

"What  is  it?"  cried  Fred. 

"  It 's  your  uncle  Scro-o-o-o-oge  !  " 

Which  it  certainly  was.  Admiration  was  the  universal  sen- 
timent, though  some  objected  that  the  reply  to  "Is  it  a  bear?" 
ought  to  have  been  "Yes;  "  inasmuch  as  an  answer  in  the 
negative  was  sufficient  to  have  diverted  their  thoughts  from 
Mr.  Scrooge,  supposing  they  had  ever  had  any  tendency  that 
way. 

"  He  has  given  us  plenty  of  merriment,  I  am  sure,"  said 
Fred,  "  and  it  would  be  ungrateful  not  to  drink  his  health. 
Here  is  a  glass  of  mulled  wine  ready  to  our  hand  at  the  mo- 
ment ;   and  I  say,  '  Uncle  Scrooge  ! '  " 

"  Well !  Uncle  Scrooge  !  "  they  cried. 

"  A  Merry  Christmas  and  a  happy  New  Year  to  the  old 
man,  whatever  he  is  !  "  said  Scrooge's  nephew.  "  He  wouldn't 
take  it  from  me,  but  may  he  have  it,  nevertheless.  Uncle 
Scrooge  !  " 

Uncle  Scrooge  had  imperceptibly  become  so  gay  and  light 
of  heart,  that  he  would  have  pledged  the  unconscious  com- 
pany in  return,  and  thanked  them  in  an  inaudible  speech  if 
the  Ghost  had  given  him  time.  But  the  whole  scene  passed 
off  in  the  breath  of  the  last  word  spoken  by  his  nephew ;  and 
he  and  the  Spirit  were  again  upon  their  travels. 

Much  they  saw,  and  far  they  went,  and  many  homes  they 
visited,  but  always  with  a  happy  end.  The  Spirit  stood 
beside  sick  beds,  and  they  were  cheerful ;  on  foreign  lands, 
and  they  were  close  at  home  ;  by  struggling  men,  and  they 
were  patient  in  their  greater  hope  ;  by  poverty,  and  it  was 
rich.  In  almshouse,  hospital,  and  jail,  in  misery's  every 
refuge,  where  vain  man  in  his  little  brief  authority  had  not 
made  fast  the  door,  and  barred  the  Spirit  out,  he  left  his  bles- 
sing, and  taught  Scrooge  his  precepts. 

It  was  a  long  night,  if  it  were  only  a  night ;  but  Scrooge 
had  his  doubts  of  this,  because  the  Christmas  HoKdaya 
appeared  to  be  condensed  into  the  space  of  time  they  piassed 
together.  It  was  strange,  too,  that  while  Scrooge  remained 
unaltered  in  his  outward  form,  the  Ghost  grew  older,  clearly 


A    CTirtTSTJTAS    CAROL.  5-5 

oldor.  Scruoge  had  observed  this  change,  but  never  spoke  of 
it,  until  they  left  a  children's  TweKth  Night  party,  when, 
looking  at  the  Spirit  as  they  stood  together  in  an  open  place, 
he  noticed  that  its  hair  was  gray. 

"Are  spirits'  lives  so  short?"  asked  Scrooge. 

"  My  life  upon  this  globe  is  very  brief,"  replied  the  Ghost. 
"  It  ends  to-night." 

"  To-night !  "  cried  Scrooge. 

"To-night  at  midnight.  Hark!  The  time  is  drawing 
near." 

The  chimes  were  ringing  the  three  quarters  past  eleven  at 
that  moment. 

"  Forgive  me  if  I  am  not  justified  in  what  I  ask,"  said 
Scrooge,  looking  intently  at  the  Spirit's  robe,  "  but  I  see 
something  strange,  and  not  belonging  to  yourself,  protruding 
from  your  skirts.     Is  it  a  foot  or  a  claw  ?  " 

"  It  might  be  a  claw,  for  the  flesh  there  is  upon  it,"  was  the 
Spirit's  sorrowful  reply.      "  Look  here." 

From  the  foldings  of  its  robe,  it  brought  two  children- 
wretched,  abject,  frightftd,  hideous,  miserable.  They  knelt 
down  at  its  feet,  and  climg  upon  the  outside  of  its  garment. 

"  Oh,  Man !  look  here.  Look,  look,  down  here  !  "  exclaimed 
the  Ghost. 

They  were  a  hoj  and  girl.  Yellow,  meagre,  ragged, 
scowling,  wolfish ;  but  prostrate,  too,  in  their  humility. 
Where  graceful  youth  should  have  filled  their  features  out, 
and  touched  them  with  its  freshest  tints,  a  stale  and  shrivelled 
hand,  like  that  of  age,  had  pinched,  and  twisted  them,  and 
pulled  them  into  shreds.  Where  angels  might  have  sat  en- 
throned, devils  lurked,  and  glared  out  menacing.  No  change, 
no  degradation,  no  perversion  of  humanity,  in  any  grade, 
through  all  the  mysteries  of  wonderful  creation,  has  monster.s 
half  80  horrible  and  dread. 

Scrooge  started  back,  appalled.  Having  them  shown  to 
him  in  this  way,  he  tried  to  say  they  were  fiiue  children,  but 
the  words  choked  themselves,  rather  than  be  parties  to  a  lie 
of  such  enormous  magnitude. 

"  Spirit !  are  tney  yours  ?  "      Scrooge  could  say  no  more. 

"  They  are  Man's,"  said  the  Spirit,  looking  down  upon 
them.  "  And  they  chug  to  me,  appealing  fi-om  their  fathers. 
This  boy  is  Ignorance.  Tliis  girl  is  Want.  Beware  of  them 
hotli,  and  all  of  their  degree,  but  most  of  all  beware  this  buy, 


56  A    CIlllISTMAS    CAROL. 

for  on  his  brow  I  see  that  written  wliicli  is  Doom,  unless  the 
writing  be  erased.  Deny  it !  "  cried  the  Spirit,  stretching  out 
its  hand  towards  the  city.  "  Slander  those  who  tell  it  ye ! 
Admit  it  for  your  factious  purposes,  and  make  it  worse  !  And 
bide  the  end  !  " 

"  Have  they  no  refuge  or  resoxirce  ?  "  cried  Scrooge. 

"  Are  there  no  prisons  !  "  said  the  Spirit,  turning  on  him 
for  the  last  time  with  his  own  words.  "  Are  there  no  work- 
houses ?  " 

The  bell  struck  twelve. 

Scrooge  looked  about  him  for  the  Ghost,  and  saw  it  not. 
As  the  last  stroke  ceased  to  vibrate,  he  remembered  the  pre- 
diction of  old  Jacob  Marley,  and  lifting  up  his  eyes,  beheld  a 
solemn  Phantom,  draped  and  hooded  coming,  like  a  mist 
tilong  the  ground  towards  him. 


A    CULlJSTiMAS    CAKOL.  57 


STAVE  FOUR. 

THE    LAST    OF   THE    SPIRITS. 

The  P]ia7itoni  slowly,  gravely,  silently,  approached.  When 
it  came  near  him,  Scrooge  bent  down  upon  his  knee ;  for  in 
tlie  very  air  through  which  this  Spirit  moved  it  seemed  to 
scatter  gloom  and  mystery. 

It  Avas  shi'ouded  in  a  deep  black  garment,  which  concealed 
its  head,  its  face,  its  form,  and  left  nothing  of  it  visible,  save 
one  outstretched  hand.  But  for  this  it  would  have  been  diffi- 
cidt  to  detach  its  figure  from  the  night,  and  separate  it  from 
the  darkness  by  which  it  was  surrounded. 

He  felt  that  it  was  tall  and  stately  when  it  came  beside 
liim,  and  that  its  mysterious  pi'esence  filled  him  with  a  solemn 
dread.  He  knew  no  more,  for  the  Spirit  neither  spoke  nor 
moved. 

"  I  am  in  the  presence  of  the  Ghost  of  Christmas  Yet  To 
Come  ?  "  said  Scrooge. 

The  Spirit  answered  not,  but  pointed  onward  with  its 
hand. 

"  You  are  about  to  show  me  shadows  of  the  things  that 
have  not  happened,  but  will  happen  in  the  time  before  us," 
Scrooge  pursued.      "  Is  that  so.  Spirit  ?  " 

The  upper  portion  of  the  garment  was  contracted  for  an 
instant  in  its  folds,  as  if  the  Spirit  had  inclined  its  head.  That 
was  the  only  answer  he  received. 

Although  well  used  to  ghostly  company  by  this  time, 
Scrooge  feared  the  silent  shape  so  much  that  his  legs 
trembled  beneath  him,  and  he  found  that  he  could  hardly 
stand  when  he  prepared  to  follow  it.  The  Spirit  paused  a 
moment,  as  observing  his  condition,  and  giving  him  time  to 
recover. 

But  Scrooge  Avas  all  the  worse  for  this.  It  thrilled  liim 
with  a  vague  uncertain  horror,  to  know  that  behind  the 
dusky   shroud,  there  were  ghostly  eyes  intently  fixed   upon 


5R  A    CHRISTMA=!    CAROL. 

him,  while  he,  though  he  stretched  his  own  to  the  utmosf 
could  see  nothing  but  a  spectral  hand  and  one  great  heap  ol 
black. 

"  Ghost  of  the  Future  !  "  he  exclaimed,  "  I  fear  you  more 
than  any  spectre  I  have  seen.  But  as  I  know  your  purpose 
is  to  do  me  good,  and  as  1  hope  to  live  to  be  another  man  from 
what  I  was,  1  am  prepared  to  bear  you  company,  and  do  it 
with  a  thankful  heart.     Will  you  not  speak  to  me  ?  " 

It  gave  liim  no  reply.  The  hand  was  pointed  straiglit 
before  them. 

*'  Lead  on  !  "  said  Scrooge.  "  Lead  on  !  The  night  is 
waning  fast,  and  it  is  precious  time  to  me,  I  know.  Lead  on, 
Spirit !  " 

The  Phantom  moved  away  as  it  had  come  towards  him. 
Scrooge  followed  in  the  shadow  of  its  dress,  which  bore  hiin 
up,  he  thought,  and  carried  him  along. 

They  scarcely  seemed  to  enter  the  city ;  for  the  city  rather 
seemed  to  spring  up  about  them,  and  encompass  them  of  its 
own  act.  But  there  they  were  in  the  heart  of  it ;  on  'Change, 
amongst  the  merchants ;  who  hurried  up  and  down,  and 
chinked  the  money  in  their  pockets,  and  conversed  in  groups, 
and  looked  at  their  watches,  and  trifled  thoughtfully  with 
their  great  gold  seals ;  and  so  forth,  as  Scrooge  had  seen  them 
often. 

The  Spirit  stopped  beside  one  little  knot  of  business  men. 
Observing  that  the  hand  was  pointed  to  them,  Scrooge 
advanced  to  listen  to  their  talk. 

"  No,"  said  a  great  fat  man  with  a  monstrous  chin,  "  I 
don't  know  much  about  it  either  way.  I  only  know  he  'a 
dead." 

"  When  did  he  die  ?  "  inquired  another. 

"  Last  night,  I  believe." 

"Why,  what  was  the  matter  with  him  ?"  asked  a  tliird, 
taking  a  vast  quantity  of  snufl'  out  of  a  very  large  snuff-box. 
"  I  thought  he  'd  never  die." 

"  God  knows,"  said  the  first  with  a  yawn. 

"  What  has  he  done  with  his  money?  "  asked  a  red-faced 
gentleman  with  a  pendulous  excrescence  on  the  end  of  his 
uose,  that  shook  like  the  gills  of  a  turkey-cock. 

"  I  haven't  heard,"  said  the  man  with  the  large  chin, 
yawning  again.  "  Left  it  to  his  company,  perhaps.  He 
hasn't  left  it  to  me,     That 's  all  I  know." 


A    CHRTSTMAS   CAROL.  P9 

Tliis  pleasantry  was  received  with  a  general  laugh. 

"  It 's  likely  to  be  a  very  cheap  funeral,"  said  the  same 
speaker  :  "  for  upon  my  life  I  don't  know  of  anybody  to  go  to 
it.      Suppose  we  make  up  a  party  and  volunteer  ?  " 

"  I  don't  mind  going  if  a  lunch  is  provided,"  observed  the 
gentleman  with  the  excrescence  on  his  nose.  "  But  I  must 
be  fed,  if  I  make  one."  "- 

Another  laugh. 

"  Well,  I  am  the  most  disinterested  among  you,  after  all," 
said  the  first  speaker,  "for  I  never  wear  black  gloves,  and  I 
never  eat  lunch.  But  I  '11  offer  to'  go,  if  anybody  else  will. 
When  I  come  to  think  of  it,  I  'm  not  at  all  sure  that  I  wasn't 
his  most  particular  friend  ;  for  we  used  to  stop  and  speak 
whenever  we  met.      Bye,  bye!" 

Speakers  and  listeners  strolled  away,  and  mixed  with  other 
groups.  Scrooge  knew  the  men,  and  looked  towards  the 
Spirit  for  an  explanation. 

The  Phantom  glided  on  into  a  street.  Its  finger  pointed  to 
two  persons  meeting.  Scrooge  listened  again,  thinking  that 
the  explanation  might  lie  here. 

He  knew  these  men,  also,  perfectly.  They  were  men  of 
business :  very  wealthy,  and  of  great  importance.  He  had 
made  a  point  always  of  standing  well  in  their  esteem  :  in  a 
business  point  of  view,  that  is  ;  strictly  in  a  business  point  of 
view. 

"How  are  you?  "  said  one. 

"  How  are  you?  "  returned  the  other. 

"Well !  "  said  the  first.  "  Old  Scratch  has  got  his  own  at 
last,  hey  ?  " 

"  So  I  am  told,"  returned  the  second.      "  Cold,  isn't  it !  " 

"  Seasonable  for  Chiistmas  time.  You  are  not  a  skaiter,  I 
suppose  ? " 

"  No.    No.    Something  else  to  think  of.      Good  morning  !  ' 

Not  another  word.  That  was  their  meeting,  their  conversa- 
tion, and  their  parting. 

Scrooge  was  at  first  inclined  to  be  surprised  that  the 
Spirit  should  attach  importance  to  conversations  apparently  so 
trivial ;  but  feeling  assured  that  they  must  have  some  hidden 
purpose,  he  set  himself  to  consider  what  it  was  likely  to  be. 
They  could  scarcely  be  supposed  to  have  any  bearing  on  the 
death  of  Jacob,  his  old  partner,  for  that  was  Past,  and  this 
(Ghost's  province  was  the  Futui'e.      Nor  could  he  think  of  any 


60  A    CHRISTMAS   CAROL. 

one  immediately  connected  with,  himself,  to  whom  he  could 
apply  them.  But  nothing  doubting  that  to  whomsoever  they 
applied  they  had  some  latent  moral  for  his  own  improve- 
ment, ho  resolved  to  treasure  up  every  word  he  heard,  and 
everything  he  saw ;  and  especially  to  observe  the  shadow  of 
himself  when  it  appeared.  For  he  had  an  expectation  that 
the  conduct  of  his  future  self  would  give  him  the  clue 
he  missed,   and  would  render   the  solution  of  these    riddles 


He  looked  about  in  that  very  place  for  his  own  image  ;  but 
another  man  stood  in  his  accustomed  corner,  and  though  the 
clock  pointed  to  his  usual  time  of  day  for  being  there,  he  saw 
no  likeness  of  himself  among  the  multitudes  that  poured  in 
through  the  Porch.  It  gave  him  little  surprise,  however ;  for 
he  had  been  revolving  in  his  mind  a  change  of  life,  and 
thought  and  hoped  he  saw  his  new-bom  resolutions  carried 
out  in  this. 

Quiet  and  dark,  beside  him  stood  the  Phantom,  with  its 
outstretched  hand.  When  he  roused  himself  from  his 
thoughtful  quest,  he  fancied  from  the  turn  of  the  hand,  and 
its  situation  in  reference  to  himself,  that  the  Unseen  Eyes 
were  looking  at  him  keenly.  It  made  him  shudder,  and  feel 
very  cold. 

They  left  the  busy  scene,  and  went  into  an  obscure  part  of 
the  town,  where  Scrooge  had  never  penetrated  before, 
although  he  recognised  its  situation,  and  its  bad  repute.  The 
ways  were  foul  and  narrow ;  the  shops  and  houses  wretched ; 
the  people  half-naked,  drunken,  slipshod,  ugly.  Alleys  and 
archways,  like  so  many  cesspools,  disgorged  their  offences 
of  smell,  and  dirt,  and  life,  upon  the  straggling  streets ; 
and  the  whole  quarter  reeked  with  crime,  with  filth  and 
misery. 

Far  in  this  den  of  infamous  resort,  there  was  a  low-browed, 
beetling  shop,  below  a  pent-house  roof,  where  iron,  old  rags, 
bottles,  bones,  and  greasy  offal,  were  bought.  Upon  the  floor 
within,  were  piled  up  heaps  of  rusty  keys,  nails,  chains, 
hinges,  files,  scales,  weights,  and  refuse  iron  of  all  kinds. 
Secrets  that  few  would  Hke  to  scrutinise  were  bred  and  hidden 
m  mountains  of  unseemly  rags,  masses  of  corrupted  fat,  and 
sepulchres  of  bones.  Sitting  in  among  the  wares  he  dealt  in, 
by  a  charcoal  stove,  made  of  old  bricks,  was  a  grey-haired 
rascal,  nearly  seventy  years  of  age  ;  who  had  screened  himself 


A   CHRISTMAS   CAROL.  61 

from  the  cold  air  without,  by  a  frousy  curtaining  of  miscella- 
neous tatters  hung  upon  a  line  ;  and  smoked  his  pipe  in  all 
the  luxury  of  calm  retirement. 

Scrooge  and  the  Phantom  came  into  the  presence  of  this 
man,  just  as  a  woman  with  a  heavy  bundle  slunk  into 
the  shop.  But  she  had  scarcely  entered,  when  another 
woman,  similarly  laden,  came  in  too ,-  and  she  was  closely 
followed  by  a  man  in  faded  black,  who  was  no  less  startled  by 
the  sight  of  them,  than  they  had  been  upon  the  recognition  of 
each  other.  After  a  short  period  of  blank  astonishment,  in 
which  the  old  man  with  the  pipe  had  joined  them,  they  all 
three  burst  into  a  laugh. 

"  Let  the  charwoman  alone  to  be  the  first !  "  cried  she  who 
had  entered  first.  "  Let  the  laundress  alone  to  be  the  second; 
and  let  the  undertaker's  man  alone  to  be  the  third.  Look 
here,  old  Joe,  here 's  a  chance  !  If  we  haven't  all  three  met 
here  without  meaning  it !" 

"  You  couldn't  have  met  in  a  better  place,"  said  old  Joe, 
removing  his  pipe  from  his  mouth.  "  Come  into  the  parlour. 
You  were  made  free  of  it  long  ago,  you  know  ;  and  the  other 
two  an't  strangers.  Stop  till  I  shut  the  door  of  the  shop. 
Ah  !  How  it  skreeks  !  There  an't  such  a  rusty  bit  of  metal 
in  the  place  as  its  own  hinges,  I  believe ;  and  I  'm  sure 
there  's  no  such  old  bones  here,  as  m.ine.  Ha,  ha  !  We  're 
all  suitable  to  our  calling,  we  're  well  matched.  Come  into 
the  parlour.     Come  into  the  parlour." 

The  parlour  was  the  space  behind  the  screen  of  rags.  The 
old  man  raked  the  fire  together  with  an  old  stair-rod,  and 
having  trimmed  his  smoky  lamp  (for  it  was  night),  with  the 
stem  of  his  pipe,  put  it  into  his  mouth  again. 

While  he  did  this,  the  woman  who  had  already  spoken 
threw  her  bundle  on  the  floor  and  sat  down  in  a  flaunting 
manner  on  a  stool ;  crossing  her  elbows  on  her  knees,  and 
looking  with  a  bold  defiance  at  the  other  two. 

"What  odds  then'  What  odds,  Mrs.  Dilber?"  said  tlie 
woman.  "  Every  person  has  a  right  to  take  care  of  them- 
selves.    He  always  did  I  " 

"That's  true,  indeed!"  said  the  laundress.  "No  mau 
more  so." 

"  Why  then,  don't  stand  staring  as  if  you  was  afraid, 
woman ;  wlio  's  the  wiser  ?  We  're  not  going  to  pick  holes  iu 
nacli  other's  coats,  I  suppose  ?  " 


62  A   CHRISTMAS  CAROL. 

"  No,  indeed !  "  said  Mrs.  Dilber  and  the  man  togetiier. 
"  We  should  hope  not." 

"  Very  well,  then  !  "  cried  the  woman.  "  That 's  enough. 
Who  's  the  worse  for  the  loss  of  a  few  things  like  these  ?  Not 
a  dead  man,  I  suppose." 

"  No,  indeed,"  said  Mrs.  Dilber,  laughing. 

"  If  he  wanted  to  keep  'em  after  he  was  dead,  a  wicked  old 
screw,"  pursued  the  woman,  "  why  wasn't  he  natural  in  his 
lifetime  ?  If  he  had  been,  he  'd  have  had  somebody  to  look 
after  him  when  he  was  struck  with  Death,  instead  of  lying 
gasping  out  his  last  there,  alone  by  himself." 

"  It 's  the  truest  word  that  ever  was  spoke,"  said  Mrs. 
Dilber.      "  It 's  a  judgment  on  him." 

"  I  wish  it  was  a  little  heavier  judgment,"  replied  the 
woman;  "and  it  should  have  been,  you  may  depend  upon 
it,  if  I  could  have  laid  my  hands  on  anything  else.  Open 
that  bundle,  old  Joe,  and  let  me  know  the  value  of  it. 
Speak  out  plain.  I  'm  not  afraid  to  be  the  first,  tior 
afraid  for  them  to  see  it.  We  knew  pretty  well  that  we 
were  helping  ourselves,  before  we  met  here,  I  believe.  It 's 
no  sin.     Open  the  bundle,  Joe." 

But  the  gallantry  of  her  friends  would  not  allow  of  tliis  ; 
and  the  man  in  faded  black,  mounting  the  breach  fixst,  pro- 
duced his  plunder.  It  was  not  extensive.  A  seal  or  two,  a 
pencil-case,  a  pair  of  sleeve  buttons,  and  a  brooch  of  no  gi-eat 
value,  were  all.  They  were  severally  examined  and  appraised 
by  old  Joe,  who  chalked  the  sums  he  was  disposed  to  give  for 
each,  upon  the  wall,  and  added  them  up  into  a  total  when  he 
found  that  there  was  nothing  more  to  come. 

"  That 's  your  account,"  said  Joe,  "  and  I  wouldn't  give 
another  sixpence,  if  I  was  to  be  boiled  for  not  doing  it. 
Who  's  next  ?  " 

Mrs.  Dilber  was  next.  Sheets  and  towels,  a  little  wearing 
apparel,  two  old-fashioned  silver  teaspoons,  a  pair  of  sugar- 
tongs,  and  a  few  boots.  Her  account  was  stated  on  the  wall 
in  the  same  manner. 

"  I  always  give  too  much  to  ladies.  It 's  a  ■weakness  of 
mine,  and  that's  the  way  I  ruin  myself,"  said  old  Joe. 
"  That 's  your  account.  If  you  asked  me  for  another  penny, 
and  made  it  an  open  question,  I  'd  repent  of  being  so  liberal, 
and  knock  off  half-a-crown." 

"  And  now  undo  wiy  bundle,  Joe,"  said  the  first  woma» 


A   CHRISTMAS   CAROL.  63 

.Toe  went  down  on  his  knees  for  the  greater  convenience  of 
opening  it,  and  having  unfastened  a  great  many  knots,  dragged 
x.ait  a  large  heavy  roll  of  some  dark  stuff. 

"  What  do  you  caU  this  ?  "   said  Joe.      "  Bed-curtains  !  " 

"  Ah  !  ''  returned  the  woman,  laughing  and  leaning  for- 
ward on  her  crossed  arms.      "  Bed-curtains  :  " 

"  You  don't  mean  to  say  you  took  'em.  down  rings  and  all, 
with  him  lying  there  ?  "   said  Joe. 

"  Yes  I  do,"  replied  the  woman.      "  Why  not  ?" 

"  You -were  born  to  make  your  fortune,"  said  Joe,  "and 
.you  '11  certainly  do  it." 

"  I  certainly  shan't  hold  my  hand,  when  I  can  get  anything 
in  it  by  reaching  it  out,  for  the  sake  of  such  a  man  as  He  was, 
I  promise  you,  Joe,"  returned  the  woman  coolly.  "  Don't 
drop  that  oil  upon  the  blankets,  now." 

"  His  blankets  ?  "  asked  Joe. 

"  Whose  else  's  do  you  think  ?  "  replied  the  woman.  "  He 
isn't  likely  to  take  cold  without  'em,  I  dare  say." 

"  I  hope  he  didn't  die  of  anything  catching?  Eh  ?  "  said 
old  Joe,  stopping  in  his  work,  and  looking  up. 

"  Don't  you  be  afraid  of  that,"  returned  the  woman.  "  I 
an't  so  fond  of  his  company  that  I  'd  loiter  about  him  for 
such  things,  if  he  did.  Ah !  You  may  look  through 
that  shirt  till  your  eyes  ache ;  but  you  won't  find  a  hole 
in  it,  nor  a  threadbare  place.  It 's  the  best  he  had,  and 
a  fine  one  too.  They  'd  have  wasted  it,  if  it  hadn't  been 
for  me." 

"  What  do  you-  call  wasting  of  it  ?  "  asked  old  Joe. 

"  Putting  it  on  him  to  be  buried  in,  to  be  sure,"  replied  the 
woman  with  a  laiigh.  "  Somebody  was  fool  enough  to  do  it, 
but  I  took  it  off  again.  If  calico  an't  good  enough  for  such  a 
purpose,  it  isn't  good  enough  for  anything.  It 's  quite  as 
becoming  to  the  body.  He  can't  look  uglier  than  he  did  ic 
that  one." 

Scrooge  listened  to  iliis  dialogue  in  horror.  As  they  sat 
grouped  about  their  spoil,  in  the  scanty  light  afforded  by  the 
old  man's  lamp,  he  viewed  them  with  a  detestation  and  dis- 
gust, which  could  hardly  have  been  greater,  though  they  had 
been  obscene  demons,  marketing  the  corpse  itself. 

"  Ha,  ha !  "  laughed  the  same  woman,  when  old  Joe,  pro- 
ducing a  flannel  bag  with  money  in  it,  told  out  their  several 
gains  upon  the  ground.      "  This  is  the  end  of  it,  you  see  ?  Ho 


64  A   CHRISTMAS   CAROL. 

friglitened  every  one  away  from  Kim  wlieu   he  was  alive,  tn 
profit  us  when  he  was  dead  !     Ha,  ha,  ha  !  " 

"  Spirit ! "  said  Scrooge,  shuddering  from  head  to  foot. 
"  I  see,  I  see.  The  case  of  this  unhappy  man  might  be  my 
own.  My  life  tends  that  way,  now.  Merciful  Heaven,  what 
is  this !  " 

He  recoiled  in  terror,  for  the  scene  had  changed,  and  now 
he  almost  touched  a  bed  :  a  bare,  uncurtained  bed  :  on  which, 
beneath  a  ragged  sheet,  there  lay  a  something  covered  up 
which,  though  it  was  dumb,  announced  itself  in  awful 
language. 

The  room  was  very  dark,  too  dark  to  be  observed  with  any 
accuracy,  though  Scrooge  glanced  round  it  in  obedience  to  a 
secret  impulse,  anxious  to  know  what  kind  of  room  it  was.  A 
pale  light  rising  in  the  outer  air,  fell  straight  upon  the  bed  : 
and  on  it,  plundered  and  bereft,  un watched,  unwept,  uncared 
for,  was  the  body  of  this  man. 

Scrooge  glanced  towards  the  Phantom.  Its  steady  hand 
was  pointed  to  the  head.  The  cover  was  so  carelessly  adjusted 
that  the  slightest  raising  of  it,  the  motion  of  a  finger  upon 
Scrooge's  part,  woidd  have  disclosed  the  face.  He  thought  of 
it,  felt  how  easy  it  would  be  to  do,  and  longed  to  do  it;  but 
had  no  more  power  to  withdraw  the  veil  than  to  dismiss  the 
spectre  at  his  side. 

Oh  cold,  cold,  rigid,  dreadful  Death,  set  up  thine  altar  here, 
and  dress  it  with  such  terrors  as  thou  hast  at  thy  command  : 
for  this  is  thy  dominion !  But  of  the  loved,  revered,  and 
honoured  head,  thou  canst  not  turn  one  hair  to  thy  dread 
purposes,  or  make  one  feature  odious.  It  is  not  that  the 
hand  is  heavy  and  wiR  fall  down  when  released  ;  it  is  not  that 
the  heart  and  pulse  are  still;  but  that  the  hand  was  open, 
generous,  and  true ;  the  heart  brave,  warm,  and  tender ;  and 
the  pulse  a  man's.  Strike,  Shadow,  strike  !  And  see  his 
good  deeds  springing  from  the  wound,  to  sow  the  world  with 
life  immortal ! 

No  voice  pronounced  these  words  in  Scrooge's  ears,  and  yet 
he  heard  them  when  he  looked  upon  the  bed.  He  thought,  if 
this  man  could  be  raised  up  now,  what  would  be  his  foremost 
thoughts  ?  Avarice,  hard-dealing,  griping  cares  ?  They  have 
brought  him  to  a  rich  end,  truly  ! 

He  lay,  in  the  dark,  empty  house,  with  not  a  man,  a 
\roman  or  e  child,  to  saj'  he  was  kind  to  me  in  this  or  that, 


A.   CURTSTMAS   CAROL.  65 

and  for  the  memorv  of  one  kind  word  I  will  be  kind  to  him.. 
A  cat  was  tearing  at  the  door,  and  there  was  a  sound  of 
gnawing  rats  beneath  the  hearth-stone.  What  they  \v^anted  in 
the  room  of  death,  and  why  they  were  so  restless  and  disturbed, 
Scrooge  did  not  dare  to  think. 

"  Spirit!  "  he  said,  "this  is  a  fearful ^lace.  In  leaving  it, 
I  shall  not  leave  its  lesson,  trust  me.     Let  us  go  !  " 

Still  the  Ghost  pointed  with  an  unmoved  finger  to  the  head. 

"  I  understand  you,"  Scrooge  returned,  "  and  I  would  do  it 
if  I  could.  But  I  have  not  the  power,  Spirit.  I  have  not  the 
power." 

Again  it  seemed  to  look  upon  him. 

"If  there  is  any  person  in  the  town,  who  feels  emotion 
caused  by  this  man's  death,"  said  Scrooge,  quite  agonised, 
"  show  that  person  to  me.  Spirit,  I  beseech  you  I  " 

The  phantom  spread  its  dark  robe  before  him.  for  a  moment, 
like  a  wing ;  and  withdrawing  it,  revealed  a  room  by  daj'- 
light,  where  a  mother  and  her  children  were. 

She  was  expecting  some  one,  and  with  anxious  eagerness ; 
for  she  walked  up  and  down  the  room  ;  started  at  every 
sound ;  looked  out  from  the  window ;  glanced  at  the  clock  ; 
tried,  but  in  vain,  to  work  with  her  needle ;  and  could  hardly 
bear  the  voices  of  her  children  in  their  play. 

At  length  the  long-expected  knock  was  heard.  She  hurried 
to  the  door  and  met  her  husband ;  a  man  whose  face  was 
care-worn  and  depressed,  though  he  was  young.  There  was 
a  remarkable  expression  in  it  now ;  a  kind  of  serious 
deKght  of  which  he  felt  ashamed,  and  wliich  he  struggled  to 
repress. 

He  sat  down  to  the  dinner  that  had  been  hoarding  for  him 
by  the  fire,  and  when  she  asked  him  faintly  what  news  (which 
was  not  until  after  a  long  silence),  he  appeared  embarrassed 
how  to  answer. 

"  Is  it  good,"  she  said,  "  or  bad  ?  " — to  help  him. 

"  Bad,"  he  answered. 

"  We  are  quite  ruined  ?  " 

"  No.     There  is  hope  yet,  Caroline." 

"1£he  relents,"  she  said,  amazed,  "  there  is  I  Nothing  is 
past  hope,  if  such  a  miracle  has  happened." 

"  He  is  past  relenting,"  said  her  husband.      "  He  is  dead." 

She  was  a  mUd  and  patient  creature,  if  her  face  spoke  trutli ; 
but  sho  was  thankful  in  her  soul  to  hear  it,  and  slie  sdd  so, 


66  A    CHRISTMAS   CAROL. 

with  clasped  hands.  She  prayed  forgiveness  the  next  moment, 
and  was  sorry ;  but  the  first  was  the  emotion  of  her  heart. 

"  What  the  half-drunken  woman,  whom  I  told  you  of  last 
night,  said  to  me,  when  I  tried  to  see  him  and  obtain  a  week's 
delay  ;  and  what  I  thought  was  a  mere  excuse  to  avoid  me ; 
turns  out  to  have  been  quite  true.  He  was  not  only  very  iU, 
but  dying,  then." 

"  To  whom  wiU  our  debt  be  transferred  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know.  But  before  that  time  we  shall  be  ready 
with  the  money ;  and  even  though  we  were  not,  it  woxdd  be 
bad  fortune  indeed  to  find  so  merciless  a  creditor  in  hia 
successor.  We  may  sleep  to-night  with  light  hearts,  Caroline  !  " 

Yes.  Soften  it  as  they  would,  their  hearts  were  lighter. 
The  childi-en's  faces,  hushed  and  clustered  round  to  hear  what 
thej''  so  little  understood,  were  brighter ;  and  it  was  a  happier 
house  for  this  man's  death !  The  only  emotion  that  the  Ghost 
could  show  him.  caused  by  the  event,  was  one  of  pleasure. 

"  Lei  me  see  some  tenderness  connected  with  a  death,"  said 
Scrooge;  "or  that  dark  chamber,  Spirit,  which  we  left  just 
now,  wiU  be  for  ever  present  to  me." 

The  Ghost  conducted  him  through  several  streets  familiar  to 
his  feet ;  and  as  they  went  along,  Scrooge  looked  here  and 
there  to  find  himself,  but  nowhere  was  he  to  be  seen.  They 
entered  poor  Bob  Cratchit's  house  ;  the  dwelling  he  had  visited 
before ;  and  found  the  mother  and  the  children  seated  round 
the  fire. 

Q,xiiet.  Very  quiet.  The  noisy  little  Cratchits  were  as  still 
as  statues  in  one  corner,  and  sat  looking  up  at  Peter,  who  had 
a  book  before  him.  The  mother  and  her  daughters  were 
engaged  in  sewing.     But  surely  they  were  very  quiet ! 

"  '  And  he  took  a  child,  and  set  him  in  the  midst  of  them.'  " 

Where  had  Scrooge  heard  those  words  ?  He  had  not 
dreamed  them.  The  boy  must  have  read  them  out,  as  he  and 
the  Spirit  crossed  the  threshold.     Why  did  he  not  go  on  ? 

The  mother  laid  her  work  upon  the  table,  and  put  her  hand 
up  to  her  face. 

"  The  colour  hurts  my  eyes,"  she  said. 

The  colour  ?     Ah,  poor  Tiny  Tim  ! 

"  They're  better  now  again,"  said  Cratchit's  wife.  "  It  makes 
them  weak  by  candle-light ;  and  I  wouldn't  show  weak  eyes 
to  your  father  when  he  comes  home,  for  the  world.  It  must  be 
near  his  time." 


A   CriUTSTMAS   CAROL.  67 

"Past  it  ratlier,"  Peter  auswered,  shutting  up  his  book. 
"But  I  think  he  has  walked  a  little  slower  than  he  used,  these 
few  last  evenings,  mother." 

They  were  very  quiet  again.  At  last  she  said,  and  in  a 
steady,  cheerful  voice,  that  only  faltered  once : 

"I  have  known  him  walk  with — I  have  kno'wn  him  walk 
with  Tiny  Tim  upon  his  shoulder,  very  "fast  indeed." 

"And  so  have  I,"  cried  Peter.      "  Often." 

"  And  so  have  I,"  exclaimed  another.     So  had  all. 

"But  he  was  very  light  to  carry,"  she  resumed,  intent  upon 
her  work,  and  his  father  loved  him  so,  that  it  was  no  trouble  : 
no  trouble.     And  there  is  your  father  at  the  door  !  " 

She  hurried  out  to  meet  him ;  and  little  Bob  in  his  com- 
forter— he  had  need  of  it,  poor  fellow — came  in.  His  tea  was 
ready  for  him  on  the  hob,  and  they  all  tried  who  should  help 
him  to  it  most.  Then  the  two  young  Cratchits  got  upon  his 
knees  and  laid,  each  child,  a  little  cheek,  against  his  face,  as  if 
they  said  "  Don't  mind  it,  father."      "  Don't  be  grieved  !  " 

Bob  was  very  cheerful  with  them,  and  spoke  pleasantly  to 
all  the  family.  He  looked  at  the  work  upon  the  table,  and 
praised  the  industry  and  speed  of  IMrs.  Cratchit  and  the  girls. 
They  would  be  done  long  before  Sunday,  he  said. 

"Sunday!  You  went  to-day,  then,  Robert?"  said  his 
wife. 

"  Yes,  my  dear,"  returned  Bob.  "I  wish  you  could  have 
gone.  It  would  have  done  you  good  to  see  how  green  a  place 
it  is.  But  you'll  see  it  often.  I  promised  him  that  I  would 
walk  there  on  a  Sunday.  My  little,  little  child  !  "  cried  Bob. 
"  My  little  child  !  " 

He  broke  down  aU  at  once.  He  couldn't  help  it.  If  he  could 
have  helped  it,  he  and  his  child  would  have  been  farther  apart 
perhaps  than  they  were. 

He  left  the  room,  and  went  up-stairs  into  the  room  above, 
which  was  lighted  cheerfully,  and  hung  with  Cliristmas. 
There  was  a  chair  set  close  beside  the  child  and  there  were 
signs  of  some  one  having  been  there,  lately.  Poor  Bob  sat 
down  in  it,  and  when  he  had  thought  a  little  and  composed 
himself,  he  kissed  the  little  face.  He  was  reconciled  to  what 
had  happened,  and  went  down  again  quite  happy. 

They  drew  about  the  fire,  and  talked  ;  the  girls  and  mother 
working  stiU.  Bob  told  them  of  the  extraordinary  kindness  of 
Mr.  Scrooge's  nephew,  whom  he  had  scarcely  seen  but  once. 


68  A   CHRISTJIAS   CAROL. 

and  who,  meeting  him  in  the  street  that  day,  and  seeing  that 
he  looked  a  little — "just  a  little  down  you  know,"  said  Bob, 
inquired  what  had  happened  to  distress  him.  "On  which." 
said  Bob,  "for  he  is  the  pleasantest-spoken  gentleman  you 
ever  heard,  I  told  him,  '  I  am  heartily  sorry  for  it,  Mr. 
Cratchit,'  he  said,  '  and  heartily  sorry  for  your  good  wilb.' 
By  the  bye,  how  he  ever  knew  that  I  don't  know." 

"  Knew  what,  my  dear  ?  " 

•'  Why,  that  you  were  a  good  wife,"  replied  Bob. 

''  Everybody  knows  that  I  "  said  Peter. 

"  Very  well  observed,  my  boy  !  "  cried  Bob.  "  I  hope  they 
do.  'Heartily  sorry,'  he  said,  'for  your  good  wife.  If  I  can 
be  of  service  to  you  in  any  way,'  he  said,  giving  me  his  card, 
'  that's  where  I  live.  Pray  come  to  me.'  Now,  it  wasn't," 
cried  Bob,  "  for  the  sake  of  anything  he  might  be  able  to  do 
for  us,  so  much  as  for  his  kind  way,  that  this  was  quite 
delightful.  It  really  seemed  as  if  he  had  known  our  Tiny 
Tim,  and  felt  with  us." 

"  I'm  sure  he's  a  good  soul !  "  said  Mrs.  Cratchit. 

"  You  would  be  sure  of  it,  my  dear,"  returned  Bob,  "if 
you  saw  and  spoke  to  him.  I  shouldn't  be  at  aU  surprised — • 
mark  what  I  say ! — if  he  got  Peter  a  better  situation." 

"  Only  hear  that,  Peter,"  said  Mrs.  Cratchit. 

"And  then,"  cried  one  of  the  girls,  "  Peter  will  be  keeping 
company  with  some  one,  and  setting  up  for  himself." 

"  Get  along  with  you  !  "  retorted  Peter,  grinning. 

"  It 's  just  as  likely  as  not,"  said  Bob,  "  one  of  these  days  ; 
though  there  's  plenty  of  time  for  that,  my  dear.  But  how- 
ever and  whenever  we  part  from  one  another,  I  am  sure  we 
shall  none  of  us  forget  poor  Tiny  Tim — shall  we — or  this  first 
parting  that  there  was  among  us  ?  " 

"Never,  fether  !  "  cried  they  all. 

"And  I  know,"  said  Bob,  "  I  know,  my  dears,  that  when  we 
recollect  how  patient  and  how  mild  he  was ;  although  he 
was  a  little,  little  child ;  we  shall  not  quarrel  easily  among  our- 
selves, and  forget  poor  Tiny  Tim  in  doing  it." 

"  No,  never,  father  !  "  they  all  cried  again. 

"I  am  very  happy,"  said  little  Bob,  "  I  am  very  happy  I  " 

Mrs.  Cratchit  kissed  him,  his  daughters  kissed  him,  the  two 
young  Cratchits  kissed  him,  and  Peter  and  himself  shook 
hands.  Spirit  of  Tiny  Tim,  thy  childish  essence  was  from 
God ! 


A  CHRISTMAS    CAROL.  69 

*'  Spectre,"  said  Scrooge,  "  something  informs  me  that  our 
parting  moment  is  at  hand.  I  know  it,  but  I  know  not  how. 
Tell  me  what  man  that  was  whom  we  saw  l}^ng  dead  ?  " 

The  Ghost  of  Christmas  Yet  To  Come  conveyed  him,  as 
before — though  at  a  different  time,  he  thought :  indeed,  there 
seemed  no  order  in  these  latter  visions,  save  that  they  were  In 
the  Future — into  the  resorts  of  business  men,  but  showed  him 
not  himself.  Indeed,  the  Spirit  did  not  stay  for  anything, 
but  went  straight  on,  as  to  the  end  just  now  desired,  until 
besought  by  Scrooge  to  tarry  for  a  moment. 

"This  court,"  said  Scrooge,  "through  which  we  hurry 
now,  is  where  my  place  of  occupation  is,  and  has  been  for  a 
length  of  time.  I  see  the  house.  Let  me  behold  what  I 
shall  be,  in  days  to  come." 

The  Spirit  stopped  ;  the  hand  was  pointed  elsewhere. 

"  The  house  is  yonder,"  Scrooge  exclaimed.  "  Why  do 
you  point  away?  " 

The  inexorable  finger  underwent  no  change. 

Scrooge  hastened  to  the  window  of  his  office,  and  looked 
in.  It  was  an  office  still,  but  not  his.  The  furniture  was 
not  tbe  same,  and  the  figure  in  the  chair  was  not  himself. 
The  Phantom  pointed  as  before. 

He  joined  it  once  again,  and  wondering  why  and  whither 
he  had  gone,  accompanied  it  until  they  reached  an  iron  gate. 
He  paused  to  look  round  before  entering. 

A  churchyard.  Here,  then,  the  wretched  man  whose  name 
he  had  now  to  learn,  lay  underneath  the  groimd.  It  was  a 
worthy  place.  Walled  in  by  houses ;  overrun  by  grass  and 
weeds,  the  growth  of  vegetation's  death,  not  life ;  choked  up 
with  too  much  burying ;  fat  with  repleted  appetite.  A  worthy 
place  ! 

The  Spirit  stood  among  the  graves,  and  pointed  down  to 
One.  He  advanced  towards  it  trembling.  The  Phantom  was 
exactly  as  it  had  been,  but  he  dreaded  that  he  saw  new' 
meaning  in  its  solemn  shape. 

"  Before  I  draw  nearer  to  that  stone  to  which  you  point," 
said  Scrooge,  "  answer  me  one  question.  Are  these  tlie 
ehadows  of  the  things  that  Wni  be,  or  are  they  shadows  of 
the  things  that  May  be,  only  ?  " 

Still  the  Ghost  pointed  downward  to  the  grave  by  wliicli  it 
stood. 

"  Men's  courses  will  foreshadow  certain  ends,  to  which,  if 


70  A  CnilTSTMAS   CAROL. 

persevered  in,  they  must  lead."  said  Scrooge.  "  But  if  the 
courses  be  departed  from,  the  ends  will  change.  Say  it  is 
thus  with  what  you  show  me  !  " 

The  Spirit  was  immovable  as  ever. 

Scrooge  crept  towards  it,  trembling  as  he  went ;  and  follow- 
ing the  finger,  read  upon  the  stone  of  the  neglected  grave  his 
own  name,  Ebenezek  Sckooge. 

"  Am  /  that  man  who  lay  upon  the  bed  ?  "  he  cried,  upon 
his  knees. 

The  finger  pointed  from  the  grave  to  him,  and  back  again. 

"  No,  Spirit !     Oh  no,  no  !  " 

The  finger  still  was  there. 

"  Spirit !  "  he  cried,  tight  clutching  at  its  robe,  "  hear  me  ! 
I  am  not  the  man  I  was.  I  will  not  be  the  man  I  must  have 
been  but  for  this  intercourse.  "Why  show  me  this,  if  I  am 
past  all  hope  !  " 

For  the  first  time  the  hand  appeared  to  shake. 

"  Good  Spirit,"  he  pursued,  as  down  upon  the  ground  he 
fell  before  it :  "  Your  nature  intercedes  for  me,  and  pities  me. 
Assure  me  that  I  yet  may  change  these  shadows  you  have 
shown  me,  by  an  altered  life  ?  " 

The  kind  hand  trembled. 

"  I  will  honour  Christmas  in  my  heart,  and  try  to  keep  it 
all  the  year.  I  Avill  live  in  the  Past,  the  Present,  and  the 
Future.  The  Spirits  of  all  Three  shall  strive  within  me. 
I  will  not  shut  out  the  lessons  that  they  teach.  Oh,  tell  me  I 
may  sponge  away  the  writing  on  this  stone  !  " 

In  his  agony,  he  caught  the  spectral  hand.  It  sought  to 
free  itself,  but  he  was  strong  in  his  entreaty,  and  detained  it. 
The  Spirit,  stronger  yet,  repulsed  him. 

Holding  up  his  hands  in  a  last  prayer  to  have  his  fate 
reversed,  he  saw  an  alteration  in  the  Phantom's  hood  and 
dress.  It  shrunk,  coUupsed,  &nd  dwindled  down  into  a 
bedpost. 


<^-^A^/UzACiC)^y^.^  C^C^^oZc/D. 


A   CHRISTMAS   CAROL.  71 


STAVE  FIVE. 


THE    END    OF    IT. 


Yes  !  and  the  bedpost  was  his  own.  The  bed  was  his  own. 
the  room  was  his  own.  Best  and  happiest  of  all,  the  Time 
before  him  was  his  o^vn,  to  make  amends  in  ! 

"  I  will  live  in  the  Past,  the  Present,  and  the  Future  !  " 
Scrooge  repeated,  as  he  scrambled  out  of  bed.  "  The  Spirits 
of  all  Three  shaU  strive  within  me.  Oh  Jacob  Marley ! 
Heaven,  and  the  Christmas  Time  be  praised  for  this  !  I  say- 
it  on  my  knees,  old  Jacob  ;  on  my  knees  !  " 

He  was  so  fluttered  and  so  glowing  with  his  good  inten- 
tions, that  his  broken  voice  woidd  scarcely  answer  to  his  call. 
He  had  been  sobbing  violently  in  his  conflict  with  the  Spirit. 
and  his  face  was  wet  with  tears. 

"  They  are  not  torn  down,"  cried  Scrooge,  folding  one  of 
his  bed-curtains  in  his  arms,  "  they  are  not  torn  down,  rings 
and  all.  They  are  here — I  am  here — the  shadows  of  the 
things  that  woidd  have  been,  may  be  dispelled.  They  wiU  be. 
I  know  they  will !  " 

His  hands  were  busy  with  his  garments  aU  this  time ; 
turning  them  inside  out,  putting  them  on  upside  down,  tearing 
them,  mislaj-ing  them,  making  them  parties  to  every  kind  of 
extravagance. 

"  I  don't  know  what  to  do  !  "  cried  Scrooge,  laughing  and 
crying  in  the  same  breath  ;  and  making  a  perfect  Laocoon  of 
himself  with  his  stockings.  "I  am  as  light  as  a  feather,  I 
am  as  happy  as  an  angel,  I  am  as  merry  as  a  school-boy. 
I  am  as  giddy  as  a  drunken  man.  A  merry  Christmas  to 
everybody !  A  happy  New  Year  to  all  the  world !  HaUo 
here  !     WTioop  !     HaUo  !  " 

He  had  frisked  into  the  sitting-room,  and  was  now  standing 
there  :  perfectly  wiuded. 

''Thei-e's  the  saucepan   that   the   gruel  waa   in!"    crie<l 


72  A   CHRISTMAS   CAROL. 

Scrooge,  starting  off  again,  and  going  round  tlie  fire-place. 
"  There 's  the  door  by  which  the  Ghost  of  Jacob  Marley 
entered !  There  's  the  corner  where  the  Ghost  of  Christmas 
Present  sat !  There  's  the  window  where  I  saw  the  wandering 
Spirits  I  It 's  all  right,  it 's  aU  true,  it  all  happened.  Ha 
ha  ha !  " 

Really,  for  a  man  who  had  been  out  of  practice  for  so  many 
years,  it  was  a  splendid  laugh,  a  most  illustrious  laugh.  The 
father  of  a  long,  long  line  of  brilliant  laughs  ! 

"  I  don't  know  what  day  of  the  month  it  is,"  said  Scrooge, 
"I  don't  know  how  long  I  have  been  among  the  Spirits. 
I  don't  know  anything.  I  'm  quite  a  baby.  Never  mind. 
I  don't  care.  I  'd  rather  be  a  baby.  Hallo !  Whoop ! 
Hallo  here  !  " 

He  was  checked  in  his  transports  by  the  churches  ringing 
out  the  lustiest  peals  he  had  ever  heard.  Clash,  clash, 
hammer;  ding,  dong,  bell.  Bell,  dong,  ding;  hammer, 
clang,  clash  !      Oh,  glorious,  glorious  1 

Running  to  the  window,  he  opened  it,  and  put  out  his 
head.  No  fog,  no  mist ;  clear,  bright,  jovial,  stirring,  cold ; 
cold,  piping  for  the  blood  to  dance  to ;  Golden  sunlight ; 
Heavenly  sky ;  sweet  fresh  air ;  merry  bells.  Oh,  glorious. 
Glorious  ! 

"  What 's  to-day  ?"  cried  Scrooge,  calling  downward  to  a 
boy  in  Sunday  clothes,  who  perhtips  had  loitered  in  to  look 
about  him, 

"  Eh  ?  "  returned  the  boy,  with  all  his  might  of  wonder. 

"  What 's  to-day,  my  fine  fellow  ?  "  said  Scrooge. 

"  To-day  !  "  replied  the  boy.      "  Why,  Christmas  Day." 

"  It 's  Christmas  Day  !  "  said  Scrooge  to  himself.  "  I 
haven't  missed  it.  The  Spirits  have  done  it  all  in  one  night. 
They  can  do  anything  they  like.  Of  course  they  can.  Of 
course  they  can      Hallo,  my  fine  fellow  !  " 

"  Hallo  !  "  returned  the  boy. 

"  Do  you  know  the  Poulterer's,  in  the  next  street  but  one, 
at  the  corner?  "  Scrooge  inquired. 

"  I  should  hope  I  did,"  replied  the  lad. 

"An  intelligent  boy!"  said  Scrooge.  "A  remarkable 
boy  !  Do  you  know  whether  they  've  sold  the  prize  Turkey 
that  was  hanging  up  there  ? — Not  the  little  prize  Turkey : 
the  big  one  ?  " 

''  What,  the  one  as  big  as  me  ?  "  retTirued  the  boy. 


A  CDRISTMAS   CAROL.  78 

"  "\\Tiat  a  delightful  boy  !  "  said  Scrooge.  "  It 's  a  pleasure 
to  talk  to  him.     Yes,  my  buck  !  " 

"  It 's  hanging  there  now,"  replied  the  boy. 

"  Is  it?"  said  Scrooge.      "  Go  and  buy  it." 

"  Walk-ER  !  "  exclaimed  the  boy. 

"No,  no,"  said  Scrooge,  "I  am  in  earnest.  Go  and  buy 
it,  and  teU  'em  to  bring  it  here,  that  I  may  give  them  the 
directions  where  to  take  it.  Come  back  with  the  man,  and 
I  '11  give  you  a  shilling.  Come  back  with  him  in  less  than 
five  minutes,  and  I  '11  give  you  half-a-crown  !  " 

The  boy  was  off  like  a  shot.  He  must  have  had  a  steady 
hand  at  a  trigger  who  could  have  got  a  shot  off  half  so 
fast. 

"  I  '11  send  it  to  Bob  Cratchit's,"  whispered  Scrooge,  rub- 
bing his  hands,  and  splitting  with  a  laugh.  "  He  shan't 
know  who  sends  it.  It 's  twice  the  size  of  Tiny  Tim.  Joe 
Miller  never  made  such  a  joke  as  sending  it  to  Bob's  will 
be!" 

The  hand  in  which  he  wrote  the  address  was  not  a  steady 
one ;  but  write  it  he  did,  somehow,  and  went  down-stairs  to 
open  the  street  door,  ready  for  the  coming  of  the  poulterer's 
man.  As  he  stood  there,  waiting  his  arrival,  the  knocker 
caught  his  eye. 

"  I  shall  love  it  as  long  as  I  live !  "  cried  Scrooge,  patting 
it  with  his  hand.  "  I  scarcely  ever  looked  at  it  before.  What 
an  honest  expression  it  has  in  its  face !  It 's  a  wonderful 
knocker! — Here 's  the  Turkey.  Hallo!  Whoop!  How  are 
you  !     Merry  Christmas  !  " 

It  was  a  Turkey !  He  never  covdd  have  stood  upon  his 
legs,  that  bird.  He  would  have  snapped  'em  short  off  in  a 
minute,  like  sticks  of  sealing-wax. 

"Why,  it's  impossible  to  carry  that  to  Camden  Town," 
said  Scrooge.      "  You  must  liave  a  cab." 

The  chuckle  with  which  he  said  this,  and  the  chuckle  with 
which  he  paid  for  the  Turkey,  and  the  chuckle  with  which  he 
paid  for  the  cab,  and  the  chuckle  with  which  he  recompensed 
the  boy,  were  only  to  be  exceeded  by  the  chuckle  with  Avhich 
he  sat  down  breathless  in  his  chair  again,  and  chuckled  till 
he  cried. 

Shaving  was  not  an  easy  task,  for  his  hand  continued  to 
shake  very  much  ;  and  sluiving  requires  attention,  even  wh(m 
you   don't  dance  while  you  are  at  it.      But  if  he  had  cut  the 


7i  A   CHRISTMAS   CAROL. 

end  of  his  nose  off,  he  ■would  have  put  a  piece  of  sticking" 
plaister  over  it,  and  been  quite  satisfied. 

He  dressed  himself  "all  in  his  best,"  and  at  last  got  out 
into  the  streets.  The  people  were  by  this  time  pouring  forth, 
as  he  had  seen  them  with  the  Ghost  of  Christmas  Present ; 
and  walking  with  his  hands  behind  him,  Scrooge  regarded 
every  one  with  a  delighted  smile.  He  looked  so  irresistibly 
pleasant,  in  a  word,  that  tliree  or  four  good-humoured  fellows 
said  "  Good  morning,  sir !  A  merry  Christmas  to  you  !  " 
And  Scrooge  said  often  afterwards,  that  of  all  the  blithe 
sounds  he  had  ever  heard,  those  were  the  blithest  in  his  ears. 

He  had  not  gone  fir,  when  coming  on  towai'ds  him  he 
beheld  the  portly  gentleman,  who  had  walked  into  his  count- 
ing-house the  day  before,  and  said  "  Scrooge  and  Marley's, 
I  believe?"  It  sent  a  pang  across  his  heart  to  think  how 
this  old  gentleman  would  look  upon  him  when  they  met ;  but 
he  knew  what  path  lay  straight  before  him,  and  he  took  it. 

"My  dear  sir,"  said  Scrooge,  quickening  his  pace,  and 
taking  the  old  gentleman  by  both  his  hands.  "  How  do  you 
do  ?  I  hope  you  succeeded  yesterday.  It  was  very  kind  of 
you.     A  merry  Christmas  to  you,  sir  !  " 

"  Mr.  Scrooge?" 

"  Yes,"  said  Scrooge.  "  That  is  my  name,  and  I  fear  it 
may  not  be  pleasant  to  you.  Allow  me  to  ask  your  pardon. 
And  wiU  you  have  the  goodness" — here  Scrooge  whispered  in 
his  ear. 

"  Lord  bless  me  !  "  cried  tlie  gentleman,  as  if  his  breath 
were  taken  away.     "My  dear  Mr.  Scrooge,  are  you  serious?" 

"  If  you  please,"  said  Scrooge.  "  Not  a  farthing  less. 
A  great  many  back-payments  are  included  in  it,  I  assure  you. 
Will  you  do  me  that  favour  ?  " 

"  My  dear  sir,"  said  the  other,  shaking  hands  with  him, 
"  I  don't  know  what  to  say  to  such  munifi —  " 

"  Don  t  say  anything,  please,"  retorted  Scrooge.  "Come 
and  see  me.     Will  jon  come  and  see  me  ?  " 

"  I  wiK  !  "  cried  the  old  gentleman.  And  it  was  clear  he 
meant  to  do  it. 

"  Thank'ee,"  said  Scrooge.  "  I  am  much  obliged  to  you. 
I  thank  you  fifty  times.     Bless  you  I  " 

He  went  to  church,  and  walked  about  the  streets,  and 
watched  the  people  hurrying  to  and  fro,  and  patted  the 
children  on  the  head,  and  questioned  beggars,  and  looked 


A   CURISTMAS   CAROL.  75 

down  into  the  kitchens  of  houses,  and  up  to  the  windows  ; 
and  found  that  everything  could  yield  him  pleasure.  He  had 
never  dreamed  that  any  walk — that  any  thing — could  give 
him  so  much  happiness.  In  the  afternoon,  he  turned  his 
steps  towards  his  nephew's  liouse. 

He  passed  the  door  a  dozen  times,  before  he  had  the 
courage  to  go  up  and  knock.    But  he  made  a  dash,  and  did  it : 

"  Is  your  master  at  home,  my  dear?-"  said  Scrooge  to  the 
girl.     Nice  girl !     Very. 

"  Yes,  sir." 

"  Where  is  he,  my  love  ?  "  said  Scrooge. 

"  He's  in  the  dining-room,  sir,  along  with  mistress.  I  '11 
show  you  up-stairs,  if  you  please." 

"  Thank' ee.  He  knows  me,"  said  Scrooge,  with  his  hand 
already  on  the  dining-room  lock.     "I'll  go  in  here,  my  dear." 

He  turned  it  gently,  and  sidled  his  face  in,  round  the  door. 
They  were  looking  at  the  table  (which  was  spread  out  in 
great  array) ;  for  these  young  housekeepers  are  always 
nervous  on  such  points,  and  like  to  see  that  everything  is 
right. 

"  Fred  !  "  said  Scrooge. 

Dear  heart  alive,  how  his  niece  by  marriage  started ! 
Scrooge  had  forgotten,  for  the  moment,  about  her  sitting  in 
tlie  comer  with  the  footstool,  or  he  wouldn't  have  done  it,  on 
any  account. 

"  Why  bless  my  soul !  "  cried  Fred,  "  who  's  that?  " 

"  It 's  I.  Yoiu"  uncle  Scrooge.  I  have  come  to  dinner. 
Will  you  let  me  in,  Fred  ?  " 

Let  him  in !  It  is  a  mercy  he  didn't  shake  his  arm  off. 
He  was  at  home  in  five  minutes.  Nothing  could  be  heartier. 
His  niece  looked  just  the  same.  So  did  Topper  when  he 
came.  So  did  the  plump  sister,  when  she  came.  So  did 
every  one  when  they  came.  Wonderful  party,  wonderful 
games,  wonderful  unanimity,  won-der-ful  happiness  ! 

But  he  was  early  at  the  office  next  morning.  Oh  he  was 
early  there.  If  he  could  only  be  there  first,  and  catch  Bob 
Cratchit  coming  late !  That  was  the  thing  he  had  set  his 
heart  upon. 

And  he  did  it ;  yes  he  did !  The  clock  struck  nine.  No 
Bob.  A  quarterpast.  No  Bob.  He  was  full  eighteen 
minutes  and  a  half  behind  his  time.  Scrooge  sat  with  his 
door  wide  open,  that  he  might  see  him  come  into  the  Tank. 


76  A    CHRISTMAS    CAROL. 

His  hat  was  off,  before  he  opened  the  door ;  his  comfortei 
too.  He  was  on  his  stool  in  a  jiffy ;  driving  away  with  his 
pen,  as  if  he  were  trying  to  overtake  nine  o'clock. 

"  Hallo !  "  growled  Scrooge,  in  his  accustomed  voice  as 
near  as  he  coiild  feign  it.  "  What  do  you  mean  by  coming 
here  at  this  time  of  day  ?  " 

"I  am  very  sorry,  sir,"  said  Bob.     "I  am  behind  my  time." 

"  You  are  !  "  repeated  Scrooge.  "  Yes.  I  think  you  are. 
Step  this  way,  sir,  if  you  please." 

"It's  only  once  a  year,  sir,"  pleaded  Bob,  appearing  from 
the  Tank.  "  It  shall  not  be  repeated.  I  was  making  rather 
merry  yesterday,  sir." 

"Now,  I  '11  tell  you  what,  my  friend,"  said  Scrooge.  "  1 
am  not  going  to  stand  this  sort  of  thing  any  longer.  And 
therefore,"  he  continued,  leaping  from  his  stool,  and  giving 
Bob  such  a  dig  in  the  waistcoat  that  he  staggered  back  into 
the  Tank  again  :  "  and  therefore  I  am  about  to  raise  your 
salary  I  " 

Bob  trembled,  and  got  a  little  nearer  to  the  ruler.  He 
had  a  momentary  idea  of  knocking  Scrooge  down  with  it, 
holding  him,  and  calling  to  the  people  in  the  court  for  help 
and  a  strait-waistcoat. 

"  A  merry  Christmas,  Bob  !  "  said  Scrooge,  with  an 
earnestness  that  could  not  be  mistaken,  as  he  clapped  him  on 
the  back.  "  A  merrier  Christmas,  Bob,  my  good  fellow,  than 
I  have  given  you  for  many  a  year !  I  '11  raise  your  salary, 
and  endeavour  to  assist  your  struggling  family,  and  we  will 
discuss  your  affairs  this  very  afternoon,  over  a  Christmas 
bowl  of  smoking  bishop.  Bob !  Make  up  the  fires,  and  buy 
another  coal-scuttle  before  you  dot  another  i.  Bob  Cratchit !  " 

Scrooge  was  better  than  his  word.  He  did  it  all,  and 
infinitely  more ;  and  to  Tiny  Tim,  who  did  not  die,  he  was  a 
second  father.  He  became  as  good  a  friend,  as  good  a  master, 
and  as  good  a  man,  as  the  good  old  city  knew,  or  any  other 
good  old  city,  town,  or  borough,  in  the  good  old  world. 
Some  people  laughed  to  see  the  alteration  in  him,  but  he  let 
them  laugh,  and  little  heeded  them ;  for  he  was  wise  enough 
to  know  that  nothing  ever  happened  on  this  globe,  for  good, 
at  which  some  people  did  not  have  their  fill  of  laughter  in  the 
outset ;  and  knowing  that  such  as  these  would  be  blind 
anyway,  he  thought  it  quite  as  well  that  they  should  wrinkle 
up  their  eyes  in  grins,  as  have  the  malady  in  less  attractive 


A    CHRISTMAS   CAROL.  77 

fonns.      Kis  own  heart  laughed  :   and  that  was  quite  enoue^h 
for  him. 

He  had  no  further  intercourse  with  Spirits,  but  lived  xipon 
the  Total  Abstinence  Principle,  ever  afterwards ;  and  it  was 
always  said  of  him,  that  he  knew  how  to  keep  Christmas  well, 
if  any  man  alive  possessed  the  knowledge.  May  that  be 
truly  said  of  us,  and  aU  of  us !  Aad  so,  as  Tiny  Tim 
observed,  God  bless  Us.  Every  One  ! 


THE    CHIMES; 

A  GOBLIN  STORY 

OF  SOME   BELLS   THAT   RANG  AN   OLD  YEAR  OUT 
AND  A  NEW  YEAR  IN. 


14  j\k,- 


''^ 


r^ 


x^O 


";a\'  \^ /'/  "~     ,-.-  4^5^  *^\  m\  \ 


L  >W'  y, 


J?.  MaiM^&,  ^.A,  del. 


4^  Liy.  ^ 


^^£^ 


.V. 


THE   CHIMES. 


FIRST  QUARTER. 


Theke  are  not  many  people — and  as  it  is  desirable  that  a 
story-teller  and  a  story-reader  should  estabKsh  a  mutual  under- 
standing as  soon  as  possible,  I  beg  it  to  be  noticed  that  1 
ccnfine  this  observation  neither  to  young  people  nor  to  little 
people,  but  extend  it  to  all  conditions  of  people  :  little  and  big. 
young  and  old :  yet  growing  up,  or  already  growing  do\Tn 
again — there  are  not,  I  say,  many  people  who  would  care  to 
sleep  in  a  church.  I  don't  mean  at  sermon-time  in  warni 
weather  (when  the  thing  has  actually  been  done,  once  or 
twice),  but  in  the  night,  and  alone.  A  great  midtitude  of 
persons  will  be  violently  astonished,  I  know,  by  this  position, 
in  clie  broad  bold  Day.  But  it  applies  to  Night.  It  must 
be  argued  by  night.  And  I  will  undertake  to  maintain  it 
successfully  on  any  gusty  winter's  night  appointed  for  the 
purpose,  with  any  one  opponent  chosen  from  the  rest,  who 
will  meet  me  singly  in  an  old  churchyard,  before  an  old  church 
door ;  and  will  previously  empower  me  to  lock  him  in,  if  need- 
ful to  his  satisfaction,  until  morning. 

For  the  night-wind  has  a  dismal  trick  of  wandering  round 
and  round  a  building  of  that  sort,  and  moaning  as  it  goes;  and 
of  trying  with  its  unseen  hand,  the  windows  and  the  doors  ;  and 
seeking  out  some  crevices  by  which  to  enter.  And  when  it 
has  got  in ;  as  one  not  finding  what  it  seeks,  whatever  that 
may  be,  it  wails  and  howls  to  issue  forth  again ;  and  not 
content  with  stalking  ihrougli  the  isles,  and  gliding  round  and 
round  the  pillars,  and  tempting  the  deep  organ,  soars  up  to 
the  roof,   and  strives  to  rend  tho  rafters :    then  flings  itself 

G 


82  THE   CHIMES. 

despairingly  upon  the  stones  below,  and  passes,  muttering,  into 
the  vaults.  Anon,  it  comes  up  stealthily,  and  creeps  along  the 
walls,  seeming  to  read,  in  whispers,  the  Inscriptions  sacred  to 
the  Dead.  At  some  of  these,  it  breaks  out  shrilly,  as  with 
laughter;  and  at  others,  moans  and  cries  as  if  it  were 
lamenting.  It  has  a  ghostly  sound  too,  lingering  within  the 
altar ;  where  it  seems  to  chaunt  in  its  wild  way,  of  Wrong 
and  Murder  done,  and  false  Gods  worshipped,  in  defiance  of 
the  Tables  of  the  Law,  which  look  so  fair  and  smooth,  but 
are  so  flawed  and  broken.  Ugh !  Heaven  preserve  us, 
sitting  snugly  round  the  fire  !  It  has  an  awful  voice,  that  wind 
at  Midnight,  singing  in  a  church  ! 

But,  high  up  in  the  steeple  !  There  the  foul  blast  roars  and 
whistles !  High  up  in  the  steeple,  where  it  is  free  to  come 
and  go  through  many  an  airy  arch  and  loophole,  and  to  twist 
and  twine  itself  about  the  giddy  stair,  and  twirl  the  groaning 
weathercock,  and  make  the  very  tower  shake  and  shiver ! 
High  up  in  the  steeple,  where  tlie  belfry  is,  and  iron  rails  are 
ragged  -n-ith  rust,  and  sheets  of  lead  and  copper,  shrivelled  by 
the  changiug  weather,  crackle  and  heave  beneath  the  un- 
accustomed tread;  and  birds  stuff  shabby  nests  into  corners 
of  old  oaken  joists  and  beams  ;  and  dust  grows  old  and  grey  ; 
and  speckled  spiders,  indolent  and  fat  with  long  security, 
swing  idly  to  and  fi'o  in  the  vibration  of  the  bells,  and  never 
loose  their  hold  upon  their  thread-spun  castles  in  the  air,  or 
climb  up  sailor-like  in  quick  alarm,  or  di'op  upon  the  ground 
and  ply  a  score  of  nimble  legs  to  save  one's  life  !  High  up  in 
tlie  steeple  of  an  old  church,  far  above  the  light  and  murmur 
of  the  town  and  far  below  the  flying  clouds  that  shadow  it,  is 
the  wild  and  dreary  place  at  night :  and  high  up  in  the  steeple 
of  an  old  church,  dwelt  the  Chimes  I  teU  of. 

They  were  old  Chimes,  trust  me.  Centuries  ago,  these 
Bells  had  been  baptised  by  bishops :  so  many  centuries  ago, 
that  the  register  of  their  baptism  was  lost  long,  long  before  the 
memory  of  man,  and  no  one  knew  their  names.  They  had 
had  their  Godfathers  and  Godmothers,  these  BeUs  (for  my  own 
part,  by  the  way,  I  would  rather  incur  the  responsibility  of  being 
Godfather  to  a  Bell  than  a  Boy),  and  had  had  their  silver  mugs 
no  doubt,  besides.  But  Time  had  mowed  down  their  sponsors, 
and  Henry  the  Eighth  had  melted  do^\Ti  their  mugs ;  and  they 
now  hung,  nameless  and    mugless,   in   the   church  tower. 

Not   speechless,  though.     Fur    from    it.     They  had  clear, 


THE   CHIMES.  83 

loud,  lusty,  sounding  voices,  had  these  Bells ;  and  far  and 
wide  they  might  be  heard  upon  the  wind.  Much  too  sturdy 
Chimes  were  they,  to  be  dependent  on  the  pleasure  of  the  wind, 
moreover ;  for,  fighting  gallantly  against  it  when  it  took  an 
adverse  whim,  they  would  pour  their  cheorfid.  notes  into  a 
listening  ear  right  royally ;  and  bent  on  being  heard,  on 
stormy  nights,  by  some  poor  mother  watching  a  sick  child,  or 
some  lone  wife  whose  husband  was  at  sea,  they  had  been  some- 
times known  to  beat  a  blustering  Nor'  Wester;  aye,  "all  to 
fits,"  as  Toby  Veck  said; — for  though  they  chose  to  call  him 
-Trotty  Veck,  his  name  was  Toby,  and  nobody  could  make  it 
anything  else  either  (except  Tobias)  without  a  special  act  of 
parliament ;  he  having  been  as  lawfully  christened  in  his  day 
as  the  Bells  had  been  in  theirs,  though  with  not  quite  so  much 
of  solemnity  or  public  rejoicing. 

For  my  part,  I  confess  myself  of  Toby  Veck's  belief,  for  I 
am  sure  he  had  opportunities  enough  of  fonning  a  correct  one. 
And  whatever  Toby  Veck  said,  I  say.  And  I  take  my  stand 
by  Toby  Veck,  although  he  did  stand  all  day  long  (and  weary 
work  it  was)  just  outside  the  church-door.  In  fact,  he  was  a 
ticket-porter,  Toby  Veck,  and  waited  tliere  for  jobs. 

And  a  breezy,  goose-skinned,  blue-nosed,  red-eyed,  stony- 
toed,  tooth-chattering  place  it  was,  to  wait  in,  in  tlie  winter- 
time, as  Toby  Veck  well  knew.  The  M-ind  came  tearing  round 
the  corner — especially  the  east  wdnd — -as  if  it  had  sallied 
forth,  express,  from  the  confines  of  the  earth,  to  have  a  blow 
at  Toby.  And  fiftentimes  it  seemed  to  come  upon  him  sooner 
than  it  had  expected,  for  bouncing  round  the  corner,  and 
passing  Toby,  it  would  suddenly  wheel  round  again,  as  if  it 
cried  ''  Why,  here  he  is  !  "  Incontinently  his  little  white  apron 
would  be  caught  up  over  his  head  like  a  nauglity  boy's 
garments,  and  his  feeble  little  cane  would  oe  seen  to  wrestle 
and  struggle  unavailingly  in  his  hand,  and  his  legs  would 
undergo  tremendous  agitation,  and  Toby  himself  all  aslant, 
and  facing  now  in  this  direction,  now  in  that,  would  be  so 
banged  and  buffeted,  and  touzled,  and  worried,  and  hustled, 
and  lifted  off  his  feet,  as  to  render  it  a  state  of  things  but  one 
degree  removed  from  a  positive  miracle,  that  he  wasn't  carried 
up  bodily  into  the  air  as  a  colony  of  frogs  or  snails  or  other 
very  portable  creatures  sometimes  are,  and  rained  down  again, 
to  the  great  astonishment  of  the  natives,  on  some  strange 
corner  of  the  world  where  ticket-portera  are  unknown 


84 


THE    CUTMES. 


But,  ■windy  weather,  in  spite  of  its  using  him  so  roaghly, 
was,  after  all,  a  sort  of  holiday  for  Toby.  That 's  the  fact. 
He  didn't  seem  to  wait  so  long  for  a  sixpence  in  the  wind,  as 
at  other  times ;  the  having  to  fight  with  that  boisterous 
element  took  off  his  attention,  and  quite  freshened  him  up, 
when  he  was  getting  hungry  and  low  spirited.  A  hard  frost 
too,  or  a  fall  of  snow,  was  an  Event;  and  it  seemed  to  do  him 
good,  someliow  or  other — it  would  have  been  hard  to  say  in 
what  respect  though,  Toby  !  So  wind  and  frost  and  snow,  and 
perhaps  a  good  stiff  storm  of  hail,  were  Toby  Veck's  red-letter 
days. 

Wet  weather  was  the  worst ;  the  cold,  damp,  clammy  wet, 
that  wrapped  him  up  like  a  moist  great-coat — the  only  kind  of 
great-coat  Toby  owned,  or  could  have  added  to  his  comfort  by 
dispensing  with.  Wet  days,  when  the  rain  came  slowly, 
thickly,  obstinately  doAvm ;  when  the  street's  throat,  like  his 
own,  was  choked  with  mist ;  when  smoking  umbrellas  passed 
nnd  repassed,  spinning  round  and  round  like  so  many  tee- 
totums, as  they  knocked  against  each  other  on  the  crowded 
footway,  throwing  off  a  little  "whirlpool  of  uncomfortable 
sprinklings ;  when  gutters  brawled  and  water-spouts  were  full 
and  noisy ;  when  the  wet  from  the  projecting  stones  and 
ledges  of  the  church  fell  drip,  drip,  drip,  on  Toby,  making  the 
wisp  of  straw  on  which  he  stood  mere  mud  in  no  time ;  those 
were  the  days  that  tried  him.  Then,  indeed,  you  might  see 
Toby  looking  anxiously  cut  from  his  shelter  in  an  angle,  of  the 
church  wall — such  a  meagre  shelter  that  in  summer  time  it 
never  cast  a  shadow  thicker  than  a  good-sized  walking-stick 
upon  the  sunny  pavement — with  a  disconsolate  and  lengthened 
face.  But  coming  out  a  minute  afterwards,  to  warm  himself  by 
exercise,  and  trotting  up  and  down  some  dozen  times,  he  would 
brighten  even  then,  and  go  back  more  brightly  to  his  niche. 

They  called  him  Trotty  from  his  pace,  which  meant  speed  if 
it  didn't  make  it.  He  could  have  Walked  faster  perhaps ; 
most  likely ;  but  rob  him  of  his  trot,  and  Toby  woidd  have 
talcen  to  his  bed  and  died.  It  bespattered  him  with  mud  in 
dirty  weather;  it  cost  him  a  world  of  trouble;  he  could  have 
walked  with  infinitely  greater  ease  ;  but  that  was  one  reason 
for  his  clinging  to  it  so  tenacidftsly.  A  weak,  small,  spare 
old  man,  he  was  a  very  Hercules,  this  Tob}',  in  his  good 
intentions.  He  loved  to  earn  his  money.  He  delighted  to 
believe — Toby  was  very  poor,  and  couldn't  well  afford  to  part 


THE  cinMi':s.  85 

with  a  delight — (hat  he  was  worth  his  salt.  With  a  shilling 
or  an  eighteen-penny  message  or  small  parcel  in  band,  his 
courage,  always  high,  rose  higher.  xVs  he  trotted  on,  he  would 
call  out  to  fast  Postmen  ahead  of  him,  to  get  out  of  the  way ; 
devoutly  believing  that  in  the  natural  course  of  things  he  must 
inevitably  overtake  and  run  them  down ;  and  he  had  perfect 
faith — not  often  tested— in  his  being  ^able  to  carry  anything 
that  man  eoidd  lift. 

Thus  even  when  he  came  out  of  his  nook  to  warm  himself 
on  a  wet  day,  Toby  trotted.  Making,  with  his  leaky  shoes,  a 
crooked  line  of  slushy  footprints  in  the  mire ;  and  blowing  on 
his  chilly  hands  and  rubbing  them  against  each  other,  poorly 
defended  from  the  searching  cold  by  threadbare  mufflers  of 
grey  worsted,  with  a  private  apartment  only  for  tlie  thumb,  and 
a  common  room  or  tap  for  the  rest  of  the  fingers ;  Toby,  with 
his  knees  bent  and  his  cane  beneath  his  arm,  still  trotted. 
Falling  out  into  the  road  to  look  up  at  the  belfry  when  the 
Chimes  resounded,  Toby  trotted  still. 

He  made  this  last  excursion  several  times  a  day,  for  they 
were  company  to  him ;  and  when  he  heard  their  voices, 
lie  had  an  interest  in  glancing  at  their  lodging-place,  and 
thinking  how  they  were  moved,  and  wliat  hammers  beat  upon 
them.  Perhaps  he  was  the  more  curious  about  these  Bells, 
because  there  were  points  of  resemblance  between  themselves 
and  him.  They  hung  there,  in  all  weathers,  with  the  wiml 
and  rain  di'iving  in  upon  them ;  facing  only  the  outsides  of 
all  those  houses ;  never  getting  any  nearer  to  the  blazing 
fires  that  gleamed  and  shone  upon  the  Avindows,  or  came 
puffing  out  of  the  chimney  tops ;  and  incapable  of  participa- 
tion in  any  of  the  good  things  that  were  constantly  being 
handed,  through  the  street  doors  and  area  railings,  to  pro- 
digious cooks.  Faces  came  and  went  at  many  windows  : 
sometimes  pretty  faces,  youthful  faces,  pleasant  faces :  some- 
times the  reverse :  but  Toby  knew  no  more  (though  he  often 
Kjjeculated  on  these  trifles,  standing  idle  in  the  streets)  whence 
they  came,  or  where  they  went,  or  whether,  when  the  lip^! 
moved,  one  kind  word  was  said  of  liim  in  all  the  year,  than 
did  the  Chimes  themselve^ 

loby  was  not  a  casuist — that  he  knew  of,  at  least — and  1 
don't  mean  to  say  that  when  he  began  to  take  to  the  Bells,  and 
to  knit  up  his  first  rough  ac<]uaintance  with  them  into  some- 
thing of  a  closer  and  more  delicate  woof,  he  paissed  through 


83  THE    CllIMI'S. 

these  considerations  one  by  one,  or  helrl  any  formal  review  or 
.yreat  field-day  in  his  thoughts.  But  wliat  I  mean  to  say,  and 
do  say  is,  that  as  the  functions  of  Toby's  body,  his  digestive 
organs  for  example,  did  of  their  own  running,  and  by  a  great 
many  operations  of  which  he  was  altogether  ignorant,  and  the 
knowledge  of  which  would  have  astonished  him  very  much, 
arrive  at  a  certain  end ;  so  his  mental  faculties,  without  his 
privity  or  concurrence,  set  aU  these  wheels  and  springs  in 
motion,  with  a  thousand  others,  when  tbey  worked  to  bring 
about  his  liking  for  the  Bells. 

And  though  I  had  said  his  love,  I  would  not  have  recalled 
the  word,  though  it  would  scarcely  have  expressed  his  compli- 
cated feeling.  For  being  but  a  simple  man,  he  invested  them 
with  a  strange  and  solemn  character.  They  were  so 
mysterious,  often  heard  and  never  seen ;  so  high  up,  so  far 
off,  so  full  of  such  a  deep  strong  melody,  that  he  regarded 
them  with  a  species  of  awe ;  and  sometimes  when  he  looked 
up  at  the  dark  arched  windows  in  the  tower,  he  half  expected 
to  be  beckoned  to  by  something  which  was  not  a  Bell,  and 
yet  was  what  he  heard  so  often  sounding  in  the  Chimes.  For 
all  this,  Tol>y  scouted  with  indignation  a  certain  flying  rumour 
that  the  Chimes  were  haunted,  as  implying  the  possibility  of 
their  being  connected  with  any  Evil  thing.  In  short,  they  were 
very  often  in  his  ears,  and  very  often  in  his  thoughts,  but 
always  in  his  good  opinion  ;  and  he  very  often  got  such  a  crick 
in  his  neck  by  staring  with  liis  moutli  wide  open,  at  the 
.steejile  where  they  hung,  that  he  was  fain  to  take  an  extra  trot 
or  two,  afterwards,  to  cure  it. 

The  very  thing  he  was  in  the  act  of  doing  one  cold  day, 
when  the  last  drowsy  sound  of  Twelve  o'clock,  just  struck,  was 
liumming  like  a  melodious  monster  of  a  Bee,  and  not  by  any 
means  a  busy  Bee,  all  through  the  steeple  I 

"  Dinner-time,  eh ! "  said  Toby,  trotting  up  and  uowa 
before  the  church.      "  Ah  !  " 

Toby's  nose  was  very  red,  and  his  eyelids  were  very  red, 
and  he  winked  very  much,  and  his  shoidders  were  very  near 
his  ears,  and  his  legs  were  very  stifi",  and  altogether  he  was 
evidently  a  long  way  upon  the  frosty  side  of  cool. 

"  Dinner-time,  eh!  "  repeated  Toby,  using  his  right  hand 
muffler  like  an  infantine  boxing-glove,  and  punishing  his  chest 
for  being  cold.      "  Ah-h-h-h  !  " 

He  took  a  silent  trot,  after  that,  for  a  minute  cr  two. 


THE   CHIMES.  87 

"  There  's  nothing,"  said  Toby,  breaking  forth  afresh, — but 
here  he  stopped  short  in  his  trot,  and  with  a  face  of  great 
ittterest  and  some  alarm,  felt  his  nose  carefully  all  the  way  up. 
It  was  but  a  little  way  (not  being  much  of  a  nose)  and  he 
flad  soon  finished. 

"I  thought  it  was  gone,"  said  Toby,  trotting  off  again. 
"  It 's  all  right,  however.  I  am  sure  I  couldn't  blame  it  if  it 
was  to  go.  It  has  a  precious  hard  service  of  it  in  the  bitter 
weather,  and  precious  little  to  look  forward  to :  for  I  don't 
take  snuff  myself.  It 's  a  good  deal  tried,  poor  creetur,  at  the 
best  of  times ;  for  when  it  does  get  hold  of  a  pleasant  -whiff 
or  so  (which  an't  too  often),  it 's  generally  from  somebody 
else's  dinner,  a-coming  home  from  the  baker's." 

The  reflection  reminded  him  of  that  other  reflection,  which 
he  had  left  unfinished. 

''  There  's  nothing,"  said  Toby,  "  more  regular  in  its  com- 
ing round  than  dinner-time,  and  nothing  less  regular  in  its 
coming  round  than  dinner.  That 's  the  great  difference 
between  'em.  It 's  took  me  a  long  time  to  find  it  out.  I 
wonder  whether  it  would  be  worth  any  gentleman's  while,  now, 
U)  buy  that  obserwation  for  the  Papers  ;  or  the  Parliament !  " 

Toby  was  only  joking,  for  he  gravely  shook  his  head  in 
self-depreciation. 

"  Why  !  Lord !  "  said  Toby.  "  The  Papers  is  full  of  obser- 
wations  as  it  is ;  and  so  's  the  Parliament.  Here 's  last 
week's  paper,  now ;  "  taking  a  very  dirty  one  from  his 
pocket,  and  holding  it  from  him  at  arm's  length;  "full  of 
obserwations !  Full  of  obserwations  !  I  like  to  know  the 
news  as  well  as  any  man,"  said  Toby,  slowly;  folding  it  a  littie 
smaller,  and  putting  it  in  his  pocket  again:  "but  it  almost 
goes  against  the  grain  with  me  to  read  a  paper  now.  It 
frightens  me  almost.  I  don't  know  what  we  poor  people  are 
coming  to.  Lord  send  we  may  be  coming  to  something  better 
in  the  New  Year  nigh  upon  us  !  " 

"  Why,  father,  father  !  "  said  a  pleasant  voice,  hard  by. 

But  Toby,  not  hearing  it,  continued  to  trot  backwards  and 
forwards :   musing  as  he  went,  and  talking  to  himself. 

"  It  seems  as  if  we  can't  go  right,  or  do  right,  or  bo 
righted,"  said  Toby.  "  I  hadn't  much  schooling,  myself, 
wlien  I  was  young;  and  I  can't  make  out  whether  we  have 
any  business  on  the  face  of  the  earth,  or  not.  Sometimes  I 
think  we  must  have — a  little ;  and  sometimes  I  think  we  must 


**  THE    CUIMES. 

be  intruding.  I  get  so  puz-^led  sometimes  that  I  am  not  even 
able  to  make  up  my  mind  whether  there  is  any  good  at  all  in 
us,  or  whether  we  are  born  bad.  We  seem  to  do  dreadful 
things ;  we  seem  to  give  a  deal  of  trouble ;  we  are  always 
being  complained  of  and  guarded  against.  One  way  or 
another,  we  fill  the  papers.  Talk  of  a  New  Year !  "  said 
Toby,  moui-nfully.  "  I  can  bear  up  as  well  as  another  mau 
at  most  times ;  better  than  a  good  many,  for  I  am  as  strong 
as  a  lion,  and  all  men  an't ;  but  supposing  it  should  really  be 
that  we  have  no  right  to  a  New  Year — supposing  we  really 
are  intruding " 

"  Why,  father,  father  !  "  said  the  pleasant  voice  again. 

Toby  heard  it  this  time;  started;  stopped;  and  shortening 
his  sight,  which  had  been  directed  a  long  way  off  as  seeking 
for  enlightenment  in  the  very  heart  of  the  approaching  year, 
found  himself  face  to  face  with  his  own  child,  and  looking 
close  into  her  eyes. 

Bright  eyes  they  were.  Eyes  that  would  bear  a  world  of 
looking  in,  before  their  depth  was  fathomed.  Dark  eyes,  that 
reflected  back  the  eyes  which  searched  them ;  not  flashinglj-, 
or  at  the  owner's  will,  but  with  a  clear,  calm,  honest,  patient 
radiance,  claiming  kindred  with  that  light  which  Heaven  called 
into  being.  Eyes  that  were  beautiful  and  true,  and  beaming 
with  Hope.  With  Hope  so  young  and  fresh ;  with  Hope  so 
buoyant,  vigorous  and  bright,  despite  the  twenty  years  of  work 
and  poverty  on  which  they  had  looked ;  that  they  became  a 
voice  to  Trotty  Veck,  and  said  i  "I  think  we  have  some 
business  here — a  little  !  " 

Trotty  kissed  the  lips  belonging  to  the  eyes,  and  squeezed 
the  blooming  face  between  his  hands.  ,' 

"Why  Pet,"  said  Trotty.  "What's  to-do?  I  didn't 
expect  you  to-day.  Meg." 

"  Neither  did  I  expect  to  come,  father,"  cried  the  girl,  nod- 
ding her  head  and  smiling  as  she  spoke.  "  But  here  I  am  ! 
And  not  alone  ;  not  alone  !  " 

"  Why  you  don't  mean  to  say,"  observed  Trotty,  looking 
curiously  at  a  covered  basket  which  she  carried  in  her  hand, 
"  that  you " 

"  SmeU  it,  father  dear,"  said  Meg,  "  Only  smell  it !  " 

Trotty  was  going  to  lift  up  the  cover  at  once,  in  a  great 
hurry,  when  she  gaily  interposed  her  hand. 

"  No,    no,    no/'    said    Meg,    with   the   glee   of    a   phi  Id. 


THE    CHIMES.  «y 

"  Lengthen  it  out  a  little.  Let  me  just  lift  up  the  corner; 
just  the  lit-tle  ti-ny  cor-ner,  you  know."  said  Meg,  suiting  the 
action  to  the  word  with  the  utmost  gentleness,  and  speairing 
very  softly,  as  if  she  were  afraid  of  being  overheard  hy  soir.e- 
thiug  inside  the  basket ;   "  there.     Now.     What 's  that !  " 

Toby  took  the  shortest  possible  sniff  at  the  edge  of  the 
basket,  and  cried  out  in  a  rapture  :         - 

"  Why,  it 's  hot !  " 

'•'It's  burning  hot!"  cried  Meg.  "Ha,  ha,  ha!  It's 
scalding  hot ! " 

"  Ha,  ha,  ha  !  "  roared  Toby,  with  a  sort  of  kick.  •'  It 's 
scalding  hot !  " 

"  But  what  is  it,  father  ? "  said  Meg.  "  Come  !  You 
liaven't  guessed  what  it  is.  And  you  must  guess  what  it  is. 
I  can't  think  of  taking  it  out,  till  you  guess  what  it  is.  Dou't 
be  in  such  a  hurry  !  Wait  a  minute  !  A  little  bit  more  of 
the  cover.     Now  guess  !  " 

Meg  was  in  a  perfect  fright  lest  he  should  guess  right  too 
soon ;  shrinking  away,  as  she  held  the  basket  towards  him  ; 
curling  up  her  pretty  shoulders  ;  stopping  her  ear  with  her 
hand,  as  if  by  so  doing  she  could  keep  the  right  word  out  of 
Toby's  lips  ;   and  laughing  softly  the  whole  time. 

Meanwhile  Toby,  putting  a  hand  on  each  knee,  bent  doAvn 
his  nose  to  the  basket,  and  took  a  long  inspiration  at  the  lid ; 
the  grin  upon  his  withered  face  expanding  in  the  process,  as 
if  he  were  inhaling  laugliing  gas. 

"Ah!  It's  very  nice,"  said  Toby.  "It  an't — I  suppose 
it  an't  Polonies?" 

"No, no, no ! "  cried  Meg,  delighted.  "Nothinglike Polonies!" 

"  No,"  said  Toby,  after  another  sniff.  "  It 's — it 's  mellower 
than  Polonies.  It 's  very  nice.  It  improves  every  moment. 
It 's  too  decided  for  Trotters.     An't  it !  " 

Meg  was  in  an  ecstasy.  He  could  not  have  gone  wider  of 
the  mark  than  Trotters — except  Polonies. 

"  Liver  ?  "  said  Toby,  communing  with  himself.  "  No. 
There 's  a  mildness  about  it  that  don't  answer  to  liver. 
Pettitoes  ?  No.  It  an't  faint  enough  for  pettitoes.  It  wants 
tlie  stringiness  of  Cocks'  heads.  And  I  know  it  an't  sausages. 
I  'U  tell  you  what  it  is.     It 's  chitterlings  !  " 

"No,  it  an't!"  cried  Meg,  in  a  burst  of  delight.  "No, 
it  an't !  " 

"Why,  what  am  I  a  thinking  of!"    said  Toby,  buddenJy 


90  THE   CHIMES. 

recovering  a  position  as  near  the  perpendicular  as  it  was 
possible  for  him  to  assume.  "  I  shall  forget  my  own  name 
next.     It 's  tripe  I  " 

Tripe  it  was  ;  and  Meg,  in  high  joy,  protested  he  should 
say,  in  half  a  minute  more,  it  was  the  best  tripe  ever  stewed. 

"  And  so,"  said  Meg,  busying  herself  exultingly  with  hei 
basket;  "I  '11  lay  the  cloth  at  once,  father ;  for  I  have  brought 
the  tripe  in  a  basin,  and  tied  the  basin  up  in  a  pocket-liand- 
kerchief ;  and  if  I  like  to  be  proud  for  oiu  e,  and  spread  that 
for  a  cloth,  and  call  it  a  cloth,  there  's  no  law  to  prevent  me  ; 
is  there,  father  ?  " 

"  Not  that  I  know  of,  my  dear,"  said  Toby.  "  But  they  're 
always  a  bringing  up  some  new  law  or  other." 

"  And  according  to  what  I  ■was  reading  you  in  the  paper 
the  other  day,  father ;  what  the  Judge  said,  you  know ;  we 
poor  people  are  supposed  to  know  them  all.  Ha  ha  !  What 
a  mistake  !     My  goodness  me,  how  clever  they  think  us  !  "  . 

"  Yes,  my  dear,"  cried  Trotty;  "and  they'd  be  very  fond 
of  any  one  of  us  that  did  know  'em  all.  He  'd  grow  fat  upon 
the  work  he  'd  get,  that  man,  and  be  popular  with  the  gentle- 
folks in  liis  neighbourhood.     Very  much  so  !  " 

"  He  'd  eat  his  dinner  with  an  appetite,  whoever  he  was,  if 
it  smelt  like  tliis,"  said  Meg,  cheerfully.  "  Make  haste,  for 
tliere  's  a  hot  potato  besides,  and  half  a  pint  of  fresh-drawn 
beer  in  a  bottle.  Where  will  you  dine,  father  ?  On  the  Post, 
or  on  the  Steps  ?  Dear,  dear,  how  grand  we  are.  Two  places 
to  choose  from  !  " 

"  The  steps  to-day,  my  Pet,"  said  Trotty.  "  Steps  in  dry 
weather.  Post  in  wet.  There  's  a  greater  conveniency  in  the 
steps  at  all  times,  because  of  the  sitting  down ;  but  thej'  're 
rheumatic  in  the  damp." 

"  Then  here,"  said  Meg,  clapping  her  hands,  after  a 
moment's  bustle  ;  "  here  it  is,  all  ready  !  And  beautiful  it 
looks  !     Come,  father.     Come  !  " 

Since  his  discovery  of  the  contents  of  the  basket,  Trotty 
had  been  standing  looking  at  her — and  had  been  speaking  too 
—in  an  abstracted  manner,  which  showed  that  though  slie 
was  the  object  of  his  thoughts  and  eyes,  to  the  exclusion  even 
of  tripe,  he  neither  saw  nor  thought  about  her  as  she  was  at 
that  moment,  but  had  before  him  some  imaginary  rough 
sketch  or  drama  of  her  future  life.  Roused,  now,  by  her 
cheerful  summons,  he  shook,  off  a  melancholy  shake  of  the 


THE    CHIMES.  9: 

hoad  which  was  just  coming  upon  him,  and  trotted  to  her  side- 
As  he  was  stooping  to  sit  down,  the  Chimes  rang. 

"  Amen !  "  said  Trotty,  pulling  off  his  hat  and  looking  up 
towards  them. 

"Amen  to  the  Bells,  father?"  cried  Meg. 

"They  broke  in  like  a  grace,  my  dear,"  said  Trotty,  taking 
his  seat.  "  They  'd  say  a  good  one,  I  am  sure,  if  they  could. 
Many  's  the  kind  thing  they  say  to  me." 

"  The  Bells  do,  father'  "  laughed  Meg,  as  she  set  the  basin, 
and  a  knife  and  fork  before  him.      "  Well !  " 

"Seem  to,  my  Pet,"  said  Trotty,'  falling  to  with  grent 
vigour.  "  And  where  's  the  difference  ?  If  I  hear  'em,  what 
does  it  matter  whether  they  speak  it  or  not?  Why  bless  you, 
my  dear,"  said  Toby,  pointing  at  the  tower  with  his  fork,  and 
becoming  more  animated  under  the  influence  of  dinner,  "  how 
often  have  I  heard  them  bells  say,  '  Toby  Veck,  Toby  Veck, 
keep  a  good  heart  Toby !  Toby  Veck,  Toby  Veck,  keep  a 
good  heart  Toby  ! '      A  million  times  ?     More  !  " 

"  Well,  I  never  !  "  cried  Meg. 

She  had,  though — over  and  over  again.  For  it  was  Toby's 
constant  topic. 

"  When  things  is  very  bad,"  said  Trotty  ;  "  very  bad  indeed 
1  mean  ;  almost  at  the  worst ;  then  it 's  '  Toby  Veck,  Toby 
Veck,  job  coming  soon,  Toby !  Toby  Veck,  Toby  Veck,  job 
coming  soon,  Toby  ! '     That  way." 

"  And  it  comes — at  last,  father,"  said  Meg,  with  a  touch  of 
sadness  in  her  pleasant  voice. 

"  Always,"  answered  the  unconscious  Toby.    "  Never  fails." 

While  this  discourse  was  holding,  Trotty  made  no  pause  in 
his  attack  upon  the  savoury  meat  before  him,  but  cut  and  ate, 
and  cut  and  drank,  and  cut  and  chewed,  and  dodged  about, 
from  tripe  to  hot  potato,  and  from  hot  potato  back  again  to 
tripe,  with  an  unctuous  and  unflagging  relish.  But  happen- 
ing now  to  look  all  round  the  street — in  case  anybody  should 
be  beckoning  from  any  door  or  window,  for  a  porter — his 
eyes,  in  coming  buck  again,  encountered  Meg  :  sitting  opposite 
to  him,  with  her  arms  folded :  and  only  busy  in  watching  his 
progress  with  a  smile  of  happiness. 

''  Why,  Lord  forgive  me  I  "  said  Trotty,  dropping  his  knife 
and  fork.  "  My  dove  !  Meg  I  why  didn't  you  tell  me  what 
a  beast  I  was  ?  ' 

"Father?" 


92  THE    CIIIMKS. 

"  Sittiii<5  here,"  said  Trotty,  iu  penitent  explanation,  "cram- 
ming', and  stuffing,  and  gorging  myself;  and  you  before  me 
there,  never  so  muck  as  breaking  your  precious  fast,  nor 
wanting  to,  when " 

"But  I  have  broken  it,  father,"  interposed  his  daughter, 
laughing,  "  all  to  bits.     I  have  had  my  dinner." 

"  Nonsense,"  said  Trotty.  "  Two  dinners  in  one  day  !  It 
an't  possible !  You  might  as  well  tell  me  that  two  Ne-'v 
Year's  Days  will  come  together,  or  that  I  have  had  a  gold 
head  all  my  life,  and  never  changed  it." 

"  I  have  had  my  dinner,  father,  for  all  that,"  said  Meg, 
coming  nearer  to  him.  "  And  if  you  '11  go  on  with  yours, 
I  '11  tell  you  how  and  where ;  and  how  your  dinner  came  to 
be  brought;   and — and  something  else  besides." 

Toby  still  appeared  incredulous ;  but  she  looked  into  hia 
face  with  her  clear  eyes,  and  laying  her  hand  upon  his  shoulder, 
motioned  him  to  go  on  while  the  meat  was  hot.  So  Trotty 
took  up  his  knife  and  fork  again,  and  went  to  work.  But 
much  more  slowly  than  before,  and  shaking  his  head,  as  if  lie 
were  not  at  all  pleased  with  himself. 

"  I  had  my  dinner,  father,"  said  Meg,  after  a  little  hesi- 
tation, *'  with — with  Richard.  His  dinner-time  was  early  ; 
and  as  he  brought  his  dinner  with  him  when  he  came  to  see 
me,  we — we  had  it  together,  father." 

Trotty  took  a  little  beer,  and  smacked  his  lips.  Then  he 
said,  •'  Oh  !  " — because  she  waited. 

"And  Richard  says,  father — "  Meg  resumed.    Then  stopped. 

"  What  does  Richard  say,  Meg  ?  "  asked  Toby. 

"  Richard  says,  father — "      Another  stoppage. 

"  Richard  's  a  long  time  saying  it,"  said  Toby. 

"  He  says  then,  father,"  Meg  continued,  lifting  up  her  eyes 
at  last,  and  speaking  in  a  tremble,  but  quite  plainly , 
"  another  year  is  nearly  gone,  and  where  is  the  use  of  waiting 
on  from  year  to  year,  when  it  is  so  unlikely  we  shall  ever  be 
better  olf  than  we  are  now  ?  He  says  we  are  poor  now, 
father,  and  we  shall  be  poor  then,  but  we  are  young  now,  and 
years  will  make  us  old  before  we  know  it.  He  says  that  if 
we  wait :  people  in  our  condition  :  until  we  see  our  way  quite 
clearly,  the  way  will  be  a  narrow  one  indeed — the  common 
way — the  Grave,  father." 

A  bolder  man  than  Trotty  Veck  must  needs  have  drawn 
upon  hi,?  boldness  largely,  to  deny  it.     Trotty  held  his  peace. 


THE   CIiniES.  93 

*'  And  ho.v  hard,  father,  to  grow  old,  and  die,  and  think 
we  might  have  cheered  and  helped  each  other  !  How  hard 
ill  all  our  lives  to  love  each  other;  and  to  grieve,  apart,  to 
see  each  other  working,  changing,  growing  old  and  jrrey. 
Even  if  I  got  the  better  of  it,  and  forgot  him  (which  I  never 
could),  oh  .father  dear,  how  hard  to  have  a  heart  so  full  as 
raine  is  now,  and  live  to  have  it  slowly  drained  out  every  drop, 
U'ithout  the  recollection  of  one  happy  moment  of  a  woman's 
life,  to  stay  behind  and  comfort  me,  and  make  me  better  !  " 

Trotty  sat  quite  still.  INIeg  dried  her  eyes,  and  said  more 
gaily  :  that  is  to  say,  with  here  a  laugh,  and  there  a  sob,  and 
here  a  laugh  and  sob  together  : 

"  So  Richard  says,  father  ;  as  his  work  was  yesterday  made 
certain  for  some  time  to  come,  and  as  I  love  him  and  have 
loved  him  full  three  years — ah  !  longer  than  that,  if  he  knew 
it  I — will  I  marry  liim  on  New  Year's  Day ;  the  best  and 
liappiest  day,  he  says,  in  the  whole  year,  and  one  that  is 
almost  sure  to  bring  good  fortune  with  it.  It 's  a  short 
notice,  father — isn't  it  ? — but  I  haven't  my  fortune  to  be 
settled,  or  my  wedding  dresses  to  be  made,  like  the  great 
ladies,  father,  have  1  ?  And  he  said  so  much,  and  said  it  in 
his  way  ;  so  strong  and  earnest,  and  all  the  time  so  kind  and 
gentle ;  that  I  said  I  'd  come  and  talk  to  you,  father.  And 
as  they  paid  the  money  for  that  work  of  mine  this  morning 
Oinexpectedly,  I  am  sure  !  ),  and  as  you  have  fared  very  poorly 
for  a  whole  week,  and  as  I  couldn't  help  wishing  there  should 
bo  something  to  make  this  day  a  sort  of  holiday  to  you  as 
well  as  a  dear  and  happy  day  to  me  father,  I  made  a  little 
treat  and  brought  it  to  surprise  you." 

"  And  see  how  he  leaves  it  cooling  on  the  step  !  "  said 
another  voice. 

It  was  the  voice  of  the  same  Richard,  who  had  come  upon 
them  unobserved,  and  stood  before  the  father  and  daughter ; 
hjoking  do^-n  upon  them,  with  a  face  as  glowing  as  the 
ir(m  on  which  his  stout  sledge-hammer  daily  rung.  A 
Handsome,  well-made,  powerfiJ  youngster  he  was ;  with  eyes 
that  sparkled  like  the  red-hot  droppings  from  a  furnace  fire  ; 
black  hair  that  curled  altout  liis  swarthy  temples  rarely;  and 
a  smile — a  smile  that  bore  out  Meg's  eulogiuin  on  his  stjde  of 
conversation. 

"See  how  he  leaves  it  cooling  on  the  step  !  "  said  Richard 
"  Meg  don't  know  what  he  likes.     Not  slie  I  " 


94  THE   CHIMES. 

Trof.ty,  all  action  and  enthusiasm,  imraediatoly  reached  up 
his  hand  to  Richard,  and  was  going  to  address  him  in  a 
great  hurry,  when  the  house-door  opened  without  any  warning, 
and  a  footman  very  nearly  put  his  foot  in  the  tripe. 

"  Out  of  the  vaj's  here,  will  j^ou  !  You  must  always  go  and 
be  a  settin  on  our  steps,  must  you !  You  can't  go  and  give  a 
turn  to  none  of  the  neighbou^'a  never,  can't  you  !  Will  you 
clear  the  road,  or  won't  you  ?  " 

Strictly  speaking,  the  last  question  was  iiTelevant,  as  they 
Lad  already  done  it. 

"  "What 's  the  matter,  what 's  the  matter  !  "  said  the  gentle- 
man for  whom  the  door  was  opened  ;  coming  out  of  the  house 
at  that  kind  of  light-heavy  pace — that  peculiar  compromise 
between  a  walk  and  a  jog-trot — with  which  a  gentleman  upon 
the  smooth  down-hiH  of  life,  wearing  creaking  boots,  a  watch- 
chain,  and  clean  linen,  may  come  out  of  his  house :  not  only 
without  any  abatement  of  his  dignity,  but  with  an  expression 
of  having  importiint  and  wealthy  engagements  elsewhere. 
"  What 's  the  matter.     What 's  the  matter  !  " 

"  You  're  alwa3's  a  being  begged,  and  prayed,  upon  your 
bended  knees  you  are,"  said  the  footman  with  great  emphasis 
to  Trotty  Veck,  "  to  let  our  door-steps  be.  Why  don't  you 
let  'era  be  ?     Can't  you  let  'em  be  ?  " 

"  There  !  That  'U  do,  that  '11  do  !  "  said  the  gentleman. 
"  Halloa  there  !  Porter  !  "  beckoning  with  his  head  to  Trotty 
Veck.      "  Come  here.     What 's  that  ?     Your  dinner  ?  " 

"Yes,  sir,"  said  Trotty,  leaving  it  behind  him  in  a 
comer. 

"  Don't  leave  it  there,"  exclaimed  the  gentleman. 
"  Bring  it  here,  bring  it  here.  So  !  This  is  your  dinner, 
is  it  ?  " 

"  Yes,  sir,"  repeated  Trotty,  looking  with  a  fixed  eye  and  a 
watery  mouth,  at  the  piece  of  tripe  he  had  reserved  for  a  last 
delicious  tit-bit ;  which  the  gentleman  was  now  turning  over 
and  over  on  the  end  of  the  fork. 

Two  other  gentlemen  had  come  out  with  him.  One  was 
a  low-spu'ited  gentleman  of  middle  age,  of  a  meagre  habit, 
and  a  disconsolate  face ;  who  kept  his  hands  continually  in 
the  pockets  of  his  scanty  pepper-and-salt  trousers,  very  large 
and  dog's-eared  from  that  custom  ;  and  was  not  particularly 
well  brushed  or  washed.  The  other,  a  fuU-si/ed,  sleek,  well- 
conditioned   gentleman,  in   a   blue   coat  with  bright  buttons. 


THE    CHIMES.  95 

and  a  white  cravat.  This  gentleman  had  a  very  red  face,  as 
it  an  undue  proportion  of  the  blood  in  his  body  were  squeezed 
up  into  his  head  ;  which  perhaps  accounted  for  his  haviug 
also  the  appearance  of  being  rather  cold  about  the  heart. 

He  who  had  Toby's  meat  upon  the  fork,  called  to  the 
first  one  by  the  name  of  Filer ;  and  they  both  drew  near 
together.  Mr.  Filer  being  exceedingly  short-sighted,  was 
obliged  to  go  so  close  to  the  remnant  of  Toby's  dinner 
before  he  could  make  out  what  it  was,  that  Toby's  heart 
leaped  up  into  his  mouth.     But  Mr.  Filer  didn't  eat  it. 

'  This  is  a  description  of  animal  food.  Alderman,"  said 
Filer,  making  little  punches  in  it,  with  a  pencil-case,  "  com- 
monly known  to  the  labouring  population  of  this  coimtry,  by 
the  name  of  tripe." 

The  Alderman  laughed,  and  "winked ;  for  he  was  a  merry 
fellow.  Alderman  Cute.  Oh,  and  a  sly  fellow  too !  A  know- 
ing fellow.  Up  to  everything.  Not  to  be  imposed  upon. 
Deep  in  the  people's  hearts  !  He  knew  them,  Cute  did.  I 
believe  you ! 

"But  who  eats  tripe?"  said  Mr.  Filer,  looking  round. 
"  Tripe  is  without  an  exception  the  least  economical,  and  the 
most  wasteful  article  of  consumption  that  the  markets  of 
this  country  can  by  possibility  produce.  The  loss  upon  a 
pound  of  tripe  has  been  found  to  be,  in  the  boiling,  seven- 
eighths  of  a  fii'th  more  than  the  loss  upon  a  pound  of  any 
other  animal  substance  whatever.  Tripe  is  more  expensive, 
properly  understood,  than  the  hothouse  pine-apple.  Taking 
imo  accoimt  the  number  of  animals  slaughtered  yearly  within 
the  biUs  of  mortality  alone ;  and  forming  a  low  estimate  of 
the  quantity  of  tripe  which  the  carcases  of  those  animals, 
reasonably  well  butchered,  would  yield ;  I  find  that  the 
waste  on  that  amount  of  tripe,  if  boiled,  would  victiiol  a 
garrison  of  five  hundred  men  for  five  months  of  thirty- 
one  days  each,  and  a  February  over.  The  Waste,  the 
\V^aste  !  " 

Trotty  stood  aghast,  and  liis  legs  shook  under  him.  He 
seemed  to  have  starved  a  garrison  of  five  hundred  men  with 
Lis  own  hand. 

"  Who  eats  tripe  ?  "  said  Mr.  Filer,  warmly.  "Who  eats 
txipe?" 

Trotty  made  a  miserable  l)Ow. 

"  You  do,  do  you  ?  "  said  Mr.  Filer.      "  Then    I  '11  tell  you 


96  THE   CHIMES. 

soTnetliing.  \oii  snatch  your  tripe,  my  friend,  out  of  the 
uiouths  of  widows  and  orphans." 

"  I  hope  not,  sir,"  said  Trotty,  faintly.  "  I  'd  sooner  die 
of  want !  " 

"  Divide  the  amount  of  tripe  before -mentioned,  Alderman," 
said  Mr.  Filer,  "  by  the  estimated  number  of  existing  widows 
and  orphans,  and  the  result  will  be  one  pennyweiglit  of  tripe 
to  each.  Not  a  grain  is  left  for  that  man.  Consequent!}', 
he  's  a  robber." 

Trotty  was  so  shocked,  that  it  gave  him  no  concern  to  see 
the  Alderman  finish  the  tripe  himself.  It  was  a  relief  to  get 
rid  of  it,  anyhow. 

"  And  what  do  you  say  ?  "  asked  the  Alderman,  jocosely,  of 
the  red -faced  gentleman  in  the  blue  coat.  "  You  have  heard 
friend  Filer.     What  do  you  say  ?  " 

"What's  it  possible  to  say?"  returned  the  gentleman. 
"What  is  to  be  said?  Who  can  take  any  interest  in  a 
fellow  like  this,"  meaning  Trotty;  "in  such  degenerate 
times  as  these.  Look  at  him  !  What  an  object !  The 
good  old  times,  the  grand  old  times,  the  great  old  times  I 
Those  were  the  times  for  a  bold  peasantry,  and  all  that  sort 
of  thing.  Those  were  the  times  for  every  sort  of  thing, 
in  fact.  There  's  nothing  now-a-days.  Ah  !  "  sighed  the 
red-faced  gentleman.  "  The  good  old  times,  the  good  old 
times  !  " 

The  gentleman  didn't  specify  what  particidar  times  he 
alluded  to ;  nor  did  he  say  whether  he  objected  to  the 
present  times,  from  a  disinterested  consciousness  that  they 
had  done  nothing  very  remarkable  in  producing  himself. 

"The  good  old  times,  the  good  old  times,"  repeated  the 
gentleman.  "  What  times  they  were  !  They  were  the  only 
times.  It 's  of  no  use  talking  about  any  other  times,  or  discuss- 
ing what  the  people  are  in  these  times.  You  don't  call  these, 
times,  do  you  ?  I  don't.  Look  into  Strutt's  Costumes,  and 
see  what  a  Porter  used  to  be,  in  any  of  the  good  old  English 
reigns." 

"  He  hadn't,  in  his  very  best  circumstances,  a  shirt  to  his 
back,  or  a  stocking  to  his  foot ;  and  there  was  scarcely  a 
vegetable  in  all  England  for  him  to  put  into  his  mouth,"  said 
Mr.  Filer.      "  I  can  prove  it,  by  tables." 

But  still  the  red-faced  gentleman  extolled  the  good  old 
times,  the  grand  old  times,  the  great   old  times.     No  matter 


THE  CHIMES.  97 

tn-hat  anybody  else  said,  he  still  went  turning  round  and 
round  in  one  set  form  of  words  concerning  them;  as  a  poor 
squirrel  turns  and  tiims  in  its  revolving  cage  ;  touching  the 
mechanism,  and  trick  of  which,  it  has  probably  quite  as  dis- 
tinct perceptions,  as  ever  this  red-faced  gentleman  had  of  his 
deceased  Millennium. 

It  is  possible  that  poor  Trotty's  faith  in  these  very  vague 
Old  Times  was  not  entirely  destroyed,  for  he  felt  vague 
enough,  at  that  moment.  One  thing,  however,  was  plain  to 
him,  in  the  midst  of  his  distress ;  to  wit,  that  however 
these  gentlemen  might  differ  in  details,  his  misgivings  of 
that  morning,  and  of  many  other  mornings,  were  well 
foimded.  "No,  no.  We  can't  go  right  or  do  right," 
thought  Trotty  in  despair.  "  There  is  no  good  in  us.  We 
are  bom  bad  !  " 

But  Trotty  had  a  father's  heart  within  him  ;  which  had 
somehow  got  into  his  breast  in  spite  of  this  decree ;  and  he 
could  not  bear  that  Meg,  in  the  blush  of  her  brief  joy,  should 
have  her  fortune  read  by  these  wise  gentlemen.  "  God 
help  her,"  thought  poor  Trotty.  "  She  will  know  it  soon 
enough." 

He  anxiously  signed,  therefore,  to  the  young  smith,  to  take 
her  away.  But  he  was  so  busy,  talking  to  her  softly  at  a 
little  distance,  that  he  only  became  conscious  of  this  desire, 
simultaneously  with  Alderman  Cute.  Now,  the  Alderman 
had  not  yet  had  his  say,  but  he  was  a  philosopher,  too — 
practical,  though !  Oh,  very  practical ! — and,  as  he  had 
no  idea  of  losing  any  portion  of  his  audience,  he  cried 
"  Stop !  " 

"  Now,  you  know,"  said  the  Alderman,  addressing  his  two 
friends,  with  a  self-complacent  smile  upon  his  face,  which  was 
habitual  to  him,  "  I  am  a  plain  man,  and  a  praitical  man  ; 
and  I  go  to  work  in  a  plain  practical  way.  That 's  my  way. 
There  is  not  the  least  mystery  or  difficulty  in  dealing  with 
this  sort  of  people  if  you  only  imderstand  'em,  and  can  talk  to 
'<!m  in  their  own  manner.  Now,  you  Porter !  Don't  you 
ever  teU  me,  or  anybody  else  my  friend,  that  you  haven't 
always  enough  to  eat,  and  of  the  best ;  because  I  know  better 
I  have  tasted  your  tripe,  you  know,  and  you  can't  '  chaff'  me 
You  understand  what  'chaff'  means,  eh?  That's  the  rigth 
word,  isn't  it?  Ha,  ha,  ha!  Lord  bless  you,"  said  the 
Alderman,  turning  to  his   friends   again,  ' '  it 's    the  easiest 

H 


•>8  THE   CHIMES. 

thing  on  eartli  to   deal  with  this  sort  of  people,  if  you  only 
understand  'em." 

Famous  man  for  the  common  people,  Alderman  Cute ' 
Never  out  of  temper  with  them  !  Easy,  affable,  joking,  know- 
ing gentleman ! 

"  You  see  my  friend,"  pursued  the  Alderman,  "there's  a 
gi*eat  deal  of  nonsense  talked  about  Want — *  hard  up,'  you 
know  :  that 's  the  phrase  isn't  it  ?  ha  !  ha  !  ha  !  —  and  I 
intend  to  Put  it  Down.  There  's  a  certain  amount  of  cant  in 
vogue  about  Starvation,  and  I  mean  to  Put  it  Down.  That 's 
all !  Lord  bless  you,"  said  the  Alderman,  turning  to  his 
friends  again,  "you  may  Put  Down  anything  among  this  sort 
of  people,  if  you  only  know  the  way  to  set  about  it !  " 

Trotty  took  Meg's  hand  and  drew  it  tlixough  his  arm.  He 
didn't  seem  to  know  what  he  was  doing  though. 

"  Your  daughter,  eh  ?  "  said  the  Alderman,  chucking  her 
familiarly  under  the  chin. 

Always  affable  with  the  working  classes,  Alderman  Cute  ! 
Knew  'what  pleased  them  !     Not  a  bit  of  pride  ! 

"  Where  's  her  mother  ?  "  asked  that  worthy  gentleman. 

"  Dead,"  said  Toby.  "  Her  mother  got  up  linen  ;  and  was 
called  to  Heaven  when  She  was  born." 

"  Not  to  get  up  linen  there,  I  suppose,"  remarked  the 
Alderman  pleasantly. 

Toby  might  or  might  not  have  been  able  to  separate  his 
wife  in  Heaven  from  her  old  pursuits.  But  query  :  If  Mrs. 
Alderman  Cute  had  gone  to  Heaven,  would  Mr.  Alder- 
man Cute  have  pictured  her  as  holding  any  state  or  station 
there  ? 

"  And  you  're  making  love  to  her,  are  you  ?  "  said  Cute  to 
the  young  smith. 

"  Yes,"  returned  Pdchard  quickly,  for  he  was  nettled  by  the 
question.     "And  we  are  going  to  be  married  on  New  Year's 
Day." 
,  * '  WTiat  do  you  mean  !  "  cried  Filer  sharply.      "  Married  I  " 

"Why,  yes,  we're  thmking  of  it.  Master,"  said  Richard. 

We  're  rather  in  a  hurry  you  see,  in  case  it  should  be  Put 
Down  first." 

"  Ah  !  "  cried  Filer,  with  a  groan.  "  Put  that  down  indeed. 
Alderman,  and  you  '11  do  something.  Married  !  Married  I ' 
The  ignorance  of  the  first  principles  of  political  economy  on 
the  part  of  these  people ;  their  improvidence ;  their  wicked- 


TEE   CHIMES.  99 

ness  ;  is,  by  Heavens !  enough  to — Now  look  at  that  couple, 
wiU  you ! " 

WeU!  They  were  worth  looking  at.  And  marriage 
seemed  as  reasonable  and  fair  a  deed  as  they  need  have  ia 
contemplation. 

"  A  man  may  live  to  be  as  old  as  Methusaleh,"  said  ]\Ir. 
Filer,  "  and  may  labour  all  his  life  for  the  benefit  of  such 
people  as  those ;  and  may  heap  up  facts  on  figures,  facts  on 
figures,  facts  on  figures,  mountains  high  and  dry  ;  and  he  can 
no  more  hope  to  persuade  'em  that  they  have  no  right  or 
business  to  be  married,  than  he  can  hope  ^  persuade  'em 
that  they  have  no  earthly  right  or  business  to  oe  born.  And  that 
we  know  they  haven't.  We  reduced  it  to  a  mathematical 
certainty  long  ago  !  " 

Alderman  Cute  was  mightily  diverted,  and  laid  his  right 
forefinger  on  the  side  of  his  nose,  as  much  as  to  say  to  both 
his  friends,  "  Observe  me,  will  you  ?  Keep  your  eye  on  the 
practical  man  !  " — and  called  Meg  to  him. 

"  Come  here,  my  girl !  "  said  Alderman  Cute. 

The  young  blood  of  her  lover  had  been  mounting,  wratli- 
fully,  within  the  last  few  minutes ;  and  he  was  indisposed  to 
let  her  come.  But,  setting  a  constraint  upon  himself,  he  came 
forward  with  a  stride  as  Meg  approached,  and  stood  beside 
her.  Trotty  kept  her  hand  within  his  arm  stiU,  but  looked 
from  face  to  face  as  wildly  as  a  sleeper  in  a  dream. 

"  Now,  I  'm  going  to  give  you  a  word  or  two  of  good  advice, 
my  girl,"  said  the  Alderman,  in  his  nice  easy  way.  "  It 's 
my  place  to  give  advice,  you  know,  because  I  'm  a  Justice.  You 
know  I  'm  a  Justice,  don't  you  ?  " 

ISIeg  timidly  said,  "  Yes."  But  everybody  knew  Alderman 
Cute  was  a  Justice!  Oh  dear,  so  active  a  Justice  always' 
Wlio  such  a  mote  of  brightness  in  the  public  eye,  as  Cute  I 

"  You  are  going  to  be  married,  you  say,"  pursued  the 
Alderman.  "Very  unbecoming  and  indelicate  in  one  of  your 
sex  !  But  never  mind  that.  After  you  are  married,  you  '11 
quarrel  with  your  husband,  and  come  to  be  a  distressed  wiie. 
You  may  think  not;  but  you  will,  because  I  tell  you  so. 
Now,  I  give  you  fair  warning,  that  I  have  made  up  my  mind 
to  Put  distressed  wives  Down.  So,  don't  be  brought  before 
me.  You  '11  have  children — boys.  Those  boys  will  grow  up 
bad,  of  course,  and  run  wild  in  the  streets,  without  slioes  and 
6tO(.;kings.   Mind,  my  young  friend  !   I  'U  convict  'em  summarily, 


fOO  THE   CHIMES. 

every  one,  for  I  am  determined  to  Put  Loys  witliout  slices  and 
stockings,  Down.  Perhaps  your  husband  will  die  young 
(most  likely)  and  leave  you  with  a  baby.  Then  you  '11  be 
turned  out  of  doors,  and  wander  up  and  down  the  streets. 
Now,  don't  wander  near  me,  my  dear,  for  I  am  resolved  to 
Put  all  wandering  mothers  Down.  All  young  mothers,  of  all 
sorts  and  kinds,  it 's  my  determination  to  Put  Down.  Don't 
think  to  plead  illness  as  an  excuse  with  me  ;  or  babies  as  an 
excuse  with  me ;  for  all  sick  persons  and  young  children  (1 
nope  you  know  the  church-service,  but  I  'm  afraid  not)  I  am 
determined  to  Put  Down.  And  if  you  attempt,  desperately, 
and  ungratefully,  and  impiously,  and  fraudulently  attempt,  to 
drown  yourself,  or  hang  yourself,  I  '11  have  no  pity  on  you, 
for  I  have  made  up  my  mind  to  Put  all  suicide  Down  !  If 
there  is  one  thing,"  said  the  Alderman,  with  his  self-satisfied 
smile,  "  on  which  I  can  be  said  to  have  made  up  my  mind 
more  than  on  another,  it  is  to  Put  suicide  Down.  So  don't 
try  it  on.  That's  the  phrase,  isn't  it!  Ha,  ha!  now  we 
understand  each  other." 

Toby  knew  not  whether  to  be  agonised  or  glad,  to  see 
that  Meg  had  turned  a  deadly  white,  and  dropped  her  lover's 
hand. 

"  As  for  you,  you  dull  dog,"  said  the  Alderman,  turning 
with  even  increased  cheerfulness  and  urbanity  to  the  young 
smith,  "  what  are  you  thinking  of  being  married  for?  What 
do  you  want  to  be  married  for,  you  silly  fellow !  If  I  was  a 
fine,  young,  strapping  chap  like  you,  I  should  be  ashamed  of 
being  milksop  enough  to  pin  myself  to  a  woman's  apron- 
strings  !  Why,  she  '11  be  an  old  woman  before  you  're  a 
middle-aged  man  !  And  a  pretty  figure  you  '11  cut  then,  with 
a  draggle-tailed  wife  and  a  crowd  of  squalling  children  crying 
after  you  wherever  you  go  !  " 

O,  he  knew  how  to  banter  the  common  people,  Alderman 
Cute! 

"  There  !  Go  along  with  you,"  said  the  Alderman,  "  and 
repent.  Don't  make  such  a  fool  of  yovirself  as  to  get 
married  on  New  Year's  Day.  You  '11  think  very  differently 
of  it,  long  before  next  New  Year's  Day  :  a  trim  young  fellow 
like  you,  with  all  the  girls  looking  after  you.  There !  Go 
along  with  you  !  " 

They  went  along.  Not  arm  in  arm,  or  hand  in  hand,  or 
interchanging  bright   glances ;  but,  she  in  tears  ;  he  gloomy 


THE  CHIMES.  101 

and  doTTQ-looking.  "Were  tliese  tlie  hearts  that  had  so  lately 
made  old  Toby's  leap  up  from  its  faintness  ?  No,  no.  Tho 
Alderman  (a  blessing  on  his  head !)  had  Put  thein  Down. 

"  As  you  happen  to  be  here,"  said  the  Alderman  to  Toby, 
"  you  shall  carry  a  letter  for  me.  Can  you  be  quick  ?  You  're 
an  old  man." 

Toby,  who  had  been  looking  after  Meg,  quite  stupidly, 
made  shift  to  miirmur  out  that  he  was  very  quick,  and  very 
strong. 

"  How  old  are  you  ?  "  inquired  th^  Alderman. 

"  I  am  over  sixty,  sir,"  said  Toby. 

"  O  !  This  man 's  a  great  deal  past  the  average  age,  you 
know,"  cried  Mr.  Filer,  breaking  in  as  if  his  patience  would 
bear  some  trying,  but  this  was  really  carrying  matters  a  little 
too  far. 

"  I  feel  I  'm  intruding,  sir,"  said  Toby.  "  I — I  misdoubted 
it  this  morning.     Oh  dear  me  !  " 

The  Alderman  cut  him  short  by  giving  him  the  letter  from 
his  pocket,  Toby  would  have  got  a  shilling  too ;  but  Mr 
Filer  clearly  showing  that  in  that  case  he  would  rob  a  certain 
given  number  of  persons  of  niaepence-half-penny  a-piece, 
he  only  got  sixpence ;  and  thought  himself  very  well  off  to 
get  that. 

Then  the  Alderman  gave  an  arm  to  each  of  his  friends,  and 
walked  off  in  high  feather  ;  but,  he  immediately  came  hurry- 
ing back  alone,  as  if  he  had  forgotten  something. 

"  Porter  !  "  said  the  Alderman. 

"  Sir  !  "  said  Toby. 

"  Take  care  of  that  daughter  of  yours.  She 's  much  too 
handsome." 

"  Even  her  good  looks  are  stolen  from  somebody  or  other 
I  suppose,"  thought  Toby,  looking  at  the  sixpence  in  his  hand, 
and  thinking  of  the  tripe.  "  She 's  been  and  robbed  five 
hundred  ladies  of  a  bloom  a-piece,  I  shouldn't  wonder.  It 's 
very  dreadful ! " 

"  She 's  much  too  handsome,  my  man,"  repeated  the  Alder 
man.     "  The  chances  are,   that   she  '11  come  to  no  good,  I 
clearly  see.      Observe  what  I  say.     Take  care  of  her  !  "  With 
which,  he  hurried  off  again. 

"  Wrong  every  way.  Wrong  every  way !  "  said  Trotty, 
clasping  his  hands.     "  Bom  bad.     No  business  here  !  " 

The  Chimea  came  clashing  in  upon  him  as  lie  said  the 


102  THE  CHIMES. 

words.     Full,  loud,  and  sounding — but  with  no  encourage- 
ment.    No,  not  a  drop. 

"  The  tune  's  changed,"  cried  the  old  man,  as  he  listened 
"There's  not  a  word  of  all  that  fancy  in  it.  Why  should 
tliere  be  ?  I  have  no  business  with  the  New  Year  nor  with 
tlie  old  one  neither.     Let  me  die  !  " 

Still  the  Bells,  pealing  forth  their  changes,  made  the  very 
air  spin.  Put  'em  down,  Put  'em  down  !  Good  old  Times, 
Good  old  Times !  Facts  and  Figures,  Facts  and  Figures  ! 
Put  'em  down,  Put  'em  down !  If  they  said  anything  they 
said  this,  until  the  brain  of  Toby  reeled. 

He  pressed  his  bewildered  head  between  his  hands  as  if  to 
keep  it  from  splitting  asunder.  A  well-timed  action,  as  it 
happened ;  for  finding  the  letter  in  one  of  them,  and  being  by 
that  means  reminded  of  his  charge,  he  fell,  mechanically,  into 
his  usual  trot,  and  trotted  off. 


THE  CHIMES.  106 


SECOND  QUAETER. 


The  letter  Toby  had  received  from  Alderman  Cute,  was 
addressed  to  a  great  man  in  the  great  district  of  the  town. 
The  greatest  district  of  the  town.  It  must  have  been  the 
greatest  district  of  the  town,  because  it  was  commonly  called 
"the  world"  by  its  inhabitants. 

The  letter  positively  seemed  heavier  in  Toby's  hand,  than 
another  letter.  Not  because  the  Alderman  had  sealed  it 
with  a  very  large  coat  of  arms  and  no  end  of  wax,  but 
l.ecause  of  the  weighty  name  on  the  superscription,  and  the 
ponderous  amount  of  gold  and  silver  with  which  it  was 
associated. 

"  How  different  from  us  !  "  thought  Toby,  in  all  simplicity 
and  earnestness,  as  he  looked  at  the  direction.  "  Divide  the 
lively  turtles  in  the  bills  of  mortality,  by  the  number  of 
gentlefolks  able  to  buy  'em  ;  and  whose  share  does  he  take 
'.>ut  his  own  !  As  to  snatching  tripe  from  anybody's  mouth — 
he  'd  scorn  it !  " 

With  the  involuntary  homage  due  to  such  an  exalted 
character,  Toby  interposed  a  corner  of  his  apron  between  the 
letter  and  his  fingers. 

"  His  children,"  said  Trotty,  and  a  mist  rose  before  hir 
eyes  ;  "  his  daughters — Gentlemen  may  win  their  hearts  and 
marry  them  ;  they  may  be  happy  wdves  and  mothers ;  they  may 
he  handsome  like  my  darling  M — e — " 

He  couldn't  finish  her  name.  The  final  letter  swelled  in 
liis  throat,  to  the  size  of  the  whole  alphabet. 

"  Never  mind,"  thought  Trotty.  "  I  know  what  I  mean. 
That 's  more  than  enough  for  me."  And  with  this  consolatory 
rumination,  trotted  on. 

It  was  a  hard  frost,  that  day.  The  air  was  bracing,  crisp, 
and  clear.  The  wintry  sun,  though  powerless  for  warmth, 
looked  brightly  down  upon  the  ice  it  was  too  weak  to  melt, 
and  set  a  radiant  glory  there.     At  other  times,  Trotty  might 


104  THE   CHIMES. 

have  learned  a  poor  man's  lesson  from  the  wintry  sun ;  but, 
lie  was  past  that,  now. 

The  Year  was  Old,  that  day.  The  patient  Year  had  lived 
through  the  reproaches  and  misuses  of  its  slanderers,  and 
faithfully  performed  its  work.  Spring,  summer,  autumn, 
winter.  It  had  laboured  through  the  destined  round,  and 
now  laid  down  its  weary  head  to  die.  Shut  out  from  hope, 
high  impulse,  active  happiness,  itself,  but  messenger  of  many 
joys  to  others,  it  made  appeal  in  its  decline  to  have  its  toihng 
days  and  patient  hours  remembered,  and  to  die  in  peace. 
Trotty  might  have  read  a  poor  man's  allegory  in  the  fading 
year ;  but  he  was  past  that,  now. 

And  only  he?  Or  has  the  like  appeal  been  ever  made,  by 
seventy  years  at  once  upon  an  English  labourer's  head,  and 
made  in  vain ! 

The  streets  were  full  of  motion,  and  the  shops  were  decked 
out  gaily.  The  New  Year,  like  an  Infant  Heir  to  the  whole 
world,  was  waited  for,  with  welcomes,  presents,  and  rejoicings. 
There  were  books  and  toys  for  the  New  Year,  glittering 
trinkets  for  the  New  Year,  dresses  for  the  New  Year,  schemes 
of  fortune  for  the  New  Year ;  new  inventions  to  beguile  it. 
Its  life  was  parcelled  out  in  almanacks  and  pocket-books  ;  the 
coming  of  its  moons,  and  stars,  and  tides,  was  known  before- 
hand to  the  moment :  all  the  workings  of  its  seasons  in  their 
days  and  nights,  were  calculated  with  as  much  precision  as 
Mr.  Filer  could  work  sums  in  men  and  women. 

The  New  Year,  the  New  Year.  Everywhere  the  New 
Year  !  The  Old  Year  was  abeady  looked  upon  as  dead  ;  and 
its  effects  were  selling  cheap,  like  some  di-owned  mariner's 
aboardship.  Its  patterns  were  Last  Year's,  and  going  at  a 
sacrifice,  before  its  breath  was  gone.  Its  treasures  were  mere 
dirt,  beside  the  riches  of  its  unborn  successor ! 

Trotty  had  no  portion,  to  his  thinking,  in  the  New  Year  or 
the  Old. 

"  Put  'em  down,  Put  'em  down !  Facts  and  Figures,  Facts 
and  Figures  !  Good  old  Times,  Good  old  Times !  Put  'em 
down.  Put  'em  down  !  " — his  trot  went  to  that  measure,  and 
would  fit  itself  to  nothing  else. 

But,  even  that  one,  melancholy  as  it  was,  brought  him,  in 
due  time,  to  the  end  of  his  journey.  To  the  mansion  of  Sir 
Joseph  Bowley,  Member  of  Parliament. 

The  door  was  opened  by  a  Porter.     Such  a  Porter  !     Not 


AT    SIR    JOSEPH    BOWXEY  S. 


THE   CnOIES.  105 

of  Toby's  order.  Quite  anotlier  thing.  His  place  was  the 
ticket  though ;  not  Toby's. 

This  Porter  underwent  some  hard  panting  before  he  could 
speak ;  having  breathed  himself  by  coming  incautiously  out 
of  his  chair,  without  first  taking  time  to  think  about  it  and 
compose  his  mind.  "When  he  had  found  his  voice — which  it 
took  him  some  time  to  do,  for  it  was.-  a  long  way  off,  and 
hidden  under  a  load  of  meat — he  said  in  a  fat  whisper, 

"  Who 's  it  from  ?  " 

Toby  told  him. 

"  You're  to  take  it  in,  yourself,"  said  the  Porter,  pointing 
to  a  room  at  the  end  of  a  long  passage,  opening  from  the 
hall.  "  Everything  goes  straight  in,  on  this  day  of  the  year. 
You  're  not  a  bit  too  soon ;  for,  the  carriage  is  at  the  door 
now,  and  they  have  only  come  to  town  for  a  couple  of  hours, 
a'  purpose." 

Toby  wiped  his  feet  (which  were  quite  dry  already)  with 
great  care,  and  took  the  way  pointed  out  to  him ;  observing 
as  he  went  that  it  was  an  awfully  grand  house,  but  hushed 
and  covered  up,  as  if  the  family  were  in  the  country. 
Knocking  at  the  room  door,  he  was  told  to  enter  from  within ; 
and  doing  so  found  himself  in  a  spacious  library,  where,  at  a 
table  strewn  with  files  and  papers,  were  a  stately  lady  in  a 
bonnet ;  and  a  not  very  stately  gentleman  in  black  who  wrote 
from  her  dictation ;  while  another,  and  an  older,  and  a  much 
statelier  gentleman,  whose  hat  and  cane  were  on  the  table, 
walked  up  and  down,  with  one  hand  in  his  breast,  and  looked 
complacently  from  time  to  time  at  his  own  picture — a  full 
length ;   a  very  full  length — hanging  over  the  fire-place. 

"What  is  this?"  said  the  last-named  gentleman.  "Mr. 
Fish,  will  you  have  the  goodness  to  attend?  " 

Mr.  Fish  begged  pardon,  and  taking  the  letter  from  Toby, 
handed  it,  with  great  respect. 

"  From  Alderman  Cute,  Sir  Joseph." 

"Is  this  all?  Have  you  nothing  else,  Porter?"  inquired 
Sir  Joseph. 

Toby  replied  in  the  negative. 

"  You  have  no  bill  or  demand  upon  me — my  name  is 
Bowley,  Sir  Joseph  Bowley — of  any  kind  from  anybody,  have 
you?  "  said  Sir  Joseph.  "  If  you  have,  present  it.  There  is 
a  cheque-book  by  the  side  of  Mr.  Fish.  I  allow  nothing  to 
be  carried  into  the  New  Year.     Every  description  of  accoaut 


106  THE   CHIMES. 

is  settled  in  tliis  house  at  the  close  of  the  old  one.  So  that  if 
death  was  to — to — " 

"  To  cut,"  suggested  Mr.  Fish. 

"  To  sever,  sir,"  returned  Sir  Joseph,  with  great  asperity, 
"  the  cord  of  existence — my  affairs  would  be  found,  I  hope, 
in  a  state  of  preparation." 

"  My  dear  Sir  Joseph !  "  said  the  lady,  who  was  greatly 
younger  than  the  gentleman.      "  How  shocking  !  " 

"  My  lady  Bowley,"  returned  Sir  Joseph,  floundering  now 
and  then,  as  in  the  great  depth  of  his  observations,  "  at  this 
season  of  the  year  we  should  think  of — of — ourselves.  We 
should  look  into  our — our  accounts.  We  should  feel  that 
every  return  of  so  eventful  a  period  in  human  transactions, 
involves  matter  of  deep  moment  between  a  man  and  his — and 
his  banker." 

Sir  Joseph  delivered  these  words  as  if  he  felt  the  full 
morality  of  what  he  was  sajdng ;  and  desired  that  even 
Trotty  shoidd  have  an  opportunity  of  being  improved  by  such 
discourse.  Possibly  he  had  this  end  before  him  in  still 
forbearing  to  break  the  seal  of  the  letter,  and  in  telling 
Trotty  to  wait  where  he  was  a  minute. 

"You  were  desiring  Mr.  Fish  to  say,  my  ladj^ — "  observed 
Sir  Joseph. 

"Mr.  Fish  has  said  that,  I  believe,"  returned  his  lady, 
glancing  at  the  letter.  "  But,  upon  my  word.  Sir  Joseph,  1 
don't  think  I  can  let  it  go  after  all.     It  is  so  very  dear." 

"  What  is,  dear  ?  "  inquired  Sir  Joseph. 

"That  Charity,  my  love.  They  only  allow  two  votes  for  a 
subscription  of  five  pounds.     Really  monstrous  !  " 

"My  lady  Bowley,"  returned  Sir  Joseph,  "you  surprise 
me.  Is  the  luxury  of  feeling  in  proportion  to  the  number  of 
votes ;  or  is  it,  to  a  rightly-constituted  mind,  in  proportion  to 
the  number  of  applicants,  and  the  wholesome  state  of  mind  to 
which  their  canvassing  reduces  them !  Is  there  no  excite- 
ment of  the  purest  kiud  in  having  two  votes  to  dispose  of 
among  fifty  people  ?  " 

"Not  to  me,  I  acknowledge,"  returned  the  lady.  "It 
bores  one.  Besides,  one  can't  oblige  one's  acquaintance. 
But  you  are  the  Poor  Man's  Friend,  you  know.  Sir  Joseph. 
You  think  otherwise." 

"  I  am  the  Poor  Man's  Friend,"  observed  Sir  Joseph, 
glancing   at  the  poor  man  present.     "  As  such  I  may  be 


THE   CHIMES.  107 

taunted,  .ks  such  I  liave  been  taunted.  But  I  ask  no  other 
title." 

"  Bless  him  for  a  noble  gentleman  !  "  thought  Trotty. 

"  I  don't  agree  with  Cute  here,  for  instance,  said  Sir 
Joseph,  holding  out  the  letter.  I  don't  agree  with  the  Filer 
party.  I  don't  agree  with  any  part}'.  My  friend  the  Poor 
Man,  has  no  business  with  anj-thing  of  that  sort,  and  nothing 
of  that  sort  has  any  business  ^vith  him.  My  friend  the  Poor 
Man,  in  my  district,  is  my  business.  No  man  or  body  of 
men  has  any  right  to  interfere  between  my  friend  and  me. 
That  is  the  ground  I  take.  I  assume  a — a  paternal  character 
towards  my  friend.  I  say,  'My  good  fellow,  Iwill  treat  you 
paternally.' " 

Toby  listened  with  great  gravity,  and  began  to  feel  more 
comfortable. 

"Your  only  business,  my  good  fellow,"  pursued  Sir  Joseph,, 
looking  abstractedly  at  Toby ;  "your  only  business  in  life  is 
with  me.  You  needn't  trouble  yourself  to  think  about  any- 
thing. I  will  think  for  you ;  I  know  what  is  good  for  you ; 
I  am  your  perpetual  parent.  Such  is  the  dispensation  of  an 
all-wise  Providence !  Now,  the  design  of  yoiu'  creation  is — 
not  that  you  should  swill,  and  guzzle,  and  associate  your 
enjoyments,  brutally,  with  food ;  "  Toby  thought  remorse- 
fully of  the  tripe  ;  "  but  that  you  should  feel  the  Dignity  of 
Labour.  Go  forth  erect  into  the  cheerful  morning  air,  and — 
and  stop  there.  Live  hard  and  temperately,  be  respectful, 
exercise  your  self-denial,  bring  up  your  family  on  next  to 
nothing,  pay  your  rent  as  regularly  as  the  clock  strikes,  be 
punctual  in  your  dealings  (I  set  you  a  good  example ;  you 
will  find  Mr.  Fish,  my  confidential  secretary,  with  a  cash-box 
before  him  at  all  times);  and  you  may  trust  to  me  to  be  your 
Friend  and  Father." 

"  Nice  children,  indeed.  Sir  Joseph  !  "  said  the  lady,  with  a 
shudder.  "  Rheumatisms,  and  fevers,  and  crooked  legs,  and 
asthmas,  and  all  kinds  of  horrors  I  " 

"  My  lady,"  returned  Sir  Joseph,  with  solemnity,  *'  not  the 
less  am  I  the  Poor  Man's  Friend  and  Father.  Not  the  less 
shaU  he  receive  encouragement  at  my  hands.  Every  quarter- 
day  he  will  be  put  in  communication  with  Mr.  Fish.  Every 
New- Year's  Day,  myself  and  friends  will  drink  his  health. 
Once  every  year,  myself  and  friends  will  address  him  with  the 
deepest  feeling.     Once   in   his    life,    he   may  even    perhaps 


108  THE   CHIMES. 

receive  ;  in  public,  in  tlie  presence  of  the  gentry ;  a  Trifle 
from  a  Friend.  And  when,  upheld  no  more  by  these 
stimulants,  and  the  Dignity  of  Labour,  he  sinks  into  his 
comfortable  grave,  then  my  lady" — here  Sir  Joseph  blew  his 
nose — "  I  wiU  be  a  Friend  and  Father — on  the  same  terms — 
to  his  children." 

Toby  was  greatly  moved. 

"  O  !  You  have  a  thankful  family,  Sir  Joseph !  "  cried  his 
wife. 

"  My  lady,"  said  Sir  Joseph,  quite  majestically,  "  Ingrati- 
tude is  known  to  be  the  sin  of  that  class.  I  expect  no  other 
return." 

"  Ah  !     Born  bad  !  "  thought  Toby.     "  Nothing  melts  us." 

"  What  man  can  do,  I  do,"  pursued  Sir  Joseph.  "  I  do 
my  duty  as  the  Poor  Man's  Friend  and  Father ;  and  I 
endeavour  to  educate  his  mind,  by  inculcating  on  all  occasions 
the  one  great  moral  lesson  which  that  class  requires.  That 
is,  entire  Dependence  on  myself.  They  have  no  business 
whatever  with — with  themselves.  If  wicked  and  designing 
persons  tell  them  otherwise,  and  they  become  impatient  and 
discontented,  and  are  guilty  of  insubordinate  conduct  and 
black-hearted  ingratitude ;  which  is  undoubtedly  the  case ; 
I  am  their  Friend  and  Father  still.  It  is  so  Ordained.  It  is 
in  the  nature  of  things." 

With  that  great  sentiment,  he  opened  the  Alderman's 
letter ;  and  read  it. 

"Yerj  polite  and  attentive,  I  am  sure!"  exclaimed  Sir 
Joseph.  "  My  lady,  the  Alderman  is  so  obliging  as  to 
remind  me  that  he  has  had  '  the  distinguished  honour ' — he 
is  very  good — of  meeting  me  at  the  house  of  oiir  mutual 
friend  Deedles,  the  banker;  and  he  does  me  the  favor  to 
inquire  whether  it  will  be  agreeable  to  me  to  have  WiU  Fern 
put  down," 

"  Most  agreeable  !  "  replied  my  lady  Bowley.  "  The 
worst  man  among  them  !  He  has  been  committing  a  robbery, 
I  hope  ?  " 

"  Why  no,"  said  Sir  Joseph,  referring  to  the  letter.  "  Not 
quite.  Very  near.  Not  quite.  He  came  up  to  London,  it 
seems,  to  look  for  emplojrment  (trying  to  better  himself — 
that 's  his  story),  and  being  found  at  night  asleep  in  a  shed, 
was  taken  into  custody,  and  carried  next  morning  before  the 
Alderman.     The  Alderman  observes  (very  properly)  that  he 


THE   CHIMES.  109 

is  deiennined  to  put  this  sort  of  thing  down ;  and  that  if  it 
will  be  agreeable  to  me  to  have  Will  Fern  put  down,  he  will 
be  happy  to  begia  with  him." 

"  Let  him  be  made  an  example  of,  by  all  means,''  returned 
the  lady.  "  Last  winter,  when  I  introduced  pinking  and 
eyelet -holing  among  the  men  and  boys  ia  the  village,  as  a 
nice  evening  employment,  and  had  the  lines, 

0  let  us  love  our  occupations, 
Bless  the  squire  and  his  relations, 
Live  upon  our  daily  rations, 
And  always  know  our  proper  stations, 

set  to  music  on  the  new  system,  for  them  to  sing  the  while ; 
this  very  Fern — I  see  him  now — touched  that  hat  of  his,  and 
said,  '  I  humbly  ask  your  pardon,  my  lady,  but  an^t  I  some- 
thing different  from  a  great  girl  ?/  I  expected  it,  of  course ; 
who  can  expect  anything  but  insolence  and  ingratitude  from 
that  class  of  people.  That  is  not  to  the  purpose,  however. 
Sir  Joseph  !     Make  an  examj^le  of  him  !  " 

"  Hem !  "  coughed  Sir  Joseph.  "  Mr.  Fish,  if  you  'U  have 
the  goodness  to  attend — " 

Mr.  Fish  immediately  seized  his  pen,  and  wrote  from  Sir 
Joseph's  dictation. 

"  Private.  My  dear  Sir.  I  am  very  much  indebted  to 
you  for  yoiu*  courtesy  in  the  matter  of  the  man  William  Fern, 
of  whom,  I  regret  to  add,  I  can  say  nothing  favorable.  I 
have  uniformly  considered  myself  in  the  light  of  his  Friend 
and  Father,  but  have  been  repaid  (a  common  case  I  gi'ieve  to 
say)  with  ingratitude,  and  constant  opposition  to  my  plans. 
He  is  a  turbulent  and  rebellious  spirit.  His  charascter  will 
not  bear  investigation.  Nothing  will  persuade  him  to  be 
happy  when  he  might.  Under  these  circumstances,  it 
appears  to  me,  I  own,  that  when  he  comes  before  you  again 
(as  you  informed  me  he  promised  to  do  to-morrow,  pending 
your  inquiries,  and  I  tliink  he  may  be  so  far  relied  upon),  his 
committal  for  some  short  term  as  a  Vagabond,  would  be  a 
service  to  society,  and  would  he  a  salutary  example  in  a 
country  where — for  the  sake  of  those  who  are,  through  good 
and  evil  report,  the  Friends  and  Fathers  of  the  Poor,  as  well 
as  with  a  view  to  that,  generally  speaking,  misguided  class 
themselves — examples  are  greatly  needed.  And  1  am,"  and 
so  forth. 


no  THE   CHIMES. 

"It  appears,"  remarked  Sir  Joseph  when  he  had  signed 
this  letter,  and  Mr.  Fish  was  sealing  it,  "as  if  this  were 
Ordained :  really.  At  the  close  of  the  year,  I  wind  up  my 
account  and  strike  my  balance,  even  with  William  Fern !  " 

Trotty,  who  had  long  ago  relapsed,  and  was  very  low- 
spirited,  stepped  forward  with  a  rueful  face  to  take  the  letter. 

"With  my  compliments  and  thanks,"  said  Sir  Joseph. 
"  Stop  !  " 

"Stop!"  echoed  Mr.  Fish. 

"  You  have  heard,  perhaps,"  said  Sir  Joseph,  oracularly, 
"  certain  remarks  into  which  I  have  been  led  respecting  the 
solemn  period  of  time  at  which  we  have  arrived,  and  the  duty 
imposed  upon  us  of  settling  our  affairs,  and  being  prepared. 
You  have  observed  that  I  don't  shelter  myself  behind  my 
superior  standing  in  society,  but  that  Mr.  Fish  —  that 
gentleman — has  a  cheque-book  at  his  elbow,  and  is  in  fact 
here,  to  enable  me  to  turn  over  a  perfectly  new  leaf,  and 
enter  on  the  epoch  before  us  with  a  clean  account.  Now,  my 
friend,  can  you  lay  your  hand  upon  your  heart,  and  say,  that 
you  also  have  made  preparation  for  a  New  Year  ?  " 

"I  am  afraid  sir,"  stammered  Trotty,  looking  meekly  at 
him,  "that  I  am  a — a — little  behind-hand  with  the  world." 

"Behind-hand  with  the  world!"  repeated  Sir  Joseph 
Bowley,  in  a  tone  of  terrible  distinctness. 

"  I  am  afraid  sir,"  faltered  Trotty,  "that  there's  a  matter 
of  ten  or  twelve  shillings  owing  to  Mrs.  Chickenstalker. 

"  To  Mrs.  Chickenstalker !  "  repeated  Sir  Joseph,  in  the 
same  tone  as  before. 

"  A  shop  sir,"  exclaimed  Toby,  "in  the  general  line.  Also 
a — a  little  money  on  account  of  rent.  A  very  little  sir.  It 
oughtn't  to  be  owing,  I  know,  but  we  have  been  hard  put  to 
it,  indeed !  " 

Sir  Joseph  looked  at  his  lady,  and  at  Mr.  Fish,  and  at 
Trotty,  one  after  another,  twice  all  round.  He  then  made  a 
despondent  gesture  with  both  hands  at  once,  as  if  he  gave  the 
thing  up  altogether. 

"  How  a  man,  even  among  this  improvident  and  im- 
practicable race  ;  an  old  man ;  a  man  grown  grey  ;  can  look 
a  New  Year  in  the  face,  with  his  affairs  in  this  condition: 
how  he  can  lie  down  on  his  bed  at  night,  and  get  up  again  ia 
the  morning,  and  —  There!"  he  said,  turning  his  back  on 
Trotty.      "  Take  the  letter.     Take  the  letter !  " 


THE    CHIMES.  Ill 

"  I  heartily  wish  it  was  otherwise,  sir,"  said  Trotty. 
anxious  to  excuse  himself.     "  We  have  been  tried  very  hard.'' 

Sir  Joseph  still  repeating  "Take  the  letter,  take  the 
letter ! '  and  Mr.  Fish  not  only  saying  the  same  thing,  but 
giving  additional  force  to  the  request  by  motioning  the 
bearer  to  the  door,  he  had  nothing  for  it  but  to  make  his  bow 
and  leave  the  house.  And  in  the  street,  poor  Trotty  pulled 
his  worn  old  hat  do^vn  on  his  head,  to  hide  the  grief  he  felt 
at  getting  no  hold  on  the  New  Year,  anywhere. 

He  didn't  even  lift  his  hat  to  look  up  at  the  Bell  tower 
when  he  came  to  the  old  chiu-ch  on 'his  return.  He  halted 
there  a  moment,  from  habit :  and  knew  that  it  was  growing 
dark,  and  that  the  steeple  rose  above  him,  indistinc-t  and 
faint,  in  the  mui-ky  air.  He  knew,  too,  that  the  Chimes 
would  ring  immediately ;  and  that  they  sounded  to  his  fancy, 
at  such  a  time,  like  voices  in  the  clouds.  But  he  only  made 
the  more  haste  to  deliver  the  Alderman's  letter,  and  get  out 
of  the  way  before  they  began ;  for  he  dreaded  to  hear  them 
tagging  "  Friends  and  Fathers,  Friends  and  Fathers,"  to  the 
burden  they  had  rung  out  last. 

Toby  discharged  himself  of  his  commission,  therefore,  with 
all  possible  speed,  and  set  off  trotting  homeward.  But  what 
with  his  pace,  which  was  at  best  an  awkward  one  in  the  street ; 
and  what  with  his  hat,  which  didn't  improve  it ;  he  trotted 
against  somel>ody  in  less  than  no  time,  and  was  sent  stagger- 
ing out  into  the  road. 

"  I  beg  your  pardon,  'I  'm  sure  !  "  said  Trotty,  pulling  up 
his  hat  in  great  confusion,  and  between  the  hat  and  the  torn 
lining,  fixing  his  head  into  a  kind  of  bee-hive.  "  I  hope  I 
haven't  hurt  you." 

As  to  hurting  anybody,  Tohy  was  not  such  an  absolute 
Samson,  but  that  he  was  much  more  Hkely  to  be  hurt  himself : 
and  indeed,  he  had  flown  out  into  the  road,  like  a  shuttlecock. 
He  had  such  an  opinion  of  his  own  strength,  however,  that  ho 
was  in  real  concern  for  the  other  party  :   and  said  again, 

"  I  hope  I  haven't  hurt  you  ?  " 

The  man  against  whom  he  had  run ;  a  sun-browned, 
sinewy,  country-looking"  man,  with  grizzled  hair,  and  a  rough 
chin;  stared  at  him  for  a  moment,  as  if  he  suspected  him  to 
be  in  jest.     But,  satisfied  of  his  good  faith,  he  answered  : 

"  No,  friend.      You  have  not  liurt  mo." 

"  Nor  the  child,  I  \w\)c?"  said  Trotty. 


112  THE   CHIMES. 

"Nor  the  child,"  retm-ned  the  man.  "I  thank  you 
kindly." 

As  he  said  so,  he  glanced  at  a  little  girl  he  carried  in  his 
arms,  asleep  :  and  shading  her  face  with  the  long  end  of  the 
poor  handkerchief  he  wore  about  his  throat,  went  slowly  on. 

The  tone  in  which  he  said  "  I  thank  you  kindly,"  pene- 
trated Trotty's  heart.  He  was  so  jaded  and  foot-sore,  and  so 
soQed  with  travel,  and  looked  about  him  so  forlorn  and 
strange,  that  it  was  a  comfort  to  him  to  be  able  to  thank  any 
one :  no  matter  for  how  little.  Toby  stood  gazing  after  him 
as  he  plodded  wearily  away,  with  the  child's  arm  clinging 
round  his  neck. 

At  the  figure  in  the  worn  shoes — now  the  very  shade  and 
ghost  of  shoes — rough  leather  leggings,  common  frock,  and 
broad  slouched  hat,  Trotty  stood  gazing,  blind  to  the  whole 
street.     And  at  the  child's  arm,  clinging  round  its  neck. 

Before  he  merged  into  the  darkness  the  traveller  stopped ; 
and  looking  round,  and  seeing  Trotty  standing  there  yet, 
seemed  undecided  whether  to  return  or  go  on.  After  doing 
first  the  one  and  then  the  other,  he  came  back,  and  Trotty 
went  half  way  to  meet  him. 

"  You  can  tell  me,  perhaps,"  said  the  man  with  a  faint 
smile,  "  and  if  you  can  I  am  sure  you  will,  and  I  'd  rather 
ask  you  than  another — where  Alderman  Cute  lives." 

"  Close  at  hand,"  replied  Toby.  "  I  '11  show  you  his  house 
with  pleasure." 

"  I  was  to  have  gone  to  him  elsewhere  to-morrow,"  said  the 
man,  accompanying  Toby,  "but  I  'm  uneasy  imder  suspicion, 
and  want  to  clear  myself,  and  to  be  free  to  go  and  seek  my 
bread — I  don't  know  where.  So,  maybe  he'll  forgive  my 
going  to  his  house  to-night." 

"It's  impossible,"  cried  Toby  with  a  start,  "that  youx 
name  's  Fern  !  " 

"Eh  !  "  cried  the  other,  turning  on  him  in  astonishment. 

"  Fern  !  Will  Fern  !  "  said  Trotty. 

"That's  my  name,"  replied  the  other. 

"  Why,  then,"  cried  Trotty,  seizing  him  by  the  arm,  and 
looking  cautiously  roimd,  "  for  Heaven's  sake  don't  go  to  him  ! 
Don't  go  to  him  !  He  '11  put  you  down  as  sure  as  ever  you 
were  born.  Here  I  come  up  this  alley,  and  I  '11  tell  you  what 
I  mean.     Don't  go  to  him." 

His  new  acgfuaintance  looked  as  if  he  thought  him  mad ; 


THE   CHIMES.  118 

hut  lie  bore  him  company  nevertheless.  When  they  were 
shrouded  from  observation,  Trotty  told  him  what  he  knew,  and 
what  character  he  had  received,  and  all  about  it. 

The  subject  of  his  history  listened  to  it  with  a  calmness 
that  suTfirised  him.  He  did  not  contradict  or  interrupt  it, 
once.  He  nodded  his  head  now  and  then — ^more  in  corrobora- 
tion of  an  old  and  worn-out  story,  it  appeared,  than  in  refuta- 
tion of  it ;  and  once  or  twice  thi-ew  back  liis  hat,  and  passed 
his  freckled  hand  over  a  brow,  where  every  fuiTow  he  had 
ploughed  seemed  to  have  set  its  ima^e  in  little.  But  he  did 
no  more. 

"  It 's  true  enough  in  the  main,"  he  said,  "master,  I  could 
sift  grain  from  husk  here  and  there,  but  let  it  be  as  'tis.  What 
odds?  I  have  gone  against  his  plans  ;  to  my  misfortun'.  I 
can't  help  it ;  I  should  do  the  Kke  to-morrow.  As  to  character, 
them  gentlefolks  will  search  and  search,  and  pry  and  pry,  and 
have  it  as  free  from  spot  or  speck  in  us,  afore  they'll  help  us 
to  a  dry  good  word  ! — Well !  I  hope  they  don't  lose  good 
opinion  as  easy  as  we  do,  or  their  lives  is  strict  indeed,  and 
hardly  worth  the  keeping.  For  myself,  master,  I  never  took  with 
that  hand  " — holding  it  before  him — "  what  wasn't  my  own  ; 
and  never  held  it  back  from  work,  however  hard,  or  poorly 
paid.  Whoever  can  deny  it,  let  him  chop  it  off !  But  when 
work  won't  maintain  me  like  a  human  creetur ;  when  my 
living  is  so  bad,  that  I  am  Hungry,  out  of  doors  and  in  ;  when 
I  see  a  whole  working  life  begin  that  way,  go  on  that  way, 
and  end  that  way,  without  a  chance  or  change ;  then  I  say  to 
the  gentlefolks  '  Keep  away  fr'om  me !  Let  my  cottage  be. 
My  doors  is  dark  enough  without  your  darkening  of  'em  more. 
Don't  look  for  me  to  come  up  into  the  Park  to  help  the 
show  when  there  's  a  Birthday,  or  a  fine  Speechmaking,  or 
what  not.  Act  your  Plays  and  Games  without  me,  and  be 
welcome  to  'em  and  enjoy  'em.  We  've  now  to  do  with  one 
another.     I  'm  best  let  alone  ! '  " 

Seeing  that  the  child  in  his  arms  had  opened  her  eyes, 
and  was  looking  about  her  in  wonder,  ho  checked  himself 
to  say  a  word  or  two  of  foolish  prattle  in  her  ear,  and  stg-nd 
her  on  the  ground  beside  him.  Then  slowly  winding  one  of 
her  long  tresses  round  and  round  his  rough  forefinger  like 
a  ring,  while  she  hung  about  his  dusty  leg,  he  said  to  Trotty, 

"I'm  not  a  cross-grained  man  by  natur',  I  believe;  and 
oasy  satisfied,  I  'm  sure.     I  bear  no  iU  will  against  none  of 

I 


114  THE   CHIMES. 

■"em.  I  ouly  want  to  live  like  one  of  tlie  Almiglity'a  creeturs, 
I  can't  —  I  don't — and  so  there's  a  pit  dug  between  me, 
and  them  that  can  and  do.  There  's  others  like  me.  You 
might  tell  'em  off  by  hundreds  and  by  thousands,  sooner  than 
by  ones." 

Trotty  knew  he  spoke  the  truth  in  this,  and  shook  his  head 
to  signify  as  much. 

"I've  got  a  bad  name  this  way,"  said  Fern;  "and  I'm 
not  likely,  I  'm  afeared,  to  get  a  better.  'Tan't  lawful  to  be 
out  of  sorts,  and  I  am  out  of  sorts,  though  God  knows,  I  'd 
sooner  bear  a  cheerful  spirit  if  I  could.  Well !  I  don't  know 
as  this  Alderman  could  hurt  vie  much  by  sending  me  to 
gaol ;  but  without  a  friend  to  speak  a  word  for  me,  he 
might  do  it ;  and  you  see — !  "  pointing  downward  with  his 
finger,  at  the  child. 

"  She  has  a  beautiful  face,"  said  Trotty. 

"  Why,  yes  !  "  replied  the  other  in  a  low  voice,  as  he  gently 
turned  it  up  with  both  his  hands  towards  his  own,  and  looked 
upon  it  steadfastly.  "  I  've  thought  so  many  times.  I  've 
thought  so,  when  my  hearth  was  very  cold,  and  clipboard  very 
bare.  I  thought  so  t'other  night,  when  we  were  taken  like 
two  thieves.  But  they — they  shouldn't  try  the  little  face  too 
often,  should  they  Lilian  ?     That 's  hardly  fair  upon  a  man  !  " 

He  sunk  his  voice  so  low,  and  gazed  upon  her  with  an  air 
so  stern  and  strange,  that  Toby,  to  divert  the  current  of  his 
thoughts,  inquired  if  his  wife  were  living. 

"  I  never  had  one,"  he  returned,  shaking  his  head,  "  She  's 
my  brother's  child  :  a  orphan.  Nine  year  old,  though  you  'd 
hardly  think  it ;  but  she  's  tired  and  worn  out  now.  They'd 
have  taken  care  on  her,  the  Union — eight  and  twenty  mile 
away  from  where  we  live — between  four  walls  (as  they  took 
care  of  my  old  father  when  he  couldn't  work  no  more,  though 
he  didn't  trouble  'em  long) ;  but  I  took  her  instead,  and  she  's 
lived  with  me  ever  since.  Her  mother  had  a  friend  once,  in 
London  here.  We  are  trying  to  find  her,  and  to  find  work 
H)o  ;  but  it 's  a  large  place.  Never  mind.  More  room  for  us 
to, walk    about  in,  Lilly  !  " 

Meeting  the  child's  eyes  with  a  smile  which  melted  Toby 
more  than  tears,  he  shook  him  by  the  hand. 

"  I  don't  so  much  as  know  your  name,"  he  said,  "but  I've 
opened  my  heart  free  to  you,  for  I  'm  thankfid  to  you  ;  witli 
g;ocd  reason.     I'U  take  your  advice  and  keep  clear  of  this — " 


THE    CHIMES.  116 

"  Justice,"  suggested  Toby. 

"  Ah  !  "  he  said.  "  If  that 's  the  name  they  give  him. 
This  Justice.  And  to-morrow  will  try  whether  there  's  better 
fortun'  to  be  met  with,  somewheres  near  London.  Good 
night.     A  Happy  New  Year  !  " 

"  Stay !  "  cried  Trotty,  catching  at  his  hand,  as  he  relaxed 
his  grip.  "  Stay  !  The  New  Year  never  can  be  happy  to 
me,  if  we  part  like  this.  The  New  Year  never  can  be  happy 
to  me,  if  I  see  the  child  and  you,  go  wandering  away,  you  don't 
know  where,  without  a  shelter  for  your  heads.  Come  home 
with  me  !  I  'm  a  poor  man,  living  in  a  poor  place ;  but  I 
can  give  you  lodging  for  one  night  and  never  niiss  it.  Come 
home  with  me  !  Here  !  I  'U  take  her  !  "  cried  Trotty,  lifting 
up  the  child.  "  A  pretty  one  !  I'd  carry  twenty  times  her 
weight,  and  never  know  I  'd  got  it.  Tell  me  if  I  go  too  quick 
for  you.  I  'm  very  fast.  I  always  was  !  "  Trotty  said  this, 
taking  about  six  of  his  trotting  paces  to  one  stride  of  his 
fatigued  companion ;  and  with  his  thin  legs  quivering  again, 
beneath  the  load  he  bore. 

"  ^Miy  she  's  as  light,"  said  Trotty,  trotting  in  his  speech 
as  well  as  in  his  gait ;  for  he  couldn't  bear  to  be  thanked,  and 
dreaded  a  moment's  pause;  "as  light  as  a  feather.  Lighter 
than  a  Peacock's  feather — a  great  deal  lighter.  Here  we  are, 
and  here  we  go !  Round  this  first  turning  to  the  right.  Uncle 
Will,  and  past  the  pump,  and  sharp  off  up  the  passage  to  the 
left,  right  opposite  the  public  house.  Here  we  are,  and  here 
we  go.  Cross  over.  Uncle  Will,  and  mind  the  kidney  pieman 
at  the  comer !  Here  we  are  and  here  we  go !  Down  the 
Mews  here.  Uncle  Will,  and  stop  at  the  black  door,  with 
'  T.  Veck,  Ticket  Porter,'  wrote  upon  a  board  ;  and  here  we 
are,  and  here  we  go,  and  here  we  are  indeed,  my  precious 
Meg,  surprising  you  !  " 

With  which  words  Trotty,  in  a  breathless  state,  set  the  child 
down  before  his  daughter  in  the  middle  of  the  floor.  The 
little  visitor  looked  once  at  Meg ;  and  doubting  nothing  in  that 
face,  but  trusting  everything  she  saw  tliere ;   ran  into  her  arras. 

"Here  we  are,  and  here  we  go!"  cried  Trotty,  running 
round  tlie  room  and  clioking  audibly.  "  Here,  Uncle  Will, 
here's  a  fire  you  know!  Why  don't  you  come  to  the  fire? 
Oh  here  we  are  and  here  we  go  !  Meg,  my  precious  darling*, 
where  's  the  kettle  ?  Here  it  is  and  here  it  goes,  and  it  '11 
bile  in  no  time !  " 


116  THE   CHIMES. 

Trotty  really  had  picked  up  the  kettle  somewhero  or 
other  in  the  course  of  his  wild  career,  and  now  put  it  on 
the  fire :  while  Meg,  seating  the  child  in  a  warm  corner, 
knelt  down  on  the  ground  before  her,  and  pulled  off  her 
shoes,  and  'ijied  her  wet  feet  on  a  cloth.  Ay,  and  she  laughed 
at  Trotty  Vjo — so  pleasantly,  so  cheerfully,  that  Trotty  could 
have  blessed  her  where  she  kneeled:  for  he  had  seen  that, 
when  they  entered,  she  was  sitting  by  the  fire  in  tears. 

"Why,  father!"  said  Meg.  "You're  crazy  to-night,  I 
think.  I  don't  know  what  the  BeUs  would  say  to  that.  Poor 
little  feet.      How  cold  they  are  !  " 

"  Oh  they  're  warmer  now  !  "  exclaimed  the  child.  "  They're 
quite  warm  now  !  " 

"No,  no,  no,"  said  Meg.  "We  haven't  rubbed  'em  half 
enough.  We  're  so  busy.  So  busy !  And  when  they  're 
done,  we  '11  brush  out  the  damp  hair  ;  and  when  that's  done, 
we  '11  bring  some  colour  to  tlie  poor  pale  face  with  fresh 
water  ;  and  when  that 's  done  we  '11  be  so  gay,  and  brisk,  and 
happy—" 

The  child,  in  a  burst  of  sobbing,  clasped  her  round  the 
neck  ;  caressed  her  fair  cheek  with  its  hand;  and  said,  "  Oh 
Meg  !  oh  dear  Meg !  " 

Toby's  blessing  could  have  done  no  more.  Who  could  do 
more ! 

"  Why  father  !  "  cried  Meg,  after  a  pause. 

"  Here  I  am,  and  here  I  go,  my  dear  !  "  said  Trotty. 

"  Good  Gracious  me  !  "  cried  Meg.  "  He  's  crazy  !  He  's 
put  the  dear  child's  bonnet  on  the  kettle,  and  hung  the  lid 
behind  the  door  !  " 

"  I  didn't  go  to  do  it,  my  love,"  said  Trotty,  hastily  repair- 
ing this  mistake.      "  Meg,  my  dear  ?  " 

Meg  looked  towards  him  and  saw  that  he  had  elaborately 
ctationed  himself  behind  the  chair  of  their  male  visitor,  where 
with  many  mysterious  gestures  he  was  holding  up  the  six- 
pence he  had  earned. 

'- 1  see,  voy  dear,"  said  Trotty,  "  as  I  was  coming  in,  half 
an  ounce  of  tea  lying  somewhere  on  the  stairs;  and  I'm 
pretty  sure  there  was  a  bit  of  bacon  too.  As  I  don't  re- 
member where  it  was,  exactly,  I  'U  go  myself  and  try  to 
find  'em." 

WitJi  this  inscrutable  artifice,  Toby  withdrew  to  purchase 
the  viands   he  had   spoken  of,   for   ready  money,    at    Mrs. 


TITE   CniMES.  117 

Cliitkenstallver's ;  and  presently  came  back,  pretending  that 
lie  had  not  been  able  to  find  them,  at  first,  in  tho  dark. 

"  But  here  they  are  at  last,"  said  Trotty,  setting  out  the 
tea-things,  "  all  correct !  I  was  pretty  sure  it  was  tea  and  a 
rasher.  So  it  is.  Meg  my  pet,  if  you  '11  just  make  the  tea, 
while  your  unworthy  father  toasts  the  bacon,  we  shall  be  ready 
immediate.  It's  a  curious  circumstance,"  said  Trotty,  pro- 
ceeding in  his  cookery,  with  the  assistance  of  the  toasting-fork, 
*'  curious,  but  well  known  to  my  friends,  that  I  never  care, 
myself,  for  rashers,  nor  for  tea.  I  like  to  see  other  people 
eujoy  'em,"  said  Trotty,  speaking  very  loud  to  impress  the  fact 
upon  his  guest,  "  but  to  me,  as  food,  they  are  disagreeable." 

Yet  Trotty  sniffed  the  savour  of  the  hissing  bacon — ah ' 
— as  if  he  liked  it ;  and  when  he  poured  the  boiling  water 
in  the  tea-pot,  looked  lovingly  down  into  the  depths  of 
that  snug  caldron,  and  suffered  the  fragrant  steam  to  curl 
about  his  nose,  and  wreathe  his  head  and  face  in  a  thick  cloud. 
However,  for  all  this,  he  neither  ate  nor  drank,  except  at  the 
very  beginning,  a  mere  morsel  for  form's  sake,  which  he 
appeared  to  eat  with  infinite  relish,  but  declared  was  perfectly 
uninteresting  to  him. 

No.  Trotty' s  occupation  was  to  see  Will  Fern  and  Lilian 
eat  and  drink  ;  and  so  was  Meg's.  And  never  did  spectators 
at  a  city  dinner  or  court  banquet  find  such  high  delight  in 
seeing  others  feast :  although  it  were  a  monarch  or  a  pope  : 
as  those  two  did,  in  looking  on  that  night.  Meg  smiled  at 
Trotty,  Trotty  laughed  at  Meg.  Meg  shook  her  head  and 
made  belief  to  clap  her  hands,  applauding  Trotty;  Trotty  con, 
veyed,  in  dumb-show,  unintelligible  narratives  of  how  and 
when  and  where  he  had  found  their  visitors,  to  Meg ;  and  they 
were  happy.     Very  happy. 

"  Although,"  thought  Trotty,  sorrowfully,  as  he  watthed 
Meg's  face  ;   "  that  match  is  broken  off,  I  see  !  " 

"Now,  I'U  tell  you  what,"  said  Trotty  after  tea.  "The 
little  one,  she  sleeps  with  Meg,  I  know." 

"  With  good  Meg  !  "  cried  the  child,  caressing  her.  "  With 
Meg." 

"That's  right,"  said  Trotty.  "And  I  shouldn't  wonder 
Lf  she  kiss  Meg's  father,  won't  she?     1  'm  Meg's  father." 

Mightily  delighted  Trotty  was,  when  the  child  went  timidly 
towards  him,  and  having  kissed  him,  fell  back  upon  'Moij 
a^ain. 


118  THE   CHIMES. 

"  She  's  as  sensible  as  Solomon,"  said  Trotty.  "  Here  we 
come,  and  here  we — no,  we  don't — I  don't  mean  that — I — what 
was  I  saying,  Meg,  my  precious  ?  " 

Meg  looked  towards  their  guest,  who  leaned  upon  her  chair, 
and  with  his  face  tia-ned  from  her,  fondled  the  child's  head, 
half  hidden  in  her  lap. 

"  To  be  sure,"  said  Toby.  "To  be  sure  !  I  don't  know 
what  I  am  rambling  on  about,  to-night.  My  wits  are  wool- 
gathering, I  think.  Will  Fern,  you  come  along  with  me. 
You  're  tired  to  death,  and  broken  down  for  want  of  rest.  You 
come  along  with  me." 

The  man  still  played  with  the  child's  curls,  still  leaned  upon 
Meg's  chair,  still  turned  away  his  face.  He  didn't  speak,  but 
in  his  rough  coarse  fingers,  clenching  and  expanding  in  the 
fair  hair  of  the  child,  there  was  an  eloquence  that  said  enough. 

"  Yes,  yes,"  said  Trotty,  answering  unconsciously  what  he 
saw  expressed  in  his  daughter's  face.  "  Take  her  with  you, 
Meg.  Get  her  to-bed.  There !  Now  Will,  I  '11  show  you 
where  you  lie.  It 's  not  much  of  a  place  :  only  a  loft ;  but, 
having  a  loft,  I  always  say,  is  one  of  the  great  conveniences  of 
living  in  a  mews ;  and  till  this  coach-house  and  stable  gets  a 
better  let,  we  live  here  cheap.  There  's  plenty  of  sweet  hay 
up  there,  belonging  to  a  neighbour ;  and  it 's  as  clean  as 
hands  and  Meg  can  make  it.  Cheer  up !  Don't  give  way. 
A  new  heart  for  a  New  Year,  always !  " 

The  hand  released  from  the  child's  hair,  had  fallen, 
trembling,  into  Trotty's  hand.  So  Trotty,  talking  without 
intermission,  led  him  out  as  tenderly  and  easily  as  if  he  had 
been  a  child  himself. 

Returning  before  Meg,  he  listened  for  an  instant  at  the  door 
of  her  little  chamber ;  an  adjoining  room.  The  child  was 
mxirmuring  a  simple  Prayer  before  lying  dovm.  to  sleep  ;  and 
when  she  had  remembered  Meg's  name,  "Dearly,  Dearly" 
— so  her  words  ran — Trotty  heard  her  stop  and  ask  for  his. 

It  was  some  short  time  before  the  foolish  little  old  feUow 
could  compose  himself  to  mend  the  fire,  and  draw  his  chair  to 
the  warm  hearth.  But  when  he  had  done  so,  and  had  trimmed 
the  light,  he  took  his  newspaper  from  his  pocket,  and  began 
to  read.  Carelessly  at  first,  and  skimming  up  and  down  the 
columns ;  but  with  an  earnest  and  a  sad  attention,  very  soon. 

For  this  same  dreaded  paper  re-directed  Trotty's  thoughts 
into  the  channel  they  had  taken  aU  that  day,  and  wliich   the 


THE    CHIMES.  119 

claj''s  events  had  so  marked  out  and  shaped.  His  interest  in 
the  two  wanderers  had  set  him  on  another  course  of  thinking, 
and  a  happier  one,  for  the  time ;  but  being  alone  again,  and 
reading  of  the  crimes  and  violences  of  the  people,  he  relapsed 
into  his  former  train. 

In  this  mood  he  came  to  an  account  (and  it  was  not  the  fij'st 
he  had  ever  read)  of  a  woman  who  had  laid  her  desperate 
hands  not  only  on  her  own  life  but  on  that  of  her  young  child, 
A  crime  so  terrible,  and  so  revolting  to  his  soul,  dilated  with 
the  love  of  Meg,  that  he  let  the  joiu'nal  drop,  and  fell  back  in 
'his  chair,  appalled ! 

"  Unnatural  and  cruel !  "  Toby  cried.  "  Unnatural  and 
cruel !  None  but  people  who  were  bad  at  heart,  born  bad, 
who  had  no  business  on  the  earth,  could  do  such  deeds.  It 's 
too  true,  aU  I  've  heard  to-day ;  too  just,  too  full  of  proof. 
We  're  Bad  !  " 

The  Chimes  took  up  -the  words  so  suddenly — burst  out  so 
loud,  and  clear,  and  sonorous — that  the  Bells  seemed  to  strike 
him  in  his  chair. 

And  what  was  that,  they  said  ? 

"  Toby  Veck,  Toby  Veck,  waiting  for  you  Toby  !  Toby  Veck, 
Toby  Yeck,  waiting  for  you  Toby !  Come  and  see  us,  come 
and  see  us.  Drag  him  to  us,  drag  him  to  us.  Haunt  and  hunt  him, 
haunt  and  hunt  him.  Break  his  slumbers,  break  his  slumbers  ! 
Toby  Veck,  Toby  Veck,  door  open  wide  Toby,  Toby  Veck  Toby 
Veck,  door  open  wide  Toby — "  then  fiercely  back  to  their 
impetuous  strain  again,  and  ringing  in  the  very  bricks  and 
plaster  on  the  walls. 

Toby  listened.  Fancy,  fancy !  His  remorse  for  having  run 
away  from  them  that  afternoon  !  No,  no.  Nothing  of  the 
kind.  Again,  again,  and  yet  a  dozen  times  again.  "  Haunt 
and  hunt  him,  haunt  and  hunt  him.  Drag  him  to  us,  drag  him 
to  us  !  "     Deafening  the  whole  town  ! 

"  Meg,"  said  Trotty,  softly  :  tapping  at  her  door.  "  Do 
you  hear  anything  ?  " 

"  I  hear  the  Bells,  father.  Surely  they 're  very  loud  to- 
night." 

"  Is  she  asleep''  "  said  Toby,  making  an  excuse  for  peep- 
ing in. 

"  So  peacefully  and  happily !  I  can't  leave  her  yet  though, 
father.      Look  how  she  holds  my  hand  !  " 

"  Meg !  "  whispered  Trotty.     "  Listen  to  the  Bells  1 " 


!20  THE   CHIMES. 

She  listened,  with  her  face  towards  him  all  the  time.  But 
it  underwent  no  change.      She  didn't  understand  them. 

Trotty  withdrew,  resumed  his  seat  by  the  fire,  and  once 
more  listened  by  himself.     He  remained  here  a  little  time. 

It  was  impossible  to  bear  it ;  their  energy  was  dreadful. 

"If  the  tower-door  is  really  open,"  said  Toby,  hastily  laying 
aside  his  apron,  but  never  thinking  of  his  hat,  "  what's  to 
hinder  me  from  going  up  in  the  steeple  and  satisfying  myself  ? 
If  it 's  shut,  I  don't  want  any  other  satisfaction.  That 's 
enough." 

He  was  pretty  certain  as  he  slipped  out  quietly  into  the 
sti-eet  that  he  should  find  it  shut  and  locked,  for  he  knew  the 
door  well,  and  had  so  rarely  seen  it  open,  that  he  couldn't 
reckon  above  three  times  in  all.  It  was  a  low  arched  portal, 
outside  the  church,  in  a  dark  nook  behind  a  column ;  and 
had  such  great  iron  hinges,  and  such  a  monstrous  lock,  that 
there  was  more  hinge  and  lock  than  door. 

But  what  was  his  astonishment  when,  coming  bare-headed 
to  the  church ;  and  putting  his  hand  into  this  dark  nook,  with 
a  certain  misgiving  that  it  might  be  unexpectedly  seized,  and 
a  shivering  propensity  to  draw  it  back  again  ;  he  found  that 
the  door,  which  opened  outwards,  actually  stood  ajar  ! 

He  thought,  on  the  first  surprise,  of  going  back ;  or  of 
getting  a  light,  or  a  companion  ;  but  his  courage  aided  him 
immediately,  and  he  determined  to  ascend  alone. 

"What  have  I  to  fear?"  said  Trotty.  "It's  a  church! 
Besides  the  ringers  may  be  there,  and  have  forgotten  to  shut 
the  door." 

So  he  went  in,  feeling  his  way  as  he  went,  like  a  blind 
man ;  for  it  was  very  dark.  And  very  quiet,  for  the  chimes 
were  silent. 

The  dust  from  the  street  had  blown  into  the  recess ;  and 
lying  there,  heaped  up,  made  it  so  soft  and  velvet-like  to  the 
foot,  that  there  was  something  startling  even  in  that.  The 
narrow  stair  was  so  close  to  the  door,  too,  that  he  stumbled  at 
the  very  first ;  and  shutting  the  door  upon  himself,  by  striking 
it  with  his  foot,  and  causing  it  to  rebound  back  heavily,  he 
couldn't  open  it  again. 

This  was  another  reason,  however,  for  going  on.  Trotty 
groped  his  way,  and  went  on.  Up,  up,  up,  and  round  and 
round ;  and  up,  up,  up  higher,  higher,  higher  up  ! 

It  was  a  disagxeeable  staiicase  for  that  groping  work ;  so 


THE   CHIMES.  121 

low  and  narrow,  that  his  groping  hand  was  always  touching 
something ;  and  it  often  felt  so  like  a  man  or  ghostly  figure 
standing  up  erect  and  making  room  for  him  to  pass  without 
discovery,  that  he  would  rub  the  smooth  wall  upward  search- 
ing for  its  face,  and  downward  searching  for  its  feet,  while  a 
chill  tingling  crept  all  over  him.  Twice  or  tlirice,  a  door  or 
niche  broke  the  monotonous  sui'face  ;  and  then  it  seemed  a 
gap  as  wide  as  the  whole  church  ;  and  he  felt  on  the  brink  of  an 
abyss,  and  goiog  to  tumble  headlong  down,  until  he  found 
the  wall  agaia. 

Stni  up,  up,  up ;  and  round  and  round ;  and  up,  up, 
up  ;  higher,  higher,  higher  up  ! 

At  length  the  dull  and  stifling  atmosphere  began  to  freshen  : 
presently  to  feel  quite  windy :  presently  it  blew  so  strong,  that  he 
could  hardly  keep  his  legs.  But  he  got  to  an  arched  window  in 
the  tower,  breast  high,  and  holding  tight,  looked  down  upon  the 
house-tops,  on  the  smoking  chimneys,  on  the  blurr  and  blotch  of 
lights  (towards  the  place  where  Meg  was  wondering  where  he 
was,  and  calling  to  him  perhaps),  all  kneaded  up  together  in  a 
leaven  of  mist  and  darkness. 

This  was  the  belfry,  where  the  ringers  came.  He  had 
caught  hold  of  one  of  the  frayed  ropes  which  hung  down 
through  apertures  in  the  oaken  roof.  At  fii'st  he  started, 
thinking  it  was  hair  ;  then  trembled  at  the  veiy  thought  of 
waking  the  deep  BeU.  The  Bells  themselves  were  higher. 
Higher,  Trotty,  in  his  fascination,  or  in  working  out  the  spell 
upon  him,  groped  his  way.  By  ladders  new  and  toilsomely, 
for  it  was  steep,  and  not  too  certain  holding  for  the  feet. 

Up,  up,  up  ;  and  climb  and  clamber ;  up,  up,  up ;  higher, 
higher,  higher  up  ! 

Until,  ascending  through  the  floor,  and  pausing  with  his 
head  just  raised  above  its  beams,  he  came  among  the  BeUs. 
It  was  barely  posssible  to  make  out  their  great  shapes  in  the 
gloom  ;  but  there  they  were.     Shadowy,  and  dark,  and  dumb. 

A  heavy  sense  of  dread  and  loneliness  feU  instantly  upon 
him,  as  he  climbed  into  this  airy  nest  of  stone  and  metal. 
His  head  went  round  and  round.  He  listened  and  then  raised 
a  wild  "  HaUoa  !  " 

HaUoa  !  was  mournfully  protracted  by  the  echoes. 

Giddy,  confused,  and  out  of  breath,  and  frightened,  Toby 
looked  about  him  vacantly,  and  sunk  dowTi  in  a  swoon. 


1S2  THE   CHIMES. 


THIED  QUAETEPo. 


BiACK  are  the  brooding  clouds  and  troubled  tlie  deep 
•waters,  when  the  Sea  of  Thought,  first  heaving  from  a  calm, 
gives  up  its  Dead.  Monsters  uncouth  and  wild,  arise  in  pre- 
mature, imperfect  resurrection ;  the  several  parts  and  shapes 
of  different  things  are  joined  and  mixed  by  chance  ;  and  when, 
and  how,  and  by  what  wonderful  degrees,  each  separates  from 
each,  and  every  sense  and  object  of  the  mind  resumes  its  usual 
form  and  lives  again,  no  man — though  every  man  is  every  day 
the  casket  of  this  t}^e  of  the  Great  Mystery — can  tell. 

So,  when  and  how  the  darkness  of  the  night-black  steeple 
changed  to  shining  light;  when  and  how  the  soHtary  tower 
was  peopled  with  a  myriad  figures ;  when  and  how  the 
whispered  "  Haunt  and  hunt  him,"  breathing  monotonously 
through  his  sleep  or  swoon,  became  a  voice  exclaiming  in  the 
waking  ears  of  Trotty,  "Break  his  slumbers;"  when  and 
}iow  he  ceased  to  have  a  sluggish  and  confused  idea  that  such 
things  were,  companioning  a  host  of  others  that  were  not ; 
there  are  no  dates  or  means  to  tell.  But,  awake,  and  standing 
on  his  feet  upon  the  boards  where  he  had  lately  lain,  he  saw 
tliis  Goblin  Sight. 

He  saw  the  tower,  whither  his  charmed  footsteps  had 
brought  him,  swarming  with  dwarf  phantoms,  spirits,  elfin 
creatures  of  the  Bells.  He  saw  them  leaping,  flying,  dropping, 
pouring  from  the  Bells  without  a  pause.  He  saw  them,  round 
liim  on  the  ground ;  above  him  in  the  air,  clambering  from 
him,  by  the  ropes  below  ;  looking  down  upon  him,  fi-om  the 
massive  iron-girded  beams ;  peeping  in  upon  him,  through 
the  chinks  and  loopholes  in  the  walls ;  spreading  away  and 
away  from  him  in  enlarging  circles,  as  the  water  ripples  give 
place  to  a  huge  stone  that  suddenly  comes  plashing  in  among 
tiiem.  He  saw  them,  of  all  aspects  and  aU  shapes.  He  saw 
them  ugly,  handsome,  crippled,  exquisitely  formed.  He  saw 
them  young,  he  saw   them   old,    he  saw  them  kind,  he   saw 


THE    CIirMES.  123 

them  cruel,  he  saw  them  merry,  he  saw  them  grim ;  he  saw 
them  dance,  and  heard  them  sing ;  he  saw  them  tear  their 
hair,  and  heard  them  howl.  He  saw  the  air  thif!k  with  them. 
He  saw  them  come  and  go,  incessantly.  He  saw  them  riding 
downward,  soaring  upward,  sailing  off  afar,  perching  near  at 
hand,  all  restless  and  all  violently  active.^  Stone,  and  brick, 
and  slate,  and  tile,  became  transparent  to  him  as  to  them.  He 
saw  them  in  the  houses,  busy  at  the  sleepers'  beds.  He  saw 
them  soothing  people  in  their  di'eams ;  he  saw  them  beating 
them  with  knotted  whips  ;  he  saw  them  yelling  in  their  ears ; 
he  saw  them  plajing  softest  music  on  their  pillows  ;  he  saw 
them  cheering  some  with  the  songs  of  birds  and  the  perfume 
of  flowers  ;  he  saw  them  flashing  awful  faces  on  the  troubled 
rest  of  others,  from  enchanted  mirrors  which  they  carried  in 
their  hands. 

He  saw  these  creatures,  not  only  among  sleeping  men  but 
waking  also,  active  in  pursuits  irreconcileable  with  one 
another,  and  possessing  or  assuming  natures  the  most  opposite. 
He  saw  one  buckling  on  innumerable  wings  to  increase  his 
speed ;  another  loading  himself  with  chains  and  weights,  to 
retard  his.  He  saw  some  putting  the  hands  of  clocks  forward, 
some  putting  the  hands  of  clocks  backward,  some  endeavouring 
to  stop  the  clock  entirely.  He  saw  them  representing,  here  a 
marriage  ceremony,  there  a  funeral ;  in  this  chamber  an 
election,  in  that  a  ball;  he  saw,  everywhere,  restless  and 
untiring  motion. 

Bewildered  by  the  host  of  shifting  and  extraordinary  figures, 
as  well  as  by  the  uproar  of  the  Bells,  which  all  this  while  were 
ringing,  Trotty  clung  to  a  wooden  pillar  for  support,  and 
turned  his  white  face  here  and  there,  in  mute  and  stunned 
astonishment. 

As  he  gazed,  the  Chimes  stopped.  Instantaneous  change ! 
The  whole  swarm  fainted ;  their  forms  collapsed,  their  speed 
deserted  them ;  they  sought  to  fly,  but  in  the  act  of  falling 
died  and  melted  into  air.  No  fresh  supply  suoieeded  them. 
One  straggler  leaped  down  pretty  briskly  from  the  surface  of 
the  Great  Bell,  and  alighted  on  his  feet,  but  lie  was  dead  and 
gone  before  he  could  turn  round.  Some  few  of  the  late 
company  who  had  gambolled  in  tlie  tower,  remained  there, 
spinning  over  and  over  a  little  longer ;  but  these  became  n* 
every  turn  more  faint,  and  few,  and  feeble,  and  soon  went  the 
way  of  the  rest.     The  last  of  all  was  one  small  hunchback, 


{24  THE   CIIIMEg. 

^ho  had  got  into  an  eclioing  corner,  where  he  twirled  and 
twirled,  and  floated  by  himself  a  long  time ;  showing  such 
perseverance,  that  at  last  he  dwindled  to  a  leg  and  even  to  a 
foot,  before  he  finally  retired ;  but  he  vanished  in  the  end,  and 
then  the  tower  was  silent. 

Then  and  not  before,  did  Trotty  see  in  every  BeU,  a  bearded 
figure  of  the  bulk  and  stature  of  the  BeU — incomprehensibly, 
a  figure  and  the  Bell  itself.  Gigantic,  grave,  and  darkly 
watchful  of  him,  as  he  stood  rooted  to  the  ground. 

Mysterious  and  awful  figures  !  Besting  on  nothing ;  poised 
in  the  night  air  of  the  tower,  with  their  draped  and  hooded 
heads  merged  in  the  dim  roof;  motionless  and  shadowy. 
Shadowy  and  dark,  although  he  saw  them  by  some  light 
belonging  to  themselves — none  else  was  there — each  with  its 
muffled  hand  upon  its  goblin  mouth. 

He  could  not  plimge  down  wildly  through  the  opening 
in  the  floor;  for,  all  power  of  motion  had  deserted  him. 
Otherwise  he  would  have  done  so — ay,  would  have  thrown 
himself,  head-foremost,  from  the  steeple-top,  rather  than  have 
seen  them  watching  him  with  eyes  that  would  have  waked  and 
watched  although  the  pupils  had  been  taken  out. 

Again,  again,  the  dread  and  terror  of  the  lonely  place,  and  of 
the  wild  and  fearful  night  that  reigned  there,  touched  him  like 
a  spectral  hand.  His  distance  from  all  help ;  the  long,  dark, 
winding,  ghost-beleaguered  way  that  lay  between  him  and  the 
earth  on  which  men  lived ;  his  being  high,  high,  high,  up 
there,  where  it  had  made  him  dizzy  to  see  the  birds  fly  in  the 
day ;  cut  off  from  all  good  people,  who  at  such  an  hour  were 
safe  at  home  and  sleeping  in  their  beds ;  all  this  struck  coldly 
through  him,  not  as  a  reflection  but  a  bodily  sensation. 
Meantime  his  eyes  and  thoughts  and  fears,  were  fixed  upon 
the  watchful  figures :  which,  rendered  unlike  any  figures  of 
this  world  by  the  deep  gloom  and  shade  enwrapping  and 
enfolding  them,  as  well  as  by  their  looks  and  forms  and  super- 
natural hovering  above  the  fioor,  were  nevertheless  as  plainly 
to  be  seen  as  were  the  stalwart  oaken  frames,  cross-pieces,  bars 
and  beams,  set  up  there  to  support  the  Bells.  These  hemmed 
them,  in  a  very  forest  of  hewn  timber ;  from  the  entangle- 
ments, intricacies,  and  depths  of  which,  as  from  among  the 
boughs  of  a  dead  wood  blighted  for  their  Phantom  use,  they 
kept  their  darksome  and  unwinking  watch. 

A   blast   of    air — how   cold   and   shrill ! — came   moaning 


THE   CHTMES.  125 

th7X)iigh  the  tower.     As  it  died  away,  the  Great  Bell,  or  the 
Goblin  of  the  Great  Bell,  spoke. 

''What  visitor  is  this  !  "  it  said.  The  voice  was  low  and 
deep,  and  Trotty  fancied  that  it  sounded  in  the  other  figures 
as  well. 

"I  thought  my  name  was  called  by. the  Chimes*"  said 
Trotty,  raising  his  hands  in  an  attitude  of  supplication.  "  I 
hardly  know  why  I  am  here,  or  how  I  came.  I  have  listened 
to  the  Chimes  these  many  years.  They  have  cheered  me 
often." 

"  And  you  have  thanked  them  ?  "  said  the  Bell-. 

"  A  thousand  times  ?  "  cried  Trotty. 

"How?" 

"  I  am  a  poor  man,"  faltered  Trotty,  "  and  could  only  thank 
them  in  words." 

"And  always  so?"  inquired  the  Goblin  of  the  Bell. 
"  Have  you  never  done  us  wrong  in  words  ?  ' 

"  Xo  !  "  cried  Trotty  eagerly. 

"  Never  done  us  foid,  and  false,  and  wicked  wrong,  in 
words  ?  "  pursued  the  Goblin  of  the  Bell. 

Trotty  was  about  to  answer,  "Never!"  But  he  stopped, 
and  was  confused. 

"  The  voice  of  Time,"  said  the  Phantom,  "cries  to  man, 
Advance !  Time  is  for  his  advancement  and  improvement ; 
for  his  greater  worth,  his  greater  happiness,  his  better  life ; 
his  progress  onward  to  that  goal  within  its  knowledge  and  its 
view,  and  set  there,  in  tlie  period  when  Time  and  He  began. 
Ages  of  darkness,  wickedness,  and  violence,  have  come  and 
gone — millions  uncountable,  have  suffered,  lived,  and  died — to 
point  the  way  before  him.  Who  seeks  to  turn  him  back,  or 
stay  liira  on  his  course,  arrests  a  mighty  engine  which  will 
strike  the  meddler  dead ;  and  be  the  fiercer  and  the  wilder, 
ever,  for  its  momentary  check  !  " 

"  I  never  did  so  to  my  knowledge,  sir,"  said  Trotty.  "It- 
was  quite  by  accident  if  I  did.  I  wouldn't  go  to  do  it,  I  'm 
sure." 

"  Who  puts  into  the  mouth  of  Time,  or  of  its  servants,"  said 
the  Goblin  of  the  Bell,  "  a  cry  of  lamentation  for  days  which 
have  had  their  trial  and  their  failure,  and  have  left  deep 
traces  of  it  which  the  blind  may  see — a  cry  that  only  serves 
the  present  time,  by  showing  men  how  much  it  needs  their 
help  wliea  any  ears  can  listen  to  regrets  for  such  a  past  -  who 


126  THE    CIlTMEg. 

does  this,  does  a  wrong.  And  you  have  done  that  wrong  to 
us,  the  Chimes." 

Trotty's  first  excess  of  fear  was  gone.  But  he  had  ffelt  ten- 
derly and  gratefully  towards  the  Bells,  as  you  have  seen ;  and 
when  he  heard  himself  arraigned  as  one  who  had  offended  them 
so  weightily,  his  heart  was  touched  with  penitence  and  grief. 

"  If  you  knew,"  said  Trotty,  clasping  his  hands  earnestly 
— "  or  perhaps  you  do  know — if  you  know  how  often  you 
have  kept  me  company ;  how  often  you  have  cheered  me  up 
•when  I  've  been  low ;  how  you  were  quite  the  plaything  of 
my  little  daughter  Meg  (almost  the  only  one  she  ever  had) 
when  first  her  mother  died,  and  she  and  me  were  left  alone ; 
you  won't  bear  malice  for  a  hasty  word  !  " 

"  Who  hears  in  us,  the  Chimes,  one  note  bespeaking  dis- 
regard, or  stern  regard,  of  any  hope,  or  joy,  or  pain,  or  sorrow, 
of  the  many-sorrowed  throng ;  who  hears  us  make  response  to 
any  creed  that  gauges  human  passions  and  affections,  as  it 
gauges  the  amount  of  miserable  food  on  which  humanity  may 
pine  and  wither ;  does  us  wrong.  That  wrong  you  have  done 
us  !  "  said  the  Bell. 

"  I  have  !  "  said  Trotty.      "  Oh  forgive  me  !  " 

"  Who  hears  us  echo  the  dull  vermin  of  the  earth  :  the 
Putters  Down  of  crushed  and  broken  natures,  formed  to  be 
raised  up  higher  than  such  maggots  of  the  time  can  crawl  or 
can  conceive,"  pursued  the  Goblin  of  the  Bell ;  "who  does  so, 
does  us  WTi-ong.     And  you  have  done  us  wrong !  " 

"  Not  meaning  it,"  said  Trotty.  "  In  my  ignorance.  Not 
meaning  it ! " 

"  Lastly,  and  most  of  aU,"  pursued  the  Bell.  "  ^\Tio  turns 
his  back  upon  the  fallen  and  disfigured  of  his  kind ;  abandons 
them  as  vile ;  and  does  not  trace  and  track  with  pitying  eyes 
the  imfenced  precipice  by  which  they  fell  from  good — 
grasping  in  their  fall  some  tufts  and  shreds  of  that  lost  soil, 
and  clinging  to  them  still  when  bruised  and  dying  in  the  gwU 
below ;  does  wrong  to  Heaven  and  man,  to  time  and  to 
eternity.     And  you  have  done  that  wrong!  " 

"Spare  me,"  cried  Trotty  falling  on  his  knees;  "for 
Mercy's  sake !  " 

"  Listen !  "  said  the  Shadow. 

"  Listen  !  "  cried  the  other  Shadows. 

"  Listen  !  "  said  a  clear  and  childlike  voice,  which  Trotty 
thought  he  recognised  as  having  heard  before. 


THE   CIITMKS.  127 

Tlie  organ  sounded  faintly  in  the  church  below.  Swelling 
by  degrees,  the  melody  ascended  to  the  roof,  and  filled  the 
choir  and  nave.  Expanding  more  and  more,  it  rose  up,  up , 
up,  up  ;  higher,  higher,  higher  up  ;  awakening  agitated  hearts 
within  the  burly  piles  of  oak,  the  hoUow  bells,  the  iron-bound 
doors,  tlie  stairs  of  solid  stone ;  imtil  the  tower  walls  were 
insufficient  to  contain  it,  and  it  soared  into  the  sky. 

No  wonder  that  an  old  man's  breast  could  not  contain  a 
Bound  so  vast  and  mighty.  It  broke  from  that  weak  prison  iu 
a  rush  of  tears  ;  and  Trotty  put  his  hands  before  his  face. 

"  Listen  !  "  said  the  Shadow. 

"  Listen  !  "  said  the  other  Shadows. 

"  Listen  !  "  said  the  child's  voice. 

A  solemn  strain  of  blended  voices,  rose  into  the  tower. 

It  was  a  very  low  and  mournful  strain — a  Dirge — and  as  he 
listened,  Trotty  heard  his  child  among  the  singers. 

"  She  is  dead  !  "  exclaimed  the  old  man.  "  Meg  is  dead  ! 
Her  Spirit  calls  to  me.     I  hear  it !  " 

"  The  Spirit  of  your  child  bewails  the  dead,  and  mingles 
with  the  dead — dead  hopes,  dead  fancies,  dead  imaginings  of 
youth,"  returned  the  Bell,  "  but  she  is  living.  Learn  from  her 
life,  a  living  truth.  Learn  from  the  creature  dearest  to  your 
heart,  how  bad  the  bad  are  born.  See  every  bud  and  leaf 
plucked  one  by  one  from  off  the  fairest  stem,  and  know  how 
bare  and  wretched  it  may  be.     Follow  her  !     To  desperation  !  " 

Each  of  the  shadowy  figures  stretched  its  right  arm  forth, 
and  pointed  downward. 

"The  Spirit  of  the  Chimes  is  your  companion,"  said  the 
figure.      "Go!     It  stands  behind  you  !  " 

Trotty  turned,  and  saw — the  child  ?  The  child  Will  Fern 
had  carried  in  the  street ;  the  child  whom  Meg  had  watched, 
but  now,  asleep  ! 

"  I  carried  her  myself,  to-night,"  said  Trotty.  "  In  these 
arms ! " 

"  Show  him  what  he  calls  himself,"  said  the  dark  figures, 
one  and  all. 

The  tower  opened  at  his  feet.  He  looked  down,  and  beheld 
his  own  form,  lying  at  the  bottom,  on  the  outside :  crushed 
and  motionless. 

"  No  more  a  living  man  !  "  cried  Trotty.      "  Dead  !  " 

"  Dead  !  "  said  the  figures  altogether. 

"  Gracious  Heaven  !     And  the  New  Year — ' 


128  THE   CHIMES. 

"  Past,"  said  the  figures. 

"  What !  "  he  cried  shuddering,  "  I  missed  my  way,  and 
coming  on  the  outside  of  this  tower  in  the  dark,  fell  down — - 
a  year  ago  ?  " 

"  Nine  years  ago  !  "  replied  the  figures. 

As  they  gave  the  answer,  they  recalled  their  outstretched 
hands ;   and  where  their  figures  had  been,  there  the  Bells  were. 

And  they  rung ;  their  time  being  come  again.  And  once 
again,  vast  multitudes  of  phantoms  sprung  into  existence ; 
once  again,  were  incoherently  engaged,  as  they  had  been 
before  ;  once  again,  faded  on  the  stopping  of  the  Chimes ;  and 
dwindled  into  nothing. 

"  What  are  these  ?  "  he  asked  his  guide.  "  If  I  am  not 
mad,  what  are  these  ?  " 

"  Spirits  of  the  Bells.  Tlieir  sound  upon  the  air,"  returned 
the  cliild.  "  They  take  such  shapes  and  occupations  as  the 
hopes  and  thoughts  of  mortals,  and  the  recollections  they  have 
stored  up,  give  them." 

"  And  you,"  said  Trotty  wildly.      "  What  axe  you  ?  " 

"  Hushj  hush  !  "  returned  the  child.      "  Look  here  !  " 

In  a  poor,  mean  room ;  working  at  the  same  kind  of 
embroidery,  which  he  had  often,  often,  seen  before  her ;  Meg, 
his  own  dear  daughter,  was  presented  to  his  view.  He  made 
no  effort  to  imprint  his  kisses  on  her  face ;  he  did  not  strive 
to  clasp  her  to  his  loving  heaii; ;  he  knew  that  such  endear- 
ments were,  for  him,  no  more.  But,  he  held  his  trembling 
breath,  and  brushed  away  the  blinding  tears,  that  he  might 
look  upon  her ;   that  he  might  only  see  her. 

Ah  !  Changed.  Changed.  The  Hght  of  the  clear  eye,  how 
dimmed.  The  bloom,  how  faded  from  the  cheek.  Beautiful 
she  was,  as  she  had  ever  been,  but  Hope,  Hope,  Hope,  oh 
where  was  the  fresh  Hope  that  had  spoken  to  him  like  a 
voice ! 

She  looked  up  from  her  work,  at  a  companion.  Following 
her  eyes,  the  old  man  started  back. 

In  the  woman  grown,  he  recognised  her  at  a  glance.  In 
the  long  silken  hair,  he  saw  the  self-same  curls ;  around  the 
lips,  the  child's  expression  lingering  still.  See  !  In  the  eyes, 
now  turned  inquiringly  on  Meg,  there  shone  the  very  look 
that  scanned  those  features  when  he  brought  her  home  ! 

Then  what  was  this,  beside  him ! 

Looking  with  awe  into  its  face,  he  saw  a  something  reigning 


TEE    cm  MI'S.  129 

there :  a  loftv  something,  undehned  and  indistinct,  which 
made  it  hardly  more  than  a  remembrance  of  that  child — as 
yonder  figure  might  be — yet  it  was  the  same :  the  same :  and 
wore  the  dress. 

Hark.     They  were  speaking  ! 

"Meg,"  said  Lilian,  hesitating.  "How  often  you  raise 
your  head  from  your  work  to  look  at  nae ! " 

"Are  my  looks  so  altered,  that  they  frighten  you?"  asked 
Meg. 

"  Nav,  dear!  But  you  smile  at  that  yourself!  '\\Tiy  not 
smile  when  you  look  at  me,  Meg?  " 

"I  do  so.     Do  I  not?"  she  answered  :   smiling  on  her. 

"Now  you  do,"  said  Lilian,  "  but  not  usually.  When  you 
think  I  'm  busy,  and  don't  see  you,  you  look  so  anxious  and 
so  doubtful,  that  I  hardly  like  to  raise  my  eyes.  There  is 
little  cause  for  smiling  in  this  hard  and  toilsome  life,  but  you 
were  once  so  cheerful." 

"  Am  I  not  now  !  "  cried  Meg,  speaking  in  a  tone  of  strange 
alarm,  and  rising  to  embrace  her.  "  Do  /  make  our  weary 
life  more  weary  to  you,  Lilian  !  " 

"You  have  been  the  only  thing  that  made  it  life,"  said 
Lilian,  fervently  kissing  her ;  "  sometimes  the  only  thing  that 
made  me  care  to  live  so,  Meg.  Such  work,  such  work  !  So 
many  hours,  so  many  days,  so  many  long,  long  nights  of 
hopeless,  cheerless,  never-ending  work — not  to  heap  up  riches, 
not  to  live  grandly  or  gaily,  not  to  live  upon  enough,  however 
coarse ;  but  to  earn  bare  bread ;  to  scrape  together  just 
enough  to  toil  upon,  and  want  upon,  and  keep  alive  in  us  the 
consciousness  of  our  hard  fate!  Oh  Meg,  Meg!"  she  raised 
her  voice  and  twined  her  arms  about  her  as  she  spoke,  like 
one  in  pain.  "  How  can  the  cruel  world  go  round,  and  bear 
to  look  upon  such  lives !  " 

"  Lilly  !  "  said  Meg,  soothing  her,  and  putting  back  her 
hair  from  her  wet  face.  "  Why,  Lilly  !  You  !  So  pretty 
and  so  young !  " 

"Oh  Meg!"  she  interrupted,  holding  her  at  arm's-length, 
and  looking  in  her  face  imploringly.  "  The  worst  of  all,  the 
worst  of  all !  Strike  me  old,  Meg  !  Wither  me  and  shrivel 
me,  and  free  me  from  the  dreadful  thoughts  that  tempt  me  in 
my  youth  I  " 

Trotty  turned  to  look  upon  his  guide.  But,  the  S])irit  of 
the  child  had  taken  flight.     Was  gone. 


130  THE   CHIMES. 

Neither  did  lie  himself  remain  in  the  same  place ;  for  Sii 
Joseph  Bowley,  Friend  and  Father  of  the  Poor,  held  a  great 
festivity  at  Bowley  HaU,  in  honour  of  the  natal  day  of  Lady 
Bowley.  And  as  Lady  Bowley  had  been  born  on  New  Year's 
Day  (which  the  local  newspapers  considered  an  especial  pointing 
of  the  finger  of  Providence  to  number  One,  as  Lady  Bowley' 3 
destined  figure  in  Ci-eation),  it  was  on  a  New  Year's  Day  that 
this  festivity  took  place. 

Bowley  Hall  was  full  of  visitors.  The  red-faced  gentle- 
man was  there.  Mr.  Filer  was  there,  the  great  Alderman 
Cute  was  there — Alderman  Cute  had  a  sympathetic  feeling 
Avith  great  people,  and  had  considerably  improved  his 
acquaintance  with  Sir  Joseph  Bowley  on  the  strength  of  hia 
attentive  letter :  indeed  had  become  quite  a  friend  of  tha 
family  since  then — and  many  guests  were  there.  Trotty's 
ghost  was  there,  Avandering  about,  poor  phantom,  drearily ; 
and  looking  for  its  guide. 

There  was  to  be  a  great  dinner  in  the  Great  HaU.  At 
which  Sir  Joseph  Bowley,  in  his  celebrated  character  of 
Friend  and  Father  of  the  Poor,  was  to  make  his  great  speech. 
Certain  plum  puddings  were  to  be  eaten  by  his  Friends  and 
Children  in  another  Hall  first ;  and,  at  a  given  signal.  Friends 
and  Children  flocking  in  among  their  Friends  and  Fathers,  were 
to  form  a  famil}'  assemblage,  with  not  one  manly  eye  therein 
unmoistened  b}'  emotion. 

But  there  was  more  than  this  to  happen.  Even  more  than 
this.  Sir  Joseph  Bowley,  Baronet  and  Member  of  Parlia- 
ment, was  to  play  a  match  at  skittles — real  skittles — with  his 
tenants ! 

"Which  quite  reminds  one,"  said  Alderman  Cute,  "of  the 
days  of  old  King  Hal,  stout  King  Hal,  bluff  King  Hal.  Ah. 
Fine  character !  " 

"  Very,"  said  Mr.  Filer,  dryly.  "  For  marrying  women 
and  murdering  'em.  Considerably  more  than  the  average 
number  of  wives  by  the  bye." 

"  You '11  marry  the  beau tifid  ladies,  and  not  murder  'em, 
eh?"  said  Alderman  Cute  to  the  heir  of  Bowley,  aged  twelve. 
"  Sweet  boy  !  We  shall  have  this  little  gentleman  in  Parlia- 
ment now,"  said  the  Alderman,  holding  him  by  the  shoulders, 
and  looking  as  reflective  as  he  could,  "  before  we  know  where 
\\<^  are.  We  shall  hear  of  his  successes  at  the  poll ;  his 
spoochos  in  the  house ;   his  oveifui-es  froia  Governments ;   hie 


THE   CHIMES.  131 

brilliant  achievements  of  all  kinds  ;  ah  !  we  shall  make  our 
little  orations  about  hun  in  the  common  council,  I  '11  be 
bound ;  before  we  have  time  to  look  about  us !  " 

"  Oh,  the  difference  of  shoes  and  stockings !  "  Trotty 
thought.  But  his  heart  yearned  towards  the  child,  for  the 
love  of  those  same  shoeless  and  stockingiess  boys,  predestined 
(by  the  Alderman)  to  turn  out  bad,  who  might  have  been  tlie 
children  of  poor  Meg. 

"  Richard,"  moaned  Trotty,  roaming  among  the  companj' 
to  and  fro  ;  "  where  is  he  ?  I  can't  find  Richard  !  Wliere 
is  Richard  ?  " 

Not  likely  to  be  there,  if  still  alive !  But  Trotty's  grief 
and  solitude  confused  him ;  and  he  still  went  wandering 
among  the  gallant  company,  looking  for  his  guide,  and  saying, 
"  Where  is  Richard?     Show  me  Richard  !  " 

He  was  wandering  thus,  when  he  encountered  Mr.  Fish, 
the  confidential  Secretary  :   in  great  agitation. 

"Bless  my  heart  and  soul!"  cried  Mr.  Fish.  "Where's 
Alderman  Cute?     Has  anybody  seen  the  Alderman?  " 

Seen  the  Alderman  ?  Oh  dear  !  Who  could  ever  help  seeing 
the  Alderman?  He  was  so  considerate,  so  affable,  he  bore 
so  much  in  mind  the  natural  desire  of  folks  to  see  him,  that 
if  he  had  a  fault,  it  was  the  being  constantly  On  View.  And 
wherever  the  great  people  were,  there,  to  be  sure,  attracted 
by  the  kindred  sympathy  between  great  souls,  was  Cute. 

Several  voices  cried  that  he  was  in  the  circle  round  Sir 
Joseph.  Mr.  Fish  made  way  there ;  foimd  him ;  and  took 
liim  secretly  into  a  window  near  at  hand.  Trotty  joined  them. 
Not  of  his  own  accord.  He  felt  that  his  steps  were  led  in 
that  direction. 

"My  dear  Alderman  Cute,"  said  Mr.  Fi.sli.  "A  little 
more  this  way.  The  most  dreadful  circumstance  has  occurred. 
1  have  this  moment  received  the  intelligence.  I  think  it  will 
"c  best  not  to  acquaint  Sir  Joseph  with  it  till  the  day  is  over. 
Vou  understand  Sir  Joseph,  and  will  give  me  your  opinion 
'I'he  most  frightful  and  deplorable  event !  " 

"  Fish  !  "  returned  the  Alderman.  "  Fish  !  My  good 
fellow,  what  is  the  matter  ?  Nothing  revolutionary,  I  hope  ! 
No — no  attempted  interference  with  the  magistrates  ?  " 

"  Deedles,  the  banker,"  gasped  the  Secretary.  "  Deedles, 
Brothers — who  was  to  have  been  here  to-day — high  in  office 
in  the  Goldsmiths'  Company — " 


132  THE   CniMES. 

"  Not  stopped  !  "  exclaimed  the  Alderman.    "  It  can't  be  1  " 

"  Shot  himself." 

"  Good  God  !  " 

"  Put  a  double-barrelled  pistol  to  his  mouth,  in  his  own 
counting-house,"  said  Mr.  Fish,  "  and  blew  his  brains  out. 
No  motive.      Princely  circumstances  !  " 

"  Circumstances  !  "  exclaimed  the  Alderman.  "  A  man  of 
noble  fortune.  One  of  the  most  respectable  of  men.  Suicido, 
Mr.  Fish  !      By  his  own  hand  !  " 

"  This  very  morning,"  returned  Mr.  Fish. 

"  Oh  the  brain,  the  brain  !  "  exclaimed  the  pious  Alderman, 
lifting  up  his  hands.  "Oh  the  nerves,  the  nerves;  the 
mysteries  of  this  machine  called  Man !  Oh  the  little  that 
unhinges  it :  poor  creatures  that  we  are  !  Perhaps  a  dinner, 
Mr.  Fish.  Perhaps  the  conduct  of  his  son,  who,  I  have 
heard,  ran  very  wild,  and  was  in  the  habit  of  drawing  bills 
upon  him  without  the  least  authority !  A  most  respectable 
man.  One  of  the  most  respectable  men  I  ever  knew !  A 
lamentable  instance,  Mr.  Fish.  A  public  calamity  !  I  shall 
make  a  point  of  wearing  the  deepest  mourning.  A  most 
respectable  man  !  But  there  is  One  above.  We  must 
submit,  Mr.  Fish.     We  must  submit !  " 

What,  Alderman  !  No  word  of  Putting  Down  ?  Remem- 
ber, Justice,  your  high  moral  boast  and  pride.  Come,  Alder- 
man !  Balance  those  scales.  Throw  me  into  this,  the  empty 
one,  no  dinner,  and  Nature's  founts  in  some  poor  woman, 
dried  by  starving  misery  and  rendered  obdurate  to  claims  for 
which  her  offspring  has  authority  in  holy  mother  Eve.  Weigh 
me  the  two,  you  Daniel,  going  to  judgment,  when  your  day 
shall  come  !  Weigh  them,  in  the  eyes  of  suffering  thousands, 
audience  (not  unmindful)  of  the  grim  farce  you  play.  Or 
supposing  that  you  strayed  from  your  five  wits — it 's  not  so 
far  to  go,  but  that  it  might  be — and  laid  hands  upon  that 
throat  of  yours,  warning  your  fellows  (if  you  have  a  fellow) 
how  they  croak  their  comfortable  wickedness  to  raving  heada 
and  stricken  hearts.     What  then  ? 

The  words  rose  up  in  Trotty's  breast,  as  if  they  had  been 
spoken  by  some  other  voice  within  him.  Alderman  Cute 
pledged  himself  to  Mr.  Fish  that  he  womd  assist  him  in 
breaking  the  melancholy  catastrophe  to  Sir  Joseph,  when  the 
day  was  over.  Then,  before  they  parted,  wringing  Mr.  Fish's 
hand  in  bittomoss  of  soul,  he  said,  "The  most  respectable  of 


THE    OHTMES.  133 

men  !  "      And  added  that  lie  hardly  knew  (not  even  he),  why 
such  afflictions  were  allowed  on  earth. 

"  It 's  almost  enough  to  make  one  think,  if  one  didn't 
know  better,"  said  Alderman  Cute,  "  that  at  times  some 
motion  of  a  capsizing  nature  was  going  on  in  things,  which 
affected  the  general  economy  of  the  social  fabric.  Deedles, 
Brothers !  " 

The  skittle-playing  came  off  with  immense  success.  Sir 
Joseph  knocked  the  pins  about  quite  skilfully  ;  Master  Bowley 
ook  an  innings  at  a  shorter  distance  also ;  and  everybody 
said  that  now,  w^hen  a  Baronet  and  the  Son  of  a  Baronet 
played  at  skittles,  the  country  was  coming  round  again,  as 
fast  as  it  could  come. 

At  its  proper  time,  the  Banquet  was  served  up.  Trotty 
involuntarily  repaired  to  the  Hall  with  the  rest,  for  he  felt 
himself  conducted  thither  by  some  stronger  impidse  than  his 
owTi  free  will.  The  sight  was  gay  in  the  extreme  ;  the  ladies 
were  very  handsome;  the  visitors  delighted,  cheerful,  and 
good-tempered.  When  the  lower  doors  were  opened,  and  the 
people  flocked  in,  in  their  rustic  dresses,  the  beauty  of  the 
spectacle  was  at  its  height ;  but  Trotty  only  murmured  more 
and  more.  "  Where  is  Richard  !  He  should  help  and  com 
fort  her  !      I  can't  see  Richard  !  " 

There  had  been  some  speeches  made;  and  Lady  Rowley's 
health  had  been  proposed ;  and  Sir  Joseph  Bowley  had 
retiu-ned  thanks,  and  had  made  his  great  speech,  showing  by 
various  pieces  of  evidence  that  he  was  the  born  Friend  and 
Father,  and  so  forth ;  and  had  given  as  a  Toast,  his  Friends 
and  Children,  and  the  Dignity  of  Laboiir ;  when  a  slight  dis- 
turbance at  the  bottom  of  the  hall  attracted  Toby's  notice. 
After  some  confusion,  noise,  and  opposition,  one  man  broke 
through  the  rest,  and  stood  forward  by  himself. 

Not  Richard.  No.  But  one  whom  he  had  thought  of,  and 
had  looked  for,  many  times.  In  a  scantier  supply  of  light, 
he  might  have  doubted  tlie  identity  of  that  worn  man,  so  old, 
and  grey,  and  bent ;  but  with  a  blaze  of  lamps  upon  his 
gnarled  and  knotted  head,  he  knew  Will  Fern  as  soon  as  ho 
6tej)ped  forth. 

"  What  is  this  !  "  exclaimed  Sir  Joseph,  rising,  "  Who 
gave  this  man  admittance  ?  This  is  a  criminal  from  prison  ! 
Mr.  Fish.  sir.  will  you  have  the  goodness — " 

"  A  minute  I  "  suid  WiU  Fern.      "  A  minute  !      My  Lady, 


134  THE   CHIMES. 

you  was  born  on  this  day  along  with  a  New  Year.  Get  me 
a  minute's  leave  to  speak." 

She  made  some  intercession  for  him.  Sir  Joseph  took  hia 
seat  again,  with  native  dignity. 

The  ragged  visitor — for  he  was  miserably  dressed — looked, 
round  upon  the  company,  and  made  his  homage  to  them  with 
a  humble  bow. 

"  Gentlefolks  !  "  he  said.  "  You  've  drunk  the  Labourer. 
Look  at  me  !  " 

"  Just  come  from  jail,"  said  Mr.  Fish. 

"  Just  come  from  jail,"  said  Will.  "  And  neither  for  the 
first  time,  nor  the  second,  nor  the  third,  nor  yet  the  fourth." 

Mr.  Filer  was  heard  to  remark  testily,  that  four  times  was 
over  the  average  ;  and  he  ought  to  be  ashamed  of  himself. 

"  Gentlefolks  !  "  repeated  Will  Fern.  "  Look  at  me  !  You 
see  I  'm  at  the  worst.  Beyond  all  hurt  or  harm ;  beyond  your 
help  ;  for  the  time  when  your  kind  words  or  kind  actions 
could  have  done  me  good," — he  struck  his  hand  upon  his 
breast,  and  shook  his  head,  "  is  gone,  with  the  scent  of  last 
year's  beans  or  clover  on  the  air.  Let  me  say  a  word  for 
these,"  pointing  to  the  labouring  people  in  the  hall ;  "  and 
when  you  're  met  together,  hear  the  real  Truth  spoke  out  for 
once." 

"There's  not  a  man  here,"  said  the  host,  "who  would 
have  him  for  a  spokesman." 

"  Like  enough.  Sir  Joseph.  I  believe  it.  Not  the  less 
true,  perhaps,  is  what  I  say.  Perhaps  that 's  a  proof  on  it. 
Gentlefolks,  I  've  lived  many  a  year  in  this  place.  You  may 
see  the  cottage  from  the  sunk  fence  over  yonder.  I  've  seen 
the  ladies  draw  it  in  their  books,  a  hundred  times.  It  looks 
weU  in  a  picter,  I  've  heerd  say ;  but  there  an't  weather  in 
picters,  and  maybe  'tis  fitter  for  that  than  for  a  place  to  live 
in.  Well !  I  lived  there.  How  hard — how  bitter  hard,  I 
lived  there,  I  won't  say.  Any  day  in  the  year,  and  every 
day,  you  can  judge  for  your  o^m  selves." 

He  spoke  as  he  had  spoken  on  the  night  when  Trotty  found 
him  in  the  street.  His  voice  was  deeper  and  more  husky, 
and  had  a  trembling  in  it  now  and  then ;  but  he  never  raised 
it,  passionately,  and  seldom  lifted  it  above  the  firm  stern  level 
of  the  homely  facts  he  stated. 

"  'Tis  harder  than  you  think  for,  gentlefolks,  to  grow  up 
decent,  commonly  decent,  in  such  a  place.     That  I  growed  up 


THE    CniML'S.  13.-5 

a  man  and  not  a  brute,  says  sometlaiug  for  me — as  I  wao 
tlien.  As  I  am.  now,  there  's  nothing  can  be  said  for  me  or 
done  for  me.      I  'm  past  it.'' 

"  I  am  glad  this  man  has  entered,"  observed  Sir  Joseph, 
looking  round  serenely.  "  Don't  disturb  him.  It  appears  to 
be  Ordained.  He  is  an  example  :  a  living  example.  I  hope 
and  trust,  and  confidently  expect,  that  if  will  not  be  lost  upon 
my  Friends  here." 

"  I  dragged  on,"  said  Fern,  after  a  moment's  silence, 
"somehow.  Neither  me  nor  any  other  man  knows  how; 
but  so  heavy,  that  I  couldn't  put  a  cheerful  face  upon  it,  or 
make  believe  that  I  was  anything  but  what  I  was.  Now, 
gentlemen — you  gentlemen  that  sits  at  Sessions — when  you 
see  a  man  with  discontent  writ  on  his  face,  you  says  to  one 
another,  '  he 's  suspicious.  I  has  my  doubts,'  says  you^ 
'  about  Will  Fern.  Watch  that  fellow  !  '  I  don't  say,  gen- 
tlemen, it  ain't  quite  nat'ral,  but  I  saj'  'tis  so ;  and  from  tliat 
hour,  whatever  Will  Fern  does,  or  lets  alone — all  one — it 
goes  against  him." 

Alderman  Cute  stuck  his  thumbs  in  his  waistcoat-pockets, 
and  leaning  back  in  his  chair,  and  smiling,  winked  at  a 
neighbouring  chandelier.  As  much  as  to  say,  "  Of  course  ! 
I  told  you  so.  The  common  cry  !  Lord  bless  you,  we  are  up 
to  all  this  sort  of  thing — myself  and  human  nature." 

"  Now,  gentlemen,"  said  Will  Fern,  holding  out  his  hands, 
and  flushing  for  an  instant  in  Ids  haggard  face.  ''  See  how 
your  laws  are  made  to  trap  and  hunt  us  when  we  're  brought 
to  this.  I  tries  to  live  elsewhere.  And  I  'm  a  vagabond. 
To  jail  with  him  '  I  comes  back  here.  I  goes  a  nutting  in 
your  woods,  and  breaks — who  don't? — a  limber  branch  or 
two.  To  jail  with  him  !  One  of  your  keepers  sees  me  in 
the  broad  day,  near  my  own  patch  of  garden,  with  a  gun. 
To  jail  with  him  !  I  has  a  nat'ral  angry  word  with  that  man, 
when  I  'm  free  again.  To  jail  with  him  !  I  cuts  a  stick. 
To  jail  with  him !  I  eats  a  rotten  apple  or  a  turnip.  To 
jail  with  him  !  It 's  twenty  mile  away  ;  and  coming  back  I 
begs  a  trifle  on  the  road.  To  jail  with  him  !  At  last  the 
constable,  the  keeper — anybody — finds  me  anywhere,  a  doing 
anything.  To  jail  with  him,  for  he  's  a  vagrant,  and  a  jail- 
bird known  ;   and  jail 's  the  only  home  he  's  got." 

'iTxe  Alderman  nodded  sagaciously,  as  who  shoidd  soy, 
"  A  very  good  homo  too  !  " 


136  THE   CHIMES. 

•*  Do  I  say  tliis  to  serve  my  cause  ?  "  cried  Fern.  "  "Who 
can  ^ive  me  back  my  liberty,  who  can  give  me  back  my  good 
name,  who  can  give  me  back  my  innocent  niece  ?  Not  all 
the  Lords  and  Ladies  in  wide  England.  But  gentlemen, 
gentlemen,  dealing  with  other  men  like  me,  begin  at  the 
righc  end.  Give  us,  in  mercy,  better  homes  when  we  're  a 
lying  in  our  cradles ;  give  us  better  food  when  we  're  a  work- 
ing for  our  lives  ;  give  us  kinder  laws  to  bring  us  back  when 
we  're  a  going  wrong  ;  and  don't  set  Jail,  Jail,  Jail,  afore  us, 
everywhere  we  turn.  There  an't  a  condescension  you  can 
show  the  Labourer  then,  that  he  won't  take,  as  ready  and  as 
grateful  as  a  man  can  be ;  for,  he  has  a  patient,  peaceful, 
willing  heart.  But  you  must  put  his  rightful  spirit  in  him 
first ;  for,  whether  he  's  a  wreck  and  ruin  such  as  me,  or  is 
like  one  of  them  that  stand  here  now,  his  spirit  is  divided 
from  you  at  this  time.  Bring  it  back,  gentlefolks,  bring  it 
back !  Bring  it  back,  afore  the  day  comes  when  even  iis 
Bible  changes  in  his  altered  mind,  and  the  words  seem  to  him 
to  read,  as  they  have  sometimes  read  in  my  own  eyes — in 
Jail :  '  "Whither  thou  goest,  I  can  Not  go ;  where  thou 
lodgest,  I  do  Not  lodge ;  thy  people  are  Not  my  people ;  Nor 
thy  God  my  God  1  '" 

A  sudden  stir  and  agitation  took  place  in  the  Hall.  Trotty 
thought  at  first,  that  several  had  risen  to  eject  the  man ;  and 
Jience  this  change  in  its  appearance.  But,  another  moment 
showed  him  that  the  room  and  all  the  company  had  vanished 
from  his  sight,  and  that  his  daughter  was  again  before  him, 
seated  at  her  work.  But  in  a  poorer,  meaner  garret  than 
before ;  and  with  no  Lilian  by  her  side. 

The  frame  at  which  she  had  worked  was  put  away  upon  a 
shelf  and  covered  up.  The  chair  in  which  she  had  sat,  was 
turned  against  the  wall.  A  history  was  written  in  these 
little  things,  and  in  Meg's  grief-worn  face.  Oh  !  who  could 
fail  to  read  it ! 

Meg  strained  her  eyes  upon  her  work  until  it  was  too  dark 
to  see  the  threads ;  and  when  the  night  closed  in,  she  lighted 
her  feeble  candle  and  worked  on.  Still  her  old  father  was  in- 
visible about  her  ;  looking  down  upon  her ;  loving  her — how 
dearly  loving  her  ' — and  talking  to  her  in  a  tender  voice 
about  the  old  times,  and  the  Bells.  Though  he  knew,  poor 
Trotty,  thougli  ho  knew  she  could  not  hear  him. 

A  great  part  of  the  evening  had  worn  awuy,  when  a  knock 


THE   CHIMES.  137 

came  at  her  door.  She  opened  it.  A  man  was  on  the 
threshold.  A  slouching,  moody,  drunken  sloven,  wasted  by 
intemperance  and  vice,  and  with  his  matted  hair  and  unshorn 
beard  in  wild  disorder;  but,  with  some  traces  on  him,  too, 
of  having  been  a  man  of  good  proportion  and  good  features 
m  his  youth. 

He  stopped  until  he  had  her  leave"  to  enter ;  and  she, 
retiring  a  pace  or  two  from  the  open  door,  silently  and 
sorrowfully  looked  upon  him.  Trotty  had  his  wish.  He 
saw  Richard. 

"  i\Iay  I  come  in,  Margaret  ?  " 

"  Yes  !      Come  in.      Come  in  !  " 

It  was  well  that  Trotty  knew  him  before  he  spoke ;  for 
with  any  doubt  remaining  on  his  mind,  the  harsh  discordant 
voice  would  have  persuaded  him  that  it  was  not  Richard  but 
some  other  man. 

There  were  but  two  chairs  in  the  room.  She  gave  hers, 
and  stood  at  some  short  distance  from  him,  waiting  to  hear 
what  he  had  to  say. 

He  sat,  however,  staring  vacantly  at  the  floor ;  with  a 
lustreless  and  stupid  smile.  A  spectacle  of  such  deep  de- 
gradation, of  such  abject  hopelessness,  of  such  a  miserable 
downfall,  that  she  put  her  hands  before  her  face  and  turned 
away,  lest  he  should  see  how  much  it  moved  her. 

Roused  by  the  rustling  of  her  dress,  or  some  such  trifling 
Bound,  he  lifted  his  head,  and  began  to  speak  as  if  there  had 
been  no  pause  since  he  entered. 

''  Still  at  work,  Margaret  ?     You  work  late." 

"  I  generally  do." 

"  And  early  ?  " 

"  And  early." 

"So  she  said.  She  said  you  never  tired ;  or  never  owned 
that  you  tired.  Not  all  the  time  you  lived  together.  Not 
even  when  you  fainted,  between  work  and  fasting.  But  I 
told  you  that,  the  last  time  I  came." 

"  You  did,"  she  answered.  "  And  I  implored  you  to  tell 
me  nothing  more ;  and  you  made  me  a  solemn  promise, 
Richard,  that  you  never  would." 

"  A  solemn  promise,"  he  repeated,  with  a  drivelling  laugh 
and  vacant  stare.  "  A  solemn  promise.  To  be  sure.  A 
solemn  promise !  "  Awakening,  as  it  were,  after  a  time,  in 
the  bame  manner  as  before ;  he  said  with  sudden  animation, 


138  THE    CHIMEa. 

"  How  can  I  help  it,  Margaret  ?  What  am  I  to  do  ?  She 
Las  been  to  me  again  !  " 

"  Again  !  "  cried  Meg,  clasping  her  hands.  "  0,  does  she 
think  of  me  so  often  !      Has  she  been  again  ?  " 

"  Twenty  times  again,"  said  Richard.  "  Margaret,  she 
haunts  me.  She  comes  behind  me  in  the  street,  and  thrusts 
it  in  my  hand.  I  hear  her  foot  upon  the  ashes  when  I  'm  at 
my  work  (ha,  ha  !  that  an't  often),  and  before  I  can  turn  my 
head,  her  voice  is  in  my  ear,  sajdng,  '  Richard,  don't  look 
round.  For  heaven's  love,  give  her  this !  '  She  brings  it 
where  I  live ;  she  sends  it  in  letters  ;  she  taps  at  the  window 
and  lays  it  on  the  sill.     "V^Tiat  can  I  do  ?     Look  at  it !  " 

He  held  out  in  his  hand  a  little  purse,  and  chinked  the 
money  it  enclosed. 

"  Hide  it,"  said  Meg.  "  Hide  it  1  When  she  comes  again, 
tell  her,  Richard,  that  I  love  her  in  my  soul.  That  I  never 
lie  down  to  sleep,  but  I  bless  her,  and  pray  for  her.  That 
in  my  solitary  work,  I  never  cease  to  have  her  in  my  thoughts. 
That  she  is  with  me,  night  and  day.  That  if  I  died  to-morrow, 
I  would  remember  her  with  my  last  breath.  But,  that  I 
cannot  look  upon  it !  " 

He  slowly  recalled  his  hand,  and  crushing  the  purse  together, 
said  with  a  kind  of  drowsy  thoughtfulness  : 

"  I  told  her  so.  I  told  her  so,  as  plain  as  words  could 
speak.  I  've  taken  this  gift  back  and  left  it  at  her  door, 
a  dozen  times  since  then.  But  when  she  came  at  last,  and 
stood  before  me,  face  to  face,  what  could  I  do  ?  " 

"  You  saw  her  !  "  exclaimed  Meg.  "  You  saw  her  !  O, 
Lilian,  my  sweet  girl !      O,  Lilian,  Lilian  !  " 

"  I  saw  her,"  he  went  on  to  say,  not  answering,  but 
engaged  in  the  same  slow  pursuit  of  his  own  thoughts. 
"  There  she  stood  :  trembling  !  '  How  does  she  look,  Richard  ? 
Does  she  ever  speak  of  me  ?  Is  she  thinner  ?  My  old  place 
at  the  table  :  what 's  in  my  old  place  ?  And  the  frame  she 
taught  me  our  old  work  on — has  she  burnt  it,  Richard  ? ' 
There  she  was.      I  hear  her  say  it." 

Meg  checked  her  sobs,  and  with  the  tears  streaming  from 
her  eyes,  bent  over  him  to  listen.     Not  to  lose  a  breath. 

With  his  arms  resting  on  his  knees ;  and  stooping  forward 
in  his  chair,  as  if  what  he  said  w^ere  written  on  the  ground 
in  some  half  legible  character,  which  it  was  his  occupation  to 
decipher  and  connect ;  he  went  ou. 


THE   CHIMES.  139 

"  '  Richard,  I  have  fallen  very  low ;  and  you  may  gness 
how  much  I  have  suffered  in  having  this  sent  back,  when  I 
can  bear  to  bring  it  in  my  hand  to  you.  But  you  loved  her 
once,  even  in  vay  memory,  dearly.  Others  stepped  in  between 
you ;  fears,  and  jealousies,  and  doubts,  and  vanities,  estranged 
you  from  her  ;  but  you  did  love  her,  even  in  my  memory  ! ' 
I  suppose  I  did,"  he  said,  interrupting  himself  for  a  moment. 
"I  did!  That's  neither  here  nor  there.  '0  Richard,  if 
you  ever  did ;  if  you  have  any  memory  for  what  is  gone  and 
lost,  take  it  to  her  once  more.  Once  more  !  Tell  her  how  I 
-begged  and  prayed.  Tell  her  how  I  laid  my  head  upon  your 
shoulder,  where  her  own  head  might  have  lain,'  and  was  so 
humble  to  you,  Richard.  Tell  her  that  you  looked  into  my 
face,  and  saw  the  beauty  which  she  used  to  praise,  all  gone  : 
all  gone :  and  in  its  place,  a  poor,  wan,  hollow  cheek,  that 
she  would  weep  to  see.  TeU  her  everything,  and  take  it  back, 
and  she  "noil  not  refuse  again.     She  will  not  have  the  heart !  " 

So  he  sat  musing,  and  repeating  the  last  words,  until  he 
woke  again,  and  rose. 

"  You  won't  take  it,  Margaret  ?  " 

She  shook  her  head,  and  motioned  an  entreaty  to  him  to 
leave  her. 

"  Good  night,  Margaret." 

"  Good  night !  " 

He  turned  to  look  upon  ner;  struck  by  her  sorrow,  and 
perhaps  by  the  pity  for  himself  which  trembled  in  her  voice. 
It  was  a  quick  and  rapid  action ;  and  for  the  moment  some 
flash  of  his  old  bearing  kindled  in  his  form.  In  the  next  he 
went  as  he  had  come.  Nor  did  tliis  glimmer  of  a  quenched 
fire  seem  to  light  him  to  a  quicker  sense  of  his  debasement. 

In  any  mood,  in  any  grief,  in  any  torture  of  the  mind  or 
body,  Meg's  work  must  be  done.  She  sat  down  to  her  task, 
and  plied  it.     Night,  midnight.      Still  she  worked. 

She  had  a  meagre  fire,  the  night  being  very  cold ;  and  rose 
at  intervals  to  mend  it.  The  Chimes  rang  half-past  twelve 
while  she  was  thu.s  engaged ;  and  when  they  ceased  she  heard 
a  gentle  knocking  at  the  door.  Before  she  could  so  much  as 
wonder  who  was  there,  at  that  unusual  hour,  it  opened. 

O  Youth  and  Beauty,  happy  as  ye  should  be,  look  at  this  ! 
O  Youth  and  Beauty,  blest  and  blessing  all  within  your  reach, 
and  ^\■orking  out  the  ends  of  your  Beneficent  Creator,  look 
at  this .' 


140  THE    CHIMliS. 

Slio  saw  the  entering  figxire ;  screamed  its  name ;  cried 
"  Lilian  !  " 

It  was  swift,  and  fell  upon  its  knees  before  her  :  clinging  to 
her  dress. 

"  Up,  dear  !     Up  !     Lilian  !     My  own  dearest !  " 

"  Never  more,  Meg  ;  never  more  !  Here  !  Here  !  Close 
to  you,  holding  to  you,  feeling  your  dear  breath  upon  my  face !  " 

' '  Sweet  Lilian  !  Darling  LiHan  '  Child  of  my  heart — no 
mother's  love  can  he  more  tfTirl^r — lav  your  head  upon  my 
breast !  " 

'"Nevermore,  Meg.  Never  more!  When  I  first  looked 
into  your  face,  you  knelt  before  me.  On  my  knees  before 
you,  let  me  die.      Let  it  be  here !  " 

"  You  have  come  back.  My  Treasure  !  We  will  live 
together,  work  together,  hope  together,  die  together !  " 

"  Ah  I  Kiss  my  lips,  Meg ;  fold  your  arms  about  me ; 
press  me  to  your  bosom ;  look  kindly  on  me  ;  but  don't  raise 
me.  Let  it  be  here.  Let  me  see  the  last  of  your  dear  face 
upon  my  knees  !  " 

O  Youth  and  Beauty,  happy  as  ye  should  be,  look  at  this ! 
O  Youth  and  Beauty,  working  out  the  ends  of  your  Beneficent 
Creator,  look  at  this  ! 

"  Forgive  me,  Meg  !  So  dear,  so  dear !  Forgive  me  !  I 
know  you  do,  I  see  you  do,  but  say  so,  Meg !  " 

She  said  so,  with  her  lips  on  Lilian's  cheek.  And  with  her 
arms  twined  round — she  knew  it  now — a  broken  heart. 

"  His  blessing  on  you,  dearest  love.  Kiss  me  once  more  ! 
He  sufiered  her  to  sit  beside  His  feet,  and  dry  them  with  her 
hair.      O  Meg,  what  Mercy  and  Compassion !  " 

As  she  died,  the  Spirit  of  the  child  returning,  innocent  and 
radiant,  touched  the  old  man  v^ith  its  hand,  and  beckoned 
him  away. 


THE   CUIAIES.  l&l 


F^UETIL^TJAETEIt. 


Some  new  remembrance  of  the  ghostly  flgiires  in  the  Bells  ; 
some  faint  impression  of  the  ringing  of  the  Chimes ;  some 
giddy  consciousness  of  having  seen  the  swarm  of  phantoms 
reproduced  and  reproduced  until  the  recollection  of  them  lost 
itself  in  the  confusion  of  their  numbers ;  some  hurried  know- 
ledge, how  conveyed  to  him  he  knew  not,  that  more  years  had 
passed ;  and  Trotty,  with  the  Spirit  of  the  child  attending 
him,  stood  looking  on  at  mortal  company. 

Fat  company,  rosy-cheeked  company,  comfortable  company. 
They  were  but  two,  but  they  were  red  enough  for  ten.  They 
sat  before  a  bright  fire,  with  a  small  low  table  between  them ; 
and  unless  the  fragrance  of  hot  tea  and  muffins  lingered  longer 
in  that  room  than  in  most  others,  the  table  had  seen  service 
very  lately.  But  all  the  cups  and  saucers  being  clean,  and  in 
their  proper  places  in  the  corner  cupboard ;  and  the  brass 
toasting-fork  hanging  in  its  usual  nook,  and  spreading  its  four 
idle  fingers  out,  as  if  it  wanted  to  be  measured  for  a  glove  ; 
there  remained  no  other  visible  tokens  of  the  meal  just  finished, 
than  such  as  purred  and  washed  their  whiskers  in  the  person 
of  the  basking  cat,  and  glistened  in  the  gracious,  not  to  say 
the  greasy,  faces  of  her  patrons. 

This  cosy  couple  (married,  evidently)  had  made  a  fair 
division  of  the  fire  between  them,  and  sat  looking  at  the 
glowing  sparks  that  dropped  into  the  grate ;  now  nodding  off 
into  a  doze ;  now  waking  up  again  when  some  hot  fragment, 
larger  than  the  rest,  came  rattling  down,  as  if  the  fii-e  were 
coming  with  it. 

It  was  in  no  danger  of  sudden  extinction,  however ;  for  it 
gleamed  not  only  in  the  little  room,  and  on  the  panes  oi 
window-glass  in  the  door,  and  on  the  curtain  half  drawn 
across  them,  but  in  tlie  little  shop  beyond.  A  little  shop, 
quite  crammed  and  cliolcod  with  the  abundance  of  its  stock  ; 
A  perfectly  voracious  little  shop,  witli  a  maw  us  accommodating 


142  THE  cniMii:s. 

and  full  as  any  shark's.  Cheese,  butter,  firewood,  soap,  pickles, 
matches,  bacon,  table-beer,  peg-tops,  sweetmeats,  boys'  kites, 
bird-seed,  cold  ham,  birch  brooms,  hearth-stones,  salt,  vinegar, 
blacking,  red-herrings,  stationery,  lard,  mushroom-ketchup, 
staylaces,  loaves  of  bread,  shuttlecocks,  eggs,  and  slate-pencil  • 
everything  was  fish  that  came  to  the  net  of  this  greedy  little 
shop,  and  all  articles  were  in  its  net.  How  many  other  kinds 
of  petty  merchandise  were  there,  it  would  be  difficult  to  say ; 
but  balls  of  packthread,  ropes  of  onions,  pounds  of  candles, 
cabbage-nets,  and  brushes,  hung  in  bunches  from  the  ceiling, 
like  extraordinary  fruit ;  while  various  odd  canisters  emitting 
aromatic  smells,  established  the  veracity  of  the  inscription 
over  the  outer  door,  which  informed  the  public  that  the  keeper 
of  this  little  shop  was  a  licensed  dealer  in  tea,  coffee,  toba(;co, 
pepper,  and  snuif. 

Glancing  at  such  of  these  items  as  were  visible  in  the 
shining  of  the  blaze,  and  the  less  cheerful  radiance  of  two 
smoky  lamps  which  burnt  but  dimly  in  the  shop  itself,  as 
though  its  plethora  sat  heavy  on  their  lungs ;  and  glancing, 
then,  at  one  of  the  two  faces  by  the  parlor-fire ;  Trotty  had 
small  difficulty  in  recognising  in  the  stout  old  lady,  Mrs. 
Chickenstalker  :  always  inclined  to  corpulency,  even  in  the  days 
when  he  had  known  her  as  established  in  the  general  line, 
and  having  a  small  balance  against  him  in  her  books. 

The  features  of  her  companion  were  less  easy  to  him.  The 
great  broad  chin,  with  creases  in  it  large  enough  to  hide  a 
finger  in ;  the  astonished  eyes,  that  seemed  to  expostulate 
with  themselves  for  sinking  deeper  and  deeper  into  the  yield- 
ing fat  of  the  soft  face ;  the  nose  afflicted  with  that  disordered 
action  of  its  functions  which  is  generally  termed  The  Snuffles ; 
the- short  thick  throat  and  labouring  chest,  with  other  beauties 
of  the  like  description ;  though  calculated  to  impress  the 
memory,  Trotty  could  at  first  allot  to  nobody  he  had  ever 
known :  and  yet  he  had  some  recollection  of  them  too.  At 
length,  in  Mrs.  Chickenstalker' s  partner  in  the  general  line, 
and  in  the  crooked  and  eccentric  line  of  life,  he  recognised  tlie 
former  porter  of  Sir  Joseph  Bowdey ;  an  apoplectic  innocent, 
who  had  connected  himself  in  Trotty's  mind  with  Mrs. 
Chickenstalker  years  ago,  by  giving  him  admission  to  the 
mansion  where  he  had  confessed  his  obligations  to  tliat  lady, 
and  drawn  on  his  unlucky  head  such  grave  reproach. 

Tiotty   had  little  interest  in  a  change  like  this,  after  the 


THE    CIHMl-S.  143 

changes  lie  liad  seen ;  but  association  is  very  strong  sometimea ; 
and  he  looked  involuntarily  behind  the  parlor-door,  where 
the  accounts  of  credit  customers  were  usually  kept  in  chalk 
There  was  no  record  of  his  name.  Some  names  were  there, 
but  they  were  strange  to  him,  and  infinitely  fewer  than  of 
old ;  from  which  he  argued  that  the  porter  was  an  advocate  of 
ready  money  transactions,  and  on  coming  into  the  business  had 
looked  pretty  sharp  after  the  Chickenstalker  defaulters. 

So  desolate  was  Trotty,  and  so  mournful  for  the  youth  and 
promise  of  his  blighted  child,  that  it  was  a  sorrow  to  him, 
even  to  have  no  place  in  Mrs.  Chickenstalker' s  ledger. 

"  What  sort  of  a  night  is  it,  Anne  ?  "  inquired  the  former 
porter  of  Sir  Joseph  Bowley,  stretching  out  his  legs  before  the 
fire,  and  rubbing  as  much  of  them  as  his  short  arms  could 
reach ;  with  an  air  that  added,  "  Here  I  am  if  it 's  bad,  and 
I  don't  want  to  go  out  if  it 's  good." 

"  Blowing  and  sleeting  hard,"  returned  his  wife ;  "  and 
threatening  snow.     Dark.     And  very  cold." 

"  I  'm  glad  to  think  we  had  muffins,"  said  the  former 
porter,  in  the  tone  of  one  who  had  set  his  conscience  at  rest. 
"  It 's  a  sort  of  night  that 's  meant  for  mufiius.  Likewise 
crumpets.     Also  Sally  Lunns." 

The  fonner  porter  mentioned  each  successive  kind  of  eatable, 
as  if  he  were  musingly  summing  up  his  good  actions.  After 
which,  he  rubbed  his  fat  legs  as  before,  and  jerking  them  at 
the  knees  to  get  the  fire  upon  the  j'et  unroasted  parts,  laughed 
as  if  somebody  had  tickled  him. 

"  You're  in  spirits,  Tugby,  my  dear,"  observed  his  wife. 

The  firm  was  Tugby,  late  Chickenstalker. 

"No,"  said  Tugby.  "No.  Not  purticiJar.  I 'm  a  little 
elewated.     The  muffins  came  so  pat !  " 

With  that  he  chuclded  until  he  was  black  in  the  face ;  and 
had  so  much  ado  to  become  any  other  colour,  that  his  fat  legs 
took  the  strangest  excursions  into  the  air.  Nor  wore  they 
roduced  to  anything  like  decorum  until  Mrs.  Tugby  had 
thumped  him  violently  on  tlie  back,  and  shaken  him  us  if  he 
were  a  great  bottle. 

"  Good  gracious,  goodness,  lord-a-mercy  bless  and  save  the 
man  !  "  cried  Mrs.  Tugby,  in  great  terror.  "  What 's  lie 
doing 

Mr.  Tug't)y  wiped  his  eyes,  and  faintly  repeated  that  he 
found  himself  a  little  elewated. 


144  TH^   CHIMES. 

"Then  don't  be  so  again,  that's  a  dear  good  soul,"  said 
Mrs.  Tugby,  "  if  you  don't  want  to  frighten  me  to  death,  with 
yoiir  struggling  and  fighting  !  " 

Mr.  Tugby  said  he  wouldn't ;  but,  his  whole  existence  was 
a  fight,  in  which,  if  any  judgment  might  be  founded  ou  the 
constantly-increasing  shortness  of  his  breath  and  the  deepen- 
ing purple  of  his  face,  he  was  always  getting  the  worst  of  it. 

"  So  it 's  blowing,  and  sleeting,  and  thi-eatening  snow ;  and 
it's  dark,  and  very  cold,  is  it,  my  dear?"  said  Mr.  Tugby, 
looking  at  the  fire,  and  reverting  to  the  cream  and  marrow  of 
his  temporary  elevation. 

"  Hard  weather  indeed,"  returned  his  wife,  shaking  her 
head. 

"  Aye,  aye !  Years,"  said  Mr.  Tugby,  "  are  like 
Christians  in  that  respect.  Some  of  'em  die  hard ;  some 
of  'em  die  easy.  This  one  hasn't  many  days  to  run,  and  is 
making  a  fight  for  it.  I  like  him  aU  the  better.  There  's  a 
customer,  my  love  !  " 

Attentive  to  the  rattling  door,  Mrs.  Tugljy  had  already 
risen. 

"  Now  then  !  "  said  that  lady,  passing  out  into  the  little 
shop.  "  What 's  wanted  ?  Oh  !  I  beg  your  pardon,  sir,  I'm 
sure.     I  didn't  think  it  was  you." 

She  made  this  apology  to  a  gentleman  in  black,  who,  with 
his  wristbands  tucked  up,  and  his  hat  cocked  loungingly 
on  one  side,  and  his  hand  in  his  pockets,  sat  down  astride  on 
the  table-beer  barrel,  and  nodded  in  return. 

"  This  is  a  T)ad  business  up  stairs,  Mrs.  Tugby,"  said  the 
gentleman.      "  The  man  can't  live." 

"  Not  the  back-attic  can't !  "  cried  Tugby,  coming  out 
into  the  shop  to  join  the  conference. 

"  The  back-attic,  Mr.  Tugby,"  said  the  gentleman,  "  is 
coming  down  stairs  fast,  and  will  be  below  the  basement  very 
soon." 

Looking  by  turns  at  Tugby  and  his  wife,  he  sounded  the 
barrel  with  his  knuckles  for  the  depth  of  beer,  and  having 
found  it,  played  a  tune  upon  the  empty  part. 

"  The  baek-attic,  Mr.  Tugby,"  said  the  gentleman  :  Tugby 
having  stood  in  silent  consternation  for  some  time;  "is 
Going." 

"Then,"  said  Tugby,  tui-ning  to  his  wife,  "he  must  Go. 
you  know,  before  he  's  Gone." 


THE   CHIMES.  14fi 

"  I  don't  think  you  can  move  him,"  said  the  gentleman, 
shaking  his  head.  "  I  wouldn't  take  the  responsibility  of 
saying  it  could  be  done,  myself.  You  had  better  leave  him 
where  he  is.     He  can't  live  long." 

"It's  the  only  subject,"  said  Tugby,  bringing  the  butter- 
scale  down  upon  the  coimter  with  a  crash,  by  weighing  his 
fist  on  it,  "  that  we  've  ever  had  a  wordaipon  ;  she  and  me  ; 
and  look  what  it  comes  to  !  He  's  going  to  die  here,  after 
aU.  Going  to  die  upon  the  premises.  Going  to  die  in  our 
house  I  " 

"  And  where  should  he  have  died,  Tugby !  "  cried  his 
wife. 

"In  the  workhouse,"  he  returned.  "What  are  work- 
houses made  for  ?  " 

"Not  for  that,"  said  Mrs.  Tugby,  with  great  energy. 
"  Not  for  that !  Neither  did  I  marry  you  for  that.  Don't 
think  it,  Tugby.  I  won't  have  it.  I  won't  allow  it.  I  'd 
be  separated  first,  and  never  see  your  face  again.  When  my 
widow's  name  stood  over  that  door,  as  it  did  for  many  many 
years :  this  house  being  known  as  Mrs.  Chickenstalker's  far 
and  wide,  and  never  known  but-  to  its  honest  credit  and  its 
good  report :  when  my  widow's  name  stood  over  that  door, 
Tugby,  I  knew  him  as  a  handsome,  steady,  manly,  indepen- 
dent youth;  I  knew  her  as  the  sweetest-looking,  sweetest- 
tempered  girl,  eyes  ever  saw  ;  I  knew  her  father  (poor  old 
creetur,  he  fell  do-mi  from  the  steeple  walking  in  his  sleep, 
and  killed  himself ),  for  the  simplest,  hardest- working, 
childest-hearted  man,  that  ever  drew  the  breath  of  life ;  and 
when  I  turn  them  out  of  house  and  home,  may  angels 
turn  me  out  of  Heaven.  As  they  woidd !  And  serve  me 
right !  " 

Her  old  face,  which  had  been  a  plump  and  dimpled  one 
before  the  changes  which  had  come  to  pass,  seemed  to  shine 
out  of  her  as  she  said  these  words  ;  and  when  she  dried 
her  eyes,  and  shook  her  head  and  her  handkerchief  at  Tugby, 
with  an  expression  of  fiz'mness  which  it  was  quite  clear 
was  not  to  be  easily  resisted,  Trotty  said,  "  Bless  her  !  Bless 
her !  " 

Then  he  listened,  with  a  panting  heart,  for  what  should 
follow.     Kno\\'ing  nothing  yet,  but  that  they  spoke  of  Meg. 

If  Tugby  had  been  a  little  elevated  in  the  parlour,  he  more 
than  balanced  that  account  by  being  not  a  little  depressed  in 

L 


146  THE   CHIMES. 

tlio  shop,  where  he  now  stood  staring  at  his  wife,  without 
attempting  a  reply;  secretly  conveying,  howfever — either  in 
a  fit  of  abstraction  or  as  a  precautionary  measure — all  tho 
money  from  the  till  into  his  own  pockets,  as  he  looked  at 
her. 

The  gentleman  upon  the  table-beer  cask,  who  appeared  to 
bt;  some  authorised  medical  attendant  upon  the  poor,  was  far 
roo  well  accustomed,  evidently,  to  little  differences  of  opinion 
between  man  and  wife,  to  interpose  any  remark  in  this 
instance.  He  sat  softly  whistling,  and  turning  little  drops  of 
beer  out  of  the  tap  upon  the  ground,  until  there  was  a  per- 
fect calm :  when  he  raised  his  head,  and  said  to  Mrs.  Tugby, 
late  Chickenstalker : 

"  There's  something  interesting  about  the  woman,  even 
now.      How  did  she  come  to  marry  him?" 

"  Why  that,"  said  Mrs.  Tugby,  taking  a  seat  near  him,  "  is 
not  the  least  cruel  part  of  her  story,  sir.  You  see  they  kept 
company,  she  and  Richard,  many  years  ago.  When  they  were  a 
young  and  beautiful  couple,  everything  was  settled,  and  they 
were  to  have  been  married  on  a  New  Year's  Day.  But,  some- 
how, Richard  got  it  into  his  head,  through  what  the  gentleman 
told  him,  that  he  might  do  better,  and  that  he  'd  soon  repent  it, 
and  that  she  wasn  't  good  enough  for  him,  and  that  a  young 
man  of  spirit  had  no  business  to  be  married.  And  the  gentleman 
frightened  her,  and  made  her  melancholy,  and  timid  of  his 
deserting  her,  and  of  her  children  coming  to  the  gallows,  and  of 
its  being  wicked  to  be  man  and  wife,  and  a  good  deal  more  of 
it.  And  in  short,  they  lingered  and  lingered,  and  their  trust 
in  one  another  was  broken,  and  so  at  last  was  the  match. 
But  the  fault  was  his.  She  would  have  married  him,  sir, 
joyfully.  I  've  seen  her  heart  swell,  many  times  afterwards, 
when  he  passed  her  in  a  proud  and  careless  way  ;  and  never 
did  a  woman  grieve  more  truly  for  a  man,  than  she  for 
Richard  when  he  first  went  wrong." 

"  Oh  !  he  went  wrong,  did  he  ?  "  said  the  gentleman,  pull- 
ing out  the  vent-peg  of  the  table  beer,  and  trying  to  peep 
down  into  the  barrel  through  the  hole. 

"  Well,  sir,  I  don't  know  that  he  rightly  understood  him- 
self, 5^ou  see.  I  think  his  mind  was  troubled  by  their  having 
broke  with  one  another ;  and  that  but  for  being  ashamed 
before  the  gentlemen,  and  perhaps  for  being  uncertain  too, 
how  she  might  ^ake  it,  he  'd  have  g-one  thi'ough  any  suffering 


TEE    CHIMES.  147 

or  trial  to  have  had  Meg's  promise,  and  Meg's  hand  again. 
That 's  my  belief.  He  never  said  so ;  more  's  the  pity  !  He 
took  to  drinking,  idling,  bad  companions :  all  the  fine 
resources  that  were  to  be  so  much  better  for  him  than  the 
Home  he  might  have  had.  He  lost  his  looks,  his  character, 
his  health,  his  strength,  his  friends,  his  work  :  everything  I  " 

"  He  didn't  lose  ever}i;liing,  Mrs.  Tugby,"  returned  the 
gentleman,  "  because  he  gained  a  wife  ;  and  I  want  to  know 
how  he  gained  her." 

"  I  'm  coming  to  it,  sir,  in  a  moment.  This  went  on  for 
years  and  years ;  he  sinking  lower  and  lower ;  she  enduring, 
poor  thing,  miseries  enough  to  wear  her  life  away.  At  last 
he  was  so  cast  down,  and  cast  out,  that  no  one  would  employ 
or  notice  him ;  and  doors  were  shut  upon  him,  go  where  he 
would.  Applying  from  place  to  place,  and  door  to  door ;  and 
coming  for  the  hundi-edth  time  to  one  gentleman  who  had 
often  and  often  tried  him  (he  was  a  good  workman  to  the 
very  end) ;  that  gentleman,  who  knew  his  history,  said,  '  I 
believe  you  are  incorrigible ;  there  is  only  one  person  in  the 
world  who  has  a  chance  of  reclaiming  you  ;  ask  me  to  trust 
you  no  more,  until  she  tries  to  do  it.'  Something  like  that, 
in  his  anger  and  vexation." 

"  Ah  f"  said  the  gentleman.      "  Well  ?  " 

"  Well  sir,  he  went  to  her,  and  kneeled  to  her ;  said  it  was 
so ;  said  it  ever  had  been  so ;  and  made  a  prayer  to  her  to 
save  him." 

"  And  she? — Don't  distress  yourself,  Mrs.  Tugby." 

"  She  came  to  me  that  night  to  ask  me  about  li^'ing  here. 
*  "What  he  was  once  to  me,'  she  said,  '  is  buried  in  a  grave, 
side  by  side  with  what  I  was  to  him.  But  I  have  thought  of 
this ;  and  I  will  make  the  trial.  In  the  hope  of  saving  him  ; 
for  the  love  of  the  light-hearted  girl  (you  remember  her)  who 
was  to  have  been  married  on  a  New  Year's  Day ;  and  for  the 
love  of  her  Richard.'  And  she  said  he  had  come  to  her  from 
Lilian,  and  Lilian  had  trusted  to  him,  and  she  never  could 
forget  that.  So  they  were  married  ;  and  when  they  came 
home  here,  and  I  saw  them,  I  hoped  that  such  prophecies  as 
parted  them  when  they  were  young,  may  not  often  fulfil  them- 
.selves  as  they  did  in  this  case,  or  I  wouldn't  be  the  makers  of 
them  for  a  Mine  of  Gold." 

ITie  gentleman  got  off  the  cask,  and  stretched  himsolf. 
observinff, 


lis  THE   CHIMES. 

"  I  suppose  lie  used  her  ill,  as  soon  as  they  were 
married  ?  " 

"  I  don't  think  he  ever  did  that,"  said  Mrs.  Tugby,  shak- 
ing her  head  and  wiping  her  eyes.  "  He  went  on  better  for 
a  short  time ;  but,  his  habits  were  too  old  and  strong  to  be 
got  rid  of ;  he  soon  fell  back  a  little ;  and  was  falling  fast 
back,  when  his  illness  came  so  strong  upon  him.  I  think  he 
has  always  felt  for  her.  I  am  sure  he  has.  I  've  seen  him, 
in  his  crying  fits  and  tremblings,  try  to  kiss  her  hand  ;  and  I 
have  heard  him  call  her  '  Meg,'  and  say  it  washer  nineteenth 
birthday.  There  he  has  been  lying,  now,  these  weeks  and 
months.  Between  him  and  her  baby,  she  has  not  been  able 
to  do  her  old  work ;  and  by  not  being  able  to  be  regular,  she 
has  lost  it,  even  if  she  could  have  done  it.  How  they  have 
lived,  I  hardly  know  !  " 

"/know,"  muttered  Mr.  Tugby;  looking  at  the  till,  and 
round  the  shop,  and  at  his  wife ;  and  rolling  his  head  .with 
immense  intelligence.      "  Like  Fighting  Cocks  !  " 

He  was  interrupted  by  a  cry — a  sound  of  lamentation — 
fi-om  the  upper  story  of  the  house.  The  gentleman  moved 
hurriedly  to  the  door. 

"My  friend,"  he  said,  looking  back,  "you  needn't  discuss 
whether  he  shall  be  removed  or  not.  He  has  spared  you  that 
trouble,  I  believe." 

Saying  so,  he  ran  up-stairs,  followed  by  ]\Irs.  Tugljy  ;  while 
Mr.  Tugby  panted  and  grumbled  after  them  at  leisure  :  being 
rendered  more  than  commonly  short-winded  by  the  weight  of 
the  till,  in  which  there  had  been  an  inconvenient  quantity  of 
copper.  Trotty,  with  the  child  beside  him,  floated  up  the 
staircase  like  mere  air. 

"Follow  her!  Follow  her!  Follow  her!"  He  heard  the 
ghostly  voices  in  the  Bells  repeat  their  words  as  he  ascended. 
"  Learn  it,  from  the  creature  dearest  to  your  heart !  " 

It  was  over.  It  was  over.  And  this  was  slie,  her  father's 
pride  and  joy !  This  haggard  wretched  woman,  weeping  by 
the  bed,  if  it  deserved  that  name,  and  pressing  to  her  breast, 
and  hanging  down  her  head  upon,  an  infant  ?  Who  can  tell 
how  spare,  how  sickly,  and  how  poor  an  infant  ?  Who  can 
tell  how  dear  ! 

"  Thank  God  !  "  cried  Trotty,  holding  up  his  folded  hands. 
"  O,  God  be  thanked  !     She  loves  her  child  !  " 

The  gcntieman.  not  otherwise  hard-hearted  or  indifferent  to 


THE   CHIMES.  149 

Buch  scenes,  tlian  that  lie  saw  them  every  day,  and  knew  that 
they  were  figures  of  no  moment  in  the  Filer  sums — mere 
scratches  in  the  working  of  those  calculations — laid  his  hand 
upon  the  heart  that  beat  no  more,  and  listened  for  the  breath, 
and  said,  "  His  pain  is  over.  It 's  better  as  it  is !  "  Mrs. 
Tugby  tried  to  comfort  her  with  kindness.  Mr.  Tugby  tried 
philosophy. 

"  Come,  come !  "  he  said,  with  his  hands  in  his  pockets, 
"you  mustn't  give  way,  you  know.  That  won't  do.  You 
must  fight  up.  What  would  have  become  of  me  if  /  had 
given  way  when  I  was  porter,  and  we  had  as  many  as  six 
rimaway  carriage-doubles  at  our  door  in  one  night  !  But,  I 
fell  back  upon  my  strength  of  mind,  and  didn't  open  it !  " 

Again  Trotty  heard  the  voices,  saying,  "Follow  her!". 
He  tiu'ned  towards  his  guide,  and  saw  it  rising  from  him, 
passing  through  the  air.  "  Follow  her  !  "  it  said.  And 
vanished. 

He  hovered  round  her ;  sat  down  at  her  feet ;  looked  up 
into  her  face  for  one  trace  of  her  old  self;  listened  for  one 
note  of  her  old  pleasant  voice.  He  flitted  round  the  child : 
so  wan,  so  prematurely  old,  so  dreadful  in  its  gravity,  so 
plaintive  in  its  feeble,  mournful,  miserable  wail.  He  almost 
worshipped  it.  He  clung  to  it  as  her  only  safeguard  ;  as  the 
last  unbroken  link  that  bound  her  to  endurance.  He  set  his 
father's  hope  and  trust  on  the  frail  baby ;  watched  her  every 
look  upon  it  as  she  held  it  in  her  arms ;  and  cried  a  thousand 
times,  "  She  loves  it !     God  be  thanked,  she  loves  it '  " 

He  saw  the  woman  tend  her  in  the  night ;  return  to  her 
when  her  grudging  husband  was  asleep,  and  all  was  still ; 
encourage  her,  shed  tears  with  her,  set  novirishment  before 
her.  He  saw  the  day  come,  and  the  night  again ;  the  day, 
the  night ;  the  time  go  by ;  the  house  of  death  relieved  of 
death ;  the  room  left  to  herself  and  to  the  child ;  he  heard  it 
moan  and  cry ;  he  saw  it  harass  her,  and  tire  her  out,  and 
when  she  slumbered  in  exhaustion,  drag  her  back  to  con- 
sciousness, and  hold  her  with  its  little  hands  upon  the  rack  ; 
but  she  was  constant  to  it,  gentle  with  it,  patient  with  it. 
Patient  !  Was  its  loving  mother  in  her  inmost  heart  and  soid, 
and  had  its  Being  knitted  up  with  hers  as  when  she  carried 
it  unborn. 

All  this  time,  she  was  in  want :  languishing  away,  in  dire 
ard  pining  want.     With  the  baby  in  her  arms,  she  wandered 


150  THE   CHIMES. 

Lere  and  there  in  quest  of  occupation  ;  and  with  its  thin  face 
lying  in  her  lap,  and  looking  up  in  hers,  did  any  work  for 
any  wretched  sum  :  a  day  and  night  of  labour  for  as  many 
farthings  as  there  were  figures  on  the  dial.  If  she  had 
quarrelled  with  it ;  if  she  had  neglected  it ;  if  she  had  looked 
upon  it  with  a  moment's  hate ;  if,  in  the  frenzy  of  an  instant, 
she  had  struck  it)  No.  His  comfort  was,  She  loved  it 
always. 

She  told  no  one  of  her  extremity,  and  wandered  abroad  in 
the  day  lest  she  should  be  questioned  by  her  only  friend  :  for 
any  help  she  received  from  her  hands,  occasioned  fresh 
disputes  between  the  good  woman  and  her  husband ;  and  it 
was  new  bitterness  to  be  the  daily  cause  of  strife  and  discord, 
where  she  owed  so  much. 

She  loved  it  still.  She  loved  it  more  and  more.  But  a 
change  fell  on  the  aspect  of  her  love.     One  night. 

She  was  singing  faintly  to  it  in  its  sleep,  and  walking  to 
and  fro  to  hush  it,  when  her  door  was  softly  opened,  and  a 
man  looked  in. 

'■'  For  the  last  time,"  he  said. 

"  William  Fern  !  " 

"  For  the  last  time." 

He  listened  like  a  man  pursued :   and  spoke  m  whispers. 

"  Margaret,  my  race  is  nearly  run.  I  couldn't  finish  it, 
without  a  parting  word  with  you.  Without  one  grateful 
word." 

"  What  have  you  done  ?  "  she  asked  :  regarding  him  with 
terror. 

He  looked  at  her,  but  gave  no  answer. 

After  a  short  silence,  he  made  a  gesture  with  his  hand,  as 
if  he  set  her  question  by ;  as  if  he  brushed  it  aside ;  and 
said. 

"  It 's  long  ago,  Margaret,  now  ;  but  that  night  is  as  fresh 
in  my  memory  as  ever  'twas.  We  little  thought  then,"  he 
added,  looking  round,  "  that  we  shoiild  ever  meet  like  this. 
Your  child,  Margaret  ?  Let  me  have  it  in  my  arms.  Let 
me  hold  yovir  child." 

He  put  his  hat  upon  the  floor,  and  took  it.  And  he 
trembled  as  lie  took  it,  from  head  to  foot. 

**  Is  it  a  girl?  " 

"  Yes." 

He  put  his  hand  before  its  little  face. 


THE   CHIMES.  151 

"  Soe  how  weak  I  'm  grown,  Margaret,  when  I  want  the 
courage  to  look  at  it !  Let  her  be,  a  moment.  I  won't  hurt 
her.      It 's  long  ago,  but — What 's  her  name  ?  " 

"  Margaret,"  she  answered  quickly. 

"  I  'm  glad  of  that,"  he  said.     "  I  'm  glad  of  that !  '* 

He  seemed  to  breathe  more  freely  y  and  after  pausing  for 
an  instant,  took  away  his  hand,  and  looked  upon  the  infant's 
face.     But  covered  it  again,  immediately. 

"Margaret!"  he  said;  and  gave  her  back  the  child. 
"  It's  Lilian's." 

"  Lilian's !  " 

"  I  held  the  same  face  in  my  arms  when  Lilian's  mother 
died  and  left  her." 

"  When  Lilian's  mother  died  and  left  her  !  "  she  repeated, 
wildly. 

"  How  shrill  you  speak  !  W^hy  do  you  fix  your  eyes  upon 
me  so  ?     Margaret !  " 

She  sunk  down  in  a  chair,  and  pressed  the  infant  to  her 
breast,  and  wept  over  it.  Sometimes,  she  released  it  from 
her  embrace,  to  look  anxiously  in  its  face :  then  strained  it 
'o  her  bosom  again.  At  those  times,  when  she  gazed  upon 
it,  then  it  was  that  something  fierce  and  terrible  began  to 
mingle  with  her  love.  Then  it  was,  that  her  old  father 
quailed. 

"  Follow  her  !  "  was  sounded  through  the  house.  "  Learn 
it,  from  the  creature  dearest  to  your  heart !  " 

"  Margaret,"  said  Fern,  bending  over  her,  and  kissing  her 
upon  the  brow:  "I  thank  you  for  the  last  time.  Good 
night.  Good  bye !  Put  your  hand  in  mine,  and  tell  me 
you  '11  forget  me  from  this  hour,  and  try  to  think  the  end  o/ 
me  was  here." 

"  What  have  you  done  ?  "  she  asked  again. 

"  There  'U  be  a  Fire  to-night,"  he  said,  removing  from  her. 
"  There  'U  be  Fires  this  winter-time,  to  light  the  dark  nights, 
East,  West,  North,  and  South.  When  you  see  the  distant 
sky  red,  they  '11  be  blazing.  Wlien  you  see  the  distant  sky 
red,  think  of  me  no  more  ;  or,  if  you  do,  remember  wliat  a 
Hell  was  lighted  up  inside  of  me,  and  think  you  see  its 
tiames  reflected  in  the  clouds.     Good  iiiglit.     Good  bye  I  " 

She  called  to  him ;  but  he  was  gone.  She  sat  down 
stupefied,  until  her  infant  roused  her  to  a  sense  of  hunger, 
cold,  and  darkness.      She  paced  the  room  with  it  the  liveloug 


152  THE   CHIMES. 

night,  husliing  it  and  soothing  it.  She  said  at  intervals, 
"  Like  Lilian,  when  her  mother  died  and  left  her!  "  Why 
was  her  step  so  quick,  her  eyes  so  wild,  her  love  so  fierce  and 
terrible,  whenever  she  repeated  those  words  ? 

"But,  it  is  Love,"  said  Trotty.  "It  is  Love.  She'll 
never  cease  to  love  it.     My  poor  Meg !  " 

She  dressed  the  child  next  morning  with  unusual  care — ah 
vain  expenditure  of  care  upon  such  squalid  robes  !  —  and  once 
more  tried  to  find  some  means  of  life.  It  was  the  last  day  of 
the  Old  Year.  She  tried  till  night,  and  never  broke  her  fast. 
She  tried  in  vain. 

She  mingled  with  an  abject  crowd,  who  tarried  in  the 
snow,  im.til  it  pleased  some  officer  appointed  to  dispense  the 
public  charity  (the  lawful  charity;  not  that,  once  preached 
upon  a  Mount),  to  call  them  in,  and  question  them,  and  say 
to  this  one,  "go  to  such  a  place,"  to  that  one,  "  come  next 
week; "  to  make  a  football  of  another  wretch,  and  pass  him 
here  and  there,  from  hand  to  hand,  from  house  to  house, 
until  he  wearied  and  lay  down  to  die;  or  started  up  and 
robbed,  and  so  became  a  higher  sort  of  criminal,  whose 
claims  allowed  of  no  delay.     Here,  too,  she  failed. 

She  loved  her  child,  and  wished  to  have  it  lying  on  her 
breast.     And  that  was  quite  enough. 

It  was  night :  a  bleak,  dark,  cutting  night :  when^ 
pressing  the  child  close  to  her  for  warmth,  she  arrived  out- 
side the  house  she  called  her  home.  She  was  so  faint  and 
giddy,  that  she  saw  no  one  standing  in  the  doorway  until  she 
was  close  upon  it,  and  about  to  enter.  Then,  she  recognised 
the  master  of  the  house,  who  had  so  disposed  himself — with 
his  person  it  was  not  difficult — as  to  fill  up  the  whole  entry. 

"  O  !  "  he  said  softly.      "  You  have  come  back  ?  " 

She  looked  at  the  child,  and  shook  her  head. 

"  Don't  you  think  you  have  lived  here  long  enough 
without  pajdng  any  rent?  Don't  you  think  that,  without 
any  money,  you  've  been  a  pretty  constant  customer  at  this 
shop,  now  ?  "  said  Mr.  Tugby. 

She  repeated  the  same  mute  appeal. 

"  Suppose  you  try  and  deal  somewliere  else,"  he  said 
"  And  suppose  you  provide  yourself  with  another  lodging. 
Come  !     Don't  you  think  you  could  manage  it  ?  " 

She  said,  in  a  low  voice,  that  it  was  very  late.  To- 
morrow. 


THE   CHIMES.  IHZ 

"  Now  I  see  what  you  want,"  said  Tugby ;  "  aud  what 
you  mean.  You  know  there  are  two  parties  in  this  house 
about  you,  and  you  delight  in  setting  'em  by  the  ears.  I 
don't  want  any  quarrels ;  I  'm  speaking  softly  to  avoid  a 
quarrel ;  but  if  you  don't  go  away,  I  '11  speak  out  loud,  and 
you  shall  cause  words  high  enough  to -please  you.  But  you 
shan't  come  in.     That  I  am  determined." 

She  put  her  hair  back  with  her  hand,  and  looked  in  a 
sudden  manner  at  the  sky,  and  the  dark  lowering  distance. 

"  This  is  the  last  night  of  an  Old  Year,  and  I  won't  carry 
ill -blood  and  quarreUings  and  disturbances  into  a  New  One,  to 
please  you  nor  anybody  else,"  said  Tugby,  who  was  quite  a 
retail  Friend  and  Father.  "  I  wonder  you  an't  ashamed  of 
yourself,  to  carry  such  practices  into  a  New  Year.  If  you 
haven't  any  business  in  the  world,  but  to  be  always  giving  way, 
and  always  making  disturbances  between  man  and  wife,  you  'd 
be  better  out  of  it.     Go  along  with  you  !  " 

"  Follow  her !     To  desperation !  " 

Again  the  old  man  heard  the  voices.  Looking  up,  he  saw 
the  figures  hovering  in  the  air,  and  pointing  where  she  went, 
down  the  dark  street. 

"  She  loves  it !  "  he  exclaimed,  in  agonised  entreaty  for 
her.      "  Chimes  !   she  loves  it  still !  " 

"  Follow  her !  "  The  shadows  swept  upon  the  track  she 
had  taken,  like  a  cloud. 

He  joined  in  the  pursuit ;  he  kept  close  to  her  ;  he  looked 
into  her  face.  He  saw  the  same  fierce  and  terrible  expression 
mingling  with  her  love,  and  kindling  in  her  eyes.  He  heard 
her  say  "  Like  Lilian !  To  be  changed  like  LUian  !  "  and  her 
speed  redoubled. 

O,  for  something  to  awaken  her  !  For  any  sight,  or  soimd, 
or  scent,  to  call  up  tender  recollections  in  a  brain  on  fire  !  For 
any  gentle  image  of  the  Past,  to  rise  before  her ! 

"  I  was  her  father  !  I  was  her  father  !  "  cried  the  old  man, 
stretching  out  his  hands  to  the  dark  shadows  flying  on  above. 
"Have  mercy  on  her,  and  on  me!  Where  does  she  go? 
Turn  her  back  !      I  was  her  father .'  " 

But,  they  only  pointed  to  her,  as  she  hurried  on ;  and  said. 
•■'  To  desperation  !  Learn  it  from  the  creature  dearest  to  your 
heart !  " 

A  hundred  voices  echoed  it.  The  air  was  nuide  of  breath 
expended  in  those  words.     He  seemed    to  take  them  in,  at 


154  THE   CHIMES. 

every  gasp  lie  drew.  They  were  everywhere,  and  not  to  be 
escaped.  And  still  she  hurried  on ;  the  same  light  in  her  eyes, 
the  same  words  in  her  mouth ;  "  Like  Lilian !  To  be 
changed  like  Lilian  !  " 

All  at  once  she  stopped. 

"  Now,  turn  her  back !  "  exclaimed  the  old  man,  tearing 
his  white  hair.  "My  child!  Meg!  Turn  her  back!  Great 
Father,  turn  her  back  !  " 

In  her  own  scanty  shawl,  she  wrapped  the  baby  warm. 
With  her  fevered  hands,  she  smoothed  its  limbs,  composed  its 
face,  arranged  its  mean  attire.  In  her  wasted  arms  she  folded 
it,  as  though  she  never  would  resign  it  more.  And  with  her 
dry  lips,  kissed  it  in  a  final  pang,  and  last  long  agony  of  Love. 

Putting  its  tiny  hand  up  to  her  neck,  and  holding  it  there, 
within  her  dress,  next  to  her  distracted  heart,  she  set  its 
sleeping  face  against  her  :  closely,  steadily,  against  her :  and 
sped  onward  to  the  river. 

To  the  rolling  River,  swift  and  dim,  where  Winter  Night 
sat  brooding  like  the  last  dark  thoughts  of  many  who  had 
sought  a  refuge  there  before  her.  Where  scattered  lights 
upon  the  banks  gleamed  sullen,  red  and  dull,  as  torches  that 
were  burning  there,  to  show  the  way  to  Death.  Where  no 
abode  of  living  people  cast  its  shadow,  on  the  deep,  impene- 
trable, melancholy  shade. 

To  the  River !  To  that  portal  of  Eternity,  her  desperate 
footsteps  tended  with  the  swiftness  of  its  rapid  waters  running 
to  the  sea.  He  tried  to  touch  her  as  she  passed  him,  going 
down  to  its  dark  level ;  but,  the  wild  distempered  form,  the 
fierce  and  terrible  love,  the  desperation  that  had  left  aR  human 
check  or  hold  behind,  swept  by  him  like  the  wind. 

He  followed  her.  She  paused  a  moment  on  the  brink, 
before  the  dreadful  plunge.  He  fell  down  on  his  knees,  and 
in  a  shriek  addi'essed  the  figures  in  the  Bells  now  hovering 
above  them. 

"I  have  learnt  it!"  cried  the  old  man.  "From  the 
creature  dearest  to  my  heart !      0,  save  her,  save  her  !  " 

He  could  wind  his  fingers  in  her  dress ;  could  hold  it !  As 
the  words  escaped  his  lips  he  felt  his  sense  of  touch  return, 
and  knew  that  he  detained  her. 

The  figures  looked  down  steadfastly  upon  him. 

"  I  have  learut  it!  "  cried  the  old  man.  "  O,  have  mercy 
on  me  in  this  hour,  if,  in  my  love  for  her,  so  young  and  good. 


THE   CHIMES.  155 

I  slandered  Nature  in  the  breasts  of  mothers  rendered  despe- 
rate !  Pity  my  presumption,  wickedness,  and  ignorance,  and 
save  her !  " 

He  felt  his  hold  relaxing.     They  were  silent  still. 

"Have  mercy  on  her!"  he  exclaimed,  ''as  one  in  whom 
this  dreadful  crime  has  sprung  from  Love  perverted ;  fi-om  the 
strongest,  deepest  Love  we  fallen  creatures  know !  Think, 
what  her  misery  must  have  been,  when  such  seed  bears  such 
fruit.  Heaven  -nr^ant  her  to  be  good.  There  is  no  loving 
mother  on  the  earth  who  might  not  come  to  this,  if  such  a  life 
had  gone  before.  O,  have  mercy  on  my  child,  who,  even  at 
this  pass,  means  mercy  to  her  own,  and  dies  herself,  and  perils 
her  immortal  soul,  to  save  it !  " 

She  was  in  his  arms.  He  held  her  now.  His  strength  waa 
like  a  giant's. 

"1  see  the  spirit  of  the  Chimes  among  you  I  "  cried  the  old 
man,  singling  out  the  child,  and  speaking  in  some  inspiration, 
which  their  looks  conveyed  to  him.  "  I  know  that  our 
inheritance  is  held  in  store  for  us  by  Time.  I  know  there  is 
a  sea  of  Time  to  rise  one  day,  before  which  all  who  wrong  ua 
or  oppress  us  will  be  swept  away  like  leaves.  I  see  it,  on  the 
flow !  I  know  that  we  miist  trust  and  hope,  and  neither 
doubt  ourselves,  nor  doubt  the  good  in  one  another.  I  have 
learnt  it  from  the  creature  dearest  to  my  heart.  I  clasp  her  in 
my  arms  again.  0  Spirits,  merciful  and  good,  I  take  your 
lesson  to  my  breast  along  with  her !  0  Spirits,  merciful  and 
good,  I  am  grateful !  " 

He  might  have  said  more ;  but,  the  Bells,  the  old  familiar 
Bells,  his  own  dear,  constant,  steady  friends,  the  Chimes, 
began  to  ring  the  joy-peals  for  a  New  Year :  so  lustily,  so 
merrily,  so  happily,  so  gaily,  that  he  leapt  upon  his  feet,  and 
broke  the  spell  that  bound  Ixim. 

"And  whatever  you  do,  father,"  said  Meg,  "  don't  eat  tripe 
again,  without  asking  some  doctor  whether  it 's  likely  to  agree 
with  you ;  for  how  you  have  been  going  on,  Good  gracious  !  " 

She  was  working  with  her  needle,  at  the  little  table  by  the 
fire ;  dressing  her  simple  gown  with  ribbons  for  her  wedding. 
So  quietly  liappy,  so  blooming  and  youthful,  so  full  of 
beautiful  promise,  that  he  uttered  a  great  cry  as  if  it  were  an 
Angel  in  his  house ;  then  flew  to  clasp  her  in  his  arms. 

But,  he  caught  his  feet  in  the  newspaper,  which  hud  fallen 


156  THE  CHIMES. 

on  the  hearth ;     and   somebody   came   rushing   m   between 
them. 

"  No  !  "  cried  the  voice  of  this  same  somebody;  a  generous 
and  jolly  voice  it  was  !  "  Not  even  you.  Not  even  you.  The 
first  kiss  of  Meg  in  the  New  Year  is  mine.  Mine !  I  have 
been  waiting  outside  the  house,  this  hour,  to  hear  the  Bells 
and  claim  it.  Meg,  my  precious  prize,  a  happy  year !  A  life 
of  happy  years,  my  darling  wife  !  " 

And  Richard  smothered  her  with  kisses. 

You  never  in  all  your  life  saw  anything  like  Trotty  after 
this.  I  don't  care  where  you  have  lived  or  what  you  have 
seen ;  you  never  in  aU  your  life  saw  anything  at  all  approach- 
ing him  !  He  sat  down  in  his  chair  and  beat  his  knees 
and  cried ;  he  sat  down  in  his  chair  and  beat  his  knees 
and  laughed ;  he  sat  down  in  his  chair  and  beat  his  knees 
and  laughed  and  cried  together ;  he  got  out  of  his  chair 
and  "hugged  Meg ;  he  got  out  of  his  chair  and  hugged 
Richard ;  he  got  out  of  his  chair  and  hugged  them  both 
at  once;  he  kept  running  up  to  Meg,  and  squeezing  her 
fresh  face  between  his  hands  and  kissing  it,  going  from 
her  backwards  not  to  lose  sight  of  it,  and  running  up  again 
like  a  figure  in  a  magic  lantern ;  and  whatever  he  did,  he 
was  constantly  sitting  himself  down  in  this  chair,  and  never 
stopping  in  it  for  one  single  moment ;  being — that's  the  truth 
— beside  himself  with  joy. 

''And  to-morrow's  your  wedding-day,  my  pet!"  cried 
Trotty.      "  Your  real,  happy  wedding-day  !  " 

"  To-day !  "  cried  Richard,  shaking  hands  with  him. 
"  To-day.  The  Chimes  are  ringing  in  the  New  Year.  Hear 
them  !  " 

They  were  ringing !  Bless  their  stui'dy  hearts,  they 
WERE  ringing !  Great  Bells  as  they  were ;  melodious,  deep- 
mouthed,  noble  Bells ;  cast  in  no  common  metal ;  made  by 
no  common  founder ;  when  had  they  ever  chimed  Hke  that, 
before ! 

"But,  to-day,  my  pet,"  said  Trotty.  "You  and  Richard 
had  some  words  to-day." 

"  Because  he 's  such  a  bad  fellow,  father,"  said  Meg. 
"  An't  you,  Richard  ?  Such  a  headstrong,  violent  man  ' 
He  'd  have  made  no  more  of  speaking  his  mind  to  that  great 
Alderman,  and  putting  }dm  down  I  don't  know  where,  than  lie 
would  of — " 


THE  CHIMES.  157 

♦*  —  Kissing  Meg,"  suggested  Richard.     Doing  it  too ! 

"  No.  Not  a  bit  more,"  said  Meg.  "  But  I  wouldn't  let 
him,  father.     Where  would  have  been  the  use  !  " 

"  Richard,  my  boy  !  "  cried  Trotty.  "  You  was  turned  up 
Trumps  originally ;  and  Trumps  you  must  be,  till  you  die ! 
But,  you  were  crying  by  the  fire  to-night,  my  pet,  when  I 
came  home  !     "Why  did  you  cry  by  the  fii-e  ?  " 

"I  was  thinking  of  the  years  we've  passed  together, 
father.  Only  that.  And  thinking  you  might  miss  me,  and 
be  lonely." 

Trotty  was  backing  off  to  that  extraordinary  chair  again, 
when  the  child,  who  had  been  awakened  by  the  noise,  came 
running  in  half-dressed. 

"Why,  here  she  is!"  cried  Trotty,  catching  her  up. 
Here  's  little  Lilian  !  Ha  ha  ha  !  Here  we  are  and  here  we 
go  !  O,  here  we  are  and  here  we  go  again  !  And  here  we 
are  and  here  we  go  !  And  Uncle  Will  too  !  "  Stopping  in 
his  trot  to  greet  him  heartily.  "  O,  Uncle  Will,  the  vision 
that  I  've  had  to-night,  through  lodging  you !  0,  Uncle 
WOl,  the  obligations  that  you've  laid  me  under,  by  your 
coming,  my  good  friend  !  " 

Before  Will  Fern  could  make  the  least  reply,  a  band  of 
music  burst  into  the  room,  attended  by  a  flock  of  neiglibours, 
screaming  "A  Happy  New  Year,  Meg!"  "A  Happy 
Wedding!  "  "Many  of  'em!  "  and  other  fragmentary  good 
wishes  of  that  sort.  The  Drum  (who  was  a  private  friend  of 
Trotty' s)  then  stepped  forward,  and  said  : 

"Trotty  Veck,  my  boy!  It's  got  about,  that  your 
daugliter  is  going  to  be  married  to-morrow.  There  an't 
a  soul  that  knows  you  that  don't  wish  you  well,  or  that 
knows  her  and  don't  wish  her  well.  Or  that  knows  you 
both,  and  don't  wish  you  both  all  the  happiness  the  New 
Year  can  bring.  And  here  we  are,  to  play  it  in  and  dance  it 
in,  accordingly." 

Which  was  received  with  a  general  shout.  The  Drum  was 
rather  drunk,  by  the  bye ;  but,  never  mind. 

"  ^^^^at  a  happiness  it  is,  I  'm  sure,"  said  Trotty,  "  to  be  so 
esteemed  !  How  kind  and  neighbourly  you  are  !  It 's  aU 
along  of  my  dear  daughter.      She  deserves  it !  " 

They  were  ready  for  a  dance  in  half  a  second  (^leg  and 
Richard  at  the  top) ;  and  the  Drum  was  on  the  very  brink  oi 
leathering  away  with  all  his  power ;   when  a  rombination  of 


158  THE   CHIMES. 

prodjfjious  sounds  was  heard  outside,  and  a  good-liumoured 
comely  woman  of  some  fifty  years  of  age,  or  thereabouts,  came 
running  in,  attended  by  a  man  bearing  a  stone  pitcher  of 
terrific  size,  and  closely  followed  by  the  marrow-bones  and 
cleavers,  and  the  bells ;  not  the  Bells,  but  a  portable  collec- 
tion, on  a  frame. 

Trotty  said  "  It 's  Mrs.  Chickenstalker  !  "  And  sat  down 
and  beat  his  knees  again. 

"  Married,  and  not  tell  me,  Meg  !  "  cried  the  good  woman. 
"  Never  !  I  couldn't  rest  on  the  last  night  of  the  Old 
Year  without  coming  to  wish  you  joy.  I  couldn't  have 
done  it,  Meg.  Not  if  I  had  been  bed-ridden.  So  here  I 
am  ;  and  as  it 's  New  Year's  Eve,  and  the  Eve  of  your 
wedding  too,  my  dear,  I  had  a  little  flip  made,  and  brought 
it  with  me." 

Mrs.  Chickenstalker' s  notion  of  a  little  flip,  did  honor 
to  her  character.  The  pitcher  steamed  and  smoked  and 
reeked  like  a  volcano ;  and  the  man  who  had  carried  it, 
was  faint. 

"  Mrs.  Tugby !  "  said  Trotty,  who  had  been  going  round 
and  round  her,  in  an  ecstasy.—"  I  should  say.  Chicken- 
stalker — Bless  your  heart  and  soul !  A  happy  New  Year, 
and  many  of  'em  I  Mrs.  Tugby,"  said  Trotty  when  he 
had  saluted  her; — "I  should  say,  Chickenstalker — This  is 
William  Fern  and  Lilian." 

The  worthy  dame,  to  his  surprise,  turned  very  pale  and 
very  red. 

"  Not  Lilian  Fern  whose  mother  died  in  Dorsetshire  !  " 
said  she. 

Her  uncle  answered,  "  Yes,"  and  meeting  hastily,  they 
exchanged  some  hurried  words  together ;  of  which  the  up- 
shot was,  that  Mrs.  Chickenstalker  shook  him  by  both  hands ; 
saluted  Trotty  on  his  cheek  again  of  her  own  free  will ; 
and  took  the  child  to  her  capacious  breast. 

"  Will  Fern  !  "  said  Trotty,  pulling  on  his  right-hand 
muffler.      "  Not  the  fi-iend  that  you  was  hoping  to  find  ?  " 

"  Ay  !  "  returned  Will,  putting  a  hand  on  each  of  Trotty's 
shoulders.  "  And  like  to  prove  a' most  as  good  a  friend,  if 
that  can  be,  ais  .jue  I  found  '" 

"  O  "  said  Trotty.  "  Please  to  play  up  there.  Will  you 
have  the  goodness  !  " 

To   the  music  of  the  band,   the  bells,  the  marrow-bones 


r-^^^r^^ 


THE    DANCE    AT   TBOTTY   VECK's. 


THE    CIliMES.  1/59 

and  cleavers,  all  at  once  ;  and  while  The  Chimes  ^  ere  yet  in 
lusty  operation  out  of  doors ;  Trotty  making  Meg  and 
Richard  second  couple,  led  off  Mrs.  Chickenstalker  down  the 
dance,  and  danced  it  in  a  step  unknown  before  or  since ; 
founded  on  his  own  peculiar  trot. 

Had  Trotty  dreamed  ?  Or,  are  his  joys  and  sorro'vs, 
and  the  actors  in  them,  but  a  dream  ;  himself  a  dream  ;  the 
teller  of  this  tale  a  dreamer,  waking  but  now  ?  If  it  be 
BO,  O  listener,  dear  to  him  in  all  his  visions,  try  to  bear  in 
mind  the  stern  realities  from  which  these  shadows  come  ;  and 
in  3'our  sphere — none  is  too  wide,  and  none  too  limited  for 
such  an  end — endeavour  to  correct,  improve,  and  soften  them. 
So  may  the  New  Year  be  a  happy  one  to  you,  happy  to  many 
more  whose  happiness  depends  on  you  !  So  may  each  year 
be  happier  than  the  last,  and  not  the  meanest  of  our 
brethren  or  sisterhood  debarred  their  rightful  share,  in  what 
OUT  Great  Creator  formed  them  to  enjoy. 


THE  CRICKET  ON  THE  HEARTH. 


A   FAIRY  TALE  OF  HOME. 


DOT  8   FIRESIDE. 


THE 

CETCKET  ON  THE  HEARTH. 


CHIRP  THE  FIRST. 


Thu  kettle  began  it !  Don't  tell  me  what  ^Irs.  Peerybingle 
said.  I  know  better.  Mrs.  Peerybingle  may  leave  it  on 
record  to  the  end  of  time  that  she  couldn't  say  which  of  them 
began  it;  but,  I  say  the  kettle  did.  I  ought  to  know,  I 
hope?  The  kettle  began  it,  full  five  minutes  by  the  little 
waxy-faced  Dutch  clock  in  the  corner,  before  the  Cricket 
uttered  a  chirp. 

As  if  the  clock  hadn't  finished  striking,  and  the  convulsive 
little  Haymaker  at  the  top  of  it,  jerking  away  right  and  left 
with  a  scythe  in  front  of  a  Moorish  Palace,  hadn't  mowed 
down  half  an  acre  of  imaginary  grass  before  the  Cricket  joined 
in  at  all ! 

Why,  I  am  not  naturally  positive.  Everyone  knows  that. 
I  wouldn't  set  my  own  opinion  against  the  opinion  of  Mrs- 
Peerybiugle,  unless  I  were  quite  sure,  on  any  account  what- 
ever. Notliing  should  induce  me.  But,  this  is  a  question  of 
fact.  And  the  fact  is,  that  the  kettle  began  it,  at  least  five 
minutes  before  the  Cricket  gave  any  sign  of  being  in  existence. 
Contradict  me,  and  I  '11  say  ten. 

Let  me  narrate  exactly  how  it  happened.  I  should  have 
proceeded  to  do  so,  in  my  very  first  word,  but  for  tliis  plain 
consideration — if  I  am  to  tell  a  story  I  must  begin  at  the 
beginning ;  and  how  is  it  possible  to  begin  at  the  beginning, 
without  beginning  at  the  kettle  ? 

It  appeared  as  if  tliere  were  a  sort  of  match,  or  trial  of 
skill,  you  must  understand,  between  the  kettle  and  the 
Cricket.     And  this  is  wliat  led  to  it,  and  how  it  came  about. 

Mrs.  Peerybingle,  going  out  into  the   raw    twilight,    asd 


164  THE   CRICKET   ON  THE   HEAKTH. 

clicking  over  the  wet  stones  in  a  pair  of  pattens  that  worked 
innumerable  rough  impressions  of  the  first  proposition  in 
Euclid  all  about  the  yard — Mrs.  Peerybingle  filled  the  kettle 
at  the  water  butt.  Presently  returning,  less  the  pattens  (and 
a  good  deal  less,  for  they  were  tall  and  Mrs.  Peerybingle  was 
but  short),  she  set  the  kettle  on  the  fire.  In  doing  which  she 
lost  her  temper,  or  mislaid  it  for  an  instant ;  for,  the  water 
being  uncomfortably  cold,  and  in  that  slippy,  slushy,  sleety 
sort  of  state  wherein  it  seems  to  penetrate  through  every  kind 
of  substance,  patten  rings  included — had  laid  hold  off  Mrs. 
Peerybingle' s  toes,  and  even  splashed  her  legs.  And  when 
we  rather  plume  ourselves  (with  reason  too)  upon  our  legs, 
and  keep  ourselves  particularly  neat  in  point  of  stockings,  we 
find  this,  for  the  moment,  hard  to  bear. 

Besides,  the  kettle  was  aggravating  and  obstinate.  It 
wouldn't  allow  itself  to  be  adjusted  on  the  top  bar;  it 
wouldn't  hear  of  accommodating  itself  kindly  to  the  knobs  of 
coal ;  it  would  lean  forward  wdth  a  drunken  air,  and  dribble, 
a  very  Idiot  of  a  kettle,  on  the  hearth.  It  was  quarrelsome, 
and  hissed  and  spluttered  morosely  at  the  fixe.  To  sum  up 
all,  the  lid,  resisting  Mrs.  Peerybingle' s  fingers,  first  of  all 
turned  topsy-turvy,  and  then  with  an  ingenious  pertinacity 
deserving  of  a  better  cause,  dived  sideways  in — down  to  the 
very  bottom  of  the  kettle.  And  the  hull  of  the  Royal  George 
has  never  made  half  the  monstrous  resistance  to  coming  out 
of  the  water,  which  the  lid  of  that  kettle  employed  against 
Mrs.  Peerybingle,  before  she  got  it  up  again. 

It  looked  sullen  and  pig-headed  enough,  even  then ;  carry- 
ing its  handle  with  an  air  of  defiance,  and  cocking  its  spout 
pertly  and  mockingly  at  Mrs.  Peerybingle,  as  if  it  said,  "  I 
won't  boil.     Nothing  shall  induce  me  !  " 

But,  Mrs.  Peerybingle,  with  restored  good  humour,  dusted 
her  chubby  little  hands  against  each  other,  and  sat  down 
before  the  kettle,  laughing.  Meantime,  the  jolly  blaze 
uprose  and  fell,  flashing  and  gleaming  on  the  little  Haymaker 
at  the  top  of  the  Dutch  clock,  until  one  might  have  thought 
he  stood  stock  still  before  the  Moorish  Palace,  and  nothing 
<^^as  in  motion  but  the  flame. 

He  was  on  the  move,  however ;  and  had  his  spasms,  two  to 
^he  second,  all  right  and  regular.  But,  his  sufferings  when 
the  clock  was  going  to  strike,  w^ere  frightful  to  behold ;  and 
vhen  a  Cuckoo  looked  out  of  a  trap-door  in  the  Palace,  and 


THE   CRICKET   ON    THE    HEARTH.  165 

gave  note   six  times,  it  shook  him,  each  time,  like  a  spectral 
voice — or  like  a  something  wiry,  pluckiug  at  his  legs. 

It  "was  not  until  a  violent  commotion  and  a  wliirring  noise 
among  the  weights  and  ro^ies  below  him  had  quite  subsided, 
tliat  this  terrified  Haymaker  became  himself  again.  Nor 
was  he  startled  without  reason ;  for,  these  rattling,  bony 
skeletons  of  clocks  are  very  disconcerting  in  their  operation, 
and  I  wonder  very  much  how  any  set  of  men,  but  most  of 
all  how  Dutchmen,  can  have  had  a  liking  to  invent  them. 
There  is  a  popular  belief  that  Dutchmen  love  broad  cases 
and  much  clothing  for  their  own  lower  tselves;  and  they 
might  know  better  than  to  leave  their  clock3  so  very  lank  and 
unprotected,  surely. 

Now  it  was,  you  observe,  that  the  kettle  began  to  spend 
the  evening.  Now  it  was,  that  the  kettle,  growing  meUow 
and  musical,  began  to  have  irrepressible  gurglings  in  its 
throat,  and  to  indulge  in  short  vocal  snorts,  which  it  checked 
in  the  bud,  as  if  it  hadn't  quite  made  up  its  mind  yet,  to  be 
good  company.  Now  it  was,  that  after  two  or  three  such 
vain  attempts  to  stifle  its  convivial  sentiments,  it  threw  off  all 
moroseness,  aU  reserve,  and  burst  into  a  stream  of  song  so 
cosy  and  hilarious,  as  never  maudlin  nightingale  yet  formed 
the  least  idea  of. 

So  plain  too  !  Bless  you,  you  might  have  understood  it 
like  a  book — better  than  some  books  you  and  I  coidd  name, 
perliaps.  With  its  w^arm  breath  gushing  forth  in  a  light 
cloud  which  merrily  and  gracefully  ascended  a  few  feet,  then 
hung  about  the  chimney-corner  as  its  own  domestic  Heaven, 
it  troUed  its  song  with  that  strong  energy  of  cheerfulness, 
that  its  iron  body  hummed  and  stirred  upon  the  fire  ;  and  the 
lid  itself,  tlie  recently  rebellious  lid — such  is  the  influence  uf 
a  bright  example — performed  a  sort  of  jig,  and  clattered  like 
a  deaf  and  dumb  young  cymbal  that  had  never  known  the  u.se 
of  its  twin  brother. 

That  this  song  of  the  kettle's  was  a  song  of  invitation  and 
welcome  to  somebody  out  of  doors :  to  somebody  at  that 
moment  coming  on,  towards  the  snug  small  home  and  the 
crisp  fire :  there  is  no  doubt  whatever.  Mrs.  Peerybingle 
knew  it,  perfectly,  as  she  sat  musing  before  the  hearth.  It 's 
a  dark  night,  sang  the  kettle,  and  the  rotten  leaves  are  lying 
by  the  way;  and,  above,  all  is  mist  and  darkness,  and,  below, 
all  is  mire  and  clay ;  and  there  'a  only  one  relief  iu  all  the 


166  THE   CKICKET    ON   THE    HEAHTII. 

sad  and  murky  air ;  and  I  don't  know  that  it  is  one,  for  it 's 
notiiina:  but  a  glare ;  of  deep  and  angry  crimson,  where  the 
sun  and  wind  together ;  set  a  brand  upon  the  clouds  for  being 
guilty  of  such  weather ;  and  the  widest  open  country  is  a  long 
dull  streak  of  black ;  and  there 's  hoar-frost  on  the  finger- 
post, and  thaw  upon  the  track ;  and  the  ice  it  isn't  water, 
and  the  water  isn't  free ;  and  you  couldn't  say  that  any- 
thing is  what  it  ought  to  be;  but  he's  coming,  coming, 
coming ' 

And  here,  if  you  like,  the  Cricket  did  chime  in !  with  a 
Chirrup,  Chirrup,  Chirrup  of  such  magnitude,  by  way  of 
chorus ;  with  a  voice,  so  astoundingly  disproportionate  to  its 
size,  as  compared  with  the  kettle  ;  (size  !  you  couldn't  see  it !) 
that  if  it  had  then  and  there  burst  itself  like  an  over-charged 
gun,  if  it  had  fallen  a  victim  on  the  spot,  and  chirruped  its 
little  body  into  fifty  pieces,  it  would  have  seemed  a  natural 
and  inevitable  consequence,  for  which  it  had  expressly 
laboured. 

The  kettle  had  had  the  last  of  its  solo  performance.  It 
persevered  with  undiminished  ardour ;  but  the  Cricket  took 
first  fiddle  and  kept  it.  Good  Heaven,  how  it  chirped  !  Its 
shrill,  sharp,  piercing  voice  resomided  tlirough  the  house,  and 
seemed  to  twinkle  in  the  outer  darkness  like  a  star.  There 
was  an  indescribable  little  trill  and  tremble  in  it  at  its 
loudest,  which  suggested  its  being  carried  off  its  legs,  and 
made  to  leap  again,  by  its  own  intense  enthusiasm.  Yet 
they  went  very  well  together,  the  Cricket  and  the  kettle. 
The  burden  of  the  song  was  still  the  same ;  and  louder; 
louder,  louder  still,  they  sang  it  in  their  emulation. 

The  fair  little  listener — for  fair  she  was,  and  young : 
though  something  of  what  is  called  the  dumpling  shape  ;  but 
I  don't  myself  object  to  that — lighted  a  candle,  glanced  at 
the  Haymaker  on  the  top  of  the  clock,  who  was  getting  in  a 
pretty  average  crop  of  minutes  ;  and  looked  out  of  the 
window,  where  she  saw  nothing,  owing  to  the  darkness,  but 
her  own  face  imaged  in  the  glass.  And  my  opinion  is  (and 
so  woidd  yours  have  been),  that  she  might  have  looked  a  long 
way  and  seen  nothing  half  so  agreeable.  When  she  came 
hack,  and  sat  down  in  her  former  seat,  the  Cricket  and  the 
kettle  were  stiU  keeping  it  up,  with  a  perfect  fury  of  compe- 
tition. The  kettle's  weak  side  clearly  being,  that  he  didn't 
know  when  he  was  beat. 


THE   CRICKET   ON   THE    HEARTH.  167 

There  was  all  the  excitement  of  a  race  about  it.  Chirp, 
chirp,  chirp  !  Cricket  a  mile  ahead.  Hum,  hum,  hum — m- — m  ! 
Kettle  making  play  in  the  distance,  like  a  great  top.  Chirp, 
chirp,  chirp !  Cricket  round  the  corner.  Hum,  hum, 
hum — m — m  !  Kettle  sticking  to  him  in  his  own  way  ;  no 
idea  of  giving  in.  Chirp,  chirp,  chirp  !  Cricket  fresher  than 
ever.  Hum,  hum,  hum — m — m  !  Kettle  slow  and  steady. 
Chirp,  chirp,  chirp  !  Cricket  going  in  to  finish  him.  Hum, 
lium,  hum — m — m !  Kettle  not  to  be  finished.  Until  at 
last,  they  got  so  jumbled  together,  in  the  hurry-skurry,  helter- 
skelter,  of  the  match,  that  whether  the  kettle  chirped  and  the 
Cricket  hummed,  or  the  Cricket  chirped  and  the  kettle 
hummed,  or  they  both  chirped  and  both  hummed,  it  would 
have  taken  a  clearer  head  than  yours  or  mine  to  have  decided 
with  anything  like  certainty.  But,  of  this,  there  is  no  doubt : 
that,  the  kettle  and  the  Cricket,  at  one  and  the  same  moment, 
and  by  some  power  of  amalgamation  best  known  to  them- 
selves, sent,  each,  his  fireside  song  of  comfort  streaming  into 
a  ray  of  the  candle  that  shone  out  through,  the  window,  and 
a  long  way  down  the  lane.  And  this  light,  bursting  on  a 
certain  person  who,  on  the  instant,  approached  towards  it 
through  the  gloom,  expressed  the  whole  thing  to  him,  literally 
in  a  twinkling,  and  cried,  "  Welcome  home,  old  feUow  I 
Welcome  home,  my  boy  !  " 

This  end  attained,  the  kettle,  being  dead  beat,  boiled  over, 
and  was  taken  off  the  fire.  !Mrs.  Peerybingle  then  went 
running  to  the  door,  where,  what  with  the  wheels  of  a 
cart,  the  tramp  of  a  horse,  the  voice  of  a  man,  the  tearing  in 
and  out  of  an  excited  dog,  and  the  surprising  and  mysterious 
appearance  of  a  baby,  there  was  soon  the  very  What  's-his- 
name  to  pay. 

Where  the  baby  came  from,  or  how  Mrs.  Peerybingle  got 
hold  of  it  in  that  flash  of  time,  I  don't  know.  But  a  live 
baby  there  was,  in  Mrs.  Peerybingle's  arms ;  and  a  prettj' 
tolerable  amount  of  pride  she  seemed  to  have  in  it,  when  she 
was  dra^Ti  gently  to  the  fire,  by  a  sturdy  figure  of  a  man, 
much  taller  and  much  older  than  herself,  who  had  to  stoop 
a  long  way  down  to  kiss  her.  But,  she  was  worth  the 
trouble.      Six  foot  six,  with  the  lumbago,  might  have  done  it. 

"Oh  goodness,  John'"  said  Mrs.  P.  "What  a  state 
you  're  in  with  the  weather  !  " 

He  waa  something  the  worse  for  it  undeniably.     The  thick 


168  THE   CRICKET   ON    THE   HEARTH. 

mist  hung  in  clots  upon  his  eyelashes  Hke  candied  thaw ;  and, 
between  the  fog  and  fire  together,  there  were  rainbows  in  his 
very  whiskers. 

"  Why,  you  see.  Dot,"  John  made  answer,  slowly,  as  he 
unroUed  a  shawl  from  about  his  throat;  and  warmed  his  hands; 
"  it — it  an't  exactly  summer  weather.     So,  no  wonder." 

"  I  wish  you  wouldn't  call  me  Dot,  John.  I  don't  like  it," 
Baid  Mrs.  Peerybingle  :  pouting  in  a  way  that  clearly  showed 
she  did  like  it,  very  much. 

"Why  what  else  are  you?"  returned  John,  looking  down 
upon  her  with  a  smile,  and  giving  her  waist  as  light  a  squeeze 
as  his  huge  hand  and  arm  could  give.  "A  dot  and" — here 
he  glanced  at  the  baby — "  a  dot  and  carry — I  won't  say  it, 
for  fear  I  should  spoil  it ;  but  I  was  very  near  a  joke.  I 
don't  know  as  ever  I  was  nearer." 

He  was  often  near  to  something  or  other  very  clever,  by 
his  own  account :  this  lumbering,  slow,  honest  John ;  this 
John  so  heavy,  but  so  light  of  spirit ;  so  rough  upon  the 
surface,  but  so  gentle  at  the  core ;  so  dull  without,  so  quick 
within ;  so  stolid,  but  so  good  !  Oh  Mother  Nature,  give  thy 
children  the  true  poetry  of  heart  that  hid  itself  in  this  poor 
Carrier's  breast — he  was  but  a  Carrier  by  the  way — and  we 
can  bear  to  have  them  talking  prose,  and  leading  lives  of 
prose ;  and  bear  to  bless  thee  for  their  company  ! 

It  was  pleasant  to  see  Dot,  with  her  little  figure  and  her 
baby  in  her  arms :  a  very  doU  of  a  baby :  glancing  with  a 
coquettish  thoughtfulness  at  the  hre,  and  inclining  her  delicate 
little  head  just  enough  on  one  side  to  let  it  rest  in  an  odd, 
half-natural,  half-affected,  wholly  nestling  and  agreeable 
manner,  on  the  great  rugged  figure  of  the  Carrier.  It  was 
pleasant  to  see  him,  with  his  tender  awkwardness,  endeavour- 
ing to  adapt  his  rude  support  to  her  slight  need,  and  make 
his  burly  middle-age  a  leaning-staff  not  inappropriate  to  her 
blooming  youth.  It  was  pleasant  to  observe  how  Tilly  Slow- 
boy,  waiting  in  the  background  for  the  baby,  took  special 
cognizance  (though  in  her  earliest  teens)  of  this  grouping, 
and  stood  wdth  her  mouth  and  eyes  wide  open,  and  her  head 
thrust  forward,  taking  it  in  as  if  it  were  air.  Nor  was  it  less 
agreeable  to  observe  how  John  the  Carrier,  reference  being 
made  by  Dot  to  the  aforesaid  baby,  checked  his  hand  when 
on  the  point  of  touching  the  infant,  as  if  he  thought  he  might 
crack  it ;  and  bending  down,  survej'ed  it  from  a  safe  distance, 


THE   CRICKET   ON   THE   HEARTD.  189 

with  a  kind  of  puzzled  pride,  such  as  an  amiable  mastiff  miglit 
be  supposed  to  show,  if  he  found  himself,  one  day,  the  father 
of  a  young  canary. 

"  An't  he  beautiful,  John?  Don't  he  look  precious  in  his 
Bleep  ?  " 

"  Very  precious,"  said  John.  "  Very  much  so.  He 
generally  is  asleep,  an't  he  ?  " 

"  Lor,  John  !     Good  gracious  no  !  " 

"  Oh,"  said  John,  pondering.  "  I  thought  his  eyes  was 
generally  shut.     Halloa  !  " 

"  Goodness  John,  how  you  startle  one  !  " 

"  It  an't  right  for  him  to  turn  'em  up  in  that  way !  "  said 
the  astonished  Carrier,  "is  it?  See  how  he  's  winking  with 
both  of  'em  at  once !  and  look  at  his  mouth  !  Why  he  's 
gasping  like  a  gold  and  silver  fish  !  " 

"  You  don't  deserve  to  be  a  father,  you  don't,"  said  Dot, 
with  all  the  dignity  of  an  experienced  matron.  "  But  how 
should  you  know  what  little  complaints  children  are  troubled 
with,  John  !  You  wouldn't  so  much  as  know  their  names, 
you  stupid  fellow."  And  when  she  had  tiirned  the  baby  over 
on  her  left  arm,  and  had  slapped  its  back  as  a  restorative,  she 
pinched  her  husband's  ear,  laughing. 

"  No,"  said  John,  pulling  off  his  outer  coat.  "  It 's  very 
true.  Dot.  I  don't  know  much  about  it.  I  only  know  that 
I  've  been  fighting  pretty  stiffly  with  the  wind  to-night.  It 's 
been  blowing  north-east,  straight  into  the  cart,  the  whole  way 
home." 

"Poor  old  man,  so  it  has!"  cried  Mrs.  Peerybingle, 
instantly  becoming  very  active.  "  Here !  take  the  precious 
darling,  Tilly,  while  I  make  mj'self  of  some  use.  Bless  it,  1 
could  smother  it  with  kissing  it,  I  could  !  Hie  then,  good 
dog !  Hie  Boxer,  boy !  Ouly  let  me  make  the  tea  first, 
John ;  and  then  I  '11  help  j'ou  with  the  parcels,  like  a  busy 
bee.  'How  doth  the  little  ' — and  all  the  rest  of  it,  you  know, 
John.  Did  you  ever  learn  '  how  doth  the  little,'  when  you 
went  to  school,  John  ?  " 

"  Not  to  quite  know  it,"  John  returned.  "  I  was  very 
near  it  once.     But  I  should  only  have  spoilt  it,  I  dare  say." 

"  Ha  ha,"  laughed  Dot.  She  had  the  blithest  little  laugh 
you  ever  heard.  "  What  a  dear  old  darling  of  a  dunce  you 
Rre,  John,  to  be  sure  !  " 

Not  at  aU  disputing  this  position,  John  went  out  to  see 


170  THE   CRICKET   ON   THE    HKAKTil. 

that  the  boy  with  the  lantern,  which  had  been  dancing  to  and 
fro  before  the  door  and  window,  like  a  Will  of  the  Wisp, 
took  due  care  of  the  horse ;  who  was  fatter  than  you  would 
quite  believe,  if  I  gave  you  his  measure,  and  so  old  that  his 
birthday  was  lost  in  the  mists  of  antiquity.  Boxer,  feeling 
that  his  attentions  were  due  to  the  family  in  general,  and 
must  be  impartially  distributed,  dashed  in  and  out  with  bewil- 
dering inconstancy;  now,  describing  a  circle  of  short  barks 
round  the  horse,  where  he  was  being  rubbed  down  at  the 
stable-door ;  now,  feigning  to  make  savage  rushes  at  his 
mistress,  and  facetiously  bringing  himself  to  sudden  stops ; 
now,  eliciting  a  shriek  from  Tilly  Slowboy,  in  the  low 
nursing-chair  near  the  fire,  by  the  unexpected  application  of 
his  moist  nose  to  her  coimtenance ;  now,  exhibiting  an 
obtrusive  interest  in  the  baby ;  now,  going  round  and  roxmd 
upon  the  hearth,  and  lying  down  as  if  he  had  estabKshed 
himself  for  the  night ;  now,  getting  up  again,  and  taking 
that  nothing  of  a  fag-end  of  a  tail  of  his,  out  into  the  weather, 
as  if  he  had  just  remembered  an  appointment,  and  was  off, 
at  a  round  trot,  to  keep  it. 

"  There !  There  's  the  tea-pot,  ready  on  the  hob  !  "  said 
Dot ;  as  briskly  busy  as  a  child  at  play  at  keeping  house.  , 
"And  there's  the  cold  knuckle  of  ham;  and  there's  the 
butter ;  and  there 's  the  crusty  loaf,  and  all !  Here 's  a 
clothes-basket  for  the  small  parcels,  John,  if  you  've  got  any 
there — where  are  you,  John  ?  Don't  let  the  dear  child  fall 
under  the  grate,  Tilly,  whatever  you  do  !  " 

It  may  be  noted  of  Miss  Slowboy,  in  spite  of  her  rejecting 
the  caution  with  some  vivacity,  that  she  had  a  rare  and 
surprising  talent  for  getting  this  baby  into  difficulties :  and 
had  several  times  imperilled  its  short  life,  in  a  quiet  way 
peculiarly  her  own.  She  was  of  a  spare  and  straight  shape, 
this  young  lady,  insomuch  that  her  garments  appeared  to  be 
in  constant  danger  of  sliding  off  those  sharp  pegs,  her 
shoulders,  on  wliich  they  were  loosely  hung.  Her  costume 
was  remarkable  for  the  partial  development,  on  all  possible 
occasions,  of  some  flannel  vestment  of  a  singular  structure;  also 
for  affording  glimpses,  in  the  region  of  the  back,  of  a  corset, 
or  pair  of  stays,  in  colour  a  dead-green.  Being  always  in  a 
state  of  gaping  admiration  at  everything,  and  absorbed, 
besides,  in  the  perpetual  contemplation  of  her  mistress's 
perfections  and  the  baby's,  Miss  Slowboy,  in  her  little  errors 


-t"<( 


THK    SO.V(J    OF    Tin:    KKTTLE. 


THE   CRICKET   ON   THE   UEARTU.  171 

of  judgment,  may  be  said  to  have  done  equal  honour  to  her 
head  and  to  her  heart ;  and  though  these  did  less  honour  to 
the  baby's  head,  Avhich  they  were  the  occasional  means  of 
bringing  into  contact  with  deal  doors,  dressers,  stair-rails, 
bedposts,  and  other  foreign  substances,  still  they  were  the 
honest  results  of  Tilly  Slowboy's  constant  astonishment  at 
finding  herself  so  kindly  treated,  and  installed  in  such  a 
comfortable  home.  For,  the  maternal  and  paternal  Slowboy 
were  alike  unknown  to  Fame,  and  Tilly  had  been  bred  by 
public  charity,  a  foundling ;  which  word,  though  only  differ- 
ing from  fondling  by  one  vowel's  length,  is  very  different  in 
meaning,  and  expresses  quite  another  thing. 

To  have  seen  Kttle  Mrs.  Peerybingle  come  back  with  her 
husband,  tugging  at  the  clothes-basket,  and  making  the  most 
strenuous  exertions  to  do  nothing  at  all  (for  he  carried  it) ; 
would  have  amused  you,  almost  as  much  as  it  amused  him 
It  may  have  entertained  the  Cricket  too,  for  anything  I  know; 
but,  certainly,  it  now  began  to  chirp  again,  vehemently. 

"  Heyday  !  "  said  John,  in  his  slow  way.  "  It 's  merrier 
than  ever  to-night,  I  think." 

"  And  it 's  sure  to  bring  us  good  fortune,  John !  It 
always  has  done  so.  To  have  a  Cricket  on  the  Hearth,  is  the 
luckiest  thing  in  all  the  world !  " 

John  looked  at  her  as  if  he  had  very  nearly  got  the  thought 
into  his  head,  that  she  was  his  Cricket  in  chief,  and  he  quite 
agreed  with  her.  But,  it  was  probably  one  of  his  narrow 
escapes,  for  he  said  nothing. 

"  The  first  time  I  heard  its  cheerful  little  note,  John,  was 
on  that  night  when  you  brought  me  home — when  you 
brought  me  to  my  new  home  here ;  its  little  mistress 
Nearly  a  year  ago.     You  recollect,  John  ?  " 

O  yes.     John  remembered.      I  should  think  so ! 

"Its  chirp  was  such  a  welcome  to  me  !  It  seemed  so  full 
of  promise  and  encouragement.  It  seemed  to  say,  you 
would  be  kind  and  gentle  with  me,  and  would  not  expect  ( I 
had  a  fear  of  that,  John,  then)  to  find  an  old  head  on  the 
shoulders  of  your  foolish  little  wife." 

John  thoughtfully  patted  one  of  the  shoulders,  and  then 
the  head,  as  though  he  woidd  have  said  No,  no ;  he  had  had 
no  such  expectation  ;  he  had  been  quite  content  to  take  them 
as  they  were.  And  really  he  had  reason.  They  were  ver/ 
comely. 


172  TBE   CRICKET    ON  THE   HEARTH. 

"  It  spoke  tlie  truth,  John,  when  it  seemed  to  say  so :  for 
you  have  ever  been,  I  am  sure,  the  best,  the  most  considerate, 
the  most  affectionate  of  husbands  to  me.  This  has  been  a 
happj'-  home,  John  ;   and  I  love  tlie  Cricket  for  its  sake  !  " 

"  ^\Tiy  so  do  I  then,"  said  the  Carrier.      "  So  do  I,  Dot." 

"  I  love  it  for  the  many  times  I  have  heard  it,  and  the 
many  thoughts  its  harmless  music  has  given  me.  Sometimes, 
in  the  twilight,  when  I  have  felt  a  little  solitary  and  down- 
hearted, John — before  baby  was  here,  to  keep  me  company 
and  make  the  house  gay — when  I  have  thought  how  lonely 
you  would  be  if  I  should  die ;  how  lonely  I  should  be,  if  I 
could  know  that  you  had  lost  me,  dear;  its  Chirp,  Chirp, 
Chirp  upon  the  hearth,  has  seemed  to  tell  me  of  another  little 
voice,  so  sweet,  so  very  dear  to  me,  before  whose  coming 
sound,  my  trouble  vanished  like  a  dream.  And  when  I  used 
to  fear — I  did  fear  once,  John,  I  was  very  young  you  know — 
that  ours  might  prove  to  be  an  ill-assorted  marriage,  I  being 
such  a  child,  and  you  more  like  my  guardian  than  my 
husband ;  and  that  you  might  not,  however  hard  you  tried, 
be  able  to  learn  to  love  me,  as  you  hoped  and  prayed  you 
might ;  its  Chirp,  Chirp,  Chirp,  has  cheered  me  up  again, 
and  filled  me  with  new  trust  and  confidence.  I  was  thinking 
of  these  things  to-night,  dear,  when  I  sat  expecting  you ;  and 
I  love  the  Cricket  for  their  sake !  " 

"  And  so  do  I,"  repeated  John.  "  But  Dot  ?  /  hope  and 
pray  that  I  might  learn  to  love  you  ?  How  you  talk  !  I 
had  learnt  that,  long  before  I  brought  you  here,  to  be  the 
Cricket's  little  mistress.  Dot!  " 

She  laid  her  hand,  an  instant,  on  his  arm,  and  looked  up 
at  him  with  an  agitated  face,  as  if  she  would  have  told  him 
something.  iNext  moment,  she  was  down  upon  her  knees 
before  the  basket ;  speaking  in  a  sprightly  voice,  and  busy 
M'ith  the  parcels. 

"There  are  not  many  of  them  to-night,  John,  but  I  saw 
some  goods  behind  the  cart,  just  now ;  and  though  they  give 
more  trouble,  perhaps,  still  they  pay  as  well ;  so  we  have  no 
reason  to  grumble,  have  we  ?  Besides,  you  have  been 
deliveriiig,  I  dare  say,  as  you  came  ahmg  ?  " 

"  Oh  yes,"  John  said.      "  A  good  many." 

"  Why  what 's  this  round  box  ?  Heart  alive,  John,  it 's  a 
wedding-cake  !  " 

"  Leave   a   woman   alone   to    find    out   that,"    said    John 


THE   CRICKET   ON   THE   HEARTn.  173 

admiringly.  "  Now  a  man  would  never  have  tliought  of  it ! 
Whereas,  it 's  my  belief  that  if  you  was  to  pack  a  wedding- 
cake  up  in  a  tea-chest,  or  a  turn-up  bedstead,  or  a  pickled 
salmon  keg,  or  any  unlikely  thing,  a  woman  would  be  sure 
to  find  it  out  directly.  Yes ;  I  called  for  it  at  the  pastry- 
cook's." 

"  And  it  weighs  I  don't  know  what — whole  hundred- 
weights !  "  cried  Dot,  making  a  great  demonstration  of  trying 
to  lift  it.      "  Whose  is  it,  John?     Where  is  it  going?" 

"  Read  the  writing  on  the  other  side,"  said  John. 

"Why,  Jolm  !     My  Goodness,  John  !  " 

"  Ah  !   who  'd  have  thought  it !  "  John  returned. 

"You  never  mean  to  say,"  pursued  Dot,  sitting  on  the 
floor  and  shaking  her  head  at  him,  "  that  it 's  Gruff  and 
Tackleton  the  toymaker  !  " 

John  nodded. 

Mrs.  Peerybingle  nodded  also,  fifty  times  at  least.  Not  in 
assent — in  dumb  and  pitying  amazement ;  screwing  up  her 
lips,  the  while,  with  all  their  little  force  (they  were  never 
made  for  screwing  up ;  I  am  clear  of  that),  and  looking  the 
good  Carrier  through  and  through,  iu  her  abstraction.  Miss 
Slowboy,  in  the  mean  time,  who  had  a  mechanical  power  of 
reproducing  scraps  of  current  conversation  for  the  delectation 
of  the  baby,  with  all  the  sense  struck  out  of  them,  and  all  the 
noims  changed  into  the  plural  number,  inquired  aloud  of 
that  young  creature,  Was  it  Gruffs  and  Tackletons  the  toy- 
makers  then,  and  Would  it  call  at  Pastry-cooks  for  wedding- 
cakes,  and  Did  its  mothers  know  the  boxes  when  its  fathers 
brought  them  home ;  and  so  on. 

"  And  that  is  really  to  come  about !  "  said  Dot.  "  Why, 
she  and  I  were  girls  at  school  together,  John." 

He  might  have  been  thinking  of  her,  or  nearly  thinking  of 
her,  perhaps,  as  she  Avas  in  that  same  school  time.  He 
looked  upon  her  with  a  thoughtful  pleasure,  but  he  made  nu 
answer. 

"And  he's  as  old!  As  unlike  her! — ^^Tiy,  how  many 
years  older  than  you,  is  Gruff  and  Tackleton,  John  ?  " 

"  How  many  more  cups  of  tea  shall  I  drink  to-night  at  one 
bitting,  than  Gruff  and  Tackleton  ever  took  in  four,  I  wonder!  " 
replied  John,  good-humouredly,  as  he  drew  a  chair  to  the 
round  table,  and  began  at  the  cold  ham.  "  Aa  to  eating,  I 
eat  but  little  ;  but,  that  little  I  enjoy.  Dot." 


174  THE   CRICKET   ON   THE    HEARTH. 

Even  this^  his  usual  sentiment  at  meal  times,  one  of  his 
innocent  delusions  (for  his  appetite  was  always  obstinate,  and 
ilatly  contradicted  him) ;  awoke  no  smile  in  the  face  of  his 
little  wife,  who  stood  among  the  parcels,  pushing  the  cake- 
liox  slowly  from  her  with  her  foot,  and  never  once  looked, 
though  her  eyes  were  cast  down  too,  upon  the  dainty  shoe  she 
generally  was  so  mindful  of.  Absorbed  in  thought,  she  stood 
there,  heedless  alike  of  the  tea  and  John  (although  he  called 
to  her,  and  rapped  the  table  with  his  knife  to  startle  her), 
until  he  rose  and  touched  her  on  the  arm ;  when  she  looked 
at  him  for  a  moment,  and  hurried  to  her  place  behind  the 
tea-board,  laughing  at  her  negligence.  But,  not  as  she  had 
laughed  before.  The  manner,  and  the  music  were  quite 
changed. 

The  Cricket,  too,  had  stopped.  Somehow  the  room  was 
not  so  cheerful  as  it  had  been.     Nothing  like  it. 

"  So,  these  are  all  the  parcels,  are  they,  Jolm  ?  "  she  aaid, 
breaking  a  long  silence,  which  the  honest  Carrier  had  devoted 
to  the  practical  illustration  of  one  part  of  his  favouiite 
sentiment — certainly  enjoying  what  he  ate,  if  it  couldn't  be 
admitted  that  he  ate  but  little.  "  So  these  are  all  the  parcels ; 
are  they,  John  ?  " 

"  That's  all,"  said  John,  "Why — no — I — "  laying  down 
his  knife  and  fork,  and  taking  a  long  breath.  "  I  declare — 
I  've  clean  forgotten  the  old  gentleman  !  " 

"  The  old  gentleman  ?  " 

"  In  the  cart,"  said  John.  "  He  was  asleep,  among  the 
straw,  the  last  time  I  saw  him.  I  've  very  neary  remembered 
him,  twice,  since  ]  came  in ;  but,  he  went  out  of  my  head 
again.  HaUoa!  Yahip  there!  Rouse  up!  That's  my 
hearty  !  " 

John  said  these  latter  words  outside  the  door,  whither  he 
had  hurried  with  the  candle  in  his  hand. 

Miss  Slowboy,  conscious  of  some  mysterious  reference  to 
The  Old  Gentleman,  and  connecting  in  her  mystified  imagina- 
tion certain  associations  of  a  religious  nature  with  the  phrase, 
was  so  disturbed,  that  hastily  rising  from  the  low  chair  by 
the  fire  to  seek  protection  near  the  skirt  of  her  mistress,  and 
coming  into  contact  as  she  crossed  the  doorway  with  an 
ancient  Stranger,  she  instinctively  made  a  charge  or  butt  at 
him  with  the  only  ofieusive  instrument  within  her  reach. 
This  instrument  happening  to  be  the  baby,   great  commotion 


THE    CRICKET   ON   THE   HEARTH.  175 

and  alarm  ensued,  whicli  the  sagacity  of  Boxer  rather  tended 
to  increase ;  for,  that  good  dog  more  thoughtful  than  his 
master,  had,  it  seemed,  been  watching  the  old  gentleman  in 
his  sleep,  lest  he  shoidd  walk  off  with  a  few  young  poplar 
trees  that  were  tied  up  behind  the  cart ;  and  he  still  attended 
on  him  very  closely,  worrying  his  gaiters  in  fact,  and  making 
dead  sets  at  the  buttons. 

"  You  're  such  an  imdeniable  good  sleeper,  sir,"  said  John, 
when  tranquillity  was  restored ;  in  the  mean  time  the  old 
gentleman  had  stood,  bareheaded  and  motionless,  in  the 
centre  of  the  room ;  "  that  I  have  half  a  mind  to  ask  you 
where  the  other  six  are — only  that  would  be  a  joke,  and  I 
know  I  should  spoil  it.  Very  near  though,"  murmured  the 
Carrier,  with  a  chuckle ;   "  very  near  !  " 

The  Stranger,  who  had  long  white  hair,  good  features, 
singularly  bold  and  well  defined  for  an  old  man,  and  dark, 
bright,  penetrating  eyes,  looked  round  with  a  smile,  and 
saluted  the  Carrier's  wife  by  gravely  inclining  his  head. 

His  garb  was  very  quaint  and  odd — a  long,  long  way 
behind  the  time.  Its  hue  was  brown,  all  over.  In  his  hand 
he  held  a  great  brown  club  or  walking-stick ;  and  striking 
this  upon  the  floor,  it  fell  asunder,  and  became  a  chair.  On 
which  he  sat  down,  quite  composedly. 

"  There  !  "  said  the  Carrier,  turning  to  his  wife.  "  That 's 
the  way  I  found  him,  sitting  by  the  roadside  !  Upriglit  as  a 
milestone.     And  almost  as  deaf." 

"  Sitting  in  the  open  air,  John !  " 

"In  the  open  air,"  replied  the  Carrier,  "just  at  dusk. 
'  Carriage  Paid,'  he  said;  and  gave  me  eighteenpence.  Then 
he  got  in.     And  there  he  is." 

"  He  's  going,  John,  I  think  !  " 

Not  at  all.      He  was  only  going  to  speak. 

"  If  you  please,  I  was  to  be  left  till  called  for,"  said  the 
Stranger,  mildly.      "  Don't  mind  me." 

With  that,  he  took  a  pair  of  spectacles  from  one  of  his 
large  pockets,  and  a  book  from  another,  and  leisurely  began 
to  read.  Making  no  more  of  Boxer  than  if  he  had  been  a 
house  lamb  ! 

The  Carrier  and  his  wife  exclianged  a  look  of  perplexity. 
The  Stranger  raised  his  head ;  and  glancing  from  the  latter 
to  the  foi  iner,  said, 

"  Your  ('itiifrliter,  my  good  friend  ?  " 


176  THE   CRICKET   ON   THE   HEARTH. 

"  "Wife,"  returned  John. 

"Niece  ?  "  said  the  Stranger. 

"  Wife,"  roared  John. 

"Indeed?"  observed  the  Stranger.  "Surely?  Very 
young !  " 

He  quietly  turned  over,  and  resumed  his  reading.  But, 
before  he  could  have  read  two  lines,  he  again  interrupted 
himself,  to  say  : 

"  Baby,  yours  ?  " 

John  gave  him  a  gigantic  nod :  equivalent  to  an  answer  in 
the  afSrmative,  delivered  tlirough  a  speaking-trumpet. 

"Girl?" 

"  Bo-o-oy  !  "  roared  John. 

"  Also  very  young,  eh  ?  " 

Mrs.  Peerybingle  instantly  struck  in.  "  Two  months  and 
three  da-ays.  Vaccinated  just  six  weeks  ago-o  !  Took  very 
fine-ly !  Considered,  by  the  doctor,  a  remarkably  beautiful 
chi-ild  !  Equal  to  the  general  run  of  children  at  five  months 
o-ld  !  Takes  notice,  in  a  way  quite  won-der-ful !  May  seem 
impossible  to  you,  but  feels  his  legs  al-ready !  " 

Here,  the  breathless  litttle  mother,  who  had  been  shrieking 
these  short  sentences  into  the  old  man's  ear,  until  her  pretty 
face  was  crimsoned,  held  up  the  Baby  before  him  as  a  stubborn 
and  triumphant  fact ;  while  Tilly  Slowboy,  with  a  melodious 
cry  of  "  Ketcher,  Ketcher  " — which  sounded  like  some  un- 
known words,  adapted  to  a  popular  Sneeze — performed  some 
cow-like  gambols  around  that  all  unconscious  Innocent. 

"Hark!  He's  called  for,  sure  enough,"  said  John. 
"  There 's  somebody  at  the  door.      Open  it,  Tilly." 

Before  she  could  reach  it,  however,  it  was  opened  from 
without ;  being  a  primitive  sort  of  door,  with  a  latch  that 
any  one  could  lift  if  he  chose — and  a  good  many  people  did 
choose,  for  all  kinds  of  neighbours  liked  to  have  a  cheerful 
word  or  two  with  the  Carrier,  though  he  was  no  great  talker 
himself.  Being  opened,  it  gave  admission  to  a  little,  meagre, 
thoughtful,  dingy-faced  man,  who  seemed  to  have  made  him- 
self a  great-coat  from  the  sack-cloth  covering  of  some  old 
box  ;  for,  when  he  turned  to  shut  the  door,  and  keep  the 
weather  out,  he  disclosed  upon  the  back  of  that  garment  the 
inscription  G  &  T  in  large  black  capitals.  Also  the  word 
GLASS  in  bold  characters. 

"Good    evening    John!"    said    the    little    man.       "Good 


THE   CRICKET   ON   THE    HEARTH.  177 

evening  Mum.  Goud  evening  Tilly.  Good  evening  Unbe- 
known !  How 's  Baby  Afum  ?  Boxer 's  pretty  will  1 
hope  ?  " 

"  All  thriving,  Caleb,"  replied  Dot.  "  I  am  sure  you  need 
only  look  at  the  dear  child,  for  one,  to  know  that." 

"And  I  'm  sure  I  need  only  look  at  you  for  another,"  said 
Caleb. 

He  didn't  look  at  her  though ;  he  had  a  wandering  and 
thoughtful  eye  which  seemed  to  be  always  projecting  itself 
into  some  other  time  and  place,  no  matter  what  he  said; 
a  description  which  will  equally  apply  'to  his  voice. 

"Or  at  John  for  another,"  said  Caleb.  "Or  at  Tilly,  as 
far  as  that  goes.     Or  certainly  at  Boxer." 

"  Busy  just  now,  Caleb  ?  "  asked  the  Carrier. 

"  Why,  pretty  well,  John,"  he  returned,  with  the  distraught 
air  of  a  man  who  was  casting  about  for  the  Philosopher's 
stone,  at  least.  "  Pretty  much  so.  There's  rather  a  run  on 
Noah's  Arks  at  present.  I  could  have  wished  to  improve 
upon  the  Family,  but  I  don't  see  how  it 's  to  be  done  at  the 
price.  It  would  be  a  satisfaction  to  one's  mind,  to  make  it 
clearer  which  was  Shems  and  Hams,  and  which  was  Wives. 
Flies  an't  on  that  scale  neither,  as  compared  with  elephants 
you  know !  Ah !  well !  Have  you  got  anything  in  the 
parcel  line  for  me,  John  ?  " 

The  Carrier  put  his  hand  into  a  pocket  of  the  coat  he  hud 
taken  off;  and  brought  out,  carefully  preserved  in  moss  aud 
paper,  a  tiny  flower-pot. 

"  There  it  is !"  he  said,  adjusting  it  with  great  care.  "  Not 
so  much  as  a  leaf  damaged.     Full  of  buds !  " 

Caleb's  dull  eye  brightened,  as  he  took  it,  and  thanked 
him. 

"  Dear,  Caleb,"  said  the  Carrier.  "  Very  dear  at  this 
season." 

"  Never  mind  that.  It  would  be  cheap  to  me,  whatever  it 
cost,"  returned  the  little  man.      "  Anytlxing  else,  John?" 

"  A  small  box,"  replied  the  Carrier.      "  Here  you  are  !  " 

"  '  For  Caleb  Plummer,'  "  said  the  little  man,  spelling  nut 
the  direction.  "' With  Cash.'  With  Cash,  John?  I  don't 
think  it 's  for  me." 

"  With  Care,"  returned  the  Carrier,  looking  over  liis 
shoulder.      "  Where  do  you  make  out  cash  ?  " 

"  Oh  1     To  be  sure  !  "  said  Caleb.     "  It 's  all  right.    With 

t\ 


178  THE   CKICKET  ON   THE   HEARTH. 

care !  Yes,  yes ;  that 's  mine.  It  might  have  been  with 
cash,  indeed,  if  my  dear  Boy  in  the  Golden  South  Americas 
had  lived,  John.  You  loved  him  like  a  son ;  didn't  you  ? 
You  needn't  say  you  did.  I  know,  of  course.  *  Caleb  Pluramer. 
With  care.'  Yes,  yes,  it's  all  right.  It 's  a  box  of  dolls' 
eyes  for  my  daughter's  work.  I  wish  it  was  her  own  sight 
in  a  box,  John." 

"  I  wish  it  was,  or  could  he  ■  "  cried  the  Carrier. 
"  Thankee,"  said  the  little  man.     "  You  speak  very  hearty. 
To  think  that  she   should  never  see  the  Dolls — and  them  a 
staring  at  her,  so  bold,  all  day  long  !     That 's  where  it  cuts. 
\Vhat's  the  damage,  John?  " 

"  I  '11  damage  you,"  said  Jolin,  "  if  you  inquire.  Dot ! 
Very  near  ?  " 

"  Well!  it 's  like  you  to  say  so,"  observed  the  little  man. 
"  It 's  yoiir  kind  way.  Let  me  see.  I  think  that's  all." 
"  I  think  not,"  said  the  Carrier.  "  Try  again." 
"Something  for  our  Governor,  eh?"  said  Caleb, '  after 
pondering  a  little  while.  "To  be  sure.  That 's  what  I  came 
for ;  but  my  head  's  so  running  on  them  Ai'ks  and  things  ! 
He  hasn't  been  here,  has  he?  " 

"  Not  he,"  retui-ned  the  Carrier.  "He 's  too  busy,  courting." 
"  He 's  coming  round  though,"  said  Caleb;  "for  he  told 
me  to  keep  on  the  near  side  of  the  road  going  home,  and  it 
was  ten  to  one  he  'd  take  me  up.  I  had  better  go,  by  the 
bye. — You  couldn't  have  the  goodness  to  let  me  pinch  Boxer's 
tail,  i\Ium,  for  haK  a  moment,  could  you  ?  " 
"  Vk^hy,  Caleb  !  what  a  question  !  " 

"  Oh  never  mind.  Mum,"  said  the  little  man.  "He  mightn't 
like  it  perhaps.  There  's  a  small  order  just  come  in,  for  barking 
dogs ;  and  I  should  wish  to  go  as  close  to  Natur'  as  I  could 
for  sixpence.     That 's  all.     Never  mind,  Mum." 

It  happened  opportunely,  that  Boxer,  without  receiving  the 
proposed  stimulus,  began  to  bark  with  great  zeal.  But,  as 
this  implied  the  approach  of  some  new  visitor,  Caleb,  post- 
poning his  study  from  the  life  to  a  more  convenient  season, 
shouldered  the  round  box,  and  took  a  hui-ried  leave.  He 
might  have  spared  himself  the  trouble,  for  he  met  the  visitor 
upon  the  threshold. 

"  Oh  !  You  are  here,  are  you  ?  Wait  a  bit.  I  '11  take 
you  home.  John  Peerybingle,  my  service  to  you.  ^lore  of 
my  aomce   to   your   pretty   wife.     Handsomer   every   dar! 


THE   CRICKET   ON   THE   HEARTE.  179 

Better  too,  if  possible  !     And  younger,"  mused  the  speaker  in 
a  low  voice,  "  that 's  the  devil  of  it !  " 

"  I  should  be  astonished  at  your  paying  compliments,  Mr, 
Tackleton,"  said  Dot,  not  with  the  best  grace  in  the  world  ; 
"  but  for  your  condition." 

"  You  know  all  about  it  then  ?  " 

*'  I  have  got  myself  to  bcHeve  it  somehow,"  said  Dot. 

"  After  a  hard  struggle,  I  suppose  ?  " 

"  Very." 

Tackleton  the  Toy  merchant,  pretty  generally  known  aa 
Gruff  and  Tackleton — ^for  that  was  the  firm,  though  Gruff  had 
been  bought  out  long  ago  ;  only  leaving  his  name,  and  as 
some  said  his  nature,  according  to  its  Dictionary  meaning,  in 
the  business — Tackleton  the  Toy  merchant,  was  a  man  whose 
vocation  had  been  quite  misunderstood  by  his  Parents  and 
Guardians.  If  they  had  made  him  a  Money  Lender,  or  a 
sharp  Attorney,  or  a  Sheriff's  Officer,  or  a  Broker,  he  might 
have  sown  his  discontented  oats  in  his  youth,  and,  after  having 
had  the  full-run  of  himself  in  ill-natured  transactions,  might 
have  turned  out  amiable,  at  last,  for  the  sake  of  a  little  fresh- 
ness and  novelty.  But,  cramped  and  chafing  in  the  peaceable 
pursuit  of  toy -making,  he  was  a  domestic  Ogre,  who  had  been 
living  on  children  all  his  life,  and  was  their  implacable  enemy 
He  despised  all  toys ;  wouldn't  have  bought  one  for  the 
world ;  delighted,  in  his  malice,  to  insinuate  grim  expressions 
into  the  faces  of  brown  paper  farmers  who  drove  pigs  to 
market,  bellmen  who  advertised  lost  lawyers'  consciences^ 
moveable  old  ladies  who  darned  stockings  or  carved  pies ; 
and  other  like  samples  of  his  stock  in  trade.  In  appalling 
masks ;  hideous,  hairy,  red-eyed  Jacks  in  Boxes ;  Vampire 
Kites  ;  demoniacal  Tumblers  who  wouldn't  lie  down,  and  were 
perpetually  flying  forward,  to  stare  infants  out  of  countenance ; 
his  soul  perfectly  revelled.  They  were  his  only  relief,  and 
safety-valve.  He  was  great  in  such  inventions.  Anythijig 
suggestive  of  a  Pony  nightmare,  was  delicious  to  him.  He 
had  even  lost  money  (and  he  took  to  that  toy  very  kindly)  by 
getting  up  Goblin  slides  for  magic  lanterns,  whereon  the 
Powers  of  Darkness  were  depicted  as  a  sort  of  supernatural 
sheU-tish,  witli  human  faces.  In  intensifying  the  portraiture 
of  Giants,  he  had  sunk  quite  a  little  capital ;  and,  though  no 
painter  himself,  he  could  indicate,  for  the  instruction  of  his 
artists,  -with  a  piece  of  chalk,  a  certain  furtive  leer  for  the 


180  THE   CRICKET   ON  THE   HEARTH. 

countenances  of  those  monsters,  which  was  safe  to  destroy  the 
peace  of  mind  of  any  young  gentleman  between  the  ages  of 
six  and  eleven,  for  the  whole  Christmas  or  Midsummer 
Vacation. 

What  he  was  in  toys,  he  was  (as  most  men  are)  in  other 
things.  You  may  easily  suppose,  therefore,  that  within  the 
^eat  green  cape,  which  reached  down  to  the  calves  of  his 
legs,  there  was  buttoned  up  to  the  chin  an  uncommonly 
pleasant  fellow  ;  and  that  he  was  about  as  choice  a  spirit 
and  as  agreeable  a  companion,  as  ever  stood  in  a  pair  of  bull- 
headed  looking  boots  with  mahogany-coloured  tops. 

Still,  Tackleton,  the  toy-merchant,  was  going  to  be  married. 
In  spite  of  all  this,  he  was  going  to  be  married.  And  to  a 
young  wife  too,  a  beautiful  young  wife. 

He  didn't  look  much  like  a  Bridegroom,  as  he  stood  in  the 
Carrier's  kitchen,  with  a  twist  in  his  dry  face,  and  a  screw  in 
his  body,  and  his  hat  jerked  over  the  bridge  of  his  nose,  •  and 
his  hands  tucked  down  into  the  bottoms  of  his  pockets,  and 
his  whole  sarcastic  ill-conditioned  self  peering  out  of  one  little 
corner  of  one  little  eye,  like  the  concentrated  essence  of  any 
number  of  ravens.      But,  a  Bridegroom  he  designed  to  be. 

"  In  tliree  days'  time.  Next  Thursday.  The  last  day  of 
the  first  month  in  the  year.  That 's  my  wedding-day,"  said 
Tackleton. 

Did  I  mention  that  he  had  always  one  eye  wide  open,  and 
one  eye  nearly  shut ;  and  that  the  one  eye  nearly  shut,  was 
always  the  expressive  eye  ?     I  don't  think  I  did. 

"That's  my  wedding-day!"  said  Tackleton,  rattling  his 
money. 

"  ^\Tiy,  it 's  our  wedding-day  too,"  exclaimed  the  Carrier. 

"  Ha  ha  I  "  laughed  Tackleton.  "  Odd  !  You're  just  such 
another  couple.     Just !  " 

The  indignation  of  Dot  at  this  presumptuous  assertion  is 
not  to  be  described.  What  next?  His  imagination  would 
corapass  the  possibility  of  just  such  another  Baby,  perhaps. 
The  man  was  mad. 

"  I  say!  A  word  with  you,"  murmured  Tackleton,  nudging 
the  Carrier  with  his  elbow,  aud  taking  him  a  little  apart, 
**  Y''ou  '11  come  to  the  wedding  ?  We  're  in  the  same  boat, 
you  know." 

"  How  in  the  same  boat  ?  "  inquired  the  Carrier. 

"'  A    little    disparity   you    know ; "    said    Tackleton,    with 


THE   CRICKET   ON   THE   nEAKTH.  181 

another  nudge.  "  Come  and  spend  an  evening  with  us, 
beforehand." 

"  WTiy,"  demanded  John,  astonished  at  this  pressing 
hospitality. 

"Why?"  returned  the  other.  "That's  a  new  way  of 
receiving  an  invitation.  Why,  for  pleasure — sociability,  you 
know,  and  all  that?  " 

"  I  thought  you  were  never  sociable,"  said  John,  in  his 
plain  way. 

"  Tchah !  It 's  of  no  use  to  be  anything  but  free  with  you 
T  see,"  said  Tackleton.  "  ^Vhy,  then,  the  truth  is  you  have  a 
— what  tea-drinking  people  call  a  sort  of  a  comfortable 
appearance  together,  you  and  your  wife.  We  know  better, 
you  know,  but — " 

"  Xo,  we  don't  know  better,"  interposed  John.  "What 
are  you  talking  about  ?  " 

"  Well !  We  don't  know  better  then,"  said  Tackleton. 
"We'U  agree  that  we  don't.  As  you  like;  what  does  it 
matter?  I  was  going  to  say,  as  you  have  that  sort  of 
appearance,  your  company  will  produce  a  favourable  effect  on 
Mrs.  Tackleton  that  will  be.  And,  though  I  don't  think  your 
good  lady's  very  friendly  to  me,  in  this  matter,  stiU  she  can't 
help  herself  from  falling  into  my  views,  for  there  's  a  compact- 
ness and  cosiness  of  appearance  about  her  that  always  tells, 
even  in  an  indifferent  case.     You  '11  say  you  '11  come  ?  " 

"We  have  arranged  to  keep  our  Wedding-day  (as  far  as 
that  goes)  at  home,"  said  John.  "  We  have  made  the  promise 
to  ourselves  these  six  months.  We  think,  you  see,  that 
home " 

"  Bah  !  what 's  home  ?  "  cried  Tackleton.  "  Four  walls  and 
a  ceiling !  (why  don't  you  kiU  that  Cricket;  I  woidd !  I 
always  do.  I  hate  their  noise.)  There  are  four  walls  and  a 
ceiling  at  my  house.     Come  to  me !  " 

"  You  kiU  your  Crickets,  eh  ?  "  said  John. 

"  Scrunch  'em,  sir,"  returned  the  other,  setting  his  heel 
heavily  on  the  floor.  "You'll  say  you'll  come?  It's  as 
much  your  interest  as  mine,  you  know,  that  tlie  women  should 
persuade  each  other  that  they  're  quiet  and  contented,  and 
couldn't  be  better  off.  I  know  their  way.  Whatever  one 
woman  says,  another  woman  is  determined  to  clinch,  always. 
There  's  that  spirit  of  emulation  among  'em,  sir,  that  if  your 
T^ife  says  to  my  wife,  '  I  'm  the  happiest  woman  in  the  world. 


182  THE   CRICKET   ON   THE   IIEARTn. 

and  mine  's  the  best  husband  in  the  world,  and  I  dote  on  him,' 
my  wife  will  say  the  same  to  yours,  or  more,  and  half  believe 
it." 

"  Do  you  mean  to  say  she  don't,  then  ?  "  asked  the  Carrier. 

"  Don't ! "  cried  Tackleton,  with  a  short,  sharp,  laugh. 
"  Don't  what  ?  " 

The  Carrier  had  some  faint  idea  of  adding,  "  dote  upon 
you."  But,  happening  to  meet  the  half-closed  eye,  as  it 
twinkled  upon  him  over  the  turned-up  collar  of  the  cape,  which 
was  within  an  ace  of  poking  it  out,  he  felt  it  such  an  unlikely 
part  and  parcel  of  anything  to  be  doted  on,  that  he  substituted, 
"  that  she  don't  believe  it  ?  " 

**  Ah  you  dog  !   You  're  joking,"  said  Tackleton. 

But  the  Carrier,  though  slow  to  understand  the  full  drift 
of  his  meaning,  eyed  him  in  such  a  serious  manner,  that  he 
was  obliged  to  be  a  little  more  explanatory. 

"  I  have  the  humour,"  said  Tackleton :  holding  up  the 
fingers  of  his  left  hand,  and  tapping  the  forefinger,  to  imply 
'there  I  am,  Tackleton  to  wit: '  "  I  have  the  humour,  sir,  to 
marry  a  young  wife,  and  a  pretty  wife  :  "  here  he  rapped  his 
little  finger,  to  express  the  Bride;  not  sparingly,  but  sharply; 
with  a  sense  of  power.  "I'm  able  to  gratify  that  humour 
and  I  do.      It 's  my  whim.     But — now  look  there  !  " 

He  pointed  to  where  Dot  was  sitting,  thoughtfully,  before 
the  fire ;  leaning  her  dimpled  chin  upon  her  hand,  and 
watching  the  bright  blaze.  The  Carrier  looked  at  her,  and 
then  at  him,  and  then  at  her,  and  then  at  him  again. 

"  She  honours  and  obeys,  no  doubt,  you  know,"  said 
Tackleton ;  "  and  that,  as  I  am  not  a  man  of  sentiment,  is 
quite  enough  for  me.  But  do  you  think  there's  anything 
more  in  it  ?  " 

"I  think,"  observed  the  Carrier,  "that  I  should  chuck  any 
man  out  of  window,  who  said  there  wasn't." 

"  Exactly  so,"  returned  the  other  with  an  unusual  alacrity 
of  assent.  "To  be  sure!  Doubtless  j'ou  would.  Of  course 
1  'm  certain  of  it.     Good  night.     Pleasant  dreams  !  " 

The  Carrier  was  puzzled,  and  made  uncomfortable  and 
uncertain,  in  spite  of  himself.  He  couldn't  help  sho-w'ing  it, 
in  his  manner. 

"  Good  night,  my  dear  friend  !  "  said  Tackleton,  compas- 
sionately. "  I  'm  off.  We  're  exactly  alike,  in  reality,  I  see. 
You  won't   give  us  to-morrow  evening  ?     Well !     Next  day 


THE   ClUCKET   ON   THE   HEARTH.  183 

you  go  out  visiting,  I  know.  I'll  meet  you  there,  and  bring 
my  wife  that  is  to  be.  It  '11  do  her  good.  You  're  agreeable  ? 
Thankee.     What 's  that !  " 

It  was  a  loud  cry  from  the  Carrier's  wife :  a  loud,  sharp, 
sudden  cry,  that  made  the  room  ring,  like  a  glass  vessel.  She 
had  risen  from  her  seat,  and  stood  like  one  transfixed  l)y 
terror  and  surprise.  The  Stranger  had  advanced  towards  the 
fire  to  warm  himself,  and  stood  within  a  short  stride  of  her 
chair.      But  quite  still. 

"Dot!"  cried  the  Carrier.  "Mary!  Darling  I  "What's 
the  matter?  " 

They  were  all  about  her  in  a  moment.  Caleb,  who  had 
been  dozing  on  the  cake-box,  in  the  fii-st  imperfect  recovery  of 
his  suspended  presence  of  mind,  seized  Miss  Slowboy  by  the 
hair  of  her  head,  but  immediately  apologised. 

"Mary!"  exclaimed  the  Carrier,  supporting  her  in  his 
arms.     "  Are  you  ill !     What  is  it  ?     Tell  me,  dear  !  " 

She  only  answered  by  beating  her  hands  together,  and 
falling  into  a  wild  fit  of  laughter.  Then,  sinking  from  his 
grasp  upon  the  ground,  she  covered  her  face  with  her  apron, 
and  wept  bitterly.  And  then,  she  laughed  again,  and  then 
she  cried  again,  and  then  she  said  how  cold  she  was,  and 
sufi'ered  him  to  lead  her  to  the  fire,  where  she  sat  down  as 
before.     The  old  man  standing,  as  before,  quite  still. 

"I'm  better,  John,"  she  said.  "I'm  quite  well  now — 
I " 

"  John  I  "  But  John  was  on  the  other  side  of  her.  Why 
turn  her  face  tou^ards  the  strange  old  gentleman,  as  if  address- 
ing him !      Was  her  brain  wandering  ? 

"  Only  a  fancy,  John  dear — a  kind  of  shock — a  something 
coming  suddenly  before  my  eyes — I  don't  know  what  it  was. 
It 's  quite  gone,  quite  gone." 

"I'm  glad  it's  gone,"  muttered  Tackleton,  turning  the 
expressive  eye  all  round  the  room.  "I  wonder  where  it's 
gone,  and  what  it  was.  Humph !  Caleb,  come  here  I  Who's 
that  with  the  grey  hair  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know,  sir,"  returned  Caleb,  in  a  whisper.  "Never 
see  him  before,  in  all  my  life.  A  beautiful  figure  for  a  nut- 
cracker; quite  a  new  model.  With  a  screw-jaw  opening 
down  into  his  waistcoat,  he'd  be  lovely." 

"  Not  ugly  enough,"  Baid  Tackleton. 

"  Or  for  a  fire-box,  either,"  observed  Caleb,  in  deep  cou' 


184  THE   CRICKET   ON   THE   IirARTH. 

templf  Hon,  "  what  a  model !  Unscrew  his  head  to  put  the 
matches  in  ;  turn  him  heels  up'ards  for  the  light;  and  what  a 
firehox  for  a  gentleman's  mantel-shelf,  just  as  he  stands !  " 

"Not  half  ugly  enough,"  said  Tackleton.  "Nothing  in 
liim  at  all.  Come  !  Bring  that  box !  All  right  now,  I 
hope?" 

"  Oh,  quite  gone !  Quite  gone !  "  said  the  little  woman 
waving  him  hurriedly  away.      *'  Good  night !  " 

"  Good  night,"  said  Tackleton.  "  Good  night,  John  Peery- 
hingle !  Take  care  how  you  carry  that  box,  Caleb.  Let  it 
fall  and  I  '11  murder  you  !  Dark  as  pitch,  and  weather  worse 
than  ever,  eh  ?     Good  night !  " 

So,  with  another  sharp  look  round  the  room,  he  went  out 
at  the  door ;  followed  by  Caleb  with  the  wedding-cake  on  his 
head. 

The  Carrier  had  been  so  much  astounded  by  his  Kttle  wife, 
and  so  busily  engaged  in  soothing  and  tending  her,  that  he 
had  scarcely  been  conscious  of  the  Stranger's  presence,  until 
now,  when  he  again  stood  there,  their  only  guest. 

"  He  don't  belong  to  them,  you  see,"  said  John.  "  I  must 
give  him  a  hint  to  go." 

"  I  beg  your  pardon,  friend,"  said  the  old  gentleman, 
advancing  to  him ;  "  the  more  so,  as  I  fear  your  wife  has  not 
been  well ;  but  the  Attendant  whom  my  infirmity,"  he  touched 
his  ears,  and  shook  his  head,  "  renders  almost  indispensable, 
not  having  arrived,  I  fear  there  must  be  some  mistake.  The 
bad  night  which  made  the  shelter  of  your  comfortable  cart 
>^may  I  never  have  a  worse  !)  so  acceptable,  is  still  as  bad  as 
ever.  Would  you,  in  your  kindness,  suffer  me  to  rent  a  bed 
here?" 

"  Yes,  yes,"  cried  Dot.      "  Yes  !     Certainly  !  " 

"  Oh !  "  said  the  Carrier,  surprised  by  the  rapidity  of  this 
consent.  "  WeU  !  I  don't  object ;  but,  still  I  'm  not  quite 
sure  that — " 

"  Hush!  "  she  interrupted.     "  Dear  John  !  " 

"  Why,  he's  stone  deaf,"  urged  John. 

"  I  know  he  is,  but — Yes  sir,  certainly.  Yes !  certainly  I 
1  '11  make  him  up  a  bed,  directly,  John." 

As  she  hurried  off  to  do  it,  the  flutter  of  her  spirits,  and  the 
agitation  of  her  manner,  were  so  strange,  that  the  Carrier 
stood  looking  after  her,  quite  confounded. 

"  Did  its  mothers  make  it  up  a  Beds  then !  "  criod  Miss? 


THE   CRICKET   ON   THE   HEAKTH.  ICj 

Slowboy  to  the  Baby;  "and  did  its  hair  grow  brown  and 
curly,  when  its  caps  was  lifted  off,  and  frighten  it,  a  precious 
Pets,  a  sitting  by  the  fii-es  !  " 

With  that  unaccountable  attraction  of  the  mind  to  trifles, 
which  is  often  incidental  to  a  state  of  doubt  and  confusion , 
the  Carrier,  as  he  walked  slowly  to  and  fro,  found  himself 
mentally  repeating  even  these  absurd  words,  many  times.  So 
many  times,  that  he  got  them  by  heart,  and  was  still  conning 
them  over  and  over,  like  a  lesson,  when  Tilly,  after  administer- 
ing as  much  friction  to  the  little  bald  head  with  her  hand  as 
she  thought  wholesome  (according  to  the  practice  of  nurses), 
had  once  more  tied  the  Baby's  cap  on. 

"  And  frighten  it  a  precious  Pets,  a  sitting  by  the  fires. 
What  frightened  Dot,  I  wonder !  "  mused  the  Carrier,  pacing 
to  and  fro. 

He  scouted,  from  his  heart,  the  insinuations  of  the  Toy 
merchant,  and  yet  they  filled  him  with  a  vague,  indefinite 
uneasiness.  For,  Tackleton  was  quick  and  sly ;  and  he  had 
that  painful  sense,  himself,  of  being  a  man  of  slow  perception, 
that  a  broken  hint  was  always  worrying  to  him.  He  certainly 
had  no  intention  in  his  mind  of  linking  anything  that  Tackle- 
ton  had  said,  with  the  unusual  conduct  of  his  wife,  but  the  two 
subjects  of  reflection  came  into  his  mind  together,  and  he  could 
not  keep  them  asunder. 

The  bed  was  soon  made  ready ;  and  the  visitor,  declining 
all  refreshment  but  a  cup  of  tea,  retired.  Then,  Dot — quite 
well  again,  she  said,  qmte  well  again, — arranged  the  great 
chair  in  the  chimney  corner  for  her  husband ;  filled  his  pipe 
and  gave  it  him ;  and  took  her  usual  little  stool  beside  him  on 
the  hearth. 

She  always  would  sit  on  that  little  stool.  I  think  she  must 
have  had  a  kind  of  notion  that  it  was  a  coaxing,  wheedling, 
little  stool. 

She  was,  out  and  out,  the  very  best  filler  of  a  pipe,  I  should 
say,  in  the  four  quarters  of  the  globe.  To  see  her  put  that 
chubby  little  finger  in  the  bowl,  and  then  blow  down  the 
pipe  to  clear  the  tube,  and,  when  she  had  done  so,  afl'ect  to 
think  that  there  was  really  something  in  the  tube,  and  blow 
a  dozen  times,  and  hold  it  to  her  eye  like  a  telescope,  with  a 
most  provoking  twist  in  her  capital  little  face,  as  she  looked 
down  it,  was  quite  a  brilliant  tiling.  As  to  the  tobacco,  she 
was  perfect  mistress  of  the   subject ;  and  her  lighting  of  the 


180  THE   CRICKET   ON  THE   HEARTII. 

pipe,  -with  a  wisp  of  paper,  when  the  Carrier  had  it  in  his 
mouth — going  so  very  near  his  nose,  and  yet  not  scorching  it 
— was  Art,  high  Art. 

And  the  Cricket  and  the  Kettle,  tuning  up  again,  acknow 
ledged  it !     The  bright  fire,  blazing  up  again,  acknowledged 
it !    The   little  Mower  on  the  clock,   in    his  unheeded  work, 
acknowledged  it !  The  Carrier,  in  his  smoothing  forehead  and 
expanding  face,  acknowledged  it,  the  readiest  of  all. 

And  as  he  soberly  and  thoughtfully  puffed  at  his  old  pipe, 
and  as  the  Dutch  clock  ticked,  and  as  the  red  fire  gleamed, 
and  as  the  Cricket  chirped ;  that  Genius  of  his  Hearth  and 
Home  (for  such  the  Cricket  was)  came  out,  in  fairy  shape, 
into  the  room,  and  summoned  many  forms  of  Home  about 
him.  Dots  of  all  ages,  and  all  sizes,  filled  the  chamber. 
Dots  who  were  merry  children,  running  on  before  him, 
gathering  flowers,  in  the  fields  ;  coy  Dots,  half  shrinking  from, 
half  }delding  to,  the  pleading  of  his  own  rough  image ;  newly 
married  Dots,  alighting  at  the  door,  and  taking  wondering 
possession  of  the  household  keys ;  motherly  little  Dots, 
attended  by  fictitious  Slowboj's,  bearing  babies  to  be  christened ; 
matronly  Dots,  still  young  and  blooming,  watching  Dots  of 
daughters,  as  they  danced  at  rustic  balls ;  fat  Dots,  encircled 
and  beset  by  troops  of  rosy  grand-children;  withered  Dots, 
who  leaned  on  sticks,  and  tottered  as  they  crept  along.  Old 
Carriers  too,  appeared,  with  blind  old  Boxers  lying  at  their 
feet ;  and  newer  carts  with  younger  drivers  ( ' '  Peerybingle 
Brothers,"  on  the  tilt) ;  and  sick  old  Carriers,  tended  by  the 
gentlest  hands ;  and  graves  of  dead  and  gone  old  Carriers, 
green  in  the  churchyard.  And  as  the  Cricket  showed  him  all 
these  things — he  saw  them  plainly,  though  his  eyes  were  fixed 
upon  the  fii-e — the  Carrier's  heart  grew  light  and  happy,  and 
he  thanked  his  Household  Gods  with  all  his  might,  and  cared 
no  more  for  Gruff  and  Tackleton  than  you  do. 

But,  what  was  that  young  figure  of  a  man,  which  the  same 
Fairy  Cricket  set  so  near  Her  stool,  and  which  remained  there, 
singly  and  alone  ?  Why  did  it  linger  still,  so  near  her,  with 
its  arm  xipon  the  chimney-piece,  ever  repeating  '*  Married  I 
and  not  to  me  !  " 

O  Dot !  O  failing  Dot !  There  is  no  place  for  it  in  all 
vour  Iiusband's  visions;  why  has  its  shadow  fallen  on  his 
hearth ! 


TEE   CRICKET   ON   THE    HEARin.  187 


CHIEF  THE  SECOXD. 


Caleb  Plummer  and  liis  BKnd' Daughter  lived  all  alona 
by  themselves,  as  the  Story-Books  say — and  my  blessing,  -with 
yours  to  back  it  I  hope,  on  the  Story-Books,  for  saying  any- 
thing in  this  workaday  world !  —  Caleb  Plummer  and  his 
Blind  Daughter  lived  all  alone  by  themselves,  in  a  little 
cracked  nutshell  of  a  wooden  house,  which  was,  in  truth,  no 
better  than  a  pimple  on  the  prominent  red-brick  nose  of 
Gruff  and  Tackleton.  Tlie  premises  of  Gruff  and  Tackleton 
were  the  great  feature  of  the  street ;  but  you  might  have 
knocked  down  Caleb  Plummer' s  dwelling  with  a  hammer  or 
two,  and  carried  off  the  pieces  in  a  cart. 

If  any  one  had  done  the  dwelling-house  of  Caleb  Plummer 
the  honor  to  miss  it  after  such  an  inroad,  it  would  have 
been,  no  doubt,  to  commend  its  demohtion  as  a  vast  improve- 
ment. It  stuck  to  the  premises  of  Gruff  and  Tackleton,  like 
a  barnacle  to  a  ship's  keel,  or  a  snail  to  a  door,  or  a  little 
bunch  of  toadstools  to  the  stem,  of  a  tree.  But,  it  was  the 
germ  from  which  the  full-grown  trunk  of  Gruff  and  Tackleton 
had  sprung ;  and  under  its  crazy  roof,  the  Gruff  before  last, 
had,  in  a  small  way,  made  toys  for  a  generation  of  old  boys 
and  girls,  who  had  played  with  them,  and  found  them  out, 
and  broken  them,  and  gone  to  sleep. 

I  have  said  that  Caleb  and  his  poor  Blind  Daughter 
lived  here.  I  should  have  said  that  Caleb  lived  here,  and 
his  poor  Blind  Daughter  somewhere  else  —  in  an  enchanted 
home  of  Caleb's  furnishing,  where  scarcity  and  shabbiness 
were  not,  and  trouble  never  entered.  Caleb  was  no  sorcerer, 
but  in  the  only  magic  art  that  still  remains  to  us,  the  magic 
of  devoted,  deathless  love.  Nature  had  been  the  mistress  of 
his  study ;   and  from  her  teaching,  all  the  wonder  came. 

Tlie  Blind  Girl  never  knew  that  ceilings  were  discoloured, 
walls  blotched  and  bare  of  plaster  here  and  there,  high 
crevices  unstopped  and  widening  every  day,  beams  mouldar- 


188  THE   CRICKET   ON  THE   HEARTH. 

ing  and  tending  downward.  The  Blind  Girl  never  knew  that 
iron  was  rusting,  wood  rotting,  paper  peeling  off;  the  size, 
and  shape,  and  true  proportion  of  the  dwelling,  withering 
away.  The  BHnd  Girl  never  knew  that  ugly  shapes  of  delf 
and  earthenware  were  on  the  hoard ;  that  sorrow  and  faint- 
heartedness were  in  the  house ;  that  Caleb's  scanty  hairs  were 
turning  greyer  and  more  grey,  before  her  sightless  face.  The 
Blind  Girl  never  knew  they  had  a  master,  cold,  exacting,  and 
uninterested — never  knew  that  Tackleton  was  Tackleton  in 
short ;  but  lived  in  the  belief  of  an  eccentric  humourist  who 
loved  to  have  his  jest  with  them,  and  who,  while  he  was  the 
Guardian  Angel  of  their  lives,  disdained  to  hear  one  word  of 
thankfulness. 

And  all  was  Caleb's  doing;  all  the  doing  of  lier  simple 
father  !  But  he  too  had  a  Cricket  on  his  Hearth ;  and  listen- 
ing sadly  to  its  music  when  the  motherless  Blind  Child' was 
very  young,  that  Spirit  had  inspired  him  with  the  thought 
that  even  her  great  deprivation  might  be  almost  changed  into 
a  blessing,  and  the  girl  made  happy  by  these  little  means. 
For  all  the  Cricket  tribe  are  potent  Spirits,  even  though  the 
people  who  hold  converse  with  them  do  not  know  it  (which  is 
frequently  the  case)  and  there  are  not  in  the  unseen  world, 
voices  more  gentle  and  more  true,  that  may  be  so  implicitly 
relied  on,  or  that  are  so  certain  to  give  none  but  tenderest 
counsel,  as  the  Voices  in  which  the  Spirits  of  the  Fireside  and 
the  Heartli  address  themselves  to  human  kind. 

Caleb  and  his  daughter  were  at  work  together  in  their 
usual  working-room,  which  served  them  for  their  ordinary 
living-room  as  well ;  and  a  strange  place  it  was.  There  were 
houses  in  it,  finished  and  unfinished,  for  Dolls  of  aU  stations 
in  life.  Suburban  tenements  for  Dolls  of  moderate  means; 
kitchens  and  single  apartments  for  Dolls  of  the  lower  classes ; 
capital  town  residences  for  Dolls  of  high  estate.  Some  of 
these  establishments  were  ali-eady  furnished  according  to 
estimate,  with  a  view  to  the  convenience  of  Dolls  of  limited 
income ;  others,  could  be  fitted  on  the  most  expensive  scale, 
at  a  moment's  notice,  from  whole  shelves  of  chairs  and  tables, 
fofas,  bedsteads,  and  upholstery.  The  nobility  and  gentry 
and  public  in  general,  for  whose  accommodation  these  tene- 
ments were  designed,  lay,  here  and  there,  in  baskets,  staring 
straight  up  at  the  ceiling ;  but,  in  denoting  their  degrees  in 
society,  and  confining  them  to  their  respective  stations  (which 


THE   CRICKET   ON   THE   HEARTH.  189 

experience  shows  to  be  lamentably  difficult  in  real  life),  the 
makers  of  these  Dolls  had  far  improved  on  Nature,  who  is 
often  froward  and  perverse ;  for,  they,  not  resting  on  such 
arbitrary  marks  as  satin,  cotton-print,  and  bits  of  rag,  had 
superadded  striking  personal  differences  which  allowed  of  na 
mistake.  Thus,  the  Doll-lady  of  distinction  had  wax  limbs  of 
perfect  symmetry ;  but,  only  she  and  her  compeers.  The 
next  grade  in  the  social  scale  being  made  of  leather,  and  the 
next  of  coarse  linen  stuff.  As  to  the  common -people,  they 
had  just  so  many  matches  out  of  tinder-boxes,  for  their  arms 
and  legs,  and  there  they  were — established  in  their  sphere  at 
once,  beyond  the  possibility  of  getting  out  of  it. 

There  were  various  other  samples  of  his  handicraft  besides 
Dolls,  in  Caleb  Plummer's  room.  There  were  Noah's  Arks, 
in  which  the  Birds  and  Beasts  were  an  uncommonly  tight  fit, 
I  assure  you ;  though  they  could  be  crammed  in,  anyhow,  at 
the  roof,  and  rattled  and  shaken  into  the  smallest  compass. 
By  a  bold  poetical  licence,  most  of  these  Noah's  Arks  had 
knockers  on  the  doors ;  inconsistent  appendages  perhaps,  as 
suggestive  of  morning  callers  and  a  Postman,  yet  a  pleasant 
finish  to  the  outside  of  the  building.  There  were  scores  of 
melancholy  little  carts,  which,  when  the  wheels  went  round, 
performed  most  doleful  music.  Many  small  fiddles,  drums, 
and  other  instruments  of  torture ;  no  end  of  cannon,  shields, 
swords,  spears,  and  guns.  There  were  little  tumblers  in  red 
breeches,  incessantly  swarming  up  high  obstacles  of  red-tape, 
and  coming  down,  head  first,  on  the  other  side ;  and  tliere 
were  innumerable  old  gentlemen  of  respectable,  not  to  say 
venerable  appearance,  insanely  flying  over  horizontal  pegs, 
inserted,  for  the  purpose,  in  their  own  street  doors.  There 
were  beasts  of  all  sorts ;  horses,  in  particular,  of  every  breed, 
from  the  spotted  barrel  on  four  pegs,  with  a  small  tippet  for  a 
mane,  to  the  thoroughbred  rocker  on  his  highest  mettle.  As 
it  would  have  been  hard  to  count  the  dozens  upon  dozens  of 
grotesque  figures  that  were  ever  ready  to  commit  all  sorts  of 
absurdities  on  the  turning  of  a  handle,  so  it  woukl  have  been 
no  easy  task  to  mention  any  human  foUy,  vice,  or  weakness, 
that  had  not  its  type,  immediate  or  remote,  in  Caleb 
Plummer's  room.  And  not  in  an  exaggerated  form,  for  very 
little  handles  will  move  men  and  women  to  as  strange 
performances,  as  any  Toy  was  ever  made  to  undertake. 

In  the  midst  of  all  these  objects,  Caleb  and  his  dauglitei 


190  THE   CRICKET   ON   THE   IIEAETE. 

sat  at  work.  The  Blind  Girl  busy  as  a  Doll's  dressmaker; 
Caleb  painting  and  glazing  the  four -pair  front  of  a  desirable 
family  mansion. 

The  care  imprinted  in  the  lines  of  Caleb's  face,  and  his 
absorbed  and  dreamy  manner,  which  would  have  sat  well  oa 
some  alchemist  or  abstruse  student,  were  at  first  sight  an  odd 
contrast  to  his  occupation,  and  the  trivialities  about  him. 
But,  trivial  things,  invented  and  pursued  for  bread,  become 
very  serious  matters  of  fact ;  and,  apart  from  this  considera- 
sion,  I  am  not  at  all  prepared  to  say,  myself,  that  if  Caleb 
had  been  a  Lord  Chamberlain,  or  a  Member  of  Parliament, 
or  a  lawyer,  or  even  a  great  speculator,  he  would  have  dealt 
in  toys  one  whit  less  whimsical,  while  I  have  a  very  great 
doubt  whether  they  would  have  been  as  harmless. 

"  So  you  were  out  in  the  rain  last  night,  father,  in  your 
beautiful  new  great-coat,"  said  Caleb's  daughter. 

"  In  my  beautiful  new  great-coat,"  answered  Caleb, 
glancing  towards  a  clothes-line  in  the  room,  on  which  the 
sackcloth  garment  previously  described,  was  carefully  hung 
up  to  dry. 

"  How  glad  I  am  you  bought  it,  father  I  " 

"  And  of  such  a  tailor,  too,"  said  Caleb.  "  Quite  a 
fashionable  tailor.      It 's  too  good  for  me." 

The  Blind  Girl  rested  from  her  work,  and  laughed  with 
delight.  "Too  good,  father!  What  can  be  too  good  for 
you  ?  " 

"I'm  half-ashamed  to  wear  it  though,"  said  Caleb, 
watching  the  effect  of  what  he  said,  upon  her  brightening 
face  * '  upon  my  word  !  When  I  hear  the  boys  and  people  say 
behind  me,  '  Hal-loa !  Here 's  a  swell !  '  I  don't  know 
which  way  to  look.  And  when  the  beggar  wouldn't  go  away 
last  night ;  and,  when  I  said  I  was  a  very  common  man,  said 
*  No,  your  Honor  !  Bless  your  Honor,  don't  say  that ! '  I 
was  quite  ashamed.  I  really  felt  as  if  I  hadn't  a  right  to 
wear  it." 

Happy  Blind  Girl !     How  merry  she  was  in  her  exultation  . 

"I  see  you,  father,"  she  said,  clasping  her  hands,  "as 
plainly,  as  if  I  had  the  eyes  I  never  want  when  you  are  with 
me.     A  blue  coat  " — 

"  Bright  blue,"  said  Caleb. 

"  Yes,  yes  !  Bright  blue  !  "  exclaimed  the  girl,  turning 
up  her  radiant  face  j   "  the  colour  I  can  just  remember  in  the 


CAIiEB  AND  HIS  DAUGHTEE. 


THE   CRICKET   ON    THE    HEARTH.  101 

blessed  sky  !  You  told  me  it  was  blue  before  !  A  bright 
blue  coat" — 

"  Made  loose  to  the  figure,"  suggested  Caleb. 

"  Yes !  loose  to  the  figure !  "  cried  the  Blind  Girl, 
laughing  heartily;  "and  in  it,  you,  dear  father,  with  yoiir 
merry  eye,  your  smiling  face,  your  free  step,  and  your  dark 
hair — looking  so  young  and  liandsome  !  " 

"Halloa!  Halloa!"  said  Caleb.  "I  shall  be  vain, 
presently." 

"  /  think  you  are,  already,"  cried  the  Blind  Girl,  pointing 
at  him,  in  her  glee.  "I  know  you,  father!  Ha  ha  ha! 
I  've  found  you  out,  you  see  !  " 

How  different  the  picture  in  her  mind,  from  Caleb,  as  he 
sat  observing  her  !  She  had  spoken  of  his  free  step.  She 
was  right  in  that.  For  years  and  years,  he  had  never  once 
crossed  that  tlireshold  at  his  own  slow  pace,  but  with  a  foot- 
fall counterfeited  for  her  ear ;  and  never  had  he,  when  his 
lieart  was  heaviest,  forgotten  the  light  tread  that  was  to 
render  hers  so  cheerful  and  courageous  ! 

Heaven  knows  !  But  I  think  Caleb's  vague  bewilderment 
of  manner  may  have  half  originated  in  his  having  confused 
himself  about  himself  and  everything  around  him,  for  the 
love  of  his  BKnd  Daughter.  How  could  the  Kttle  man  be 
otherwise  than  bewildered,  after  laboui-ing  for  so  many  years 
to  destroy  his  ovra  identity,  and  that  of  all  the  objects  that 
had  any  bearing  on  it ! 

"  There  we  are,"  said  Caleb,  falling  back  a  pace  or  two  to 
formi  the  better  judgment  of  his  work ;  "as  near  the  real 
thing  as  sixpenn'orth  of  halfpence  is  to  sixpence.  What  a 
pity  that  the  whole  front  of  the  house  opens  at  once  !  If 
there  was  only  a  staircase  in  it,  now,  and  regular  doors  to  the 
rooms  to  go  in  at !  But  that 's  the  worst  of  my  calling,  I  'm 
always  deluding  myself,  and  swindling  myself." 

"  You  are  speaking  quite  softly.  You  are  not  tired, 
father  ?  " 

"Tired,"  echoed  Caleb,  with  a  great  burst  of  animation, 
"what  should  tire  me,  Bertha?  /  was  never  tired.  What 
does  it  mean  ?  " 

To  give  the  greater  force  to  his  words,  he  checked  himself 
in  an  involuntary  imitation  of  two  half-length  stretching  and 
yawning  figures  on  the  mantel-shelf,  who  were  represented  as 
in   one  eternal   state  of  weariness  from   the  waist  upwards  : 


192  THE   CRICKET  ON  THE   HEARTH. 

and  hummftd  a  fragment  of  a  song.  It  was  a  Bacchanalian 
song,  something  about  a  Sparkling  Bowl.  He  sang  it  with 
.'in  assumption  of  a  Devil-may-care  voice,  that  made  his  face  a 
thousand  times  more  meagre  and  more  thoughtful  than  ever. 

"  What !  You  're  singing,  are  you  V  "  said  Tacldeton, 
putting  his  head  in  at  the  door.      "  Go  it !     I  can't  sing." 

Nobody  would  have  suspected  him  of  it.  He  hadn't  what 
is  generally  termed  a  singing  face,  by  any  means. 

"  I  can't  afford  to  sing,"  said  Tackleton.  "I'm  glad  you 
can.  I  hope  you  can  afford  to  work  too.  Hardly  time  for 
both,  I  should  think  ?  " 

"  If  you  could  only  see  him.  Bertha,  how  he's  winking  at 
me!"  Avhispered  Caleb.  "Such  a  man  to  joke!  you'd 
think,  if  you  didn't  know  him,  he  was  in  earnest — wouldn't 
you  now?  " 

The  Blind  Girl  smiled  and  nodded. 

"  The  bird  that  can  sing  and  won't  sing,  must  be  made  to 
sing,  they  say,"  grumbled  Tackleton.  "  What  about  the  owl 
that  can't  sing,  and  oughtn't  to  sing,  and  wiU  sing ;  is  there 
anything  that  he  should  be  made  to  do  ?  " 

"The  extent  to  which  he's  winking  at  this  moment!" 
whispered  Caleb  to  his  daughter.      "  O,  my  gracious  !  " 

"  Always  merry  and  light-hearted  with  us  !  "  cried  the 
smiling  Bertha. 

"  O  !  you  're  there,  are  vou  ?  "  answered  Tackleton.  "  Poor 
Idiot !  " 

He  really  did  believe  she  was  an  Idiot ;  and  he  founded 
the  belief,  I  can't  say  whether  consciously  or  not,  upon  her 
being  fond  of  him. 

"  Well !  and  being  there, — how  are  you  ?  "  said  Tackleton 
in  his  grudging  way. 

"  Oh  !  well ;  quite  well.  And  as  happy  as  even  you  can 
wish  me  to  be.  As  happy  as  you  woidd  make  the  whole 
world,  if  you  could !  " 

"  Poor  Idiot !  "  muttered  Tackleton.  "  No  gleam  of  reason. 
Not  a  gleam  !  " 

The  Blind  Girl  took  his  hand  and  kissed  it ;  held  it  for  a 
moment  in  her  own  two  hands ;  and  laid  her  cheek  against  it 
tenderly,  before  releasing  it.  There  was  such  unspeakable 
affection  and  such  fervent  gratitude  in  the  act,  that  Tackleton 
himself  was  moved  to  say,  in  a  milder  growl  than  usual : 

"  What 's  the  matter  nov?  ?  " 


THE    CRICKET    ON   THE    IIEAP^TH.  193 

"  I  stood  it  close  beside  my  pillow  when  I  went  to  sleep 
last  night,  and  remembered  it  in  my  dreams.  And  when  the 
day  broke,  and  the  glorious  red  sun — the  red  sun,  father  ?  " 

'/  Red  in  the  mornings  and  the  evenings.  Bertha,"  said 
poor  Caleb,  with  a  woeful  glance  at  his  employer. 

"  'SMien  it  rose,  and  the  bright  light  I  almost  fear  to  strike 
myself  against  in  waUcing,  came  into  the  room,  I  turned  the 
little  tree  towards  it,  and  blessed  Heaven  for  making  things 
so  precious,  and  blessed  you  for  sending  them  to  cheer  me  !  " 

"  Bedlam  broke  loose  I  "  said  Tackleton  under  his  breath. 
"  We  shall  arrive  at  the  strait  waistcoat  and  mufflers  soon. 
We  're  getting  on  !  " 

Caleb,  with  his  hands  hooked  loosely  in  each  other,  stared 
vacantly  before  him  while  his  daughter  spoke,  as  if  he  really 
were  uncertain  (I  believe  he  was)  whether  Tackleton  had 
done  ami:hing  to  deserve  her  thanks,  or  not.  If  he  could 
have  been  a  perfectly  free  agent,  at  that  moment,  required,  on 
pain  of  death,  to  kick  the  Toy  merchant,  or  fall  at  his  feet, 
according  to  his  merits,  I  believe  it  would  have  been  an  even 
chance  which  course  he  would  have  taken.  Yet  Caleb  knew 
that  with  his  own  hands  he  had  brought  the  little  rose  tree 
home  for  her,  so  carefully,  and  that  with  his  own  lips  he  had 
forged  the  innocent  deception  which  shoidd  help  to  keep  her 
from  suspecting  how  much,  how  very  much,  he  every  day 
denied  himself,  that  she  might  be  the  happier. 

"  Bertha !  "  said  Tackleton,  assuming,  for  the  nonce,  a 
little  cordiality.      "  Come  here." 

"  Oh  !  I  can  come  straight  to  you !  You  needn't  guide 
me  !  "  she  rejoined. 

"  Shall  I  tell  you  a  secret.  Bertha?  " 

"  If  you  will  I  "  she  answered,  eagerly. 

How  bright  the  darkened  face!  Plow  adorned  with  lig] it, 
the  listening  head ! 

"This  is  the  day  on  which  little  what 's-her-name,  the 
spoilt  child,  Peerybingle's  wife,  pays  her  regular  visit  to  you 
• — makes  her  fantastic  Pic-Nic  here,  a'nt  it  ?  "  said  Tackleton, 
with  a  strong  expression  of  distaste  for  the  whole  concern. 

"  Yes,"  replied  Bertha.      "  This  is  the  day." 

"I  thought  60,"  said  Tackleton.  "I  should  like  to  join 
the  party." 

"  Do  you  hear  that,  father !  "  cried  the  Blind  Girl,  in  an 
ecstasy. 


104  THE    CRICKET    ON   THE    HEARin. 

"  Yes,  yes,  I  hear  it,"  murmured  Caleb,  with  the  fixed 
loot  of  a  sleep-walker ;  "  but  I  don't  believe  it.  It 's  one  of 
my  lies,  I  've  no  doubt." 

"  You  see  I — I  want  to  bring  the  Peerybingles  a  little 
more  into  company  with  May  Fielding,"  said  Tackleton. 
"  I  am  going  to  be  married  to  May." 

•'■  Married  !  "  cried  the  Blind  Girl,  starting  from  him. 

•'  She 's  such  a  con-founded  idiot,"  muttered  Tackleton, 
"that  I  was  afraid  she'd  never  comprehend  me.  Ah,  Bertha! 
Married !  Church,  parson,  clerk,  beadle,  glass-coach,  bells, 
breakfast,  bride-cake,  favours,  marrowbones,  cleavers,  and  all 
the  rest  of  the  tom-foolery.  A  wedding,  you  know  ;  a  wed- 
ding.     Don't  you  know  what  a  wedding  is  ?  " 

"  I  know,"  replied  the  Blind  Girl,  in  a  gentle  tone.  "  I 
understand  !  " 

"Do  you?"  muttered  Tacldeton.  "It's  more  than  I 
expected.  Well !  On  that  account  I  want  to  join  the  party, 
and  to  bring  May  and  her  mother.  I  '11  send  in  a  little 
something  or  other,  before  the  afternoon.  A  cold  leg  of 
mutton,  or  some  comfortable  trifle  of  that  sort.  You  '11 
expect  me?  " 

"  Yes,"  she  answered. 

She  had  droope^^^  her  head,  and  turned  away  ;  and  so  stood, 
with  her  hands  crossed,  musing. 

"  I  don't  think  you  will,"  muttered  Tackleton,  looking  at 
her;  "  for  you  seem  to  have  forgotten  all  about  it,  ali-eady. 
Caleb  !  " 

"  I  may  venture  to  say  I  'm  here,  I  suppose,"  thought 
Caleb.      "  Sir  !  " 

"  Take  care  she  don't  forget  what  I  've  been  saying  to  her," 

"  She  never  forgets,"  returned  Caleb.  "  It 's  one  of  the 
few  things  she  an't  clever  in." 

"  Every  man  thinks  his  own  geese  swans,"  observed  the 
Toy  merchant,  with  a  shrug.      "  Poor  devil !  " 

Having  delivered  himself  of  which  remark,  with  infinite 
contempt,  old  Gruff  and  Tackleton  withdrew. 

Bertha  remained  where  he  had  left  her,  lost  in  meditation. 
The  gaiety  had  vanished  from  her  downcast  face,  and  it  was 
very  sad.  Three  or  four  times  she  shook  her  head,  as  if 
bewailing  some  remembrance  or  some  loss ;  but  her  sorrowful 
reflections  found  no  vent  in  words. 

It  was  not  until   Caleb   had  been  occupied,  some  time,  in 


THE    Cr.ICKET   ON    THE    HEARTH.  195 

yoking  a  team  of  horses  to  a  wagon  by  the  summary  process 
of  nailing  the  harness  to  the  vital  parts  of  their  bodies,  that 
she  drew  near  to  his  working-stool,  and  sitting  down  beside 
him,  said  : 

"  Father,  I  am  lonely  in  the  dark.  T  want  my  eyes,  my 
patient,  willing  eyes." 

"  Here  they  are,"  said  Caleb.  "  Mways  ready.  They  are 
more  yours  than  mine.  Bertha,  any  hour  in  the  four  and 
twenty.     What  shall  your  eyes  do  for  you,  dear?  " 

"  Look  round  the  room,  father." 

"  All  right,"  said  Caleb.  "  No  sooner  said  than  done, 
Bertha." 

"  Tell  me  about  it." 

"It's  much  the  same  as  usual,"  said  Caleb.  "Homely, 
but  very  snug.  The  gay  colours  on  the  walls ;  the  bright 
flowers  on  the  plates  and  dishes ;  the  shining  wood,  where 
tliere  are  beams  or  panels ;  the  general  cheerfulness  and 
neatness  of  the  building;  make  it  very  pretty." 

Cheerful  and  neat  it  was,  wherever  Bertha's  hands  could 
busy  themselves.  But  nowhere  else,  were  cheerfulness  and 
neatness  possible,  in  the  old  crazy  shed  which  Caleb's  fancy  so 
transformed. 

"You  have  your  working-dress  on,  and  are  not  so  gallant 
as  when  you  wear  the  handsome  coat  ?  "  said  Bertha,  touching 
him. 

"  Not  quite  so  gallant,"  answered  Caleb.  "Pretty  brisk, 
though." 

"Father,"  said  the  Blind  Girl,  drawing  close  to  his  side, 
and  stealing  one  harm  roimd  his  neck,  "  tell  me  something 
about  May.     She  is  very  fair?" 

"  She  is  indeed,"  said  Caleb.  And  she  was  indeed.  It 
was  quite  a  rare  thing  to  Caleb,  not  to  have  to  draw  on  his 
invention. 

"  Her  hair  is  dark,"  said  Bertha,  pensively,  "  darker  than 
mine.  Her  voice  is  sweet  and  musical,  I  know.  I  have 
often  loved  to  hear  it.     Her  .shape —  " 

"There's  not  a  Doll's  in  all  the  room  to  equal  it,"  said 
Caleb.      "  And  her  eyes  !  —  " 

He  stopped ;  for  Bortlia  had  drawn  closer  round  his  neck, 
and,  from  the  arm  that  clung  about  him,  came  a  warning 
pressiu'e  which  he  understood  too  well. 

He  coughed  a  moment,  hammered  for  a  moment,  and  then 


toa  THE    CRICKET    ON    THE   HEARTH. 

fell  back  upon  the  song  about  tbe  sparkling  bowl,  his  infallible 
resource  in  all  such  difficulties. 

"  Our  friend,  father,  our  benefactor.  I  am.  never  tired  you 
know  of  hearing  about  him. — Now,  was  I  ever  ?  "  she  said, 
hastily. 

"  Of  course  not,"  answered  Caleb,  "  and  with  reason." 

•'  Ah !  With  how  much  reason  !  "  cried  the  Blind  Girl. 
With  such  fervency,  that  Caleb,  though  his  motives  were  so 
pure,  could  not  endure  to  meet  her  face  ;  but  dropped  hia 
eyes,  as  if  she  could  have  read  in  them  his  innocent  deceit. 

"  Then  tell  me  again  about  him,  dear  father,"  said  Bertha. 
"  Many  times  again !  His  face  is  benevolent,  kind,  and 
tender.  Honest  and  true,  I  am  sure  it  is.  The  manly  heart 
that  tries  to  cloak  all  favors  with  a  show  of  roughness  and 
unwillingness,  beats  in  its  every  look  and  glance." 

"  And  makes  it  noble,"  added  Caleb,  in  his  quiet  despera- 
tion. 

"  And  makes  it  noble  ! "  cried  the  Blind  Girl.  "He  ia 
older  than  May,  father." 

"  Ye-es,"  said  Caleb,  reluctantly.  '  He 's  a  little  older 
than  May.     But  that  don't  signify." 

"  Oh  father,  yes  !  To  be  his  patient  companion  in  infirmity 
and  age ;  to  be  his  gentle  niu-se  in  sickness,  and  his  constant 
friend  in  suffering  and  sorrow  ;  to  know  no  weariness  in  work- 
ing for  his  sake  ;  to  watch  him,  tend  him,  sit  beside  his  bed 
and  talk  to  him  awake,  and  pray  for  him  asleep ;  what 
privileges  these  would  be  I  What  opportunities  for  proving 
aU  her  truth  and  her  devotion  to  liim  !  Would  she  do  all 
this,  dear  father  ?  " 

"  No  doubt  of  it,"  said  Caleb. 

"  I  love  her,  father  ;  I  can  love  her  from  my  soul !  "  ex- 
claimed the  Blind  Girl.  And  saying  so,  she  laid  her  poor 
blind  face  on  Caleb's  shoulder,  and  so  wept  and  wept,  that  he 
was  almost  sorry  to  have  brought  that  tearful  happiness  upon 
her. 

In  the  mean  time,  there  had  been  a  pretty  sharp  commotion 
at  John  Peerybingle's,  for,  little  Mrs.  Peeryb ingle  naturally 
couldn't  think  of  going  anywhere  without  the  Baby ;  and  to 
get  the  Baby  under  weigh,  took  time.  Not  that  there  was 
much  of  the  Baby,  speaking  of  it  as  a  thing  of  weight  and 
measure,  but,  there  was  a  vast  deal  to  do  about  and  about  it, 
and  it  all  had  to  be  done  by  easy  stages.      For  instancy 


THE    CRICKET   ON    THE    HKARTH.  197 

when  the  Baby  was  got  by  hook  and  by  crook,  to  a  certain 
point  of  dressing,  and  you  might  have  rationally  supposed  that 
another  touch  or  two  would  finish  him  off,  and  turn  him  out 
a  tip-top  Baby  challenging  the  world,  he  was  unexpectedly 
extinguished  in  a  flannel  cap,  and  hustled  off  to  bed ;  where 
he  simmered  (so  to  speak)  between  t\vo  blankets  for  the  best 
part  of  an  hour.  From  this  state  of  inaction  he  was  then 
recalled,  shining  very  much  and  roaring  violently,  to  partake 
of — well  ?  I  would  rather  say,  if  you  '11  permit  me  to  speak 
generally — of  a  slight  repast.  After  which,  he  went  to  sleep 
again.  Mrs.  Peerybingle  took  advantage  of  this  interval,  to 
make  herself  as  smart  in  a  small  way  as  ever  3'ou  saw  any- 
body in  aU  your  life  ;  and,  during  the  same  short  truce.  Miss 
Slowboy  insinuated  herself  into  a  spencer  of  a  fashion  so 
surprising  and  ingenious,  that  it  had  no  connection  with  her- 
self, or  anything  else  in  the  universe,  but  was  a  shrunken, 
dog's-eared,  independent  fact,  pursuing  its  lonely  course  with- 
out the  least  regard  to  anybody.  By  this  time,  the  Baby, 
being  all  alive  again,  was  invested,  by  the  united  efforts  of 
Mrs.  Peerybingle  and  Miss  Slowboy,  with  a  cream-coloured 
mantle  for  its  body,  and  a  sort  of  nankeen  raised-pie  for  its 
head ;  and  so  in  course  of  time  they  all  three  got  down  to 
tlie  door,  where  the  old  horse  had  already  taken  more  than 
the  full  value  of  his  day's  toll  out  of  the  Turnpike  Trust,  by 
tearing  up  the  road  with  his  impatient  autographs ;  and 
whence  Boxer  might  be  dimly  seen  in  the  remote  perspective, 
standing  looking  back,  and  tempting  him  to  come  on  without 
orders. 

As  to  a  chair,  or  anything  of  that  kind  for  helping  Mrs 
Peerybingle  into  the  cart,  you  know  very  little  of  John,  if  you 
think  that  was  necessary.  Before  you  could  have  seen  him 
lift  her  from  the  ground,  there  she  was  in  lier  place,  fresh 
and  rosy,  saying,  "  John  !   How  can  you  !   Think  of  Tilly  !  " 

If  I  might  be  allowed  to  mention  a  young  lady's  legs,  on 
any  terms,  I  would  observe  of  Miss  Slowboy's  that  then; 
was  a  fatality  about  them  which  rendered  them  singularly 
liable  to  be  grazed ;  and  that  she  never  effected  the  smallest 
ascent  or  desceut,  witliout  recording  the  circumstance  upon 
them  with  a  notch,  as  Robinson  Crusoe  marked  the  days  upon 
his  wooden  calendar.  But  as  this  might  be  considered  lui- 
genteel,  1  'U  think  of  it. 

"Jolui?     You've  t^ot  the  basket  with  the  Veal  and  T lam- 


193  THE    CRICKET   ON   THE    HEARTH. 

Pie  and  things,  and  tlie  bottles  of  Beer?  "  said  Dot.  "  If  you 
haven't,  you  must  turn  round  again,  this  very  minute." 

"You  're  a  nice  little  article,"  returned  the  Carrier,  "to  be 
talking  about  turning  round,  after  keeping  me  a  full  quarter 
of  an  hour  behind  my  time." 

"  I  am  sorry  for  it,  John  "  said  Dot  in  a  great  bustle, 
"  but  I  really  could  not  think  of  going  to  Bertha's — I  would 
not  do  it,  John,  on  any  account — without  the  Veal  and  Ham- 
Pie  and  things,  and  the  bottles  of  Beer.     Way  !  " 

This  monosyllable  was  addressed  to  the  horse,  who  didn't 
mind  it  at  aU. 

"  Oh  do  way,  John !  "  said  Mrs.  Peerybingle.   "  Please  !  " 

"  It  '11  be  time  enough  to  do  that,"  returned  John,  "  when  I 
begin  to  leave  things  behind  me.  The  basket's  here  safe 
enough." 

"'  What  a  hard-hearted  monster  you  must  be,  John,  not  to 
have  said  so,  at  once,  and  save  me  such  a  turn  !  I  declare  I 
wouldn't  go  to  Bertha's  without  the  Veal  and  Ham-Pie  and 
things,  and  the  bottles  of  Beer,  for  any  money.  Regularly 
once  a  fortnight  ever  since  we  have  been  married,  John,  have 
we  made  our  little  Pic-Nic  there.  If  anything  was  to  go 
wrong  with  it,  I  should  almost  think  we  were  never  to  be 
luckjr  again." 

"  It  was  a  kind  thought  in  the  first  instance,"  said  the 
Carrier;   "  and  I  honor  you  for  it,  little  woman." 

"  My  dear  John,"  replied  Dot,  turning  very  red,  "  Don't 
talk  about  honoring  me.     Good  Gracious  !  " 

"By  the  bye — "  observed  the  Carrier.  "  that  old  gentle- 
man,—  " 

Again  so  visibly  and  instantly  embarrassed ! 

"  He  's  an  odd  fish,"  said  the  Carrier,  looking  straight  along 
the  road  before  them.  "  I  can't  make  him  out.  I  don't 
believe  there  's  any  harm  in  him." 

"  None  at  all.      I  'm — I  'm  sure  there  's  none  at  all." 

"  Yes,"  said  the  Carrier,  with  his  eyes  attracted  to  her  face 
by  the  great  earnestness  of  her  manner.  "  I  am  glad  you 
feel  so  certain  of  it,  because  it 's  a  confirmation  to  me.  It 's 
curious  that  he  shoxild  have  taken  it  into  his  head  to  ask  leave 
to  go  on  lodging  with  us ;  ain't  it  ?  Things  come  about  so 
strangely." 

"  So  very  strangely,"  she  rejoined  in  a  low  voice,  scarcely 
audible. 


TUB    CRICK KT    ON    THE    HEARTH.  189 

"  However,  he's  a  good-natured  old  gentleman,"  said  John, 
"  and  pays  as  a  gentleman,  and  I  think  his  word  is  to  be  relied 
upon,  like  a  gentleman's.  I  had  quite  a  long  talk  with  him  this 
morning  :  he  can  hear  me  better  ah-eady,  he  says,  as  he  gets 
more  used  to  my  voice.  He  told  me  a  great  deal  about  him- 
self, and  I  told  him  a  good  deal  about  myself,  and  a  rare  lot 
of  questions  he  asked  me.  I  gave  him  information  about  my 
having  two  beats,  you  know,  in  my  business ;  one  day  to  the 
right  fi'om  oui'  liouse  and  back  again ;  another  day  to  the  left 
from  our  house  and  back  again  (for  he  's  a  stranger  and  don't 
know  the  names  of  places  about  here)  ;  and  he  seemed  quite 
pleased.  '  Why,  then  I  shall  be  returning  home  to-night  your 
way,'  he  says,  '  when  I  thought  you  'd  be  coming  in  an  exactly 
opposite  direction.  That 's  capital !  I  may  trouble  you  for 
another  lift  perhaps,  but  I  '11  engage  not  to  fall  so  sound  asleep 
again.'  He  was  sound  asleep,  sure-ly ! — Dot !  what  are  you 
thinking  of  ?" 

"  Thinking  of,  John  ?     I — I  was  listening  to  you." 

"  O  !  That 's  aU  right  I  "  said  the  honest  Carrier.  "  I  was 
afraid,  from  the  look  of  your  face,  that  I  had  gone  rambling 
on  so  long,  as  to  set  you  thinking  about  something  else.  I 
was  very  near  it,  I  '11  be  bound." 

Dot  making  no  reply,  they  jogged  on,  for  some  little  time, 
in  silence.  But,  it  was  not  easy  to  remain  silent  very  long 
in  John  Peerybingle's  cart,  for  everybody  on  the  road  had 
something  to  say.  Though  it  might  only  be  "  how  are  you  ! " 
and  indeed  it  was  very  often  nothing  else,  still,  to  give  tliat 
back  again  in  the  right  spirit  of  cordiality,  required,  not  merely 
a  nod  and  a  smile,  but  as  wholesome  an  action  of  the  lungs 
withal,  as  a  long-winded  Parliamentary  speech.  Sometimes, 
passengers  on  foot,  or  horseback,  plodded  on  a  little  way 
beside  the  cart,  for  the  express  purpose  of  having  a  chat ; 
and  then  there  was  a  great  deal  to  be  said,  on  both  sides. 

Then,  Boxer  gave  occasion  to  more  good-natured  recog- 
nitions of,  and  by,  the  Carrier,  than  half  a  dozen  Christians 
could  have  done  !  Everybody  knew  him,  all  along  the  road — 
especially  the  fowls  and  pigs,  who  when  they  saw  hiui 
approaching,  with  his  body  all  on  one  side,  and  his  ears  pricked 
up  inquisitively,  and  that  knob  of  a  tail  making  the  most  of 
itself  in  the  air,  immediately  witlidrew  into  remote  back 
settlements,  without  waiting  for  the  honor  of  a  nearer 
acquaintance.     He  had  business  every  where ;  going  down  all 


200  THE   CRICKET   ON  THE   HEARTH. 

the  turnings,  looking  into  all  the  wells,  bolting  in  and  out  of 
all  the  cottages,  dashing  into  the  midst  of  all  the  Dame- 
Schools,  fluttering  all  the  pigeons,  magnifying  the  tails  of  all 
the  cats,  and  trotting  into  the  public-houses  like  a  regular 
customer.  Wherever  he  went,  somebody  or  other  might 
have  been  heard  to  cry,  "  HaUoa  !  Here  's  Boxer  !  "  and  out 
i;u,me  that  somebody  forthwith,  accompanied  by  at  least  two 
or  three  other  somebodies,  to  give  John  Peerybingle  and  hia 
pretty  wife.  Good  Day. 

The  packages  and  parcels  for  the  errand  cart,  were  numerous ; 
and  there  were  many  stoppages  to  take  them  in  and  give  them 
out,  which  were  not  by  any  means  the  worst  parts  of  the 
journey.  Some  people  were  so  full  of  expectation  about  their 
parcels,  and  other  people  were  so  full  of  wonder  about  their 
parcels,  and  other  people  were  so  full  of  inexhaustible 
directions  about  their  parcels,  and  John  had  such  a  lively 
interest  in  ail  the  parcels,  that  it  was  as  good  as  a  play.  Like- 
wise, there  were  articles  to  carry,  which  required  to  be 
considered  and  discussed,  and  in  reference  to  the  adjustment 
and  disposition  of  which,  councils  had  to  be  liolden  by  the 
Carrier  and  tlie  senders :  at  which  Boxer  usually  assisted,  in 
short  fits  of  the  closest  attention,  and  long  fits  of  tearing 
round  and  round  the  assembled  sages  and  barking  himself 
hoarse.  Of  all  these  little  incidents.  Dot  was  the  amused  and 
opened-eyed  spectatress  from  her  chair  in  the  cart ;  and  as 
she  sat  there,  looking  on — a  charming  little  portrait  framed 
to  admiration  by  the  tilt- — there  was  no  lack  of  nudgings  and 
glancings  and  whisperings  and  envyings  among  the  younger 
men.  And  this  delighted  John  the  Carrier,  beyond  measure;  for 
he  was  proud  to  have  his  little  wife  admired,  knowing  that 
she  didn't  mind  it — that,  if  anything,  she  rather  liked  it 
perhaps. 

The  trip  was  a  little  foggy,  to  be  sure,  in  the  January 
weather ;  and  was  raw  and  cold.  But  who  cared  for  such 
trifles  ?  Not  Dot,  decidedly.  Not  Tilly  Slowboy,  for  she 
deemed  sitting  in  a  cart,  on  any  terms,  to  be  the  highest  point 
of  human  joys  ;  the  crowning  circumstance  of  eartlily  hopes. 
Not  the  Baby,  I  '11  be  sworn ;  for  it 's  not  in  Baby  nature  to 
be  warmer  or  more  sound  asleep,  though  its  capacity  is  great 
in  both  respects,  than  that  blessed  young  Peerybingle  was,  all 
the  way. 

You  couldn't  see  very  far  in  the  fog,  of  course  ;  but  you 


THE   CRICKEi'   ON   TUE   HEARTH.  201 

oould  see  a  great  deal !  It 's  astonishing  how  much  you  may 
see,  in  a  thicker  fog  than  that,  if  you  will  only  take  the 
trouble  to  look  for  it.  Why,  even  to  sit  watching  for  the 
Fairy-rings  in  the  fields,  and  for  the  patches  of  hoar-frost  stiU 
fingering  in  the  shade,  near  hedges  and  by  trees,  was  a 
pleasant  occupation,  to  make  no  mention  of  the  unexpected 
shapes  in  which  the  trees  themselves  came  starting  out  of  the 
mist,  and  glided  into  it  again.  The  hedges  were  tangled  and 
bare,  and  waved  a  multitude  of  blighted  garlands  in  the  wind; 
but,  there  was  no  discouragement  in  this.  It  was  agreeable 
to  contemplate ;  for,  it  made  the  fireside  warmer'  in  possession, 
and  the  summer  greener  in  expectancy.  The  river  looked 
chilly ;  but  it  was  in  motion,  and  moving  at  a  good  pace — 
which  was  a  great  point.  The  canal  was  rather  slow  and 
torpid ;  that  must  be  admitted.  Never  mind.  It  would 
freeze  the  sooner  when  the  frost  set  fairly  in,  and  then  there 
would  be  skating,  and  sliding;  and  the  heavy  old  barges, 
frozen  up  somewhere  near  a  wharf,  would  smoke  their  rusty 
iron  chimney  pipes  all  day,  and  have  a  lazy  time  of  it. 

In  one  place,  there  was  a  great  mound  of  weeds  or  stubble 
burning ;  and  they  watched  the  fire,  so  white  in  the  day  time, 
flaring  through  the  fog,  with  only  here  and  there  a  dash  of 
red  in  it,  until,  in  consequence  as  she  observed  of  the  smoke 
"  getting  up  her  nose,"  Miss  Slowboy  choked — she  could  do 
an3'thing  of  that  sort,  on  the  smallest  provocation — and  woke 
the  Baby,  who  wouldn't  go  to  sleep  again.  But,  Boxer,  who 
was  in  advance  some  quarter  of  a  mile  or  so,  had  already 
passed  the  outposts  of  the  town,  and  gained  the  corner  of  the 
street  where  Caleb  and  his  daughter  lived ;  and  long  before 
they  had  reached  the  door,  he  and  the  BKnd  Girl  were  on  the 
pavement  waiting  to  receive  them. 

Boxer,  l)y  the  way,  made  certain  delicate  distinctions  of  his 
ovra,  in  his  communication  with  Bertha,  which  persuade  me 
fully  that  he  knew  her  to  be  blind.  He  never  sought  to 
attract  her  attention  by  looking  at  her,  as  he  often  did  with 
other  people,  but  touched  lier  invariably.  What  experience 
he  could  ever  have  had  of  blind  people  or  blind  dogs  I  don't 
know.  lie  had  never  lived  with  a  blind  master ;  nor  had 
Mr.  Boxer  the  older,  nor  Mrs.  Boxer,  nor  any  of  his  respect 
able  family  on  either  side,  ever  been  visited  with  bliuduessj 
that  1  am  aware  of.  He  may  have  found  it  out  for  liiinself, 
perhaps,  but  he  hud  got  h<  ilil  of  it  sc  mehow  j  and  therefui-e 


202  THE   CRICKET   ON   THE   HEARTH. 

he  had  hold  of  Bertha  too,  by  the  skirt,  and  kept  hold,  until 
Mrs.  Peerybingle  and  the  Baby,  and  Miss  Slowboy,  and  the 
ba.sket,  were  all  got  safely  within  doors. 

May  Fielding  was  ak-eady  come ;  and  so  was  her  mother — ■ 
a  little  queridous  chip  of  an  old  lady  with  a  peevish  face, 
who,  in  right  of  having  preserved  a  waist  like  a  bed-post,  waa 
supposed  to  be  a  most  transcendant  figure ;  and  who,  iu 
consequence  of  having  once  been  better  off,  or  of  labouring 
under  an  impression  that  she  might  have  been,  if  something 
had  happened  which  never  did  happen,  and  seemed  to  have 
never  been  particularly  likely  to  come  to  pass — but  it 's  all 
the  same — was  very  genteel  and  patronising  indeed.  Gruff 
and  Tackleton  was  also  there,  doing  the  agreeable,  with  the 
evident  sensation  of  being  as  perfectly  at  home,  and  as 
unquestionably  in  his  own  element,  as  a  fresh  young  salmon 
on  the  top  of  the  Great  Pyramid. 

"  May  !  My  dear  old  friend  !  "  cried  Dot,  running  up  to 
meet  her.      "  What  a  happiness  to  see  you  !  " 

Her  old  friend  was,  to  the  fidl,  as  hearty  and  as  glad  as 
she  ;  and  it  really  was,  if  you  '11  believe  me,  quite  a  pleasant 
sight  to  see  them  embrace.  Tackleton  was  a  man  of  taste, 
beyond  all  question.     May  was  very  pretty. 

You  know  sometimes,  when  you  are  used  to  a  pretty  face, 
how,  when  it  comes  into  contact  and  comparison,  with  another 
pretty  face,  it  seems  for  the  moment  to  be  homely  and  faded, 
and  hardly  to  deserve  the  high  opinion  you  have  had  of  it. 
Now,  this  was  not  at  all  the  case,  either  with  Dot  or  May ; 
for  May's  face  set  off  Dot's  and  Dot's  face  set  off  May's,  so 
naturally  and  agreeably,  that,  as  John  Peerybingle  ■wfas  very 
near  saying  when  he  came  into  the  room,  they  ought  to  have 
been  born  sisters  —  which  was  the  only  improvement  you 
coidd  have  suggested. 

Tackleton  had  brought  his  leg  of  mutton,  and,  wonderful  to 
relate,  a  tart  besides — but  we  don't  mind  a  little  dissipation 
when  our  brides  are  in  the  case ;  we  don't  get  married  every 
day — and  in  addition  to  these  dainties,  there  were  the  Veal 
and  Ham-Pie,  and  "  things,"  as  Mrs.  Peerybingle  called 
tliem ;  which  were  chiefly  nuts  and  oranges,  and  cakes,  and 
such  small  deer.  When  the  repast  was  set  forth  on  the 
board,  flanked  by  Caleb's  contribution,  which  was  a  great 
wooden  bowl  of  smoking  potatoes  (he  was  prohibited,  by 
solemn  compact,  from  producing  any  other  viands),  Tackleton 


THE   CRICKET   ON   THE   HEARTH.  203 

led  his  intended  mother-in-law  to  the  post  of  honour.  For 
the  better  gracing  of  this  place  at  the  high  festival,  the 
majestic  old  soul  had  adorned  herself  with  a  cap,  calculated  to 
inspire  the  thoughtless  with  sentiments  of  awe.  She  also 
wore  her  gloves.     But  let  us  be  genteel,  or  die  ! 

Caleb  sat  next  his  daughter  ;  Dot  and  her  old  schoolfellow 
were  side  by  side ;  the  good  Carrier  took  care  of  the  bottom 
of  the  table.  Miss  Slowboy  was  isolated,  for  the  time  being, 
from  every  article  of  fui'niture  but  the  chair  she  sat  on,  that 
she  might  have  nothing  else  to  knock  the  Baby's  head  against. 

As  Tilly  stared  about  her  at  the  dolls  and  toys,  they  stared 
at  her  and  at  the  company.  The  venerable  old  gentlemen  at 
the  street  doors  (who  were  all  in  full  action)  showed  especial 
Laterest  in  the  party,  pausing  occasionally  before  leaping,  a8 
if  they  were  Kstening  to  the  conversation,  and  then  plunging 
■wildly  over  and  over,  a  great  many  times,  without  halting  for 
breath — as  in  a  frantic  state  of  delight  with  the  whole  pro- 
ceedings. 

Certainly,  if  these  old  gentlemen  were  inclined  to  have  a 
fiendish  joy  in  the  contemplation  of  Tackleton's  discomfiture, 
they  had  good  reason  to  be  satisfied.  Tackleton  couldn't  get 
on  at  all ;  and  the  more  cheerful  his  intended  bride  became 
in  Dot's  society,  the  less  he  liked  it,  though  he  had  brought 
them  together  for  that  purpose.  For  he  was  a  regular  dog 
in  the  manger,  was  Tackleton ;  and  when  they  laughed  and 
he  couldn't,  he  took  it  into  his  head,  immediately,  that  they 
must  be  laughing  at  him. 

"Ah  May!  "  said  Dot.  "Dear  dear,  what  changes  !  To 
talk  of  those  merry  school-days  makes  one  young  again." 

"  Why,  you  an't  particularly  old,  at  any  time ;  are  you?  " 
said  Tackleton. 

"  Look  at  my  sober,  plodding  husband  there,"  returned 
Dot.  "  He  adds  twenty  years  to  my  age  at  least.  Don't  you, 
John  ?  " 

"  Forty,"  John  replied. 

"How  many  you  'U  add  to  May's,  I  am  sure  I  don't  know," 
said  Dot,  laughing.  "  But  she  can't  be  much  less  than  a 
hundred  years  of  age  on  her  next  birthday." 

"  Ha  ha  !  "  laughed  Tackleton.  Hollow  as  a  drum  that 
laugh  though.  And  he  looked  as  if  he  could  have  twisted 
Dot's  neck,  comfortably. 

"  Dear  dear !  "  said  Dot.     "  Only  to  remember  how  we 


204  THE    CRICKET   ON   THE    IlEARTH. 

used  to  talk,  at  school,  about  the  hushands  we  would  choose, 
[  don't  know  how  young,  and  how  handsome,  and  how  gay, 
and  how  lively,  mine  was  not  to  be  !  And  as  to  May's ! — Ah 
dear !  I  don't  know  whether  to  laugh  or  cry,  when  I  think 
what  silly  girls  we  were." 

May  seemed  to  know  which  to  do  ;  for  the  colour  flashed 
into  her  face,  and  tears  stood  in  her  eyes. 

"  Even  the  very  persons  themselves — real  live  young  men 
— we  fixed  on  sometimes,"  said  Dot.  "  We  little  thought 
how  things  would  come  about.  I  never  fixed  on  John  I  'm 
sure  ;  I  never  so  much  as  thought  of  him.  And  if  I  had  told 
you,  you  were  ever  to  be  married  to  Mr.  Tackleton,  why  you  'd 
have  slapped  me.     Wouldn't  you  May  ?  " 

Though  May  didn't  say  yes,  she  certainly  didn't  say  no,  or 
express  no,  by  any  means. 

Tackleton  laughed' — quite  shouted,  he  laughed  so  loud. 
John  Peerybingle  laughed  too,  in  his  ordinary  good-natured 
and  contented  manner ;  but  his  was  a  mere  whisper  of  a 
laugh,  to  Tackleton' s. 

"  You  couldn't  help  yourselves,  for  all  that.  You  couldn't 
resist  us,  you  see,"  said  Tackleton.  "  Here  we  are  !  Here 
we  are  !     Where  are  your  gay  young  bridegrooms  now  !  " 

"  Some  of  them  are  dead,"  said  Dot ;  "  and  some  of  them 
forgotten.  Some  of  them,  if  they  could  stand  among  us  at 
this  moment,  would  not  believe  we  were  the  same  creatures ; 
would  not  believe  that  what  they  saw  and  heard  was  real,  and 
we  could  forget  them  so.  No !  they  would  not  believe  one 
word  of  it !  " 

"  Why,  Dot !  "  exclaimed  the  Carrier.      "  Little  woman  !  " 

She  had  spoken  with  such  earnestness  and  fire,  that  she 
stood  in  need  of  some  recalling  to  herself,  without  doubt. 
Her  husband's  check  was  very  gentle,  for  he  merely  interfered, 
as  he  supposed,  to  shield  old  Tackleton ;  but  it  proved 
efi'ectual,  for  she  stopped,  and  said  no  more.  There  was  an 
uncommon  agitation,  even  in  her  silence,  which  the  wary 
Tackleton,  wlio  had  brought  his  half-shut  eye  to  bear  upon 
her,  noted  closely,  and  remembered  to  some  purpose  too. 

May  uttered  no  word,  good  or  bad,  but  sat  quite  still,  with 
her  ej'es  cast  down,  and  made  no  sign  of  interest  in  what  had 
passed.  The  good  lady  her  mother  now  interposed,  observing, 
in  the  first  instance,  that  girls  were  girls,  and  byegones 
byegonoe,  and  that  so  long  as  j'oung  people  were  young  and 


TUR    CRICKET    ON    THE    HEARTIf.  206 

thoughtless,  they  would  probably  conduct  themselves  like 
young  and  thoughtless  persons :  with  two  or  three  other 
positions  of  a  no  less  sound  and  incontrovertible  character. 
She  then  remarked,  in  a  devout  spirit,  that  she  thanked 
Heaven  she  had  always  found  in  her  daughter  May,  a  dutiful 
and  obedient  child :  for  wliich  she  took  iio  credit  to  herself, 
though  she  had  every  reason  to  believe  it  was  entirely  owing 
to  herself.  With  regard  to  Mr.  Tackleton  she  said,  That  he 
was  in  a  moral  point  of  view  an  undeniable  individual,  and 
That  he  was  in  an  eligible  point  of  view  a  son-in-law  to  be 
desired,  no  one  in  their  senses  could  doubt.  (She  was  very 
emphatic  here.)  With  regard  to  the  family  into  which  he 
was  so  soon  about,  after  some  soHcitation,  to  be  admitted,  she 
believed  Mr.  Tackleton  knew  that,  although  reduced  in  purse, 
it  had  some  pretentions  to  gentility;  and  that  if  certaiii 
circumstances,  not  wholly  unconnected,  she  would  go  so  far  as 
to  say,  with  the  Indigo  Trade,  but  to  which  she  would  not 
more  particularly  refer,  had  happened  differently,  it  might 
perhaps  have  been  in  possession  of  wealth.  She  then 
remarked  that  she  would  not  allude  to  the  past,  and  would  not 
mention  that  her  daughter  had  for  some  time  rejected  the 
suit  of  Mr.  Tackleton ;  and  that  she  would  not  say  a  great 
many  other  things  which  she  did  say,  at  great  lengtli. 
Finally,  she  delivered  it  as  the  general  result  of  her  observa- 
tion and  experience,  that  those  marriages  in  which  there  was 
least  of  what  was  romantically  and  sillily  called  love,  were 
always  the  happiest ;  and  that  she  anticipated  the  greatest 
possible  amount  of  bliss — not  rapturous  bliss ;  but  the  solid, 
steady-going  article  —  fi-om  the  approaching  nuptials.  She 
concluded  by  informing  the  company  that  to-morrow  was  the 
day  she  had  lived  for  expressly ;  and  that  •when  it  was  over, 
she  would  desire  nothing  better  than  to  be  packed  up  and 
disposed  of,  in  any  genteel  place  of  burial. 

As  these  remarks  were  quite  imanswera1)le — which  is  the 
happy  property  of  all  remarks  that  are  sufficiently  wiile  of  the 
purpose — they  changed  the  current  of  the  conversation,  and 
diverted  the  general  attention  to  the  Veal  and  Ham-Pie,  the 
cold  mutton,  the  potatoes,  and  the  tart.  In  order  that  the 
bottled  beer  might  not  be  slighted,  John  Peerybingle  proposed 
To-morrow :  the  Wedding-Day ;  and  called  upon  them  to 
drink  a  bumper  to  it,  before  he  proceeded  on  his  journey. 

For  you  ought  to  know  that  he  only  rest^^d  tliere,  and  gave 


20G  THE   CRICKET   ON   THE   HEARTH. 

the  old  horse  a  bait.  He  had  to  go  some  four  or  five  milea 
farther  on ;  and  when  he  returned  in  the  evening,  he  called 
for  Dot,  and  took  another  rest  on  his  way  home.  This  was 
the  order  of  the  day  on  all  the  Pic-Nic  occasions,  and  had 
been,  ever  since  their  institution. 

There  were  two  persons  present,  besides  the  bride  and 
bridegroom  elect,  who  did  but  indifferent  honour  to  the  toast. 
One  of  these  was  Dot,  too  flushed  and  discomposed  to  adapt 
herself  to  any  small  occurrence  of  the  moment ;  the  other. 
Bertha,  who  rose  up  hurriedly  before  the  rest,  and  left  the  table. 

"  Good  bye  !  "  said  stout  John  Peerybingle,  pulling  on  his 
dreadnought  coat.  "  I  shall  be  back  at  the  old  time.  Good 
bye  an !  " 

"  Good  bye  John,"  returned  Caleb. 

He  seemed  to  say  it  by  rote,  and  to  wave  his  hand  in  the 
same  unconscious  manner ;  for  he  stood  observing  Bertha  with 
an  anxious  wondering  face,  that  never  altered  its  expression. 

"  Good  bye  young  shaver  !  "  said  the  Jolly  Carrier,  bending 
down  to  kiss  the  child  ;  which  Tilly  Slowboy,  now  intent  upon 
her  knife  and  fork,  had  deposited  asleep  (and  strange  to  say, 
without  damage)  in  a  little  cot  of  Bertha's  furnishing;  "good 
bye  !  Time  will  come,  I  suppose,  "when  you  '11  turn  out  into 
the  cold,  my  little  friend,  and  leave  your  old  father  to  enjoy 
his  pipe  and  his  rheumatics  in  the  chimney-corner ;  eh '? 
Where  's  Dot  ?  " 

"  I  'm  here  John  !  "  she  said,  starting. 

"  Come,  come  !  "  returned  the  carrier,  clapping  his  sounding 
hands. 

"  Where  's  the  pipe  ?  " 

"  I  quite  forgot  the  pipe,  John." 

Forgot  the  pipe  !  Was  such  a  wonder  ever  heard  of !  She  ! 
Forgot  the  pipe  ! 

"  I  'U—I  'U  fill  it  directly.     It 's  soon  done." 

But  it  was  not  so  soon  done,  either.  It  lay  in  the  usual 
place — the  Carrier's  dreadnought  pocket — with  tlie  little  pouch, 
her  own  work,  from  which  she  was  used  to  fill  it ;  but  her 
hand  shook  so,  that  she  entangled  it  (and  yet  her  hand  was 
small  enough  to  have  come  out  easily,  I  am  sure),  and  bungled 
terrilily.  The  filling  of  the  pipe  and  lighting  it,  those  little 
offices  in  which  I  have  commended  her  discretion,  were  vilely 
done  from  first  to  last.  During  tlie  whole  process,  Tackleton 
S-ood  looking  on  maliciously  with  the  half-closed  eye ;   which, 


TEE    CRICKET    ON   THE    HEARTH.  207 

whenever  it  met  hers — or  caught  it,  for  it  can  hardly  be  said 
to  have  ever  met  another  eye  :  rather  being  a  kind  of  trap  to 
snatch  it  up — augmented  her  confusion  in  a  most  remarkable 
degree. 

"■"Why,  what  a  clumsy  Dot  you  are,  this  afternoon  !  "  said 
John.      "  I  could  have  done  it  better  myself,  I  verily  believe  !  " 

With  these  good-natured  words,  he  strode  away,  and 
presently  was  heard,  in  company  with  Boxer,  and  the  old  horse, 
and  the  cart,  making  lively  music  down  the  road.  What  time 
the  dreamy  Caleb  still  stood,  watching  his  bKnd  daughter, 
with  the  same  expression  on  his  face. 

'  "Bertha!"  said  CtJeb,  softly.  "  TNTiat  has  happened? 
How  changed  you  are,  my  darling,  in  a  few  hours — since  this 
morning.  You  silent  and  dull  all  day  !  What  is  it  ?  Tell 
me  ! " 

"Oh  father,  father!"  cried  the  Blind  Girl,  bursting  into 
tears.      "  Oh  my  hard,  hard  fate  !  " 

Caleb  drew  his  hand  across  his  eyes  before  he  answered  her. 

"But  think  how  cheerful  and  how  happy  you  have  been, 
Bertha !     How  good,  and  how  much  loved,  by  many  people." 

"  That  strikes  me  to  the  heart,  dear  father  !  Always  so 
mindful  of  me  !     Always  so  kind  to  me  !  " 

Caleb  was  very  much  perplexed  to  understand  her. 

"To  be— to  be  bHnd,  Bertha,  my  poor  dear,"  he  faltered, 
"is  a  great  affliction;  but " 

"  I  have  never  felt  it !  "  cried  the  Blind  Girl.  "  I  havo 
never  felt  it,  in  its  fullness.  Never !  I  havp  sometimes 
wished  that  I  could  see  you,  or  could  see  him — only  once, 
dear  father,  only  for  one  little  minute — that  I  might  know 
what  it  is  I  treasure  up,"  sh'>  laid  her  hands  upon  her 
breast,  "and  hold  here !  That  I  might  be  sure  I  have  it 
right !  And  sometimes  (but  tlien  I  was  a  child)  I  have  wept, 
in  my  prayers  at  night,  to  tliink  that  when  your  images 
ascended  from  my  heart  to  Heaven,  they  might  not  be  the 
true  resemblance  of  yourselves.  But  I  have  never  had  these 
feelings  long.  They  have  passed  away,  and  left  me  tranquil 
and  contented." 

"  And  they  will  again,"  said  Caleb. 

"  But  fatlier !  Oh  my  good  gentle  father,  bear  with  me,  if 
1  am  wi<;ked  !  "  said  the  Hliud  Girl.  "  This  is  not  the  sorrow 
that  80  weighs  me  down  !  " 

Her  father  could  not  choose  but  let  his  moist  eyes  overflow  j 


208  TUE   CRICKET   ON   THE    HEARTH. 

she  was  so  earnest  and  pathetic.  But  lie  did  not  understand 
her,  yet. 

"  Bring  her  to  me,"  said  Bertha.  "  I  cannot  hold  it  closed 
and  shut  within  myself.     Bring  her  to  me,  father  !  " 

She  knew  he  hesitated,  and  said,  "  May.      Bring  May !  " 

May  heard  the  mention  of  her  name,  and  coming  quietly 
towards  her,  touched  her  on  the  arm.  The  Blind  Girl  turned 
immediately,  and  held  her  by  both  hands. 

"  Look  into  my  face,  Dear  heart,  Sweet  heart  I "  said 
Bertha.  "  Read  it  with  your  beautiful  eyes,  and  tell  me  if 
the  truth  is  written  on  it." 

"  Dear  Bertha,  jes  I  " 

The  Blind  Girl,  stiU  upturning  the  blank  sightless  face, 
down  which  the  tears  were  coursing  fast,  addressed  her  in 
these  words  : 

"  There  is  not,  in  my  soul,  a  wish  or  thought  that  is  not  for 
your  good,  bright  May  !  There  is  not,  in  my  soul,  a  grateful 
recollection  stronger  than  the  deep  remembrance  which  is 
stored  there,  of  the  many  many  times  when,  in  the  full  pride 
of  eight  and  beauty,  you  have  had  consideration  for  Blind 
Bertha,  even  when  we  two  were  children,  or  when  Bertha  was 
as  much  a  child  as  ever  blindness  can  be  !  Every  blessing  on 
your  head  !  Light  upon  your  happy  course  !  Not  the  less, 
my  dear  May ;  "  and  she  drew  towards  her,  in  a  closer  grasp  ; 
"not  the  less,  my  bird,  because,  to- day,  the  knowledge  that 
you  are  to  be  His  wife  has  wrung  my  heart  almost  to  break- 
ing !  Father,  INIay,  Mary  !  oh  forgive  me  that  it  is  so,  for 
the  sake  of  all  he  has  done  to  relieve  the  weariness  of  my  dark 
life  :  and  for  the  sake  of  the  belief  you  have  in  me,  when  I 
caU  Heaven  to  witness  that  I  could  not  wish  him  married  to 
a  wife  more  worthy  of  his  goodness  !  " 

While  speaking,  she  had  released  May  Fielding's  hands, 
and  clasped  her  garments  in  an  attitude  of  mingled  supplica- 
tion  and  love.  Sinking  lower  and  lower  down,  as  she  pro- 
ceeded in  her  sti-ange  confession,  she  dropped  at  last  at  the 
feet  of  her  friend,  and  hid  her  blind  face  in  the  folds  of  her 
dress. 

"  Great  Power!  "  exclaimed  her  father,  smitten  at  one  blow 
with  the  truth,  "have  I  deceived  her  from  her  cradle,  but  to 
break  her  heart  at  last !  " 

It  was  well  for  aU  of  them  that  Dot,  that  beaming,  useful, 
busy  little   Dot; — for  such  she  was,  whatever  faidts  she  had. 


MES.    FIELDING    IMPROVES    THE    OCCASION. 


TDE    CRICKKT    OX   THE    IIEARXn.  209 

and  hoAvever  you  may  learn  to  hate  her,  in  good  time  —it  was 
weU  for  all  of  them,  I  say,  that  she  was  there:  or  where  tliis 
would  have  ended,  it  were  hard  to  teU.  But  Dot,  recovering 
her  self-possession,  interposed,  before  May  could  reply,  or 
Caleb  say  another  word. 

"  Come  come,  dear  Bertha  !  come  away  ■wdth  mo  !  Give 
her  your  arm,  May.  So !  How  composed  she  is,  you  see, 
already  ;  and  how  good  it  is  of  her  to  mind  us,"  said  the 
cheer}'  little  woman,  kissing  her  upon  the  forehead.  "  Come 
away,  dear  Bertha.  Come  !  and  here  's  her  good  father  will 
come  with  her;  won't  you,  Caleb  ?     To — be — sure  I  " 

WeU,  well !  she  was  a  noble  little  Dot  in  such  things,  and 
it  must  have  been  an  obdurate  nature  that  could  have  with- 
stood her  influence.  When  she  had  got  poor  Caleb  and  his 
Bertha  away,  that  they  might  comfort  and  console  each  other, 
as  she  knew  they  only  could,  she  presently  came  bouncing 
back, — the  saying  is,  as  fresh  as  any  daisy ;  I  say  fresher — 
to  mount  guard  over  that  bridling  little  piece  of  consequence 
in  the  cap  and  gloves  and  prevent  the  dear  old  creature  from 
making  discoveries. 

"  So  bring  me  the  precious  Baby,  Tilly,"  said  she,  drawing 
a  chair  to  the  fire  ;  "  and  while  I  have  it  in  my  lap,  here  't=. 
Mrs.  Fielding,  Tilly,  will  tell  me  all  about  the  management 
of  Babies,  and  put  me  right  in  twenty  points  where  I  'm  as 
wrong  as  can  be.     Won't  you,  Mrs.  Fielding  ?  " 

Not  even  the  Welsh  Giant,  who,  according  to  the  popular 
expression,  was  so  "  slow "  as  to  perform  a  fatal  surgical 
operation  upon  himself,  in  emulation  of  a  juggling-trick 
achieved  by  his  arch  enemy  at  breakfast-time  ;  not  even 
he  fell  half  so  readily  into  the  snare  prepared  for  him, 
as  the  old  lady  into  this  artful  pitfall.  The  fact  of  Tackle- 
ton  having  wallied  out ;  and  furthermore,  of  two  or  three 
people  having  been  talking  together  at  a  distance,  for  two 
minutes,  leaving  her  to  her  own  resources ;  was  quite 
enough  to  have  put  her  on  her  dignity,  and  the  bewailment 
of  that  mysterious  convidsion  in  the  Indigo  trade,  for  four-and- 
twenty  hours.  But  this  becoming  deference  to  her  experience, 
on  tlie  part  of  the  young  mother,  was  so  irresistible,  that  after 
a  short  affectation  of  humility,  she  began  to  enligliten  her  with 
the  best  grace  in  the  world ;  and  sitting  bolt  upright  before 
the  wicked  Dot,  she  did,  in  half  an  hoiir,  deliver  more  infallible 
domestic  recipes  and  precej)ts,  than  would  (if  acted  on)  have 

p 


210  THE    rrilCKET    ON   THE    HEARTH. 

iitterlj'  destroyed  aud  done  up  that  Young  Peerybingle,  thougli 
he  had  been  an  Infant  Samson. 

To  change  the  theme,  Dot  did  a  little  needlework — she 
carried  the  contents  of  a  whole  workbox  in  her  pocket ;  how- 
ever she  contrived  it,  /  don't  know — then  did  a  little  nursing  ; 
then  a  little  more  needlework ;  tlien  had  a  little  whispering 
chat  with  May,  while  the  old  lady  dozed ;  and  so  in  little 
bits  of  bustle,  which  was  quite  her  manner  always,  found  it  a 
very  short  afternoon.  Then,  as  it  grew  dark,  and  as  it  was 
a  solemn  part  of  this  Institution  of  the  Pic-Nic  that  she  should 
perform  all  Bertha's  household  tasks,  she  trimmed  the  fire, 
and  swept  the  hearth,  and  set  the  tea-board  out,  and  drew  the 
curtain,  and  lighted  a  candle.  Then,  she  played  an  air  or 
two  on  a  rude  kind  of  harp,  which  Caleb  had  contrived  for 
Bertha,  and  played  them  very  well ;  for  Nature  liad  made  her 
delicate  little  ear  as  choice  a  one  for  music  as  it  woidd  have 
been  for  jewels,  if  she  had  had  any  to  wear.  By  this  time  it 
was  the  establislied  liour  for  having  tea ;  and  Tackleton  came 
back  again,  to  share  the  nteal,  and  spend  the  evening. 

Caleb  and  Bertha  had  returned  some  time  before,  and 
Caleb  had  sat  down  to  his  afternoon's  work.  But  he  couldn't 
settle  to  it,  poor  fellow,  being  anxious  and  remorseful  for 
his  daughter.  It  was  touching  to  see  him  sitting  idle  on 
his  working  stool,  regarding  her  so  wistfidly,  and  always 
saying  in  his  face,  "  Have  I  deceived  her  from  her  cradle, 
but  to  break  her  heart !  " 

When  it  was  night,  and  tea  was  done,  and  Dot  had 
nothing  more  to  do  in  washing  up  the  cups  and  saucers ; 
in  a  word — for  I  must  come  to  it,  and  there  is  no  use 
in  piitting  it  off — when  the  time  drew  nigh  for  expecting 
the  Carrier's  return  in  every  sound  of  distant  wheels,  her 
manner  changed  again,  her  colour  came  and  went,  and  slie 
was  very  restless.  Not  as  good  wives  are,  Avhen  listening  for 
tlieir  husbands.  No,  no,  no.  It  was  another  sort  of  restless- 
ness fi'om  that. 

Wheels  heard.  A  horse's  feet.  The  barking  of  a  dog. 
The  gradual  approach  of  aU  the  sounds.  The  scratching  paw 
of  Boxer  at  the  door  ! 

"Whose  step  is  that  I  "  cried  Bertha,  starting  up. 

"Whose  step?"  returned  the  Carrier,  standing  in  the 
poi-tal,  with  his  brown  face  ruddy  a,s  a  winter  berry  from  the 
keen  night  air.      "  Why,  mine." 


TUE    CKICKET    OX    THE    IIEARTII.  211 

"  The  other  step,"  said  Bertlia,  "  The  maa's  tread  behind 
you !  " 

"  She  is  not  to  he  deceived,"  observed  the  Carrier, 
laughing.  ''  Come  aloug,  sir.  You  '11  be  welcome,  never 
fear !  " 

Ho  spoke  in  a  loud  tone ;  and  as  he  spoke,  the  deaf  old 
gentleman  entered. 

"  He  's  not  so  much  a  stranger,  that  you  haven't  seen  him 
once,  Caleb,"  said  the  Carrier.  "You'll  give  him  house- 
room  till  we  go  '?  " 

"  Oh  surely,  John,  and  take  it  as  an  honor."  ■ 

"He's  the  best  company  on  earth,  to  talk  secrets  in," 
said  John.  "  I  have  reasonable  good  lungs,  but  he  tries 
'em,  I  can  tell  you.  Sit  down  sir.  All  friends  here,  and  glad 
to  see  you  !  " 

When  he  had  imparted  this  assurance,  in  a  voice  that  amply 
corroborated  what  he  had  said  about  liis  lungs,  he  added  in 
his  natural  tone,  "  A  chair  in  the  chimney-corner,  and  leave 
to  sit  quite  silent  and  look  pleasantly  about  him,  is  all  he 
cares  for.     He  's  easily  pleased." 

Bertha  had  been  listening  intently.  Slie  called  Caleb  to 
her  side,  when  he  had  set  the  chair,  and  asked  him,  in  a  low 
voice,  to  describe  their  visitor  When  he  had  done  so  (truly 
now ;  with  scrupulous  fidelity),  she  moved,  for  the  first  time 
since  he  had  come  in,  and  sighed,  and  seemed  to  have  no 
further  interest  concerning  him. 

The  Carrier  was  in  high  spirits,  good  fellow  that  he  was 
and  fonder  of  his  little  wife  than  ever. 

"  A  clumsy  Dot  she  was,  this  afternoon  !  "  he  said,  en- 
circling her  with  his  rough  arm,  as  slie  stood,  removed 
from  the  rest;  "and  yet  I  like  her  somehow.  See  yonder, 
Dot !  " 

Ho  pointed  to  the  old  man.  She  looked  down.  I  think 
she  trembled. 

"He's — ha  ha  ha  ! — he's  fidl  of  admiration  for  you  I  " 
said  the  Carrier.  "  Talked  of  nothing  else,  the  whole  way 
here.      Why,  he  's  a  brave  old  boy.     I  like  him  for  it !  " 

"I  wish  he  had  had  a  better  subject,  Jolui;"  she  said, 
with  an  uneasy  glance  about  the  room.  At  Tacldeton  especi- 
ally. 

"  A  better  subject  J  "  cried  the  jovial  John.  "  There 's  no 
such  thing.       Come  !   off  with  the    great-coat,    off  with  tlie 


212  TiJE    CRICKET    ON    THE    HEARTH. 

thick  shawl,  off  with  the  heavy  wrappers  1  and  a  cosy  half- 
hour  by  the  fire !  My  humble  service,  Mistress.  A  game  at 
cribbage,  you  and  I  ?  That 's  hearty.  The  cards  and  board, 
Dot.  And  a  glass  of  beer  here,  if  there  's  any  left,  small 
wife  !  " 

His  challenge  was  addressed  to  the  old  lady,  who  accept- 
ing it  with  gracious  readiness,  they  were  soon  engaged  upon 
the  game.  At  fii^st,  the  Carrier  looked  about  him  sometimes, 
with  a  smile,  or  now  and  then  called  Dot  to  peep  over  his 
shoulder  at  his  hand,  and  advise  him  on  some  knotty  point. 
But  his  adversary  being  a  rigid  disciplinarian,  and  subject  to 
an  occasional  weakness  in  respect  of  pegging  more  than  she 
was  entitled  to,  required  such  vigilance  on  his  part,  as  left 
him  neither  eyes  nor  ears  to  spare.  Thus,  his  whole  atten- 
tion gradually  became  absorbed  upon  the  cards ;  and  he 
thought  of  nothing  else,  until  a  hand  upon  his  shoulder  re- 
stored him  to  a  consciousness  of  Tackleton. 

"  I  am  sorry  to  disturb  you — but  a  word  directly." 

"  I  'm  going  to  deal,"  returned  the  Carrier.  "  It  's  a 
crisis." 

"  It  is,"  said  Tackleton.      "  Come  here,  man  !  " 

There  was  that  in  liis  pale  face  which  made  the  other  rise 
immediately,  and  ask  him,  in  a  hurry,  what  the  matter 
was. 

"  Hush  !  John  Peerybingle,"  said  Tackleton.  "  I  am  sorry 
for  this.  I  am  indeed.  I  have  been  afraid  of  it.  I  have 
silspected  it  from  tlie  first." 

"  What  is  it  ? "  asked  the  Carrier,  with  a  frightened 
aspect. 

"  Hush  ?     I  '11  show  you,  if  you  '11  come  with  me." 

The  Carrier  accompanied  him,  without  another  word, 
They  went  across  a  yard,  where  the  stars  were  shining, 
and  by  a  little  side  door,  into  Tackleton' sown  counting-house, 
where  there  was  a  glass  window,  commanding  the  ware-room, 
which  was  closed  for  the  night.  There  was  no  light  in 
the  counting-house  itself,  but  there  were  lamps  in  the  long 
narrow  ware-room ;   and  consequently  the  window  was  bright. 

"  A  moment  !  "  said  Tackleton.  "  Can  you  bear  to  look 
tlirough  that  window,  do  you  think  ?  " 

"  Why  not  ?  "  returned  the  Carrier. 

"  A  moment  more,"  said  Tackleton.  "  Don't  commit 
a'ly  violence.      It 's  of  no  use.      It 's  danp^erous  too.      You  're 


TUE    CRICKET    ON    THE    HEAUTII.  213 

a  strong-made  man ;  and  you  might  do  murder  before  you 
know  it." 

The  Carrier  looked  h*m  in  the  face,  and  recoiled  a  step  as 
if  he  had  been  struck.  In  one  stride  he  was  at  the  window, 
and  he  saw — 

Oh  Shadow  on  the  Hearth  !  Oh  truthful  Cricket  I  Oh  per- 
tidicus  Wife  ! 

He  saw  her  witli  the  old  man — old  no  longer,  but  erect  and 
gallant — bearing  in  his  hand  the  false  white  hair  that  had 
won  liis  way  into  their  desolate  and  miserable  home.  He  sa\v 
her  listening  to  him,  as  he  bent  his  head  to  whisper  in  her 
ear ;  and  suffering  him  to  clasp  her  round  the  waist,  as  they 
moved  slowly  down  the  dim  wooden  gallery  towards  the  door 
by  which  they  had  entered  it.  He  saw  them  stop,  and  saw 
her  tui-n — to  have  the  face,  the  face  he  loved  so,  so   presented 

to  his  view  ! and  saw  her,  with  her  own  hands,  adjust  the 

lie  upon  his  head,  laughing,  as  she  did  it,  at  his  unsuspicious 
nature  ! 

He  clenched  his  strong  right  hand  at  first,  as  if  it  would 
have  beaten  down  a  lion.  But  opening  it  immediately 
again,  he  spread  it  out  before  the  eyes  of  Tackleton  (for 
he  was  tender  of  her,  even  then),  and  so,  as  they  passed 
out,  fell  down  upon  a  desk,  and  was  as  weak  as  any 
infant. 

He  was  wrapped  up  to  the  chin,  and  busy  with  his  horse 
and  parcels,  when  she  came  into  the  room,  prepared  for 
going  home. 

"  Now  John,  dear !  Good  night  May  !  Good  night 
Bertha  !  " 

Could  she  kiss  them  !  Could  she  be  blithe  and  cheerful  in 
her  parting  ?  Could  she  venture  to  reveal  her  face  to  them 
without  a  blush  ?  Yes.  Tackleton  observed  her  closely,  and 
she  did  all  this. 

Tilly  was  hushing  the  Baby,  and  she  crossed  and  re-crossed 
Tackleton  a  dozen  times,  repeating  drowsily : 

"  Did  the  knowledge  that  it  was  to  be  its  wives,  then, 
wring  its  hearts  almost  to  breaking ;  and  did  its  fathers 
deceive  it  from  its  cradles  but  to  break  its  hearts  at  last !  " 

"  Now  Tilly,  give  me  the  Baby  !  Good  night,  Mr.  Tackle- 
ton.   Where  's  John,  for  goodness  sake  ?  " 

"  He  's  going  to  walk  beside  the  horse's  head,"  said  TarkJe- 
ton ;  who  helped  her  to  lier  seat. 


214  THE    CRICKET    ON    THE    HEARTH. 

"  My  dear  John.     Walk  ?     To-night  ?  " 

The  muffled  figure  of  her  husband  made  a  hasty  sign  in  the 
affirmative  ;  and  the  false  stranger  and  the  little  nurse  being 
in  their  places,  the  old  horse  moved  ofi".  Boxer,  the  uncon- 
scious Boxer,  running  on  before,  running  back,  running 
round  and  round  the  cart,  and  barking  as  triumphantly  and 
merrily  as  ever. 

When  Tackleton  had  gone  off  likewise,  escorting  May 
and  her  mother  home,  poor  Caleb  sat  down  by  the  fire 
beside  his  daughter ;  anxious  and  remorseful  at  the  core ; 
and  still  saying  in  his  wistful  contemplation  of  her,  "  have 
I  deceived  her  from  her  cradle,  but  to  break  her  heart  at 
last  !  " 

The  toys  that  had  been  set  in  motion  for  the  Baby,  had  all 
stopped  and  run  down,  long  ago.  In  the  faint  light  and 
silence,  the  imperturbably  calm  doUs,  the  agitated  rocking- 
horses  with  distended  eyes  and  nostrils,  the  old  gentlemen  at 
the  street  doors,  standing  half  doubled  up  upon  their  failing 
liuees  and  ankles,  the  wry-faced  nutcrackers,  the  very  Beasts 
upcm  their  way  into  tlie  Ark,  in  twos,  like  a  Boarding- School 
out  walking,  might  have  been  imagined  to  be  stricken  motioTi- 
Ies«  with  fantastic  wonder,  at  Dot  being  false,  or  Tacldf -ton 
beloved,  under  anv  combination  of  circumstances. 


THE   CrJCKET   ON   THE   HEARTH.  215 


CHIRP  THE  THIRD. 


The  Dutch,  clock  in  the  corner  struck  Ten,  when  the 
Carrier  sat  down  by  his  fireside.  So  troubled  and  grief- worn, 
that  he  seemed  to  scare  the  Cuckoo,  who,  having  cut  his  ten 
melodious  announcements  as  short  as  possible,  plunged  back 
into  the  Moorish  Palace  again,  and  clapped  his  little  door 
behind  him,  as  if  the  unwonted  spectacle  were  too  much  for 
his  feelings. 

If  the  little  Haymaker  had  been  armed  with  the  sharpest 
of  scythes,  and  had  cut  at  every  stroke  into  the  Carrier's 
heart,  he  never  could  have  gashed  and  wounded  it  as  Dot  had 
done. 

It  was  a  heart  so  full  of  love  for  her ;  so  bound  up  and 
held  together  by  innumerable  threads  of  winning  remem- 
brance, spun  from  the  daily  working  of  her  many  qualities  of 
endearment ;  it  was  a  heart  in  which  she  had  enshrined  her- 
self so  gently  and  so  closely  ;  a  heart  so  single  and  so  earnest 
in  its  Truth,  so  strong  in  right,  so  weak  in  wrong ;  that  it 
could  cherish  neither  passion  nor  revenge  at  first,  and  had 
only  room  to  hold  the  broken  image  of  its  Idol. 

But,  slowly,  slowly,  as  the  Carrier  sat  brooding  on  his 
hearth,  now  cold  and  dark,  other  and  fiercer  thoughts  began 
to  rise  within  him,  as  an  angry  wind  comes  rising  in  the 
night.  The  Stranger  was  beneath  his  outraged  roof.  Three 
steps  would  take  him  to  his  chamber  door.  One  blow  would 
beat  it  in.  "You  might  do  murder  before  you  know  it," 
Tackleton  had  said.  How  could  it  be  murder,  if  he  gave  the 
villain  time  to  grapple  with  him  hand  to  hand  !  He  was  the 
younger  man. 

It  was  an  ill-timed  thought,  bad  for  the  dark  mood  of  his 
mind.  It  was  an  angry  thought,  goading  him  to  some 
avenging  act,  that  should  change  the  cheerfid  house  into  a 
haunted  ])lace  wliich  lonely  travellers  would  dread  to  pass  by 
uight ;   and  where  the  timid  would  see  shadows  struggling  in 


21G  THE    CRICKET    ON   THE    IIEARin. 

the  ruined  windows  wlien  the  moon  was  dim,  and  hear  wild 
noises  in  the  stormy  weather. 

He  was  the  younger  man  !  Yes,  yes ;  some  lover  wlio  had 
won  the  heart  that  he  had  never  touched.  Some  lover  of  her 
early  choice,  of  whom  she  had  thought  and  dreamed,  for  whom 
she  had  pined  and  pined,  when  he  had  fancied  her  so  happy 
by  his  side.      O  agony  to  think  of  it ! 

She  had  been  above  stairs  with  the  Baby,  getting  it  to  bed. 
As  he  sat  brooding  on  the  hearth,  she  came  close  beside  him, 
without  his  knowledge — in  the  turning  of  the  rack  of  his 
great  misery,  he  lost  all  other  sounds — and  put  her  little  stool 
at  his  feet.  He  only  knew  it,  when  he  felt  her  hand  upon  his 
own,  and  saw  her  looking  up  into  his  face. 

With  wonder?  No.  It  was  his  first  impression,  and  he 
was  fain  to  look  at  her  again,  to  set  it  right.  No,  not  with 
wonder.  With  an  eager  and  inquiring  look;  but  not  with 
wonder.  At  first  it  was  alarmed  and  serious ;  then,  it  changed 
into  a  strange,  wild,  dreadful  smile  of  recognition  of  his 
thoughts ;  then,  there  was  nothing  but  her  clasped  hands  on 
her  brow,  and  her  bent  head,  and  falling  hair. 

Though  the  power  of  Omnipotence  had  been  his  to  wield  at 
that  moment,  he  had  too  much  of  its  diviner  property  of 
Mercy  in  his  breast,  to  have  turned  one  feather's  weight- 
of  it  against  her.  But  he  could  not  bear  to  see  her  crouching 
down  upon  the  little  seat  where  he  had  often  looked  on 
her,  with  love  and  pride,  so  innocent  and  gay;  and,  when  she 
rose  and  left  him,  sobbing  as  she  went,  he  felt  it  a  relief  to 
liave  the  vacant  place  beside  him  rather  than  her  so  long- 
cherished  presence.  This  in  itself  was  anguish  keener  than 
all,  reminding  him  how  desolate  he  was  become,  and  how  the 
great  bond  of  his  life  was  rent  asunder. 

The  more  he  felt  this,  and  the  more  he  knew,  he  could  have 
better  borne  to  see  her  lying  prematurelj^  dead  before  him  with  her 
little  child  upon  her  breast,  the  higher  and  the  stronger  rose  his 
wrath  against  his  enemy.     He  looked  about  him  for  a  weapon. 

There  was  a  gun,  hanging  on  the  wall.  He  took  it  down, 
and  moved  a  pace  or  two  towards  the  door  of  the  perfidious 
Stranger's  room.  He  knew  the  gun  was  loaded.  Some 
shadowy  idea  that  it  was  just  to  shoot  this  man  like  a  wild 
beast,  seized  him,  and  dilated  in  his  mind  until  it  grew  into  a 
monstrous  demon  in  complete  possession  of  him,  casting  out 
all  milder  thoughts  and  setting  up  its  undivided  empire. 


THE    CKICKKT    ON    THE    HEARTH.  217 

That  phrase  is  wrong.  Not  casting  out  his  milder  thoughts, 
but  artfully  transforming  them.  Changing;  them  into  scourges 
to  drive  him  on.  Turning  water  into  blood,  love  into  hate, 
gentleness  into  bKnd  ferocity.  Her  image,  sorrowing,  humbled, 
but  still  pleading  to  his  tenderness  and  mercy  with  resistless 
power,  never  left  his  mind ;  but,  staying  there,  it  urged  him 
to  the  door;  raised  the  weapon  to  his  shoulder;  fitted  and 
nerved  his  finger  to  the  trigger ;  and  cried  "  Kill  him !  In 
his  bed!" 

He  reversed  the  gim  to  beat  the  stock  upon  the  door ;  he 
already  held  it  lifted  in  the  air ;  some  indistinct  design  wad 
in  liis  thoughts  of  calling  out  to  him  to  fly,  for  God's  sake, 
by  the  window — 

When,  suddenly,  the  struggling  fire  illuminated  the  whole 
chimney  with  a  glow  of  light ;  and  the  Cricket  on  the  Hearth 
began  to  Chirp ! 

No  sound  he  could  have  heard,  no  human  voice,  not  even 
hers,  could  so  have  moved  and  softened  him.  The  artless 
words  in  which  she  had  told  him  of  her  love  for  this  same 
Cricket,  were  once  more  freshly  spoken ;  her  trembling, 
earnest  manner  at  the  moment,  was  again  before  him ;  her 
pleasant  voice — O  what  a  voice  it  was,  for  making  household 
music  at  the  fireside  of  an  honest  man  ! — thrilled  through  and 
through  his  better  nature,  and  awoke  it  into  life  and  action. 

He  recoiled  from  the  door,  like  a  man  Avalking  in  his  sleep, 
awakened  from  a  frightful  dream ;  and  put  the  gun  aside. 
Clasping  his  hands  before  his  face,  he  then  sat  down  again 
beside  the  fire,  and  found  relief  in  tears. 

The  Cricket  on  the  Hearth  came  out  into  the  room,  and 
stood  in  Fairy  shape  before  him. 

"  '  I  love  it,'  "  said  the  Fairy  Voice,  repeating  what  he  well 
remembered,  "  'for  the  many  times  I  have  heard  it,  and  the 
many  thoughts  its  harmless  music  has  given  me.'  " 

"  She  said  so  !  "  cried  the  Carrier.      "  True  !  " 

"'This  has  been  a  happy  home,  John;  and  I  love  the 
Cricket  for  its  sake  ! '" 

"  It  has  been.  Heaven  knows,"  returned  the  Carrier.  "  She 
made  it  happy,  always, — until  now." 

"So  gracefully  sweet-tempered;  so  domestic,  joj'ful,  busy, 
and  light-hearted  !  "  said  the  Voice. 

"  Otherwise  I  never  could  have  loved  her  as  I  did," 
returned  the  Carrier. 


218  THE   CRICKET   ON   THE   HEARTH. 

The  Voice,  correcting  liim,  said  "  do." 

The  Carrier  repeated  "  as  I  did."  But  not  firmly.  His 
faltering  tongue  resisted  his  con+rol,  and  would  speak  in  its 
own  way  for  itself  and  him. 

The  Figure,  in  an  attitude  of  invocation,  raised  its  hand 
and  said : 

"  Upon  your  own  hearth  " — 

"The  hearth  she  has  blighted,"  interposed  the  Carrier. 

"  The  hearth  she  has — how  often! — blessed  and  brightened," 
said  the  Cricket;  "the  hearth  which,  but  for  her,  were  only 
a  few  stones  and  bricks  and  rusty  bars,  but  which  has  been, 
through  her,  the  Altar  of  your  Home ;  on  which  you  have 
nightly  sacrificed  some  petty  passion,  selfishness,  or  care,  and 
offered  up  the  homage  of  a  tranquil  mind,  a  trusting  nature, 
and  an  overflowing  heart ;  so  that  the  smoke  from  this  poor 
chimney  has  gone  upward  with  a  better  fragrance  than  the 
richest  incense  that  is  burnt  before  the  richest  shrines  in  all 
the  gaudy  temples  of  this  world ! — Upon  your  own  hearth ; 
in  its  quiet  sanctuary  ;  surrounded  by  its  gentle  influences  and 
associations ;  hear  her !  Hear  me  !  Hear  everything  that 
speaks  the  language  of  your  hearth  and  home !  " 

"  And  pleads  for  her  ?  "  inquired  the  Carrier. 

"All  things  that  speak  the  language  of  your  hearth  and 
home,  7nust  plead  for  her  !  "  returned  the  Cricket.  "  For  they 
speak  the  truth." 

And  while  the  Carrier,  with  his  head  upon  his  hands, 
continued  to  sit  meditating  in  his  chair,  the  Presence  stood 
beside  him,  suggesting  his  reflections  by  its  power,  and 
presenting  them  before  him,  as  in  a  glass  or  picture.  It  was 
not  a  solitary  Presence.  From  the  hearthstone,  fr'om  the 
chimney,  from  the  clock,  the  pipe,  the  kettle,  and  the  cradle ; 
fi'om  the  floor,  the  walls,  the  ceiling,  and  the  stairs ;  from  the 
cart  without,  and  the  cupboard  within,  and  the  household 
implements ;  from  everything  and  every  place  with  which  she 
had  ever  been  famiKar,  and  with  which  she  had  ever  eutvtdned 
one  recollection  of  herself  in  her  unhappy  husband's  mind ; 
Fairies  came  trooping  forth.  Not  to  stand  beside  him  as  the 
Cricket  did,  but  to  busy  and  bestir  themselves.  To  do  all 
honour  to  her  image.  To  pull  him  by  the  skirts,  and  point 
to  it  when  it  appeared.  To  cluster  round  it,  and  embrace  it, 
and  stre\\'  flowers  for  it  to  tread  on.  To  try  to  crown  its  fair 
head  with  theii-  tiny  hands.     To  show  that  they  were  fond  of 


TDE   CRICKET   ON    TUE    HEARTH.  219 

it,  and  loved  it ;  and  that  there  was  not  one  ugly,  wicked,  or 
accusatory  creature  to  claim  knowledge  of  it — none  but  their 
pla^-fid  and  approving  selves. 

His  thoughts  were  constant  to  her  image.  It  was  always 
there. 

She  sat  plying  her  needle,  before  the  fire,  and  singing  to 
herself.  Such  a  blithe,  thriving,  steady  httle  Dot !  The  fairy 
figures  turned  upon  him  all  at  once,  by  one  consent,  with  one 
prodigious  concentrated  stare,  and  seemed  to  say  "  Is  this  the 
light  wife  you  are  mourning  for !  " 

There  were  sounds  of  gaiety  outside,  musical-  instruments, 
and  noisy  tongues,  and  laughter.  A  crowd  of  young  merry- 
makers came  j)oui'ing  in,  among  whom  were  May  Fielding  and 
a  score  of  pretty  girls.  Dot  was  the  fairest  of  them  all ;  as 
young  as  any  of  them  too.  They  came  to  summon  her  to  joiu 
theii-  party.  It  was  a  dance.  If  ever  little  foot  were  made 
for  dancing,  hers  was,  surely.  But  she  lavighed,  and  shook 
her  head,  and  pointed  to  her  cookery  on  the  fire,  and  her  table 
ready  spread ;  with  an  exulting  defiance  that  rendered  her 
more  charming  than  she  was  before.  And  so  she  merrily 
dismissed  them,  nodding  to  her  would-be  partners,  one  by  one, 
as  they  passed  out,  with  a  comical  indifference,  enough  to 
make  them  go  and  drown  themselves  immediately  if  they  were 
her  admirers — and  they  must  have  been  so,  more  or  less ; 
they  couldn't  help  it.  And  yet  indifference  was  not  her 
character.  O  no  !  For  presently,  there  came  a  certain  Carrier 
to  the  door ;  and  bless  her  what  a  welcome  she  bestowed  upon 
him ! 

Again  the  staring  figures  turned  upon  him  all  at  once,  and 
seemed  to  say  "  Is  this  the  wife  who  has  forsaken  you !  " 

A  shadow  fell  upon  the  mirror  or  the  picture  ;  call  it  what 
you  will.  A  great  shadow  of  the  Stranger,  as  he  first  stood 
underneath  their  roof;  covering  its  surface,  and  blotting  out 
all  other  objects.  But,  the  nimble  Faii'ies  worked  like  bees  to 
clear  it  off  again.  And  Dot  again  was  there.  Still  bright 
and  beautiful. 

Rocking  her  little  Baby  in  its  cradle,  singing  to  it  softly, 
and  resting  her  head  upon  a  shoulder  which  had  its  counter- 
part in  the  musing  figure  by  which  the  Fairy  Cricket  stood. 

The  night — I  mean  the  real  night :  not  going  by  Fairy 
clocks — was  wearing  now ;  and  in  this  stage  of  the  Carrier's 
thoughts,  the  moon  burst  out,  {.ud  shone  brightly  in  the  sky. 


220  THE   CRICKET   ON  THE   HEARTH. 

Perhaps  some  calm  and  quiet  light  had  risen  also,  :n  his  mind, 
and  he  could  think  more  soberly  of  what  had  happened. 

Although  the  shadow  of  the  Stranger  fell  at  intervals  upon 
the  glass — always  distinct,  and  big,  and  thoroughly  defined — 
it  never  fell  so  darkly  as  at  first.  Wlienever  it  appeared,  the 
Fairies  uttered  a  general  cry  of  consternation,  and  plied  their 
little  arms  and  legs,  with  inconceivable  activity,  to  rub  it  out. 
And  whenever  they  got  at  Dot  again,  and  showed  her  to  him 
once  more,  bright  and  beautifid,  they  cheered  in  the  most 
inspiring  manner. 

They  never  showed  her,  otherwise  than  beautiful  and  bright 
for  they  were   Household  Spirits  to  whom  falsehood    is   an 
annihilation ;   and  being  so,  what  Dot  was  there  for  them,  but 
the  one  active,  beaming,  pleasant  little  creature  who  had  been 
the  light  and  sun  of  the  Carrier's  Home ! 

The  Fairies  were  prodigiously  excited  when  they  showed 
her,  with  the  Baby,  gossiping  among  a  knot  of  sage  •  old 
matrons,  and  affecting  to  be  wondrous  old  and  matronly  her- 
eelf,  and  leaning  in  a  staid  demure  old  way  upon  her 
husband's  arm,  attempting — she  !  such  a  bud  of  a  little  woman 
— to  convey  the  idea  of  having  abjured  the  vanities  of  the 
world  in  general,  and  of  being  the  sort  of  person  to  whom  it 
was  no  novelty  at  all  to  be  a  mother ;  yet  in  the  same  breath, 
they  showed  her,  laughing  at  the  Carrier  for  being  awkward, 
and  pulling  up  his  shirt-coUar  to  make  him  smart,  and 
mincing  merrily  about  tliat  very  room  to  teach  him  how  to 
dance ! 

They  turned,  and  stared  immensely  at  him  when  they 
showed  her  with  the  Blind  Girl ;  for,  though  she  carried  cheer- 
fulness and  animation  with  her  wheresoever  she  went,  she 
bore  those  influences  into  Caleb  Plummer's  home,  heaped  up 
and  running  over.  The  Bind  Girl's  love  for  her,  and  trust  in 
lier,  and  gratitude  to  her ;  her  own  good  busy  way  of  setting 
Bertha's  thanks  aside  ;  her  dexterous  little  arts  for  filling  up 
each  moment  of  the  visit  in  doing  something  useful  to  the 
house,  and  really  working  hard  while  feigning  to  make 
hoKday  ;  her  bountiful  provision  of  those  standing  delicacies, 
the  Veal  and  Ham-Pie  and  the  bottles  of  Beer ;  her  radiant 
little  face  arriving  at  the  door,  and  taking  leave ;  the  wonder- 
ful expression  in  her  whole  self,  from  her  neat  foot  to  the 
crown  of  her  head,  of  being  a  part  of  the  establishment — a 
flomething  necessary  to   it,  which  it  couldn't  be  without ;  aJ] 


THE    CRICKET    ON    THE    HEARTH.  221 

this  the  Fairifts  revelled  in,  and  loved  her  for.  And  once 
again  they  looked  upon  him  all  at  once,  appealingly,  and 
seemed  to  say,  while  some  among  them  nestled  in  her  dress 
and  fondled  her,  "  Is  this  the  wife  who  has  betrayed  yoiix 
confidence  !  " 

More  than  once,  or  t"n'ice,  or  thrice,  in  the  long  thoughtful 
night,  they  showed  her  to  him  sitting  on  her  favourite  seat, 
with  her  bent  head,  her  hands  clasped  on  her  brow,  her 
falling  hair.  As  he  had  seen  her  last.  And  when  they  found 
her  thus,  they  neither  turned  nor  looked  upon  him,  but 
gathered  close  round  her,  and  comforted  and  kissed  her,  and 
pressed  on  one  another,  to  show  sympathy  and  kindness  to  her, 
and  forgot  him  altogether. 

Thus  the  night  passed.  The  moon  went  down;  the  stars 
grew  pale ;  the  cold  day  broke ;  the  sun  rose.  The  Carrier 
still  sat,  musing,  in  the  chimney  corner.  He  had  sat  there, 
with  his  head  upon  his  hands,  all  night.  All  night  the  faith- 
ful Cricket  had  been  Chirp,  Chirp,  Chirping  on  the  Hearth. 
All  night  he  had  listened  to  its  voice.  All  night,  the  house- 
hold Fairies  had  been  busy  with  him.  All  night,  she  had 
been  amiable  and  blameless  in  the  glass,  except  when  that 
one  shadow  fell  upon  it. 

He  rose  up  when  it  was  broad  day,  and  washed  and  dressed 
himself.  He  couldn't  go  about  his  customary  cheerful 
avoc-ations — he  wanted  spirit  for  them — but  it  mattered  the 
less,  that  it  was  Tackletou's  wedding-day,  and  he  had  arranged 
to  make  his  rounds  by  proxy.  He  had  thought  to  have  gone 
merrily  to  church  with  Dot.  But  such  plans  were  at  an  end. 
It  was  their  own  wedding-day  too.  Ah  !  how  little  he  had 
looked  for  such  a  close  to  such  a  year  ! 

The  Carrier  expected  that  Tackleton  woidd  pay  him  an 
early  visit ;  and  he  was  right.  He  had  not  walked  to  and 
fro  before  his  own  door,  many  minutes,  when  he  saw  the  Toy 
Merchant  coming  in  his  chaise  along  the  road.  As  tlie  chaise 
drew  nearer,  he  perceived  that  Tackleton  was  dressed  out 
sprucely  for  his  marriage,  and  that  he  had  decorated  his 
horse's  head  with  flowers  and  favors. 

The  horse  looked  much  more  like  a  bridegroom  than 
Tackleton,  whose  half-closed  eye  Mas  more  disagreeably 
expressive  than  ever.  But  the  Carrier  tool*  little  heed  of  this. 
His  thoughts  had  other  occupation 

•' JoJin  Peerybingle !  "  said  Tackleton,  with   an  air  of  coEr 


222  THE    CRICKET    ON    THE    HEARTH. 

dolence.  "  My  good  fellow,  how  do  you  find  yourself  this 
morning  ?  " 

"  I  have  had  but  a  poor  niglit,  Master  Tackleton,"  returned 
the  Carrier,  shaking  his  head :  "  for  I  have  been  a  good  deal 
disturbed  in  my  mind.  But  it 's  over  now  !  Can  you  spare 
me  half  an  hour  or  so,  for  some  private  talk?  " 

"  I  came  on  purpose,"  returned  Tackleton,  alighting, 
"  Never  mind  the  horse.  He  '11  stand  quiet  enough,  with 
the  reins  over  this  post,  if  you  '11  give  him  a  mouthful  of 
hay." 

The  Carrier  having  brought  it  from  his  stable  and  set  it 
before  him,  they  turned  into  the  house. 

"  You  are  not  married  before  noon  ?  "  he  said,  "  I  think  ?" 

"  No,"  answered  Tackleton.  "  Plenty  of  time.  Plenty  of 
time." 

When  they  entered  the  kitchen,  Tilly  Slowboy  was  rapping 
at  the  Stranger's  door ;  which  was  only  removed  from  it  by  a 
few  steps.  One  of  her  very  red  eyes  (for  Tilly  had  been  cry- 
ing all  night  long,  because  her  mistress  cried)  was  at  the 
keyhole;  and  she  was  knocking  very  loud,  and  seemed 
frightened. 

"  If  you  please  I  can't  make  nol»(>dy  hear,"  said  Tilly, 
looking  round.  "  I  hope  nobody  an't  gone  and  been  and  rlied 
if  you  please  I  " 

This  philanthropic  wish.  Miss  Slowboy  emphasised  with 
various  new  raps  and  kicks  at  the  door,  which  led  to  no  result 
who.tever. 

"  Shall  I  go  ?  "  said  Tackleton.      "  It 's  curious." 

The  Carrier,  who  had  turned  his  face  from  the  door,  signed 
to  him  to  go  if  he  would. 

So  Tackleton  went  to  Tilly  Slowboy' s  relief;  and  he  too 
kicked  and  knocked ;  and  he  too  failed  to  get  the  least  reply. 
But  he  thought  of  trying  the  handle  of  the  door  ;  and  as  it 
opened  easily,  he  peeped  in,  looked  in,  went  in,  and  soon  come 
running  out  again. 

"  John  Peerybingle,"  said  Tackleton,  in  his  ear.  "  I  hope 
there  has  been  nothing^nothing  rash  in  the  night  ?  '' 

The  Carrier  turned  upon  him  quickly. 

"  Because  he  's  gone  !  "  said  Tackleton  ;  "  and  the  window 's 
open.  I  don't  see  any  marks — to  be  sure,  it 's  almost  on  a 
level  with  the  garden :  but  I  was  afraid  there  might  have 
boen  some — some  scuffle.     Eh  ?  " 


THE    CRICKET    ON    THE    IIEARTU.  223 

He  nearly  shut  up  the  expressive  eye,  altogether ;  he  looked 
at  him  so  hard.  And  he  gave  his  eye,  and  his  face,  aud  his 
whole  person,  a  sharp  twist.  As  if  he  would  have  screwed 
the  truth  out  of  him. 

"  Make  yourself  easy,"  said  the  Carrier.  "  He  went  into 
that  room  last  night,  without  harm  in  word  or  deed  from  me, 
and  no  one  has  entered  it  since.  He  is  away  of  his  own  free 
will.  I  'd  go  out  gladly  at  that  door,  and  beg  m}^  bread  from 
house  to  house,  for  life,  if  I  could  so  change  the  past  that  he 
had  never  come.  But  he  has  come  and  gone.  And  I  have 
done  with  him  !  " 

"  Oh  ! — Well,  I  think  he  has  got  off  pretty  easy,"  said 
Tackleton,  taking  a  chair. 

The  sneer  was  lost  upon  the  Carrier,  who  sat  down  too,  and 
shaded  his  face  with  his  hand,  for  some  little  time,  before 
proceeding. 

"  You  showed  me  last  night,"  he  said  at  length,  "  my 
wife;  my  wife  that  I  love;  secretly" — 

"  And  tenderly,"  insinuated  Tackleton. 

"  Conniving  at  that  man's  disguise,  and  giving  him  oppor- 
tunities of  meeting  her  alone.  I  think  there 's  no  sight  I 
wouldn't  have  rather  seen  than  that.  I  think  there  's  no  man 
m  the  world  I  wouldn't  have  rather  had  to  show  it  me." 

"  I  confess  to  having  had  my  suspicions  always,"  said 
Tackleton.  "  And  that  has  made  me  objectionable  here,  I 
know." 

"  But  as  you  did  show  it  me,"  piirsued  the  Carrier,  not 
minding  him ;  "  and  as  you  saw  her,  my  wife,  my  wife  that 
I  love  " — his  voice,  and  eye,  and  hand,  grew  steadier  and 
firmer  as  he  repeated  these  words  :  evidently  in  pursuance  oi 
a  steadfast  purpose — "  as  you  saw  her  at  this  disadvantage, 
it  is  right  and  just  that  you  should  also  see  with  my  eyes,  and 
look  into  my  breast,  and  know  what  my  mind  is  upon  the 
subject.  For  it's  settled,"  said  the  Carrier,  regarding  him 
attentively.      "And  nothing  can  shake  it  now." 

Tackleton  muttered  a  few  general  words  of  assent,  about 
its  being  necessary  to  vindicate  something  or  other ;  but  he 
was  overawed  by  the  manner  of  his  companion.  Plain  and 
unpolished  as  it  was,  it  had  a  something  dignified  aud  noble 
in  it,  which  nothing  but  the  soul  of  generous  honour  dweUing 
in  the  man  could  have  imparted. 

"  I  am  a  plain,  rough  man,"  pursued  the  Cioricr,  "  with 


224  THE    CKICKET    ON    THE    HEARTH. 

very  little  to  recommend  me.  I  am  not  a  clever  man,  as  you 
very  well  know.  I  am  not  a  young  man.  I  loved  my  little 
Dot,  because  I  had  seen  her  o^row  up,  from  a  child,  in  her 
father's  house  ;  because  I  knew  how  precious  she  was  ;  because 
she  had  been  my  life,  for  years  and  years.  There  's  many 
men  I  can't  compare  with,  who  never  could  have  loved  my 
little  Dot  like  me,  I  think  !  " 

He  paused,  and  softly  beat  the  ground  a  short  time  with 
his  foot,  before  resuming  : 

"  I  often  thought  that  though  I  wasn't  good  enough  for  her, 
I  should  make  her  a  kind  husband,  and  perhaps  know  her 
value  better  than  another :  and  in  this  way  I  reconciled  it 
to  myself,  and  came  to  think  it  might  be  possible  that  we 
should  be  married.  And  in  the  end,  it  came  about,  and  we 
were  married." 

"  Hah  !  "  said  Tackleton,  with  a  significant  shake  of  hia 
head. 

"  I  had  studied  myself;  I  had  had  experience  of  myself; 
I  knew  how  much  I  loved  her,  and  how  happy  I  should  be," 
pursued  the  Carrier.  "  But  I  had  not  -I  feel  it  now — 
sufficiently  considered  her." 

"To  be  sure,"  said  Tackleton.  "  Giddiness,  frivolity, 
fickleness,  love  of  admiration  I  Not  considered  !  All  left  out 
of  sight !     Hah  !  " 

"  You  had  best  not  interrupt  me,"  said  the  Carrier,  with 
some  sternness,  "  till  you  understand  me ;  and  you  're  wide 
of  doing  so.  If,  yesterday,  I  'd  have  struck  that  man  down 
at  a  blow,  who  dared  to  breathe  a  word  against  her,  to-day 
I  'd  set  my  foot  upon  his  face,  if  he  was  my  brother  !  " 

The  Toy  Merchant  gazed  at  him  in  astonishment.  He  went 
on  in  a  softer  tone  : 

"  Did  I  consider,"  said  the  Carrier,  "  that  I  took  her — at 
her  age,  and  with  her  beauty — from  her  young  companions, 
and  the  many  s(;enes  of  which  she  was  the  ornament ;  in  which 
she  was  the  brightest  little  star  that  ever  slione,  to  shut  her 
up  from  day  to  day  in  my  didl  house,  and  keep  my  tedious 
company  ?  Did  I  consider  how  little  suited  I  was  to  her 
sprightly  humour,  and  how  wearisome  a  plodding  man  like 
me  must  be,  to  one  of  her  quick  spirit  ?  Did  I  consider  that 
it  was  no  merit  in  me,  or  claim  in  me,  that  I  loved  her. 
when  everybody  must,  who  knew  her  ?  Never.  I  took 
advantage  of  her  hopeful  nature  and  her  cheerful  dispo.sition  ; 


THE   CRICKET   ON   THE   HEARTH.  226 

and  I  married  her.  I  wish  I  never  had  !  For  her  sake ;  not 
for  mine !  " 

The  Toy  Merchant  gazed  at  him,  without  winking.  Even 
the  half-shut  eye  was  open  now. 

"  Heaven  bless  her  !  "  said  the  Carrier,  "  for  the  cheerful 
constancy  with  which  she  has  tried  to  keep  the  knowledge  of 
this  from  me  !  And  Heaven  help  me,  that,  in  my  slow  mind, 
I  have  not  found  it  out  before  !  Poor  child  !  Poor  Dot ! 
/  not  to  find  it  out,  who  have  seen  her  eyes  fill  with  tears, 
when  such  a  marriage  as  our  own  was  spoken  of !  I,  who 
have  seen  the  secret  trembling  on  her  lips  a  hundred  times, 
and  never  suspected  it,  till  last  night !  Poor  girl !  That  I 
could  ever  hope  she  would  be  fond  of  me !  That  I  could  ever 
believe  she  was  !  " 

"  She  made  a  show  of  it,"  said  Tackletou.  "  She  made 
such  a  show  of  it,  that  to  tell  you  the  truth  it  was  the  origin 
of  my  misgivings." 

And  here  he  asserted  the  superiority  of  May  Fielding, 
who  certainly  made  no  sort  of  show  of  being  fond  of  him. 

"  She  has  tried,"  said  the  poor  Carrier,  with  greater 
emotion  than  he  had  exhibited  yet;  "I  only  now  begin  to 
know  how  hard  she  has  tried,  to  be  my  dutiful  and  zealous 
wife.  How  good  she  has  been ;  how  much  she  has  done ; 
liow  brave  and  strong  a  heart  she  has ;  let  the  happiness  I 
have  known  under  this  roof  bear  witness  !  It  wiU  be  some 
help  and  comfort  to  me,  when  I  am  here  alono." 

"Here  alone?"  said  Tackleton.  "Oh!  Then  you  do 
mean  to  take  some  notice  of  this  ?  " 

"  I  mean,"  returned  the  Carrier,  "to  do  her  the  greatest 
kindness,  and  make  her  the  best  reparation,  in  my  power.  I 
can  release  her  from  the  daily  pain  of  an  imequal  marriage, 
and  the  struggle  to  conceal  it.  She  shall  be  as  free  as  I  can 
render  her." 

"  Make  her  reparation  !  "  exclaimed  Tackleton,  twisting  and 
turning  his  great  ears  with  his  hands.  "  There  must  be  some- 
thing wrong  here.     You  didn't  say  that,  of  course." 

The  Carrier  set  his  grip  upon  the  coUar  of  the  Toy  Merchant, 
and  shook  him  like  a  reed. 

"  Listen  to  me  !  "  he  said.  "  And  take  care  that  you  hear 
me  right.     Listen  to  me.      Do  I  speak  plainly  ?  " 

"  Very  plainly  indeed,"  answered  Tackleton. 

"As  if  I  meant  it?" 

Q 


226  THK   CRICKET   ON  THE   HEARTH. 

"  Very  much  as  if  you  meant  it." 

"I  sat  upon  that  hearth,  last  night,  all  night,"  exclaimed 
the  CaiTier.  "  On  the  spot  where  she  has  often  sat  beside 
me,  with  her  sweet  face  looking  into  mine.  I  called  up 
her  whole  life,  day  by  day.  I  had  her  dear  self,  in  its  every 
passage,  in  review  before  me.  And  upon  my  soul  she  is 
innocent,  if  there  is  One  to  judge  the  innocent  and  guilty !  " 

Staunch  Cricket  on  the  Hearth  !     Loyal  household  Fairies  ! 

"Passion  and  distrust  have  left  me!"  said  the  Carrier; 
"  and  nothing  but  my  grief  remains.  In  an  unhappy  moment 
some  old  lover,  better  suited  to  her  tastes  and  years  than  I ; 
forsaken,  perhaps,  for  me,  against  her  will;  returned.  lu 
an  unhappy  moment,  taken  by  surprise,  and  wanting  time  to 
think  of  what  she  did,  she  made  herself  a  party  to  his 
treachery,  by  concealing  it.  Last  night  she  saw  him,  in 
the  interview  we  witnessed.  It  was  wrong.  But  otherwise 
than  this,  she  is  innocent  if  there  is  truth  on  earth  !  " 

"If  that  is  your  opinion" — Tackleton  began. 

"So,  let  her  go!"  pursued  the  Carrier.  "Go,  with  my 
blessing  for  the  many  happy  hours  she  has  given  me,  and  my 
forgiveness  for  any  pang  she  has  caused  me.  Let  lier  go, 
and  have  the  peace  of  mind  I  wish  her  !  She  'U  never  hate 
me.  She  '11  learn  to  like  me  better,  when  I  'm  not  a  drag 
upon  her,  and  she  wears  the  chain  1  have  riveted,  more 
lightly.  This  is  the  day  on  which  I  took  her,  with  so  little 
thought  for  her  enjoyment,  from  her  home.  To-day  she  shall 
retui'n  to  it,  and  I  will  trouble  her  no  more.  Her  father  and 
mother  will  be  here  to-day — we  had  made  a  little  plan  for 
keeping  it  together — and  they  shall  take  her  home.  I  can 
trust  her,  there,  or  anywhere.  She  leaves  me  without  blame, 
and  slie  will  live  so  I  am  sure.  If  I  should  die — I  may  per- 
haps while  she  is  still  young;  I  have  lost  some  courage  in  a 
few  hours — she  '11  find  that  I  remembered  her,  and  loved  her 
to  the  last  I  This  is  the  end  of  what  you  showed  me.  Now, 
it 's  over  !  " 

"  0  no,  John,  not  over.  Do  not  say  it 's  over  yet !  Not 
quite  yet.  I  have  heard  your  noble  words.  I  could  not  steal 
away,  pretending  to  be  ignorant  of  what  has  affected  me  with 
such  deep  gratitude.  Bo  not  say  it 's  over,  'till  the  clock  has 
struck  again  !  " 

She  had  entered  shortly  after  Taekhmm,  and  had  remaiued 
thc-re.       She  never   looked   at   Tuckletou.  b;it  fixed  her  OToa 


TflE   CRICKET   CN   THE   HEARTfl.  227 

upon  her  husbaad.  But  she  kept  awa}'  from,  him,  setting 
us  wide  a  space  as  possible  between  them ;  and  though  she 
spoke  with  most  impassioned  earnestness,  she  went  no  nearer 
to  him  even  then.     How  different  in  this  from  her  old  self  I 

"  Xo  hand  can  make  the  clock  which  will  strike  again  for 
me  the  hours  that  are  gone,"  replied  the  Carrier,  with  a  faint 
sraile.  "  But  let  it  be  so,  if  you  wiU,  my  dear.  It  will  strike 
soon.  It 's  of  little  matter  what  we  say.  I  'd  try  to  please 
you  in  a  harder  case  than  that." 

"  Well  I  "  muttered  TacHeton.  ''  I  must  be  off,  for  when 
the  clock  strikes  again,  it  'U  be  necessary  for  me  to  be  upon 
my  way  to  church.  Good  morning,  John  Peerybingle.  I  'm 
sorry  to  be  deprived  of  the  pleasure  of  j'our  company.  Sorry 
for  the  loss,  and  the  occasion  of  it  too  I  " 

"I  have  spoken  plainly?"  said  the  Carrier,  accompanying 
•lim  to  the  door. 

"  Oh  quite  !  " 

"  And  you  '11  remember  what  I  have  said  ?  " 

"  Why,  if  you  compel  me  to  make  the  observation,"  said 
Fackleton ;  previously  taking  the  precaution  of  getting  into 
nis  chaise;  "  I  must  say  that  it  was  so  very  unexpected,  that 
I  'm  far  from  being  likely  to  forget  it." 

"The  better  for  us  both,"  returned  the  Carrier.  "Good 
bye.      I  give  you  joy  !  " 

"  I  wish  I  coiild  give  it  to  you,"  said  Tackleton.  "As  I 
can't ;  thank'ee.  Between  oui'selves,  (as  I  told  you  before,  eh?) 
I  don't  much  think  I  shall  have  the  less  joy  in  my  married 
life,  because  May  hasn't  been  too  oflB.cious  about  me,  and 
too  demonstrative.     Good  bye  !     Take  care  of  yourself." 

The  Carrier  stood  looking  after  him  imtil  he  was  smaller 
in  the  distance  than  his  horse's  flowers  and  favors  near 
at  hand ;  and  then,  with  a  deep  sigh,  went  strolling  like  a 
restless,  broken  man,  among  some  neighbouring  elms; 
TmwiUing  to  return  until  the  clock  was  on  the  eve  of 
striking. 

His  little  wife,  being  left  alone,  sobbed  piteously ;  but  often 
dried  her  eyes  and  checked  herself,  to  say  how  good  he  was, 
how  excellent  he  was !  and  once  or  twice  she  laughed  ;  so 
heartily,  triumphantly,  and  incoherently  (still  crjing  all  the 
time),  that  Tilly  was  quite  horrified. 

"  Ow  if  you  please  don't!  "  said  Tillv.  "  It's  enough  to 
dead  and  bury  the  Baby,  so  it  is  if  you  please." 


228  THE   CRICKET   ON  THE  HEARTH. 

"  Will  you  bring  him  sometimes,  to  see  his  father,  liUy," 
inquired  her  mistress,  drying  her  eyes ;  "  when  I  can't  live 
here,  and  have  gone  to  my  old  home  ?  " 

"  Ow  if  you  please  don't!"  cried  TiUy,  throwing  back 
her  head,  and  bxirsting  out  into  a  howl — she  looked  at  the 
moment  uncommonly  like  Boxer ;  "  Ow  if  you  please  don't  ? 
Ow,  what  has  everybody  gone  and  been  and  done  with  every- 
body, making  everybody  else  so  wretched  ?     Ow-w-w-w  !  " 

The  soft-hearted  Slowboy  tailed  off  at  this  juncture  into 
such  a  deplorable  howl,  the  more  tremendous  from  its  long 
suppression,  that  she  must  infallibly  have  awakened  the  Baby, 
and  frightened  him  into  something  serious  ( probably  convul- 
sions), if  her  eyes  had  not  encoxmtered  Caleb  Plummer,  lead- 
ing in  his  daughter.  This  spectacle  restoring  her  to  a  sense 
of  the  proprieties,  she  stood  for  some  few  moments  silent,  with 
her  mouth  wide  open ;  and  then,  posting  off  to  the  bed  ou 
which  the  Baby  lay  asleep,  danced  in  a  weird,  Saint  Vitus 
manner  on  the  floor,  and  at  the  same  time  rummaged  with 
her  face  and  head  among  the  bedclothes,  apparently  deriving 
much  relief  from  those  extraordinary  operations. 

"Mary!"  said  Bertha.     "  Not  at  the  marriage  I  " 

"  I  told  her  you  would  not  be  there,  mum,"  whispered 
Caleb.  "  I  heard  as  much  last  night.  But  bless  you,"  said 
the  little  man,  taking  her  tenderly  by  both  hands,  "I  don't  care 
for  what  they  say.  I  don't  believe  them.  There  an't  much 
of  me,  but  that  little  should  be  torn  to  pieces  sooner  than  I  'd 
trust  a  word  against  you !  " 

He  put  his  arms  about  her  neck  and  hugged  her,  as  a  child 
might  have  hugged  one  of  his  own  dolls. 

"  Bertha  couldn't  stay  at  home  this  morning,"  said  Caleb. 
"  She  was  afraid,  I  know,  to  hear  the  bells  ring,  and  comdn't 
trust  herself  to  be  so  near  them  on  their  wedding-day.  So  we 
started  in  good  time,  and  came  here.  I  have  been  thinking 
of  what  I  have  done,"  said  Caleb,  after  a  moment's  pause ; 
"  I  have  been  blaming  myself  'till  I  hardly  knew  what  to  do 
or  where  to  turn,  for  the  distress  of  mind  I  have  caused  her ; 
and  I  've  come  to  the  conclusion  that  I  'd  better,  if  you  'U 
stay  with  me,  mum,  the  while,  tell  her  the  truth.  You  '11 
stay  with  me  the  while?"  he  inquired,  trembling  from  head 
to  foot.  "  I  don't  know  what  effect  it  may  have  upon  her  ;  I 
don't  know  what  she  '11  think  of  me  ;  I  don't  know  that  she  '11 
ever  care  for  her  poor  father  afterwards.   But  it 's  best  for  hei 


THE   CRICKET   OK'   THE   HEARTH.  220 

tliat   she   should  be   undeceived,  and  I  must  bear  the  cou- 
Bequences  as  I  deserve  !  " 

"  Mary,"  said  Bertha,  "where  is  your  hand  !  Ah !  Here 
it  is ;  here  it  is  '  "  pressing  it  to  her  lips,  with  a  smile,  and 
drawing  it  through  her  arm.  "  I  heard  them  speaking  softly 
among  themselves  last  night,  of  some  blame  against  you.  They 
were  wrong." 

The  Carrier's  Wife  was  silent.     Caleb  answered  for  her. 

"They  were  wrong,"  he  said. 

"  I  knew  it !  "  cried  Bertha,  proudly.  "  I  told  them  so.  I 
scorned  to  hear  a  word !  Blame  her  with  justice ! "  she 
pressed  the  hand  between  her  own,  and  the  soft  cheek  against 
her  face.     "  No  !   I  am  not  so  blind  as  that." 

Her  father  went  on  one  side  of  her,  while  Dot  remained 
upon  the  other  :  holding  her  hand. 

"I  know  you  all,"  said  Bertha,  "better  than  you  think. 
But  none  so  weU  as  her.  Not  even  you,  father.  There  is 
nothing  half  so  real  and  so  true  about  me,  as  she  is.  If  I  could 
be  restored  to  sight  this  instant,  and  not  a  word  were  spoken, 
I  could  choose  her  from  a  crowd  !     My  sister !  " 

"  Bertha,  my  dear !  "  said  Caleb.  "  I  have  something  on 
my  mind  I  want  to  tell  you,  while  we  three  are  alone.  Hear 
me  kindly !     I  have  a  confession  to  make  to  you,  my  darling." 

"  A  confession,  father  ?  " 

"  I  have  wandered  from  the  truth  and  lost  myself,  my 
child,"  said  Caleb,  with  a  pitiable  expression  in  his  bewildered 
face.  "  I  have  wandered  from  the  truth,  intending  to  be  kind 
to  you  ;  and  have  been  cruel." 

She  turned  her  wonder-stricken  face  towards  him,  and  re- 
peated "  Cruel !  " 

"  He  accuses  himself  too  strongly,  Bertha,"  said  Dot. 
"  You 'U  say  so,  presently.  You'U  be  the  first  to  tell 
him  so." 

"  He  cruel  to  me ! "  cried  Bertha,  with  a  smile  of 
incredulity. 

"  Not  meaning  it,  my  child,"  said  Caleb.  "  But  I  have 
been  :  though  I  never  suspected  it  tiU  yesterday.  My  dear 
blind  daughter,  hear  me  and  forgive  me.  The  world  you 
live  in,  heart  of  mine,  doesn't  exist  as  1  have  represented 
it.     The  eyes  you  have  trusted  in  have  been  false  to  you." 

She  turned  her  wonder-stricken  face  towards  him  still ;  but 
drew  back,  and  clung  closer  to  her  friend. 


230  TEE   CRICKET  ON  THE   HEARTH. 

"Your  road  iu  life  was  rough,  my  poor  one,"  said  Caleb, 
"  and  I  meant  to  smooth  it  for  you.  I  have  altered  objects, 
changed  the  characters  of  people,  invented  many  things  that 
never  have  been,  to  make  you  happier.  I  have  had  conceal- 
ments from  you,  put  deceptions  on  you,  God  forgive  me  !  and 
surrounded  you  with  fancies." 

"  But  living  people  are  not  fancies?"  she  said  hurriedly, 
and  turning  very  pale,  and  still  retiring  from  him.  "  You 
can't  change  them." 

"  I  have  done  so,  Bertha,"  pleaded  Caleb.  "There  is  one 
person  that  you  know,  my  dove" — 

"  Oh  father  !  why  do  you  say,  I  know  ?"  she  answered,  in 
a  term  of  keen  reproach.  "  What  and  whom  do  /  know  !  I 
who  have  no  leader  !     I  so  miserably  blind  !  " 

In  the  anguish  of  her  heart,  she  stretched  out  her  hands,  as 
if  she  were  groping  her  way  ;  then  spread  them,  in  a  manner 
most  forlorn  and  sad,  upon  her  face. 

"The  marriage  that  takes  place  to-day,"  said  Caleb,  "is 
with  a  stern,  sordid,  grinding  man.  A  hard  master  to  you 
and  me,  my  dear,  for  many  years.  Ugly  in  his  looks,  and 
in  his  nature.  Cold  and  callous  always.  Unlike  what  I 
have  painted  him  to  you  in  everything,  my  child.  In  every- 
thing." 

"  Oh  why,"  cried  the  Blind  Girl,  tortured,  as  it  seemed, 
almost  beyond  endurance,  "  why  did  you  ever  do  this  !  ^Vhy 
did  you  ever  fill  my  heart  so  full,  and  then  come  in  like  Death, 
and  tear  away  the  objects  of  my  love  !  O  Heaven,  how  blind 
I  am  !      How  helpless  and  alone  !  " 

Her  afflicted  father  hung  his  head,  and  offered  no  reply  but 
in  his  penitence  and  sorrow. 

She  had  been  but  a  short  time  in  this  passion  of  regret, 
when  the  Cricket  on  the  Hearth,  unheard  by  all  but  her, 
began  to  chirp.  Not  merrily,  but  in  a  low,  faint,  sorrowing 
way.  It  was  so  mournful,  that  her  tears  began  to  flow  ;  and 
when  the  Presence  wliich  had  been  beside  the  Carrier  aU 
night,  appeared  behind  her,  pointing  to  her  father,  they  fell 
down  like  rain. 

She  heard  the  Cricket- voice  more  plainly  soon,  and  wa3 
conscious,  through  her  blindness,  of  the  Presence  hovering 
about  her  father. 

"  Mary,"  said  the  Blind  Girl,  "  tell  me  what  my  homo  is. 
What  it  truly  is." 


THE   CRICKET   ON  THE   HEARTn.  231 

"  It  is  a  poor  place,  Bertha ;  very  poor  and  haro  indeed, 
The  house  will  scarcely  keep  out  wind  and  rain  another  winter. 
It  is  as  roughly  shielded  from  the  weather,  Bertha,"  Dot 
continued  in  a  low,  clear  voice,  "  as  your  poor  father  in  his 
sackcloth  coat." 

The  Blind  Girl,  greatly  agitated,  rose,  and  led  the  Carrier's 
little  wife  aside. 

"  Those  presents  that  I  took  such  care  of;  that  came  almost 
at  my  wish,  and  were  so  dearly  welcome  to  me,"  she  said, 
trembling;  "where  did  they  come  from?  Did  you  send 
them  ?  " 

"  No." 

"Who  then?" 

Dot  saw  she  knew,  already,  and  was  silent.  The  Blind 
Girl  spread  her  hands  before  her  face  again.  But  in  quite 
another  manner  now. 

"  Dear  Mary,  a  moment.  One  moment.  More  this  way. 
Speak  softly  to  me.  You  are  true,  I  know.  You'd  not 
deceive  me  now  ;  would  you  ?  " 

"  No,  Bertha,  indeed !  " 

"  No,  I  am  sure  you  would  not.  You  have  too  much  pity 
for  me.  Mary,  look  across  the  room  to  where  we  were  just 
now — to  where  my  father  is — my  father,  so  compassionate  and 
loving  to  me — and  teU.  me  what  you  see." 

"  I  see,"  said  Dot,  who  understood  her  well,  "  an  old  man 
sitting  in  a  chair,  and  leaning  sorrowfully  on  the  back,  with 
his  face  resting  on  his  hand.  As  if  his  child  should  comfort 
iiim.  Bertha." 

"  Yes,  yes.     She  will.     Go  on." 

"  He  is  an  old  man,  worn  with  care  and  work.  He  is  a 
spare,  dejected,  thoughtful,  grey-haired  man.  I  see  him  now, 
despondent  and  bowed  down,  and  striving  against  nothing. 
But,  Bertha,  1  have  seen  him  many  times  before,  and  striving 
hard  in  many  ways  for  one  great  sacred  object.  And  I  honor 
his  grey  head,  and  bless  him  !  " 

The  Blind  Girl  broke  away  from  her ;  and  throwing  herself 
upon  her  knees  before  him,  took  the  grey  head  to  her  breast. 

*'  It  is  my  sight  restored.  It  is  my  sight !  "  she  cried.  ''  I 
have  been  blind,  and  now  my  eyes  are  open.  I  never  knew 
faim  !  To  think  I  might  have  died,  and  never  truly  seen  the 
father  who  has  been  so  loving  to  me  !  " 

There  were  no  words  for  Caleb's  emotion. 


232  THE  CRICKET  ON  THE  HEARTH. 

"  There  is  not  a  gallant  fig^e  on  this  earth,"  exclaimed 
the  Blind  Girl,  holding  him  in  her  embrace,  "  that  I  would 
love  so  dearly,  and  would  cherish  so  devotedly,  as  this  !  The 
greyer,  and  more  worn,  the  dearer,  father !  Never  let  them 
say  I  am  blind  again.  There's  not  a  furrow  in  his  face, 
there  's  not  a  hair  upon  his  head,  that  shall  be  forgotten  in 
my  prayers  and  thanks  to  Heaven  !  " 

Caleb  managed  to  articulate,  "  My  Bertha  !  " 

"  And  in  my  blindness,  I  believed  him,"  said  the  girl, 
caressing  him  with  tears  of  exquisite  affection,  "to  be  so 
different !  And  having  him  beside  me,  day  by  day,  so  mindful 
of  me  always,  never  dreamed  of  this  !  " 

"  The  fresh  smart  father  in  the  blue  coat,  Bertha,"  said 
poor  Caleb.     "  He  's  gone  !  " 

"  Nothing  is  gone,"  she  answered.  "  Dearest  father,  no  ! 
Everything  is  here — in  you.  The  father  that  I  loved  so  well  ; 
the  father  that  I  never  loved  enough,  and  never  knew ;  the 
benefactor  whom  I  first  began  to  reverence  and  love,  because 
he  had  such  sympathy  for  me  ;  All  are  here  in  you.  Nothing 
is  dead  to  me.  The  soul  of  all  that  was  most  dear  to  me  is 
here — here,  with  the  worn  face,  and  the  grey  head.  And  I 
am  NOT  blind,  father,  any  longer !  " 

Dot's  whole  attention  had  been  concentrated,  during  this 
discourse,  upon  the  father  and  daughter;  but  looking,  now, 
towards  the  Httle  Haymaker  in  the  Moorish  meadow,  she  saw 
that  the  clock  was  within  a  few  minutes  of  striking,  and  fell, 
immediately,  into  a  nervous  and  excited  state. 

"  Father,"  said  Bertha,  hesitating.     "  Mary." 

"  Yes  my  dear,"  returned  Caleb.     "  Here  she  is." 

"  There  is  no  change  in  her.  You  never  told  me  anything 
of  her  that  was  not  true  ?  " 

"I  should  have  done  it  my  dear,  I  am  afraid,"  returned 
Caleb,  "  if  I  could  have  made  her  better  than  she  was.  But 
I  must  have  changed  her  for  the  worse,  if  I  had  changed  her 
at  all.     Nothing  could  improve  her.  Bertha." 

Confident  as  the  Blind  Girl  had  been  when  she  asked  the 
question,  her  delight  and  pride  in  the  reply  and  her  renewed 
embrace  of  Dot,  were  charming  to  behold. 

"  More  changes  than  you  think  for,  may  happen  though, 
my  dear,"  said  Dot.  "Changes  for  the  better,  I  mean; 
changes  for  great  joy  to  some  of  us.  You  mustn't  let  them 
startle  you  too  much,  if  anv  such  should  ever  happen,  and 


THE  CRICKET  ON  THE   HEARTH.  233 

affect  you !  Are  those  wlieels  upon  the  road  ?  You  've  a  quick 
oar,  Bertha.     Are  they  wheels  ?  " 

"  Yes.     Coming  very  fast." 

"  I — I — I  know  you  have  a  quick  ear,"  said  Dot,  placing 
her  hand  upon  her  heart,  and  evidently  talking  on,  as  fast  as  she 
could,  to  hide  its  palpitating  state,  "  because  I  have  noticed  it 
often,  and  because  you  were  so  quick  to  find  out  that  strange 
step  last  night.  Though  why  you  should  have  said,  as  I  very 
well  recollect  you  did  say.  Bertha,  '  whose  step  is  that ! '  and 
why  you  should  have  taken  any  greater  observation  of  it  than 
of  any  other  step,  I  don't  know.  Though,  as  I  said  just  now, 
there  are  great  changes  in  the  world :  great  changes  :  and  we 
can't  do  better  than  prepare  ourselves  to  be  surprised  at  hardly 
anything." 

Caleb  wondered  what  this  meant ;  perceiving  that  she  spoke 
to  him,  no  less  than  to  his  daughter.  He  saw  her,  with 
astonishment,  so  fluttered  and  distressed  that  she  could  scarcely 
breathe ;  and  holding  to  a  chair,  to  save  herself  from  faUing. 

"  They  are  wheels  indeed  !  "  she  panted,  "  Coming  nearer  ! 
Nearer  !  Very  close  !  And  now  you  hear  them  stopping  at 
the  garden  gate  !  And  now  you  hear  a  step  outside  the  door 
— the  same  step,  Bertha,  is  it  not ! — and  now  !  " — 

She  uttered  a  wild  cry  of  uncontrollable  delight ;  and  run- 
ning up  to  Caleb,  put  her  hands  upon  his  eyes,  as  a  young 
man  rushed  into  the  room,  and  flinging  away  his  hat  into  the 
air,  came  sweeping  down  upon  them. 

"  Is  it  over  ?  "  cried  Dot. 

"Yes!" 

"  Happily  over  ?  " 

"  Yes  ! " 

"  Do  you  recoUect  the  voice,  dear  Caleb  ?  Did  you  ever 
hear  the  like  of  it  before  ?  "  cried  Dot. 

"  If  my  boy  in  the  Golden  South  Americas  was  alive  " — 
said  Caleb,  trembling. 

"  He  is  alive !  "  shrieked  Dot,  removing  her  hands  from  his 
eyes,  and  clapping  them  in  ecstasy ;  "  look  at  him  !  See 
where  he  stands  before  you,  healthy  and  strong !  Yoixr  own 
dear  son.     Your  own  dear  living,  loving  brother,  Bertha  !  " 

AH  honor  to  the  little  creature  for  hei  transports  !  All 
honor  to  her  tears  and  laughter,  when  the  three  were  locked 
in  one  another's  arms  !  All  honor  to  the  heartiness  with 
vhich    she   mot    the    sunburnt   tailor-fellow,   with    his   dark 


234  THE   CRICKET   ON   THE   HEARTH. 

streaming  'hair,  half  way,  and  nover  turned  her  rosy  little 
mouth  aside,  but  suffered  him  to  kiss  it,  freely,  and  to  press 
her  to  his  bounding  heart ! 

And  honor  to  the  Cuckoo  too — why  not ! — for  bursting  out 
of  the  trap -door  in  the  Moorish  Palace  like  a  housebreaker, 
and  hiccoughing  twelve  times  on  the  assembled  company,  as 
if  he  had  got  drunk  for  joy  ! 

The  Carrier,  entering,  started  back.  And  wfiU  he  might, 
to  find  himself  in  such  good  company. 

"  Look,  John  !  "  said  Caleb,  exultingly,  "  look  here  !  My 
own  boy,  from  the  Golden  South  Americas  !  My  own  son  ! 
Him  that  you  fitted  out,  and  sent  away  yourself !  Him  that 
you  were  always  such  a  friend  to  !  " 

The  Carrier  advanced  to  seize  him  by  the  hand ;  but, 
recoiling,  as  some  feature  in  his  face  awakened  a  remembrance 
of  the  Deaf  Man  in  the  Cart,  said : 

"  Edward  !     Was  it  you  ?  " 

"  Now  ten  him  all !  "  cried  Dot.  "  Tell  him  all,  Edward : 
and  don't  spare  me,  for  nothing  shall  make  me  spare  myself 
in  his  eyes,  ever  again." 

"  I  was  the  man,"  said  Edward. 

"  And  could  you  steal,  disguised,  into  the  house  of  your  old 
friend  ?  "  rejoined  the  Carrier.  "  There  was  a  frank  boy  once 
— how  many  years  is  it,  Caleb,  since  we  heard  that  he  was 
dead,  and  had  it  proved,  we  thought? — who  never  would 
have  done  that." 

"  There  was  a  generous  friend  of  mine,  once ;  more  a  father 
to  me  than  a  friend  ;  "  said  Edward,  "  who  never  would  have 
judged  me,  or  any  other  man,  unheard.  You  were  he.  So  I 
am  certain  you  will  hear  me  now." 

The  Carrier,  with  a  troubled  glance  at  Dot,  who  still  kept 
far  away  from  him,  replied  "  Well !  that 's  but  fair.     I  will." 

"  You  must  know  that  when  I  left  here,  a  boy,"  said  Edward, 
"  I  was  in  love,  and  my  love  was  returned.  She  was  a  very 
young  girl,  who  perhaps  (you  may  tell  me)  didn't  know  her 
own  mind.     But  I  knew  mine,  and  I  had  a  passion  for  her." 

"  You  had  !  "  exclaimed  the  Carrier.      "  You  !  " 

"Indeed  I  had,"  returned  the  other.  "And  she  returned 
it.  I  have  ever  since  believed  she  did,  and  now  I  am  siu'O 
she  did." 

"  Heaven  help  me  '  "  said  the  Carrier.  "  This  is  worse 
than  all." 


THE   CRICKET   ON   THE   HEAUTE.  236 

"Constant  to  her,"  said  Edward,  "and  returning,  full  of 
hope,  after  many  hardships  and  perils,  to  redeem  my  part  of 
our  old  contract,  I  heard,  twenty  miles  away,  that  she  was 
false  to  me ;  that  she  had  forgotten  me ;  and  had  bestowed 
herself  upon  another  and  a  richer  man.  I  had  no  mind  to 
reproach  her ;  but  I  wished  to  see  her,  and  to  prove  beyond 
dispute  that  this  was  true.  I  hoped  she  might  have  been 
forced  into  it,  against  her  own  desire  and  recollection.  It 
would  be  small  comfort,  but  it  would  be  some,  I  thought,  and 
on  I  came.  That  I  might  have  the  truth,  the  real  truth ; 
observing  freely  for  myself,  and  judging  for  myself,  without 
obstruction  on  the  one  hand,  or  presenting  my  own  influence 
(if  I  had  any)  before  her,  on  the  other ;  I  dressed  myself 
vmlike  myself — you  know  how  ;  and  waited  on  the  road — you 
know  where.  You  had  no  suspicion  of  me ;  neither  had — had 
she,"  pointing  to  Dot,  "  until  I  whispered  in  her  ear  at  that 
fireside,  and  she  so  nearly  betrayed  me." 

"  But  when  she  knew  that  Edward  was  alive,  and  had  come 
back,"  sobbed  Dot,  now  speaking  for  herself,  as  she  had 
burned  to  do,  all  through  this  narrative ;  "  and  when  she 
knew  his  purpose,  she  advised  him -by  all  means  to  keep  his 
secret  close ;  for  his  old  friend  John  Peerybingle  was  much 
too  open  in  his  nature,  and  too  clumsy  in  all  artifice — being  u 
clumsy  man  in  general,"  said  Dot,  half  laughing  and  half 
cr}dng — "to  keep  it  for  him.  And  when  she — that's  me, 
John,"  sobbed  the  little  woman — "  told  him  all,  and  how  his 
sweetheart  had  believed  him  to  be  dead ;  and  how  she  had 
at  last  been  over-persuaded  by  her  mother  into  a  marriage 
which  the  silly,  dear  old  thing  called  advantageous ;  and  when 
she — that 's  me  again,  John — told  him  they  were  not  yet 
married  (though  close  upon  it),  and  that  it  would  be  nothing 
but  a  sacrifice  if  it  went  on,  for  there  was  no  love  on  her  side  ; 
and  when  he  went  nearly  mad  with  joy  to  hear  it ;  then  she — 
that 's  me  again — said  she  woxdd  go  between  them,  as  she 
had  often  done  before  in  old  times,  John,  and  would  sound 
his  sweetheart  and  be  sure  that  what  she — me  again,  John — 
said  and  thought  was  right.  And  it  was  right,  John  !  And 
they  were  brought  together,  Jolm  !  And  they  were  married, 
John,  an  hour  ago  !  And  here  's  the  Bride  !  And  Gruff  and 
Tackleton  may  die  a  bachelor !  And  I  'm  a  happy  little 
woman.  May,  God  bless  you  I  " 

She  was  an  irresistible  little  woman,  if  that  be  anything  to 


•236  THE   CRigKET   ON   THE   HEARTH. 

the  piirpose ;  and  never  so  completely  irresistible  as  in  her 
present  transports.  There  never  were  congratulations  so 
endearing  and  delicious,  as  those  she  lavished  on  herself  and 
on  the  Bride. 

Amid  the  tumtdt  of  emotions  in  his  breast,  the  honest 
Carrier  had  stood  confounded.  Flying,  now,  towards  her 
Dot  stretched  out  her  hand  to  stop  him,  and  retreated  as 
before. 

"  No  John,  no  !  Hear  all !  Don't  love  me  any  more, 
John,  'till  you  've  heard  every  word  I  have  to  say.  It  was 
wrong  to  have  a  secret  from  you,  John.  I  'm  very  sorry.  I 
didn't  think  it  any  harm,  till  I  came  and  sat  down  by  you  on 
the  little  stool  last  night.  But  when  I  knew  by  what  was 
written  in  your  face,  that  you  had  seen  me  walking  in  the 
gaUery  with  Edward,  and  when  I  knew  what  you  thought,  I 
felt  how  giddy  and  how  wrong  it  was.  But  oh,  dear  John, 
how  could  you,  could  you  think  so  !  " 

Little  woman,  how  she  sobbed  again !  John  Peerybingle 
would  have  caught  her  in  his  arms.  But  no ;  she  wouldn't 
let  him. 

"  Don't  love  me  yet,  please  John !  Not  for  a  long  time  yet ! 
WTien  I  was  sad  about  this  intended  marriage,  dear,  it  was 
because  I  remembered  May  and  Edward  such  young  lovers ; 
and  knew  that  her  heart  was  far  away  from  Tackleton.  You 
believe  that,  now  don't  you  John  ?  " 

John  was  going  to  make  another  rush  at  this  appeal ;  but 
she  stopped  him  again. 

"  No  ;  keep  there,  please  John  !  When  I  laugh  at  you,  as 
I  sometimes  do,  John,  and  call  you  clumsy  and  a  dear  old 
goose,  and  names  of  that  sort,  it 's  because  I  love  you,  John, 
so  well,  and  take  such  pleasure  in  your  waj^s,  and  wouldn't 
see  you  altered  in  the  least  respect  to  have  you  made  a  king 
to-morrow." 

"  Hooroar  !  "  said  Caleb,  with  unusual  vigour.  "  My 
opinion  !  " 

"  And  when  I  speak  of  people  being  middle-aged,  and 
steady  John,  and  pretend  that  we  are  a  humdrum  couple, 
going  on  in  a  jog-trot  sort  of  way,  it 's  only  because  I  'm  such 
a  siUy  little  thing,  John,  that  I  like,  sometimes,  to  act  as  a 
kind  of  Play  with  Baby,  and  all  that :   and  make  believe." 

She  saw  that  he  was  coming ;  and  stopped  him  again.  But 
she  was  very  nearly  too  late. 


THE    CRICKET   ON   THE    HEARTH.  237 

"  No,  don't  love  me  for  another  minute  or  two,  if  you  please 
Jolin !  What  I  want  most  to  teU  you,  I  have  kept  to  the 
last.  My  dear,  good,  generous  John,  when  we  were  talkmg 
the  other  night  about  the  Cricket,  I  had  it  on  my  lips  to  say, 
that  at  first  I  did  not  love  you  quite  so  dearly  as  I  do  now ; 
■when  I  first  came  home  here,  I  was  half  afraid  that  1 
mightn't  learn  to  love  you  every  bit  as  well  as  I  hoped  and 
prayed  I  might — being  so  very  young,  John !  But,  dear 
John,  every  day  and  hour,  I  loved  you  more  and  more.  And 
if  I  could  have  loved  you  better  than  I  do,  the  noble  words  I 
heard  you  say  this  morning  would  have  made  me.  But  I 
can't.  All  the  affection  that  I  had  (it  was  a  great  deal  John) 
I  gave  you,  as  you  well  deserve,  long,  long  ago,  and  I  have 
no  more  left  to  give.  Now,  my  dear  husband,  take  me  to 
your  heart  again  !  That 's  my  home,  John  ;  and  never,  never 
think  of  sending  me  to  any  other  !  " 

You  never  will  derive  so  much  delight  from  seeing  a 
glorious  little  woman  in  the  arms  of  a  third  party,  as  you 
would  have  felt  if  you  had  seen  Dot  run  into  the  Carrier's 
embrace.  It  was  the  most  complete,  unmitigated,  soul-fraught 
little  piece  of  earnestness  that  ever  you  beheld  in  aU  your  days. 

You  may  be  sure  the  Carrier  was  in  a  state  of  perfect 
rapture  ;  and  you  may  be  sure  Dot  was  Hkewise ;  and  you 
may  be  sure  they  all  were,  inclusive  of  Miss  Slowboy,  who 
wept  copiously  for  joy,  and,  wishing  to  include  her  yoxmg 
charge  in  the  general  interchange  of  congratulations,  handed 
round  the  Baby  to  everybody  in  succession,  as  if  it  were  some- 
thing to  drink. 

But,  now,  the  sound  of  wheels  was  heard  again  outside  the 
door  ;  and  somebody  exclaimed  that  Gruff  and  Tackleton  was 
coming  back.  Speedily  that  worthy  gentleman  appeared, 
looking  warm  and  flustered. 

"Why,  what  the  Devil's  this,  John  Peerybingle !  "  said 
Tackleton.  "There's  some  mistake.  I  appointed  Mrs. 
Tackleton  to  meet  me  at  the  church,  and  I  '11  swear  I  passed 
her  on  tlie  road,  on  her  way  here.  Oh  !  here  she  is !  I  beg  youi 
pardon,  sir ;  I  haven't  the  pleasiore  of  knowing  you ;  but  if 
you  can  do  me  the  favor  to  spare  this  young  lady,  she  has 
rather  a  particular  engagement  this  morning." 

"  But  I  can't  spare  her,"  returned  Edward.  "  I  covildn't 
think  of  it." 

"What  do  you  mean,  you  vagabond?''  said  Tackleton. 


238  TEE   CraCKET   ON   THE   HEARTH. 

"  I  mean,  that  as  I  can  make  allowance  for  your  beina; 
vexed,"  returned  the  other  with  a  smile,  "  I  am  as  deaf  to 
harsh  discoui-se  this  morning,  as  I  was  to  all  discoui-se  last 
night." 

The  look  that  Tackleton  bestowed  upon  him,  and  the 
start  he  gave  ! 

"  I  am  sorry  sir,"  said  Edward,  holding  out  May's  left 
hand,  and  especially  the  third  finger,  "  that  the  young 
lady  can't  accompany  you  to  church;  but  as  she  has  been 
there  once,  this  morning,  perhaps  you'll  excuse  her." 

Tackleton  looked  hard  at  the  third  finger,  and  took  a 
little  piece  of  silver  paper,  apparently  containing  a  ring 
from  his  waistcoat  pocket. 

"  Miss  Slowboy,"  said  Tackleton.  "  Will  you  have  the 
kindness  to  throw  that  in  the  fire  ?     Thank' ee." 

"  It  was  a  previous  engagement,  quite  an  old  engagement, 
that  prevented  my  wife  fi'om  keeping  her  appointment  with 
you,  I  assure  you,"  said  Edward. 

"  Mr.  Tackleton  will  do  me  the  justice  to  acknowledge  that 
I  revealed  it  to  him  feithfully ;  and  that  I  told  him,  many 
times,  I  never  could  forget  it,"  said  May,  blushing. 

"  Oh  certainly !  "  said  Tackleton.  "Oh  to  be  sure.  Oh, 
it 's  all  right,  it 's  quite  correct.  Mrs.  Edward  Plummer,  I 
infer  ?  " 

"That's  the  name,"  returned  the  bridegroom. 

"  Ah  !  I  shouldn't  have  known  you,  sir,"  said  Tackleton, 
scrutinising  his  face  narrowly,  and  making  a  low  bow.  "  I 
give  you  joy  sir  !  " 

"Thank'ee." 

"Mrs.  Peerybingle,"  said  Tackleton,  turning  suddenly  to 
where  she  stood  with  her  husband;  "  I  'm  sorry.  You 
haven't  done  me  a  very  great  kindness,  but,  upon  my  life  I 
am  sorry.  You  are  better  than  I  thought  you.  Jolin  Peery- 
bingle, I  am  sorry.  You  understand  me  ;  that 's  enough. 
It's  quite  correct,  ladies  and  gentlemen  all,  and  perfectly 
satisfactory.     Good  morning  !  " 

With  these  words  he  carried  it  ofi",  and  carried  himself 
off  too  :  merely  stopping  at  the  door,  to  take  the  fiowera 
and  favors  from  his  horse's  head,  and  to  kick  that  animal 
once,  in  the  ribs,  as  a  means  of  informing  him  that  there 
was  a  screw  loose  in  his  arrangements. 

Of  coua'se.  it  L'jciuue  h  seiious  duty  now,   to  make  cucli  j. 


THE    CRICKET    ON    THE    HEARTH.  239 

day  of  it,  as  should  mark  these  events  for  a  high  Feast  and 
Festival  in  the  Peerybingle  Calendar  for  evermore.  Accord- 
ingly, Dot  went  to  work  to  produce  such  an  entertainment, 
as  should  reflect  undying  honor  on  the  house  and  on  every 
one  concerned ;  and  in  a  very  short  space  of  time,  she  was 
up  to  her  dimpled  elbows  in  flour,  and  whitening  the 
Carrier's  coat,  every  time  he  came  near  her,  by  stopping  him 
to  give  him  a  kiss.  That  good  fellow  washed  the  greens, 
and  peeled  the  turnips,  and  broke  the  plates,  and  upset  irou 
pots  full  of  cold  water  on  the  fire,  and  made  himself  useful 
in  all  sorts  of  waj'S  :  while  a  couple  of  professional  assistants, 
hastily  called  in  from  somewhere  in  the  neighbourhood,  as 
on  a  point  of  life  or  death,  ran  against  each  other  in  all  the 
doorways  and  round  all  the  corners,  and  everybody  tumbled 
over  Tilly  Slowboy  and  the  Baby,  everywhere.  Tilly  never 
came  out  in  such  force  before.  Her  ubiquity  was  the  theme 
of  general  admiration.  She  was  a  stumbling-block  in  the 
passage  at  five  and  twenty  minutes  past  two  ;  a  man-trap  in 
the  kitchen  at  half-past  two  precisely ;  and  a  pit-fall  in  the 
garret  at  five  and  twenty  minutes  to  three.  The  Baby's  head 
was,  as  it  were,  a  test  and  touchstone  for  eveiy  description  of 
matter,  animal,  vegetable,  and  mineral.  Nothing  was  in  use 
that  day  that  didn't  come,  at  some  time  or  other,  into  close 
acquaintance  with  it. 

Then  there  was  a  great  Expedition  set  on  foot  to  go  and 
find  out  Mrs.  Fielding ;  and  to  be  dismally  penitent  to  that 
excellent  gentlewoman ;  and  to  bring  her  back,  by  force,  if 
needful,  to  be  happy  and  forgiving.  And  when  the  Expedi- 
tion fia'st  discovered  her,  she  would  listen  to  no  terms  at  all, 
but  said,  an  tmspeakable  number  of  times,  that  ever  she 
should  have  lived  to  see  the  day .'  and  couldn't  be  got  to  say 
anything  else,  except  "  Now  carry  me  to  the  grave :  "  which 
seemed  absui'd,  on  account  of  her  not  being  dead,  or  anything 
ai  all  like  it.  After  a  time  she  lapsed  into  a  state  of  dreadful 
calmness,  and  observed  that  when  that  unfortunate  train  of 
circumstances  had  occurred  in  the  Indigo  Trade,  she  had  fore- 
seen that  she  would  be  exposed,  during  her  whole  life,  to 
every  species  of  insult  and  contumely ;  and  that  she  was  glad 
to  fiud  it  was  the  case  ;  and  begged  they  wouldn't  trouble 
themselves  about  her, — for  what  was  she?  —  oh,  dear!  a 
nobody  ! — but  would  forget  tliat  such  a  being  lived,  and  would 
take  their   course  in   life   witJjuut  her.       From   this  bitterly 


240  THE    CRICKET    ON    TUE    HEAKTH. 

sarcastic  mood,  she  passed  into  an  angry  one,  in  which  sho 
gave  vent  to  the  remarkable  expression  that  the  worm  would 
turn  if  trodden  on ;  and,  after  that,  she  yielded  to  a  soft  regret, 
and  said,  if  they  had  only  given  her  their  confidence,  what 
might  she  not  have  had  it  in  her  power  to  suggest !  Taking 
advantage  of  this  crisis  in  her  feelings,  the  Expedition 
embraced  her ;  and  she  very  soon  had  her  gloves  on,  and  was 
on  her  way  to  John  Peerybingle's  in  a  state  of  unimpeachable 
gentility  ;  with  a  paper  parcel  at  her  side  containing  a  cap  of 
state,  almost  as  tall,  and  quite  as  stiff,  as  a  mitre. 

Then,  there  were  Dot's  father  and  mother  to  come,  in 
another  little  chaise ;  and  they  were  behind  their  time  ;  and 
fears  were  entertained ;  and  there  was  much  looking  out  for 
them  down  the  road ;  and  Mrs.  Fielding  always  would  look 
in  the  wrong  and  morally  impossible  direction;  and  being 
apprised  thereof,  hoped  she  might  take  the  liberty  of  looking 
where  she  pleased.  At  last  they  came ;  a  chubby  little  couple, 
jogging  along  in  a  snug  and  comfortable  little  way  that  quite 
belonged  to  the  Dot  family  ;  and  Dot  and  her  mother,  side  by 
side,  were  wonderful  to  see.     They  were  so  like  each  other. 

Then,  Dot's  mother  had  to  renew  her  acquaintance  with 
May's  mother ;  and  May's  mother  always  stood  on  her  gen- 
tility ;  and  Dot's  mother  never  stood  on  anything  but  her 
active  little  feet.  And  old  Dot — so  to  call  Dot's  father,  I 
forgot  it  wasn't  his  right  name,  but  never  mind — took 
liberties,  and  shook  hands  at  first  sight,  and  seemed  to  think 
a  cap  but  so  much  starch  and  muslin,  and  didn't  defer  himseK 
at  all  to  the  Indigo  Trade,  but  said  there  was  no  help  for  it 
now;  and,  in  Mrs.  Fielding's  summing  up,  was  a  good- 
natured  kind  of  man — but  coarse,  my  dear. 

I  wouldn't  have  missed  Dot,  doing  the  honors  in  her 
wedding-gown,  my  benison  on  her  bright  face !  for  any 
money.  No  !  nor  the  good  Carrier,  so  jovial  and  so  ruddy, 
at  the  bottom  of  the  table.  Nor  the  brown,  fresh  sailor- 
fellow,  and  his  handsome  wife.  Nor  any  one  among  them. 
To  have  missed  the  dinner  would  have  been  to  miss  as  jolly 
and  as  stout  a  meal  as  man  need  eat ;  and  to  have  missed  the 
overflowing  cups  in  which  they  drank  The  Wedding  Day, 
would  have  been  the  greatest  miss  of  all. 

After  dinner,  Caleb  sang  the  song  about  the  Sparkling  Bowl. 
As  I  'm  a  living  man,  hoping  to  keep  so,  for  a  year  or  two, 
he  sang  it  through. 


TDE    CRICKET    ON    TUE    nEARTH.  Zil 

And,  by-tlie-bye,  a  most  unlooked-for  incident  occurred, 
just  as  lie  finished  the  last  verse. 

There  was  a  tap  at  the  door  ;  and  a  man  came  stag'gerinj*; 
in,  without  saying  with  your  leave,  or  by  yovir  leave,  with 
something  heavy  on  his  head.  Setting  this  down  in  the 
middle  of  the  table,  symmetrically  in  the  centre  of  the  niirs 
and  apples,  he  said  : 

"  Mr.  Tackleton's  compliments,  and  as  he  hasn't  got  no  use 
for  the  cake  himself,  p'raps  you  '11  eat  it." 

And  with  those  words,  he  walked  off. 

There  was  some  surprise  among  the  company,  as  you  may 
imagine.  Mrs.  Fielding,  being  a  lady  of  infinite  discernment, 
suggested  that  the  cake  was  poisoned,  and  related  a  narrative 
of  a  cake,  which,  within  her  knowledge,  had  turned  a  seminaiy 
for  young  ladies,  blue.  But  she  Avas  overruled  by  acclama- 
tion ;  and  the  cake  was  cut  by  May,  with  much  ceremony  and 
rejoicing. 

I  don't  think  any  one  had  tasted  it,  when  there  came 
another  tap  at  the  door,  and  the  same  man  appeared  again, 
having  under  his  arm  a  vast  brown  paper  parcel. 

"Mr.  Tackleton's  compliments,  and  he's  sent  a  few  to\-3 
for  the  Babby.     They  ain't  ugly." 

After  the  delivery  of  which  expressions,  lie  retired  again. 

The  whole  party  would  have  experienced  great  difficulty  in 
finding  words  for  their  astonishment,  even  if  they  had  had 
ample  time  to  seek  them.  But,  they  had  none  at  all ;  for, 
the  messenger  had  scarcely  shut  the  door  behind  him,  when 
there  came  another  tap,  and  Tackleton  himself  walked  in. 

"  Mrs.  Peerybingle  !  "  said  the  Toy  Merchant,  hat  in  hand. 
"  I  'm  sorry.  I  'm  more  sorry  than  I  was  this  morning.  I 
have  had  time  to  think  of  it.  John  Peerybingle  !  I  am  sour 
by  disposition ;  but  I  can't  help  being  sweetened,  more  or 
leas,  by  coming  face  to  face  with  such  a  man  as  you.  Caleb  ! 
This  unconscious  little  nurse  gave  me  a  broken  hint  last 
night,  of  which  I  have  found  tlie  thread.  I  blush  to  think 
how  easily  I  might  have  bound  you  and  your  daughter  to  me, 
and  what  a  miserable  idiot  1  was,  when  I  took  her  for  one  ' 
Friends,  one  and  all,  my  house  is  very  lonely  to-night.  1 
have  not  so  much  as  a  Cricket  on  my  Hearth.  I  have  scared 
them  all  away.  Be  gracious  to  me  •  let  me  join  this  happy 
party ! " 

He  was  ut  home  in   five  minutes.     You  never  sa-\v  sudi  a 


242  THE   CRICKET   ON   THE   HEARTH. 

fellow.  What  Jiad  he  been  doing  with  himself  all  his  life, 
never  to  have  known,  before,  his  great  capacity  of  beinj^ 
jovial !  Or  what  had  the  Fairies  been  doing  with  him,  to 
have  eifected  such  a  change  ! 

"  John  !  you  won't  send  me  home  this  evening;  will  you  ?" 
whispered  Dot. 

He  had  been  very  near  it  though. 

There  wanted  but  one  living  creature  to  make  the  party 
complete  ;  and,  in  the  twinkling  of  an  eye,  there  he  was,  very 
thirsty  with  hard  running,  and  engaged  in  hopeless  endeavours 
to  squeeze  his  head  into  a  narrow  pitcher.  He  had  gone  with 
the  cart  to  its  journey's  end,  very  much  disgusted  with  the 
absence  of  his  master,  and  stupendously  rebellious  to  the 
Deputy.  After  lingering  about  the  stable  for  some  little  time, 
vainly  attempting  to  incite  the  old  horse  to  the  mutinous  act 
of  returning  on  his  own  account,  he  had  walked  into  the  tap- 
room and  laid  himself  down  before  tlie  fire.  But  suddenly 
yielding  to  the  conviction  that  the  Deputy  was  a  humbug, 
and  must  be  abandoned,  he  had  got  up  again,  turned  taU,  and 
come  home. 

There  was  a  dance  in  the  evening.  With  which  general 
mention  of  that  recreation,  I  should  have  left  it  alone,  if  I 
had  not  some  reason  to  suppose  that  it  was  quite  an  original 
dance,  and  one  of  a  most  xmcommon  figure.  It  was  formed 
in  an  odd  way  ;  in  this  way. 

Edward,  that  sailor-fellow— a  good  free  dashing  sort  of 
fellow  he  was — had  been  telling  them  various  marvels  con- 
cerning parrots,  and  mines,  and  Mexicans,  and  gold  dust, 
when  all  at  once  lie  took  it  in  his  head  to  jump  up  from  his 
seat  and  propose  a  dance ;  for  Bertha's  harp  was  there,  and 
she  had  such  a  hand  upon  it  as  you  seldom  hear.  Dot  (sly 
little  piece  of  affectation  when  she  chose)  said  her  dancing 
days  were  over ;  I  think  because  the  Carrier  was  smoking  his 
pipe,  and  she  liked  sitting  by  him,  best.  Mrs.  Fielding  had 
no  choice,  of  course,  but  to  say  her  dancing  days  were  over, 
after  that ;  and  everybody  said  the  same,  excejjt  May ;  May 
was  ready. 

So,  May  and  Edward  get  up,  amid  great  applause,  to  dance 
alone ;   and  Bertha  plays  her  liveliest  tune. 

Well !  if  you  '11  believe  me,  they  have  not  been  dancing 
five  minutes,  when  suddenly  the  Carrier  flings  his  pipe  away, 
takes  Dot  round  the  waist   dashes   out  into  the  room,  and 


■i-ilE    CRICKET    ON    THE    HEARTH.  243 

Starts  off  with  her,  toe  and  heel,  quite  wonderfully.  Tackleton 
no  sooner  sees  this,  than  he  skims  across  to  Mrs.  Fielding, 
takes  her  round  the  waist,  and  follows  suit.  Old  Dot  no 
sooner  sees  this,  than  up  he  is,  all  alive,  whisks  off  Mrs.  Dot 
into  the  middle  of  the  dance,  and  is  the  foremost  there. 
Caleb  no  sooner  sees  this,  than  he  clutches  Tilly  Slowboy  by 
both  hands  and  goes  off  at  score ;  Miss  Slowboy,  firm  in  the 
beHef  that  diving  hotly  in  among  the  other  couples,  and 
effecting  any  number  of  concussions  with  them,  is  your  only 
principle  of  footing  it.    " 

Hark !    how  the  Cricket  joins   the  music  with  its  Chirp, 
Chirp,  Chirp ;  and  how  the  kettle  hums  I 


But  what  is  this  !  Even  as  I  listen  to  them,  blithely,  and 
turn  towards  Dot,  for  one  last  glimpse  of  a  little  figure  very 
pleasant  to  me,  she  and  the  rest  have  vanished  into  air,  and 
I  am  left  alone.  A  Cricket  sings  upon  the  Hearth  ;  a  broken 
child' s-toy  Kes  upon  the  ground  ;  aiid  nothing-  else  remains. 


THE   BATTLE   OF   LIFE. 

J.  LOVE  STORY. 


THE   BATTLE   OE   LIFE. 


PART  THE  FIRST. 


Once  upon  a  time,  it  matters  little  when,  and  in  stalwart 
England,  it  matters  little  where,  a  fierce  battle  was  fought. 
It  was  fought  upon  a  long  summer  day  when  the  waving 
grass  was  green.  Many  a  wild  flower  formed  by  the 
Almighty  Hand  to  be  a  perfumed  goblet  for  the  dew,  felt  its 
enamelled  cup  filled  high  with  blood  that  day,  and  shrinking 
dropped.  Many  an  insect  deriving  its  delicate  colour  from 
harmless  leaves  and  herbs,  was  stained  anew  that  day  by 
dying  men,  and  marked  its  frightened  way  with  an  unnatural 
track.  The  painted  butterfly  took  blood  into  the  air  upon  the 
edges  of  its  wings.  The  stream  ran  red.  The  trodden 
ground  became  a  quagmire,  whence,  from  sullen  pools 
collected  in  the  prints  of  human  feet  and  horses'  hoofs,  the 
one  prevailing  hue  still  lowered  and  glimmered  at  the  sun. 

Heaven  keep  us  from  a  knowledge  of  the  sights  the  moon 
beheld  upon  that  field,  when,  coming  up  above  the  black  Ihie 
of  distant  rising-ground,  softened  and  blurred  at  tlie  edge  by 
trees,  she  rose  into  the  sky  and  looked  upon  the  plain,  strewn 
with  upturned  faces  that  had  once  at  mothers'  breasts  sought 
mothers'  eyes,  or  slumliered  happily.  Heaven  keep  us  from 
a  knowledge  of  the  secrets  whispered  afterwards  upon  the 
tainted  wind  that  blew  across  the  scene  of  that  day's  work 
and  that  night's  death  and  suffering  !  Many  a  lonely  moon 
was  bright  upon  the  battle-ground,  and  many  a  star  kept 
mournful  watch  upon  it,  and  many  a  wind  from  every  quarter 
of  the  earth  blew  over  it,  before  the  traces  of  the  fight  were 
worn  away. 

They  luiked  and  lingered  for  a  long  time,  but  survived  in 


248  THE   BATTLE    OF   LIFE. 

little  things ;  for,  Nature,  far  above  the  evil  passions  of  men, 
soon  recovered  Her  serenity,  and  smiled  upon  the  guilty 
battle-ground  as  she  had  done  before,  when  it  was  innocent. 
The  larks  sang  high  above  it ;  the  swallows  skimmed  and 
dipped  and  flitted  to  and  fro  ;  the  shadows  of  the  flying  clouds 
pursued  each  other  swiftly,  over  grass  and  com  and  turnip- 
field  and  wood,  and  over  roof  and  church-spire  in  the  nestling 
town  among  the  trees,  away  into  the  bright  distance  on  the 
borders  of  the  sky  and  earth,  where  the  red  sunsets  faded. 
Crops  were  sown,  and  grew  up,  and  were  gathered  in ;  the 
stream  that  had  been  crimsoned,  turned  a  water-mill ;  men 
whistled  at  the  plough ;  gleaners  and  haymakers  were  seen 
in  quiet  groups  at  work  ;  sheep  and  oxen  pastured ;  boys 
whooped  and  called,  in  fields,  to  scare  away  the  birds  ;  smoke 
rose  from  cottage  chimneys ;  sabbath  bells  rang  peacefully ; 
old  people  lived  and  died ;  the  timid  creatures  of  the  field, 
and  simple  flowers  of  the  bush  and  garden,  grew  and  withered 
in  their  destined  terms ;  and  all  upon  the  fierce  and  bloody 
battle-ground,  where  thousands  upon  thousands  had  been  killed 
in  the  great  fight. 

But,  there  were  deep  green  patches  in  the  growing  com  at 
first,  that  people  looked  at  awfully.  Year  after  year  they  re- 
appeared ;  and  it  was  known  that  underneath  those  fertile 
spots,  heaps  of  men  and  horses  lay  buried,  indiscriminately, 
enriching  the  ground.  The  husbandmen  who  ploughed  those 
places,  shrunk  from  the  great  worms  abounding  there ;  and 
the  sheaves  they  jdelded,  were,  for  many  a  long  year,  called 
the  Battle  Sheaves,  and  set  apart ;  and  no  one  ever  knew  a 
Battle  Sheaf  to  be  among  the  last  load  at  a  Harvest  Home. 
For  a  long  time,  every  furrow  that  was  turned,  revealed  some 
fragments  of  the  fight.  For  a  long  time,  there  were  wounded 
trees  upon  the  battle-ground ;  and  scraps  of  hacked  and 
broken  fence  and  wall,  where  deadly  struggles  had  been 
made  ;  and  trampled  parts  where  not  a  leaf  or  blade  would 
grow.  For  a  long  time,  no  village  girl  would  dress  her  hair 
or  bosom  with  the  sweetest  flower  from  that  field  of  death : 
and  after  many  a  year  had  come  and  gone,  the  berries 
growing  there,  were  still  believed  to  leave  too  deep  a  stain 
upon  the  hand  that  plucked  them. 

The  Seasons  in  their  course,  however,  though  they  passed 
as  lightly  as  the  summer  clouds  themselves,  obliterated,  in 
tho  lapse  of  time,  even  theso  remains  of  the  old  conflict;  axxd 


THE   BATTLE   OF   LIFE.  249 

■wore  away  such  legendary  traces  of  it  as  the  neighbouring 
people  carried  in  their  minds,  until  they  dwindled  into  old 
wives'  tales,  dimly  remembered  round  the  winter  lire,  and 
waning  every  year.  ^^Tiere  the  wild  jflowers  and  berries  had 
so  long  remained  upon  the  stem  untouclied,  gardens  arose, 
and  houses  were  built,  and  children  played  at  battles  on  the 
turf.  The  wounded  trees  had  long  ago  made  Christmas  logs, 
and  blazed  and  roared  away  The  deep  green  patches  were 
no  greener  now  than  the  memory  of  those  who  lay  in  dust 
below.  The  ploughshare  still  turned  up  from  time  to  time 
some  rusty  bits  of  metal,  but  it  was  hard  to  say  what  use  they 
had  ever  served,  and  those  who  found  them  wondered  and 
disputed.  An  old  dinted  corslet,  and  a  helmet,  had  been 
hanging  in  the  chui-ch  so  long,  that  the  same  weak  half-blind 
old  man  who  tried  in  vain  to  make  them  out  above  the  white- 
washed arch,  had  marvelled  at  them  as  a  baby.  If  the  host 
slain  upon  the  field,  could  have  been  for  a  moment  reanimated 
in  the  forms  in  which  they  feU,  each  upon  the  spot  that  was 
the  bed  of  his  untimely  death,  gashed  and  ghastly  soldiers 
would  have  stared  in,  hundreds  deep,  at  household  door  and 
window;  and  would  have  risen  on  the  hearths  of  quiet  homes; 
and  would  have  been  the  garnered  store  of  barns  and 
granaries ;  and  would  have  started  up  between  the  cradled 
infant  and  its  nurse ;  and  would  have  floated  with  tlie  stream, 
and  whirled  round  on  the  mill,  and  crowded  the  orchai'd,  and 
burdened  the  meadow,  and  piled  the  rickyard  high  with 
dj-ing  men.  So  altered  was  the  battle-ground,  where 
thousands  upon  thousands  had  been  killed  in  the  great  fight. 

Nowhere  more  altered,  perhaps,  about  a  hundred  years  ago, 
than  in  one  little  orchard  attached  to  an  old  stone  house  with 
a  honeysuckle  porch ;  where,  on  a  bright  autumn  morning, 
there  were  sounds  of  music  and  laughter,  and  where  two 
girls  danced  merrily  together  on  the  grass,  while  some  half- 
dozen  peasant  women  standing  on  ladders,  gathering  the 
apples  from  the  trees,  stopped  in  their  work  to  look  down, 
and  share  their  enjoyment.  It  was  a  pleasant,  lively,  natural 
scene ;  a  beautiful  day,  a  retired  spot ;  and  the  two  girls, 
(juite  unconstrained  and  careless,  danced  in  the  freedom  and 
gaiety  of  their  hearts. 

If  there  were  no  such  thing  as  display  in  the  world,  my 
private  opinion  is,  and  I  hope  you  agree  with  me,  that  we 
might  get  on  a  great  deal  better  than  we  do,  and  might  bo 


250  THE   BATTLE   OF   LIFE. 

infinitely  more  agreeable  company  than  we  are.  It  wa^ 
charming  to  see  how  these  girls  danced.  They  had  no 
spectators  but  the  apple-pickers  on  the  ladders.  They  were 
very  glad  to  please  them,  but  they  danced  to  please  themselve.^' 
(or  at  least  you  would  have  supposed  so) ;  and  you  could  no 
more  help  admiring,  than  they  could  help  dancing.  How 
tliey  did  dance ! 

Not  like  opera-dancers.  Not  at  all.  And  not  like  Madame 
Anybody's  finished  pupils.  Not  the  least.  It  was  non 
quadrille  dancing,  nor  minuet  dancing,  nor  even  country- 
dance  dancing.  It  was  neither  in  the  old  style,  nor  the  new 
style,  nor  the  French  style,  nor  the  English  style  :  though  it 
may  have  been,  by  accident,  a  trifle  in  the  Spanish  style, 
which  is  a  free  and  joyous  one,  I  am  told,  deriving  a  delight- 
ful air  of  off-hand  inspiration,  from  the  chirping  little 
castanets.  As  they  danced  among  the  orchard  trees,  and 
down  the  groves  of  stems  and  back  again,  and  twirled  each 
other  lightly  round  and  round,  the  influence  of  their  airy 
motion  seemed  to  spread  and  spread,  in  the  sun-lighted  scene, 
like  an  expanding  circle  in  the  water.  Their  streaming  hair 
and  fluttering  skirts,  the  elastic  grass  beneath  their  feet,  tho 
boughs  that  rustled  in  the  morning  air — the  flashing  leaves, 
the  speckled  shadows  on  the  soft  green  ground — the  balmy 
wind  that  swept  along  the  landscape,  glad  to  turn  the  distant 
windmill,  cheerily — everything  between  the  two  girls,  and  the 
man  and  team  at  plough  upon  the  ridge  of  land,  where  thfy 
showed  against  the  sky  as  if  they  were  the  last  tilings  in  tho 
world — seemed  dancing  too. 

At  last,  the  younger  of  the  dancing  sisters,  out  of  breath, 
and  laughing  gaily,  threw  herself  upon  a  bench  to  rest.  The 
other  leaned  against  a  tree  hard  by.  The  music,  a  wandering 
harp  and  fiddle,  left  off  with  a  flourish,  as  if  it  boasted  of  its 
freshness ;  though,  the  truth  is,  it  had  gone  at  such  a  pace, 
and  worked  itself  to  such  a  pitch  of  competition  with  the 
dancing,  that  it  never  could  have  held  on,  half  a  minute 
longer.  The  apple-pickers  on  the  ladders  raised  a  hum  and 
miirmur  of  applause,  and  then,  in  keeping  with  the  sound, 
bestirred  themselves  to  work  again  like  bees. 

The  more  actively,  perhaps,  because  an  elderly  gentleman, 
who  was  no  other  than  Doctor  Jeddler  himself — it  was  Doctor 
Jeddler's  house  and  orchard,  you  should  know,  and  these  wero 
Doctor  Jeddler's  daughters — came  bustling  out  to  see  ^'hat 


THE   BATTLE    OF   LIFE.  251 

was  the  matter,  and  who  the  deuce  played  music  on  his 
property,  before  breakfast.  For  he  was  a  great  philosopher. 
Doctor  Jeddler,  and  not  very  musical. 

"Music  and  dancing  to-daij  f  "  said  the  Doctor,  stopping 
short,  and  speaking  to  himself,  "  I  thought  they  dreaded  to- 
day. But  it 's  a  world  of  contradictions.  Why,  Grace,  why, 
Marion !  "  he  added  aloud,  "  is  the  world  more  mad  than 
usual  this  morning  ?  " 

"  Make  some  allowance  for  it,  father,  if  it  be,"  replied  his 
younger  daughter,  Marion,  going  close  to  him,  and  looking 
into  his  face,  "  for  it 's  somebody's  bfrth-day." 

"Somebody's  birth-day,  Puss,"  replied  the  Doctor.  "Don't 
you  know  it 's  always  somebody's  birth-day  ?  Did  you  never 
hear  how  many  new  performers  enter  on  this — ha  !  ha  !  ha  I 
— it 's  impossible  to  speak  gravely  of  it — on  this  preposterous 
and  ridiculous  business  called  Life,  every  minute  ?  " 

"  No,  father  !  " 

"No,  not  you,  of  course;  you're  a  woman — almost,"  said 
the  Doctor.  "  By  the  by,"  and  he  looked  into  the  pretty  face, 
still  close  to  his,  "  I  suppose  it's  your  birth-day." 

"No!  Do  you  really,  father?"  cried  his  pet  daughter, 
pursing  up  her  red  lips  to  be  kissed. 

"  There !  Take  my  love  with  it,"  said  the  Doctor, 
imprinting  his  upon  them;  "and  many  happy  returns  of  the 
— the  idea ! — of  the  day.  The  notion  of  wishing  happy 
returns  in  such  a  farce  as  this,"  said  the  Doctor  to  himself, 
"is  good!     Ha!  ha!  ha!" 

Doctor  Jeddler  was,  as  I  have  said,  a  great  philosopher, 
and  the  heart  and  mystery  of  liis  philosophy  was,  to  look 
upon  the  world  as  a  gigantic  practical  joke  ;  as  something  too 
absurd  to  be  considered  seriously,  by  any  rational  man.  His 
system  of  belief  had  been,  in  the  beginning,  part  and  parcel 
of  the  battle-ground  on  which  he  lived,  as  you  shall  presently 
understand. 

"  Well !  But  how  did  you  get  the  music  ?  "  asked  the 
Doctor.  "  Poultry-stealers,  of  coui'se !  Where  did  the 
minstrels  come  from  ?  " 

"Alfred  sent  the  music,"  said  his  daughter  Grace,  adjust- 
ing a  few  simple  flowers  in  her  sister's  hair,  with  which,  in 
her  admiration  of  that  jouthful  beauty,  she  had  herself 
adorned  it  half-an-hour  before,  and  which  the  dancing  had 
disarranged. 


252  TEE   BATTLE   OF   LIFE. 

"  Oh !  Alfred  sent  the  music,  did  he  ? "  returned  the 
Doctor. 

"  Yes.  He  met  it  coming  out  of  the  town  as  he  was 
entering  early.  The  men  are  travelling  on  foot,  and  rested 
there  last  night ;  and  as  it  was  Marion's  birth-day,  and  he 
thought  it  would  please  her,  he  sent  them  on,  with  a  pencilled 
note  to  me,  saying  that  if  I  thought  so  too,  they  had  come  to 
serenade  her." 

"Ay,  ay,"  said  the  Doctor,  carelessly,  "he  always  takes 
your  opinion." 

"  And  my  opinion  b(?ing  favourable,"  said  Grace,  good- 
humouredly ;  and  pausing  for  a  moment  to  admire  the  pretty 
head  she  decorated,  with  her  own  thrown  back ;  "  and  Marion 
being  in  high  spirits,  and  beginning  to  dance,  I  joined  her. 
And  so  we  danced  to  Alfred's  music  till  we  were  out  of  breath. 
And  we  thought  the  music  all  the  gayer  for  being  sent  by 
Alfred.     Didn't  we,  dear  Marion  ?  " 

"  Oh,  I  dont  know,  Grace.  How  you  tease  me  about 
Alfred." 

"  Tease  you  by  mentioning  your  lover?  "  said  her  sister. 

"I  am  sure  I  don't  much  care  to  have  him  mentioned," 
said  the  wilful  beauty,  stripping  the  petals  from  some  flowers 
she  held,  and  scattering  them  on  the  ground.  "  I  am  almost 
tired  of  hearing  of  him  ;   and  as  to  his  being  my  lover  " 

"  Hush !  Don't  speak  Kghtly  of  a  true  heart,  which  is  all 
your  own,  Marion,"  cried  her  sister,  "  even  in  jest.  There  is 
not  a  truer  heart  than  Alfred's  in  the  world  !  " 

"  No — no,"  said  Marion,  raising  her  eyebrows  with  a 
pleasant  air  of  careless  consideration,  "perhaps  not.  But  I 
don't  know  that  there  's  any  great  merit  in  that.  I — I  don't 
want  hira  to  be  so  very  true.     I  never   asked  him.     If  he 

expects  that  I .     But,  dear  Grace,  why  need  we  talk  of 

him  at  all,  just  now  !  " 

It  was  agreeable  to  see  the  graceful  figures  of  the  blooming 
sisters,  twined  together,  lingering  among  the  trees,  conversing 
thus,  with  earnestness  opposed  to  lightness,  yet,  with  love 
responding  tenderly  to  love.  And  it  was  very  curious  indeed 
to  see  the  younger  sister's  eyes  suffused  with  tears,  and  some- 
thing fervently  and  deeply  felt,  breaking  through  the  wilful- 
ness of  what  she  said,  and  striving  with  it  painfully. 

The  difference  between  them,  in  respect  of  age,  could  not 
exceed  four  years  at  most ;  but,  Grace,  as  often  happens  in 


THE   BATTLE   OF   LIFE.  253 

such  cases,  -vrhen  no  mother  watches  over  both  (the  Doctor's 
wife  was  dead),  seemed,  in  her  gentle  care  of  her  young  sister, 
and  in  the  steadiness  of  her  devotion  to  her,  older  than  she 
was ;  and  more  removed,  in  course  of  nature,  from  all  com- 
petition with  her,  or  participation,  otherwise  than  through  her 
sympathy  and  true  aifection,  in  her  wayward  fancies,  than 
their  ages  seemed  to  warrant.  Great  character  of  mother, 
that,  even  in  this  shadow  and  faint  reflection  of  it,  purifies 
the  heart,  and  raises  the  exalted  nature  nearer  to  the 
angels ! 

The  Doctor's  reflections,  as  he  looked  after  them,  and  heard 
the  purport  of  their  discourse,  were  limited  at  first  to  certain 
merry  meditations  on  the  foUy  of  all  loves  and  likings,  and 
the  idle  imposition  practised  on  themselves  by  young  people, 
who  believed  for  a  moment,  that  there  could  be  anything 
serious  in  such  bubbles,  and  were  always  undeceived — 
always  ! 

But  the  home-adoming,  self-denying  qualities  of  Grace,  and 
her  sweet  temper,  so  gentle  and  retiring,  yet  including  so 
much  constancy  and  bravery  of  spirit,  seemed  all  expressed  to 
him  in  the  contrast  between  her  quiet  household  figure  and 
that  of  his  younger  and  more  beautiful  child;  and  he  was 
sorry  for  her  sake — sorry  for  them  both — that  life  should  be 
such  a  very  ridiculous  business  as  it  was. 

The  Doctor  never  dreamed  of  inquiring  whether  his 
children,  or  either  of  them,  helped  in  any  way  to  make  tlie 
scheme  a  serious  one.     But  then  he  was  a  Philosopher. 

A  kind  and  generous  man  by  nature,  he  had  stumbled,  by 
chance,  over  that  common  Philosopher's  stone  (much  more 
easily  discovered  than  the  object  of  the  alchemist's  researches), 
which  sometimes  trips  up  kind  and  generous  men,  and  has 
the  fatal  property  of  turning  gold  to  dross  and  eveiy  precious 
thing  to  poor  account. 

"  Britain  !  "  cried  the  Doctor.      "  Britain  !   Halloa  !  " 

A  smaU  man,  with  an  uncommonly  soui'  and  discontented 
face,  emerged  from  the  house,  and  returned  to  this  call  the 
unceremonious  acknowledgment  of  "  Now  then!  " 

"  Where  's  the  breakfast  table  ?  "  said  the  Doctor. 

"  In  the  house,"  returned  Britain. 

"  Are  you  going  to  spread  it  out  here,  as  you  were  told  last 
night  ?"  said  the  Doctor.  "  Don't  you  know  that  there  are 
Gentlemen  coming  ?     That  there  's   business  to  be  done   this 


254  TEE   BATTLE   OF   LTFR. 

morning,  before  the  coach  comes  by  ?  That  this  is  a  very 
particular  occasion  ?  " 

"  I  couldn't  do  anything,  Doctor  Jeddler,  till  the  women  had 
done  getting  in  the  apples,  could  I  ?  "  said  Britain,  his  voice 
rising  with  his  reasoning,  so  that  it  was  very  loud  at  last. 

"  WeU,  have  they  done  now  ?  "  returned  the  Doctor,  look- 
ing at  his  watch,  and  clapping  his  hands.  "  Come  !  make  haste  ' 
where 's  Clemency  ?  " 

"  Here  am  I,  Mister,"  said  a  voice  from  one  of  the  ladders, 
which  a  pair  of  clumsy  feet  descended  briskly.  "  It 's  all 
done  now.  Clear  away,  gals.  Everything  shall  be  ready  for 
you  in  half  a  minute.  Mister." 

With  that  she  began  to  bustle  about  most  vigorously ;  pre- 
senting, as  she  did  so,  an  appearance  sufficiently  peculiar  to 
justify  a  word  of  introduction. 

She  was  about  thirty  years  old,  and  had  a  sufficiently  plump 
and  cheerful  face,  though  it  was  twisted  up  into  an  odd 
expression  of  tightness  that  made  it  comical.  But,  the  extra- 
ordinary homeliness  of  her  gait  and  manner,  would  have 
superseded  any  face  in  the  world.  To  say  that  she  had  two 
left  legs,  and  somebody  else's  arms,  and  that  all  four  limbs 
seemed  to  be  out  of  joint,  and  to  start  from  perfectly  wrong 
places  when  they  were  set  in  motion,  is  to  offer  the  mildest 
outline  of  the  reality.  To  say  that  she  was  perfectly  con- 
tent and  satisfied  with  these  arrangements,  and  regarded 
them  as  being  no  business  of  hers,  and  that  she  took  her 
arms  and  legs  as  they  came,  and  allowed  them  to  dispose  of 
themselves  just  as  it  happened,  is  to  render  faint  justice  to 
her  equanimity.  Her  di-ess  was  a  prodigious  pair  of  self- 
willed  shoes,  that  never  wanted  to  go  where  her  feet  went ; 
blue  stockings  ;  a  printed  gown  of  many  colours  and  the  most 
hideous  pattern  procurable  for  money ;  and  a  white  apron. 
She  always  wore  short  sleeves,  and  always  had,  by  some 
accident,  grazed  elbows,  in  which  she  took  so  lively  an 
interest,  that  she  was  continually  trying  to  turn  them  round 
and  get  impossible  views  of  them.  In  general,  a  little  cap 
perched  somewhere  on  her  head ;  though  it  was  rarely  to  be 
met  with  in  the  place  usually  occupied  in  other  subjects,  by 
that  article  of  dress ;  but,  fi-om  head  to  foot  she  was  scru- 
pulously clean,  and  maintained  a  kind  of  dislocated  tidiness. 
Indeed,  her  laudable  anxiety  to  be  tidy  and  compact  in  her  owrx 
coi?  science  as  well  as  in  the  public  eye,  gave  rise  to  one  of  hes 


THE    BATTLE   OF   LIFE.  255 

most  startling  evolutions,  which  was  to  grasp  herself  some- 
times by  a  sort  of  wooden  handle  (part  of  her  clothing,  and 
familiarly  called  a  busk),  and  wi-estle  as  it  were  with  her  gar- 
ments, until  they  fell  into  a  symmetrical  arrangement. 

Such,  in  outward  form  and  garb,  was  Clemency  Newcome  ; 
who  was  supposed  to  have  unconsciously  originated  a  corrup- 
tion of  her  own  christian  name,  from  Clementina  (but  no- 
body knew,  for  the  deaf  old  mother,  a  very  phenomenon  of  age, 
whom  she  had  supported  almost  from  a  child,  was  dead, 
-and  she  had  no  other  relation  )  ;  who  now  busied  herself  iu 
preparing  the  table,  and  who  stood,  at  intervals,  with  her  baro 
red  arms  crossed,  rubbing  her  grazed  elbows  with  opposite 
hands,  and  staring  at  it  very  composedly,  until  she  suddenly 
remembered  something  else  it  wanted,  and  jogged  off  to 
fetch  it. 

"  Here  are  them  two  lawyers  a-coming.  Mister  I  "  said 
Clemency,  in  a  tone  of  no  very  great  good- will. 

"Aha!"  cried  the  Doctor,  advancing  to  the  gate  to  meet 
them.  "  Good  morning,  good  morning  !  Grace,  my  dear  I 
Marion  I  Here  are  Messrs.  Snitchey  and  Craggs.  Where  's 
Alfred  ?  " 

"  He  'U  be  back  directly,  father,  no  doubt,"  said  Grace. 
"  He  had  so  much  to  do  tliis  morning  in  Ms  preparations  for 
departure,  that  he  was  up  and  out  by  daybreak.  Good  morn- 
ing, gentlemen." 

"Ladies  !  "  said  Mr.  Snitchey,  "  for  Self  and  Craggs,"  who 
bowed,  "good  morning!  Miss,"  to  Marion,  "I  kiss  your 
hand."  Which  he  did.  "  And  I  wish  you" — which  he  might 
or  might  not,  for  he  didn't  look,  at  first  sight,  like  a  gentle- 
man troubled  with  many  warm  outpouiings  of  soid,  in 
behalf  of  other  people,  "  a  hundi-ed  happy  retxu-ns  of  this 
auspicious  day." 

"  Ha  ha  ha  !  "  laughed  the  Doctor  thoughtfully,  with  liis 
hands  in  his  pockets.      "  The  great  farce  in  a  hundi-ed  acts !  " 

"  You  wouldn't,  I  am  sure,"  said  Mr.  Snitchey,  standing  a 
Bmall  professional  blue  bag  against  one  leg  of  the  table,  "  cut 
the  great  farce  short  for  this  actress,  at  all  events.  Doctor 
Jeddler." 

"  No,"  returned  the  Doctor.  "  God  forbid  !  INIay  she  live 
to  laugh  at  it,  as  long  as  she  can  laugh,  and  then  say,  with 
the  French  wit,  '  The  farce  is  ended  ;  draw  the  curtain.'  " 

"The  French  wit,"  said  Mr,  Snitchey,  peeping  eliarplyinto 


256  THE   BATTLE  OF   LIFE. 

his  blue  bag,  was  wrong,  Doctor  Jeddler,  and  your  pbilosopliy 
is  altogether  wrong,  depend  upon  it,  as  I  have  often  told 
you.     Nothing  serious  in  life  !     What  do  you  call  law  ?  " 

"  A  joke,"  replied  the  Doctor. 

"  Did  you  ever  go  to  law  ?  "  asked  Mr.  Snitchey,  looking 
out  of  the  blue  bag. 

"  Never,"  returned  the  Doctor. 

"  If  you  ever  do,"  said  Mr.  Snitchey,  "  perhaps  you  '11 
alter  that  opinion." 

Craggs,  who  seemed  to  be  represented  by  Snitchey,  and  to 
be  conscious  of  little  or  no  seperate  existence  or  personal  indi- 
viduality, offered  a  remark  of  his  own  in  this  place.  It  in- 
volved the  only  idea  of  which  he  did  not  stand  seised  and 
possessed  in  equal  moieties  with  Snitchey ;  but,  he  had  some 
partners  in  it  among  the  wise  men  of  the  world. 

"  It 's  made  a  great  deal  too  easy,"  said  Mr.  Craggs. 

"  Law  is  ?  "   asked  the  Doctor. 

"  Yes,"  said  Mr.  Craggs,  "  everything  is.  Everything 
appears  to  me  to  be  made  too  easy,  now-a-days.  It 's  the  vice 
of  these  times.  If  the  world  is  a  joke  (I  am  not  prepared  to 
say  it  isn't),  it  ought  to  be  made  a  very  difficult  joke  to  crack. 
It  ought  to  be  as  hard  a  struggle,  sir,  as  possible.  That 's  the 
intention.  But,  it 's  being  made  far  too  easy.  We  are  oiling 
the  gates  of  life.  They  ought  to  be  rusty.  We  shall  have 
them  beginning  to  turn,  soon,  with  a  smooth  sound.  Whereas 
they  ought  to  grate  upon  their  hinges,  sir." 

Mr.  Craggs  seemed  positively  to  grate  uj)on  his  own 
hinges,  as  he  delivered  this  opinion ;  to  which  he  communi- 
cated immense  effect — being  a  cold,  hard,  dry,  man,  dressed 
in  grey  and  white,  like  a  flint ;  with  small  twinkles  in  his 
eyes,  as  if  something  struck  sparks  out  of  them.  The  three 
natural  kingdoms,  indeed,  had  each  a  fanciful  representative 
among  this  brotherhood  of  disputants :  for  Snitchey  was  like 
a  magpie  or  a  raven  (only  not  so  sleek),  and  the  Doctor  had  a 
streaked  face  like  a  winter-pippin,  with  here  and  there  a  dimple 
to  express  the  peckings  of  the  birds,  and  a  very  little  bit  of 
pigtail  behind  that  stood  for  the  stalk. 

As  the  active  figure  of  a  handsome  young  man,  dressed 
for  a  journey,  and  followed  by  a  porter  bearing  several  pack- 
ages and  baskets,  entered  the  orchard  at  a  brisk  pace,  and  with 
an  air  of  gaiety  and  hope  that  accorded  weU  with  the  morning, 
these  three  drew  together,  like  the  brothers  of  the  sister  Fates, 


^?7i 


w. 


ME.    BRITAIN    CAEYE3. 


THK    BAHLE    TF    LlFt;.  y57 

cr  like  tlie  Graces  most  effectually  disguised,  or  like  the  three 
weird  prophets  on  tne  heath,  and  greeted  him. 

"  Happy  returns,  AK!  "  said  the  Doctor  lightly. 

"  A  hundred  happy  returns  of  this  auspicious  day,  Mr, 
Heatlifield  !  "   said  Snitchey,  bowing  low. 

"  Returns  !  "  Craggs  murmured  in  a  deep  voice,  all  alone. 

"  Why,  what  a  battery  !  "  exclaimed  Alfred,  stopping  short, 
"  and  one — two — three — all  foreboders  of  no  good,  in  tho 
great  sea  before  me.  I  am  glad  you  are  not  the  first  I  have 
niet  this  morning :  I  should  have  taken  it  for  a  bad  omen. 
But,  Grace  was  the  first — sweet,  pleasant  Grace — so  I  defy 
you  all!" 

"  If  you  please,  Mister,  I  was  the  first  you  know,"  said 
Clemency  Newcomo.  "  She  was  walking  out  here,  before 
sunrise,  you  remember.      I  was  in  the  house." 

"  That 's  true  !  Clemency  was  the  first,"  said  Alfred.  "  So 
I  defy  you  with  Clemency." 

"  Ela,  ha,  ha  I — for  Self  and  Craggs,"  said  Snitchey. 
"  WTiat  a  defiance  !  " 

"Not  so  bad  a  one  as  it  appears,  maybe,"  said  Alfred, 
shaking  hands  heartily  with  the  Doctor,  and  also  with  Snit- 
cliey  and  Craggs,  and  then  looking  round.  "  Where  are  the 
— Good  Heavens  !  " 

With  a  start,  productive  for  the  moment  of  a  closer  partner- 
ship between  Jonathan  Snitchey  and  Thomas  Craggs  than  the 
subsisting  articles  of  agreement  in  that  wnse  contemplated,  he 
hastily  betook  himself  to  where  the  sisters  stood  together,  and 
— however,  I  needn't  more  particularly  explain  his  manner 
t)f  saluting  Marion  first,  and  Grace  afterwards  than  by 
liintiiig  that  Mr.  Craggs  may  possibly  have  considered  it 
"too  easy." 

Perhaps  to  change  the  subject  Doctor  Jeddler  made  a  hasty 
move  towards  the  breakfast,  and  they  all  sat  down  at  table. 
Grace  presided ;  but  so  discreetly  stationed  herself,  as  to  cut 
off  her  sister  and  Alfred  from  the  rest  of  the  company.  Snit- 
chey and  Craggs  sat  at  opposite  corners,  with  the  blue  bag 
lietwecn  them  for  safety;  the  Doctor  took  his  usual  position, 
opposite  to  Grace.  Clemency  hovered  galvanically  about  the 
table  as  waitress ;  and  the  melancholy  Britain,  at  another 
and  a  smaller  board,  acted  as  Grand  Carver  o+  a  round  of  beef 
li-nd  a  liam. 

"  Meat  ?  "  said  Britain,  approaching  Mr.  Snitchey,  with  the 


258  THE   BATTLE   OF   L"FE. 

carving  knife  and  fork  in  his  hands,  and  throwing  the  ques 
tion  at  him  like  a  missile. 

"  Certainly,"  returned  the  lawyer. 

"  Do  you  want  any  ?  "  to  Craggs. 

"Lean  and  well  done,"  replied  that  gentleman. 

Haying  executed  these  orders,  and  moderately  supplied  the 
Doctor  (he  seemed  to  know  that  nobody  else  wanted  any- 
thing to  eat),  he  lingered  as  near  the  Firm  as  he  decently 
could,  watching  with  an  austere  eye  their  disposition  of  the 
viands,  and  but  once  relaxing  the  severe  expression  of  his 
face.  This  was  on  the  occasion  of  Mr.  Craggs,  whose  teetli 
were  not  cf  the  best,  partially  choking,  when  he  cried  out 
with  great  animation,  "  1  thought  he  was  gone  !  " 

"Now  Alfred,"  said  the  Doctor,  "for  a  word  or  two  of 
business,  while  we  are  yet  at  breakfast." 

"  While  we  are  yet  at  breakfast,"  said  Snitchey  and  Craggs, 
who  seemed  to  have  no  present  idea  of  leaving  off. 

Although  Alfred  had  not  been  breakfasting,  and  seemed  to 
have  quite  enough  business  on  his  Jiands  as  it  was,  he  respect- 
fully answered : 

"If  you  please,  sir." 

"If  anything  could  be  serious,"  the  Doctor  began,  "in 
such  a — " 

"  Farce  as  this,  sir,"  hinted  Alfred. 

"  In  such  a  farce  as  this,"  observed  the  Doctor,  "it  might 
lie  this  recurrence,  on  the  eve  of  separation,  of  a  double 
birth-day,  which  is  connected  with  many  associations 
pleasant  to  us  four,  and  with  the  recollection  of  a  long  and 
amicable  intercourse.      That 's  not  to  the  purpose." 

"Ah!  yes,  yes.  Dr.  Jeddler,"  said  the  young  man.  "It 
is  to  the  purpose.  Much  to  the  purpose,  as  my  heart 
bears  witness  this  morning ;  and  as  yours  does  too,  I  know, 
if  you  would  let  it  speak.  I  leave  your  house  to-day;  I 
(!ease  to  be  your  ward  to-day ;  we  part  with  tender  relations 
stretching  far  behind  us,  that  never  can  be  exactly  renewed, 
and  with  others  dawning  yet  before  us,"  he  looked  down 
at  Marion  beside  him,  "  fraught  with  such  considerations 
as  I  must  not  trust  myself  to  speak  of  now.  Come,  come!" 
he  added,  rallying  his  spirits  and  the  Doctor  at  once, 
"there's  a  serious  grain  in  this  large  foolish  dust-heap, 
Doctor.     Let  us  allow  to-day,  that  there  is  One." 

"To-day  !  "  cried  the  Doctor.      '   Hear  him  !      Ha,  ha,  ha! 


THE   BATTLE   OF   LIFE.  259 

Of  all  days  in  the  foolish  year.  Why,  on  this  day,  the  great 
battle  was  fought  on  this  ground.  On  this  ground  where  we 
now  sit,  where  I  saw  my  two  girls  dance  this  morning,  where 
the  fruit  has  just  been  gathered  for  our  eating  from  these 
trees,  the  roots  of  which  are  struck  in  Men,  not  earth, — so 
many  lives  were  lost,  tliat  within  my  recollection,  generations 
afterwards,  a  churchyard  full  of  bones,  and  dust  of  bones, 
and  chips  of  cloven  skulls,  has  been  dug  up  from  underneath 
our  feet  here.  Yet  not  a  hundred  people  in  that  battle  knew 
for  what  they  fought,  or  why  ;  not  a  hundred  ,  of  the  incon- 
siderate rejoicers  in  the  victory,  why  they  rejoiced.  Not  half 
a  hundred  people  were  the  better  for  the  gain  or  loss.  Not 
half-a-dozen  men  agree  to  this  hour  on  the  cause  or  merits ; 
and  nobody,  in  short,  ever  knew  anything  distinct  about  it,  but 
the  mourners  of  the  slain.  Serious,  too  !  "  said  the  Doctor, 
laughing.      "  Such  a  system  !  " 

"  But,  all  this  seems  to  me,"  said  Alfred,  "  to  be  very 
serious." 

"  Serious  ! "  cried  the  Doctor.  "  If  you  allowed  such  things 
to  be  serious,  you  must  go  mad,  or  die,  or  climb  up  to  the  top 
of  a  mountain,  and  turn  hermit." 

"Besides — so  long  ago,"  said  Alfred. 

"  Long  ago  !  "  returned  the  Doctor.  "  Do  you  know  what 
the  world  has  been  doing,  ever  since?  Do  you  know  what 
else  it  has  been  doing  ?     I  don't !  " 

"  It  has  gone  to  law  a  little,"  observed  Mr.  Snitchey, 
stiiTing  his  tea. 

"  Although  the  way  out  has  been  always  made  too  easy," 
said  his  partner. 

"And  you'll  excuse  my  sajdng.  Doctor,"  pursued  Mr 
Snitchey,  "  having  been  already  put  a  thousand  times  in 
possession  of  my  opinion,  in  the  course  of  our  discussions, 
that,  in  its  having  gone  to  law,  and  in  its  legal  system 
altogether,  I  do  observe  a  serious  side — now,  really,  a  some- 
thing tangible,  and  with  a  purpose  and  intention  in  it — " 

Clemency  Newcorae  made  an  angular  tumble  against  the 
table,  occasioning  a  sounding  clatter  among  the  cups  and 
eaucers . 

"Heyday!  what's  the  matter  there?"  exclaimed  tho 
Doctor. 

"  It 's  this  evil- inclined  blue  bag,"  said  Cleraoncy,  "  always 
tripping  up  somebody  !  " 


260  THE   BATTLE   OF   LIFE. 

"  With  a  purpose  and  intention  in  it,  I  was  saying'," 
resumed  Snitchey,  "that  commands  respect.  Life  a  farce. 
Doctor  Jeddler  ?     With  law  in  it  ?  " 

Tlie  Doctor  laughed,  and  looked  at  Alfred. 

"  Granted,  if  you  please,  that  war  is  foolish,"  said  Snitchey. 
"  There  we  agree.  For  example.  Here  's  a  smiling  country," 
pointing  it  out  with  his  fork,  "  once  overrun  by  soldiers — 
trespassers  every  man  of  'em — and  laid  waste  by  fire  and 
sword.  He,  he,  he  !  The  idea  of  any  man  exposing  himself, 
voluntarily,  to  fire  and  sword  I  Stupid,  wasteful,  positively 
ridiculous ;  3'ou  laugh  at  your  fellow-creatures,  you  know, 
when  you  think  of  it !  But  take  this  smiling  country  as  it 
stands.  Think  of  the  laws  appertaining  to  real  property ;  to 
the  bequest  and  devise  of  real  property ;  to  the  mortgage  and 
redemption  of  real  property ;  to  leasehold,  freehold,  and  copy- 
hold estate ;  think,"  said  Mr.  Snitchey,  with  such  great 
emotion  that  he  actually  smacked  his  lips,  "  of  the  complicated 
laws  relating  to  title  and  proof  of  title,  with  all  the  contra- 
dictory precedents  and  numerous  acts  of  parliament  connected 
with  them  ;  think  of  the  infinite  number  of  ingenious  and 
interminable  chancery  suits,  to  which  this  pleasant  prospect 
may  give  rise ;  and  acknowledge,  Doctor  Jeddler,  that  there  is 
a  green  spot  in  the  scheme  about  us !  I  believe,"  said  Mr. 
Snitchey,  looking  at  his  partner,  "  that  I  speak  for  Self 
and  Craggs  ?  " 

Mr.  Craggs  having  signified  assent,  Mr.  Snitchey,  some- 
what freshened  by  his  recent  eloquence,  observed  that  he 
would  take  a  little  more  beef  and  another  cup  of  tea. 

"  I  don't  stand  up  for  life  in  general,"  he  added,  rubbing 
his  hands  and  chuckling,  "  it 's  full  of  folly ;  full  of  some- 
thing worse.  Professions  of  trust,  and  confidence,  and  unsel- 
fishness, and  all  that !  Bah,  bah,  bah  !  We  see  what  they  're 
worth.  But,  you  mustn't  laugh  at  life ;  you  've  got  a  game 
to  play  ;  a  very  serious  game  indeed  !  Everybody's  playing 
against  you,  you  know,  and  you  're  playing  against  them. 
Oh  '.  it 's  a  very  interesting  thing.  There  are  deep  moves 
upon  the  board.  You  must  only  laugh.  Doctor  Jeddler,  when 
you  win — and  then  not  much.  He,  he,  he !  And  then  not 
much,"  repeated  Snitchey,  rolling  his  head  and  winking  his 
eye,  as  if  he  would  have  added,  "you  may  do  this  instead  !  " 

"Well,  Alfred!"  cried  the  Doctor,  "what  do  you  say 
now?" 


THE    BATTLE   ^F    LIFE.  261 

"  I  say,  sir,"  replied  Alfred,  *'  that  the  greatest  favour  you 
could  do  me,  and  yourself  too  I  am  inclined  to  think,  would 
be  to  try  sometimes  to  forget  this  battle-field  and  others  like  It 
in  that  bi'oader  battle-field  of  Life,  on  which  the  sun  looks 
every  day." 

"  Really,  I  'm  afraid  that  wouldn't  soften  his  opinions,  Mr. 
Alfred,"  said  Snitchey.  "  The  combatants  are  very  eager  and 
very  bitter  in  that  same  battle  of  Life.  There  's  a  great  deal 
of  cutting  and  slashing,  and  firing  into  people's  heads  from 
behind.  There  is  terrible  treading  down,  and  trampling  on. 
It  is  rather  a  bad  business." 

"  I  believe,  Mr.  Snitchey,"  said  Alfred,  "  there  are  quiet 
victories  and  struggles,  great  sacrifices  of  self,  and  noble  acta 
of  heroism,  in  it — even  in  many  of  its  apparent  lightnesses 
and  contradictions — not  the  less  difficult  to  achieve,  because 
they  have  no  earthly  chronicle  or  audience — done  every  day  in 
nooks  and  corners,  and  in  little  households,  and  in  men's  and 
women's  hearts — any  one  of  which  might  reconcile  the  sternest 
man  to  such  a  world,  and  fill  him  with  belief  and  hope  in  it, 
though  two-fourths  of  its  people  were  at  war,  and  another 
fourth  at  law;  and  that 's  a  bold  word." 

Both  the  sisters  listened  keenly. 

"  Well,  well !  "  said  the  Doctor,  "  I  am  too  old  to  be  con- 
verted, even  by  my  friend  Snitchey  here,  or  my  good  spinster 
sister,  Martha  Jeddler ;  who  had  what  she  calls  her  domestic 
trials  ages  ago,  and  has  led  a  sympathising  life  with  all  sorts 
of  people  ever  since ;  and  who  is  so  much  of  your  opinion 
(only  she 's  less  reasonable  and  more  obstinate,  being  a 
woman),  that  we  can't  agree,  and  seldom  meet.  I  was  born 
dpon  this  battle-field.  I  began,  as  a  boy,  to  have  my  thoughts 
directed  to  the  real  history  of  a  battle-field.  Sixty  years  have 
gone  over  my  head,  and  I  have  never  seen  the  Christian  world, 
including  Heaven  knows  how  many  loving  mothers  and  good 
enough  girls  like  mine  here,  anything  but  mad  for  a  battle- 
field. The  same  contradictions  prevail  in  everything.  One 
must  either  laugh  or  cry  at  such  stupendous  inconsistencies  .* 
and  I  prefer  to  laugh." 

Britain,  who  had  been  paying  the  profoundest  and  most 
melancholy  attention  to  each  speaker  in  his  turn,  seemed 
suddenly  to  decide  in  favour  of  the  same  preference,  if  a  deep 
sepulchral  sound  that  escaped  him  might  be  construed  into 
a  demonstration  of  risibility.      Ilis  face,  however,   was   sa 


262  THE   BATTLE   VP   LIFE. 

perfectly  unaffected  by  it,  both  before  and  afterwards,  tliat 
although  one  or  two  of  the  breakfast  party  looked  round 
as  being  startled  by  a  mysterious  noise,  nobody  connected  the 
offender  with  it. 

Except  his  partner  in  attendance,  Clemency  Newcome  ;  who, 
rousing  him  with  one  of  those  favourite  joints,  her  elbows, 
inquired,  in  a  reproachful  whisper,  what  he  laughed  at. 

"  Not  you  !  "  said  Britain. 

"Who  then?" 

"  Humanity,"  said  Britain.      "  That 's  the  joke  !  " 

"  What  between  master  and  them  lawyers,  he  's  getting 
more  and  more  addle-headed  every  day !  "  cried  Clemency, 
giving  him  a  lunge  with  the  other  elbow,  as  a  mental 
stimulant.  "  Do  you  know  where  you  are  ?  Do  you  want 
to  get  warning?  " 

"  I  don't  know  anything,"  said  Britain,  with  a  leaden  eye 
and  an  immoveable  visage.  "  I  don't  care  for  anything.  I 
don't  make  out  anything.  I  don't  believe  anything.  And  I 
don't  want  anything." 

Although  this  forlorn  summary  of  his  general  condition 
may  have  been  overcharged  in  an  access  of  despondency, 
Benjamin  Britain — sometimes  called  Little  Britain,  to  distin- 
guish him  from  Great ;  as  we  might  say  Young  England,  to 
express  Old  England  with  a  decided  difference — had  defined 
his  real  state  more  accurately  than  might  be  supposed.  For, 
serving  as  a  sort  of  man  Miles  to  the  Doctor's  Friar  Bacon, 
and  listening  day  after  day  to  innumerable  orations  addressed 
by  the  Doctor  to  various  people,  all  tending  to  show  that  his 
very  existence  was  at  best  a  mistake  and  an  absurdity,  this 
unfortunate  servitor  had  fallen,  by  degrees,  into  such  an  abyss 
of  confused  and  contradictory  suggestions  from  within  and 
without,  that  Truth  at  the  bottom  of  her  well,  was  on  the 
level  surface  as  compared  with  Britain  in  the  depths  of  his 
mystification.  The  only  point  he  clearly  comprehended,  was, 
that  the  new  element  usually  brought  into  these  discussions 
by  Snitchey  and  Craggs,  never  served  to  make  them  clearer, 
and  always  seemed  to  give  the  Doctor  a  species  of  advantage 
and  confirmation.  Therefore,  he  looked  upon  the  Firm  as  one 
of  the  proximate  causes  of  his  state  of  mind,  and  held  them 
in  abhorrence  accordingly. 

"  But  this  is  not  our  business,  Alfred,"  said  the  Doctor 
"  Ceasing  to   be  my  ward   (as  you  have  said)   to-day ;  and 


THE   BATTLE   OF   LIFE.  263 

leaving  us  full  to  the  brim  of  such  learning  as  the  Grammar 
School  down  here  was  able  to  give  you,  and  your  studies  in 
London  could  add  to  that,  and  such  practical  knowledge  as  a 
dull  old  country  Doctor  like  myself  could  graft  upon  both  ;  you 
are  away,  now,  into  the  world.  The  first  term  of  probation 
appointed  by  your  poor  father,  being  over,  away  you  go  now, 
your  OMTi  master,  to  fidfil  his  second  desire.  Aud  long  before 
your  three  years'  tour  among  the  foreign  schools  of  medicine 
is  finished,  you  '11  have  forgotten  us.  Lord,  you  '11  forget  us 
easily  in  six  months  !  " 

"  If  I  do — But,  you  know  better ;  why  should  I  speak  to 
you  !  "  said  Alfred,  laughing. 

"  I  don't  know  anything  of  the  sort,"  returned  the  Doctor. 
"  What  do  you  say,  Marion  ?  " 

Marion,  trifling  with  her  teacup,  seemed  to  say — but  she 
didn't  say  it — that  he  was  welcome  to  forget  them,  if  he  could. 
Grace  pressed  the  blooming  face  against  her  cheek,  and 
smiled. 

"  I  haven't  been,  I  hope,  a  very  unjust  steward  in  the 
execution  of  my  trust,"  pursued  the  Doctor;  "but  I  am  to  be, 
at  any  rate,  formally  discliarged,  and  released,  and  what  not 
tliis  morning  ;  and  here  are  our  good  friends  Snitchey  and 
Craggs,  with  a  bagful  of  papers,  and  accounts,  and  documents, 
for  the  transfer  of  the  balance  of  the  trust  fund  to  you  (I 
wish  it  was  a  more  difficult  one  to  dispose  of,  Alfred,  but  you 
must  get  to  be  a  great  man,  and  make  it  so),  and  other 
drolleries  of  that  sort,  which  are  to  be  signed,  sealed,  and 
delivered." 

"  And  duly  witnessed  as  by  law  required,"  said  Snitchey, 
pushing  away  his  plate,  and  taking  out  the  papers,  which 
his  partner  proceeded  to  spread  upon  the  table ;  "  and  Self 
and  Craggs  having  been  co-trustees  with  you,  Doctor,  in  so 
far  as  the  fund  was  concerned,  we  shall  want  your  two 
servants  to  attest  the  signatures — can  you  read,  Mrs.  New- 
come  ?  " 

"  I  a'n't  married,  Mister,"  said  Clemency. 

"  Oh,  I  beg  your  pardon.  I  should  think  not,"  chuckled 
Snitchey,  casting  his  eyes  over  her  extraordinary  figure 
"  You  can  read  ?  " 

"  A  little,"  answered  Clemency. 

"  The  marriage  service,  night  and  morning,  eh  ?  "  observed 
the  Inwypr.  jocosely. 


264  THE    BATTLE   OF    LIFE. 

"No,"  said  Clemency.  "Too  hard.  I  only  reads  a 
thimble." 

"  Read  a  thimble !  "  echoed  Snitch ey.  "  What  are  you 
talking  about,  young  woman?" 

Clemency  nodded.      "  And  a  nutmeg-grater." 

"  Why,  this  is  a  lunatic  !  a  subject  for  the  Lord  nis;h 
Chancellor  !  "  said  Snitchey,  staring  at  her. 

— "If  possessed  of  any  property,"  stipulated  Craggs. 

Grace,  however,  interposing,  explained  that  each  of  the 
articles  in  question  bore  an  engraved  motto,  and  so  formed  the 
pocket  library  of  Clemency  Newcome,  who  was  not  much  given 
to  the  study  of  books. 

"  Oh,  that 's  it,  is  it.  Miss  Grace !  "  said  Snitchey. 

"  Yes,  yes.  Ha,  ha,  ha !  I  thought  our  friend  was  an 
idiot.  Slie  looks  uncommonly  like  it,"  he  muttered,  with  a 
supercilious  glance.  "  And  what  does  the  tliimble  say,  Mrs. 
Newcome  ?  " 

"I  a'n't  married,  Mister,"  observed  Clemency. 

"  Well,  Newcome.  Will  that  do  ? "  said  the  lawyer. 
"  What  does  the  thimble  say,  Newcome?" 

How  Clemency,  before  replying  to  this  question,  held  one 
pocket  open,  and  looked  down  into  its  yawning  depths  for  the 
thimble  which  wasn't  tliere,— and  how  she  then  held  an 
(Opposite  pocket  open,  and  seeming  to  descry  it,  like  a  pearl  of 
great  price,  at  the  bottom,  cleared  away  such  intervening 
obstacles  as  a  handkerchief,  an  end  of  wax  candle,  a  flushed 
dpple,  an  orange,  a  lucky  penny,  a  cramp  bone,  a  padlock,  a 
pair  of  scissors  in .  a  sheath  more  expressly  describable  as 
promising  young  shears,  a  handful  or  so  of  loose  beads,  several 
balls  of  cotton,  a  needle-case,  a  cabinet  collection  of  curl-papers, 
and  a  biscuit,  all  of  which  articles  she  entrusted  individually 
and  severally  to  Britain  to  hold, — is  of  no  consequence.  Nor 
how,  in  her  determination  to  grasp  this  pocket  by  the  throat 
diid  keep  it  prisoner  (for  it  had  a  tendency  to  swing,  and 
tv.dst  itself  round  the  nearest  corner),  she  assumed  and  calmly 
maintained,  an  attitude  apparently  inconsistent  with  the 
human  anatomy  and  the  laws  of  gravity.  It  is  enough  that 
rit  last  she  triumphantly  produced  the  thimble  on  her  finger, 
rind  rattled  the  nutmeg-grater :  the  literature  of  both  these 
trinkets  being  obviously  in  course  of  wearing  out  and  wasting 
dway,  through  excessive  friction. 

'•  That 's  the  thimble,  is  it,  young  ^^■oman  ?  "  said  Mr.  Suit- 


THE   BATTLE   OF   LIFE.  26i 

chey,  diverting  himself  at  her  expense.  "  And  what  does  the 
thimble  say  ?  " 

"  It  says,"  replied  Clemency,  reading  slowly  round  as  if  it 
were  a  tower,  "  For-get  and  for-give." 

Snitchey  and  Craggs  laughed  heartily.  "  So  new !  "  said 
Snitchey.  "  So  easy  !  "  said  Craggs.  "  Such  a  knowledge  of 
human  nature  in  it !  "  said  Snitchey.  "  So  applicable  to  the 
affairs  of  life  !  "  said  Craggs. 

"  And  the  nutmeg- grater  ?  "  inquired  the  head  of  the  Firm. 

" The  grater  says,"  returned  Clemency,  "Do  as  you — wold 
— be — done  by." 

"Do,  or  you'll  be  done  brown,  you  mean,"  said  Mr. 
Snitchey. 

"  I  don't  understand,"  retorted  Clemency,  shaking  her 
head  vaguely.      "  I  a' n't  no  lawyer." 

"  I  am  afraid  that  if  she  was,  Doctor,"  said  Mr.  Snitchey, 
turning  to  him  suddenly,  as  if  to  anticipate  any  effect  that 
might  otherwise  be  consequent  on  this  retort,  "  she  'd  find  it 
to  be  the  golden  rule  of  half  her  clients.  They  are  serious 
enough  in  that — whimsical  as  your  world  is — and  lay  the 
blame  on  us  afterwards.  We,  in  our  profession,  are  little 
else  than  mirrors  after  all,  Mr.  Alfred ;  but,  we  are  generally 
consulted  by  angry  and  quarrelsome  people  who  are  not  in 
their  best  looks,  and  it 's  rather  hard  to  quarrel  with  us  if  we 
reflect  unpleasant  aspects.  I  think,"  said  Mr.  Snitchey,  "that 
I  speak  for  Self  and  Craggs  ?  " 

"Decidedly,"  said  Craggs. 

"  And  so,  if  Mr.  Britain  will  oblige  us  with  a  mouthful  of 
ink,"  said  Mr.  Snitchey,  returning  to  the  papers,  "  we  '11  sign, 
seal,  and  deliver  as  soon  as  possible,  or  the  coach  Mill  be 
coming  past  before  we  know  where  we  are." 

If  one  might  judge  from  his  appearance,  there  was  every 
probability  of  the  coach  coming  past  before  Mr.  Britain  knew 
where  he  was  j  for  he  stood  in  a  state  of  abstraction,  mentally 
balancing  the  Doctor  against  the  lawyers,  and  the  lawyers 
against  the  Doctor,  and  their  clients  against  both,  and  engaged 
in  feeble  attempts  to  make  tlie  thimble  and  nutmeg-grater 
(a  new  idea  to  him)  square  with  anybody's  system  of  philo- 
sophy ;  and,  in  short,  bewildering  himself  as  much  as  ever 
his  great  namesake  has  done  with  theories  and  schools.  But, 
Clemency,  wlio  was  his  good  Genius — though  he  had  the 
meanest  possible   opinion  of  her  understanding,   by  reason  of 


266  THE   BATTLE   OF    LIFE. 

her  seldom  troubling  herself  with  abstract  speculations,  and 
being  alwa5's  at  hand  to  do  the  right  thing  at  the  right  time 
— liaving  produced  the  ink  in  a  twinkling,  tendered  him  the 
further  service  of  recalling  him  to  himself  by  the  application 
of  her  elbows ;  with  which  gentle  flappers  she  so  jogged  his 
memory,  in  a  more  literal  construction  of  that  phrase  than 
usual,  that  he  soon  became  quite  fresh  and  brisk. 

How  he  laboured  under  an  apprehension  not  uncommon  to 
persons  in  his  degree,  to  whom  the  use  of  pen  and  ink  is  an 
event,  that  he  couldn't  append  his  name  to  a  document,  not  of 
his  own  writing,  without  committing  himself  in  some  shadowy 
manner,  or  somehow  signing  away  vague  and  enormous  sums 
of  money ;  and  how  he  approached  the  deeds  under  protest, 
and  by  dint  of  the  Doctor's  coercion,  and  insisted  on  pausing 
to  look  at  them  before  writing  (the  cramped  hand,  to  say 
nothing  of  the  phraseology,  being  so  much  Chinese  to  him), 
and  also  on  turning  them  round  to  see  whether  there  was 
anything  fraudulent  underneath  ;  and  how,  having  signed  his 
name,  he  became  desolate  as  one  who  had  parted  with  his 
property  and  rights ;  I  want  the  time  to  tell.  Also,  how  the 
blue  bag  containing  his  signature,  afterwards  had  a  mysterious 
interest  for  him,  and  he  couldn't  leave  it ;  also,  how  Clemency 
Newcome,  in  an  ecstasy  of  laughter  at  the  idea  of  her  own 
importance  and  dignity,  brooded  over  the  whole  table  with 
her  two  elbows,  like  a  spread  eagle,  and  reposed  her  head 
upon  her  left  arm  as  a  preliminar}'  to  the  formation  of  certain 
caoalistic  characters,  which  required  a  deal  of  inlc,  and 
imaginary  counterparts  whereof  she  executed  at  the  same 
time  with  her  tongue.  Also,  how,  having  once  tasted  ink, 
she  became  thirsty  in  that  regard,  as  tame  tigers  are  said  to 
be  after  tasting  another  sort  of  fluid,  and  wanted  to  sign 
everything,  and  put  her  name  in  all  kinds  of  places,  in  brief, 
the  Doctor  was  discharged  of  his  trust  and  all  its  responsi- 
bilities ;  and  Alfred;  taking  it  on  himself,  was  faii'ly  started 
on  the  journey  of  life. 

"  Britain  !  "  said  the  Doctor.  "  Run  to  the  gate,  and  watch 
for  the  coach.     Time  flies,  Alfred  I  " 

"Yes,  sir,  yes,"  retui'ned  the  young  man,  hurriedly.  "  Dear 
Grace  !  a  moment !  Marion — so  young  and  beautiful,  so 
winning  and  so  much  admired,  dear  to  my  heart  as  nothing 
else  in  life  is — remember  !     I  leave  Marion  to  you  !  " 

"  She  has    always   been   a  sacred    charge   to   me,    Alfred 


THE   BATTLE   OF   LIFE.  26T 

She  is  doubl}^  so,  no^v.      I  will  be  faitliful  to  my  trust,  believe 
me. 

"  1  do  believe  it,  Grace.  I  know  it  well.  Who  could  look 
upon  your  face,  and  hear  your  voice,  and  not  know  it !  Ah, 
Grace !  If  I  had  your  well-governed  heart,  and  tranquil 
mind,  how  bravely  I  woidd  leave  this  place  to-day  !  " 

"  Would  you?  "  she  answered  with  a  quiet  smile. 

"  And  yet,  Grace — Sister,  seems  the  natural  word." 

"  Use  it !  "  she  said  quickly.  "  I  am  glad  to  hear  it.  Call 
-me  nothing  else." 

"And  yet,  sister,  then,"  said  Alfred,  "  Marion  and  I  had 
better  have  your  true  and  steadfast  qualities  serving  us  here, 
and  making  us  both  happier  and  better.  I  wouldn't  carry 
them  away,  to  sustain  myself,  if  I  could  i  " 

"  Coach  upon  the  hiU-top  !  "  exclaimed  Britain. 

"  Time  flies,  Alfred,"  said  the  Doctor. 

Marion  had  stood  apart,  with  her  eyes  fixed  upon  the 
ground ;  but,  this  warning  being  given,  her  young  lover 
brought  her  tenderly  to  where  her  sister  stood,  and  gave  her 
into  her  embrace. 

"I  have  been  telling  Grace,  dear  Marion,"  he  said,  "that 
you  are  her  charge  ;  my  precious  trust  at  parting.  And  when 
I  come  back  and  reclaim  you,  dearest,  and  the  bright  prospect 
of  our  married  life  lies  stretched  before  us,  it  shall  be  one  of 
our  chief  pleasures  to  consult  how  we  can  make  Grace  happy ; 
how  we  can  anticipate  her  wishes ;  how  we  can  show  our 
gratitude  and  love  to  her ;  how  we  can  return  her  something 
of  the  debt  she  will  have  heaped  upon  us." 

The  younger  sister  had  one  hand  in  his  hand ;  the  other 
rested  on  her  sister's  neck.  She  looked  into  that  sister's  eyes_ 
so  calm,  serene,  and  cheerful,  with  a  gaze  in  which  aii'ection, 
admiration,  sorrow,  wonder,  almost  veneration,  were  blended. 
She  looked  into  that  sister's  face,  as  if  it  were  the  face  of 
some  bright  angel.  Calm,  serene,  and  cheerful,  tlie  face 
looked  back  on  her  and  on  her  lover. 

"And  wlien  the  time  comes,  as  it  must  one  day,"  said 
Alfred, — "  I  wonder  it  has  never  come  yet,  but  Grace  knows 
best,  for  Grace  is  always  right, — when  she  will  want  a  friend 
to  open  her  whole  heart  to,  and  to  be  to  her  something  of 
what  she  has  been  to  us — then,  Marion,  how  faithful  we  will 
prove,  and  what  delight  to  us  to  know  that  she,  our  dear  good 
sister,  loves  and  is  loved  again,  aa  we  would  have  her !  " 


2C8  THE   BATTLE   OF   LIFE. 

Still  the  younger  sister  looked  into  her  eyes,  and  turned 
not — even  towards  him.  And  still  those  honest  eyes  looked 
hack,  so  calm,  serene  and  cheerful,  on  herself  and  on  her 
lover. 

"  And  when  all  that  is  past,  and  we  are  old,  and  living  (as 
we  must!)  together — close  together — talking  often  of  old 
times,"  said  Alfred — "these  shall  be  our  favorite  times 
among  them — this  day  most  of  all ;  and,  telling  each  other 
what  we  thought  and  felt,  and  hoped  and  feared  at  parting ; 
and  how  we  couldn't  bear  to  say  good  bye • " 

"  Coach  coming  through  the  wood  !  "  cried  Britain. 

**  Yes  !  I  am  ready — and  how  we  met  again,  so  happily, 
in  spite  of  all ;  we  '11  make  this  day  the  happiest  in  all  the 
year,  and  keep  it  as  a  treble  birth-day      Shall  we,  dear  ?  " 

"  Yes  !  "  interposed  the  elder  sister,  eagerly,  and  with  a 
radiant  smile.  "  Yes !  Alfred,  don't  linger.  There  's  no 
time.      Say  good  bye  to  Marion.     And  Heaven  be  with  you  !  " 

He  pressed  the  younger  sister  to  his  heart.  Released  from 
his  embrace,  she  again  clung  to  her  sister ;  and  her  eyes,  with 
the  same  blended  look,  again  sought  those  so  calm,  serene, 
and  cheerful. 

"Farewell,  my  boy!"  said  the  Doctor.  "To  talk  about 
any  serious  correspondence  or  serious  affections,  and  engage- 
ments and  so  forth,  in  such  a — ha  ha  ha  ! — you  know  what 
I  mean — why  that,  of  course,  would  be  sheer  nonsense.  All 
I  can  say  is,  that  if  you  and  Marion  should  continue  in  the 
same  foolish  minds,  I  shall  not  object  to  have  you  for  a  son- 
in-law  one  of  these  days." 

"  Over  the  bridge  !  "  cried  Britain. 

"  Let  it  come !  "  said  Alfred,  wringing  the  Doctor's  hand 
stoutly.  "  Think  of  me  sometimes,  my  old  friend  and  guar- 
dian, as  seriously  as  you  can  !  Adieu,  ]Mr.  Snitchey !  Farewell, 
Mr.  Craggs  ! " 

"  Coming  down  the  road  !  "  cried  Britain. 

"A  kiss  of  Clemency  Newcome,  for  long  acquaintance'  sake! 
Shake  hands,  Britain  !  Marion,  dearest  heart,  good  bye ' 
Sister  Grace  !  remember  !  " 

The  quiet  household  figure,  and  the  face  so  beautiful  in  its 
serenity,  were  tui-ned  towards  him  in  reply;  but,  Marion's 
look  and  attitude  remained  unchanged. 

The  coach  was  at  the  gate.  There  was  a  bustle  with  the 
luggage.     The  coach  drove  away.     Marion  never  moved. 


THE    BATTLE    OF    LIFE.  269 

"  He  waves  his  hat  to  you,  my  love,"  said  Grace.  "  Your 
chosen  husband,  darling.     Look  !  " 

The  younger  sister  raised  her  head,  and,  for  a  moment, 
turned  it.  Then,  turning  back  again,  and  fully  meeting,  for 
the  first  time,  those  calm  eyes,  fell  sobbing  on  her  neck. 

"Oh,  Grrace.  God  bless  you!  But  I  cannot  bear  to  see 
it,  Grace !     It  breaks  my  heart." 


270  TUE   BATTLE   OF    LIFE. 


PART  THE  SECOND. 


Snitchey  and  Ckaggs  had  a  snug  little  office  on  the  old 
Battle  Ground,  where  they  drove  a  snug  little  business,  and 
fought  a  great  many  small  pitched  battles  for  a  great  many 
contending  parties.  Though  it  could  hardly  be  said  of  these 
conflicts  that  they  were  running  fights — for  in  truth  they 
generally  proceeded  at  a  snail's  pace — the  part  the  Firm  had 
in  them  came  so  far  within  the  general  denomination,  that 
now  they  took  a  shot  at  this  Plaintiff,  and  now  aimed  a  chop 
at  that  Defendant,  now  made  a  heavy  charge  at  an  estate  in 
Chancery,  and  now  had  some  light  skirmishing  among  an 
irregular  body  of  small  debtors,  just  as  the  occasion  served, 
and  the  enemy  happened  to  present  himself.  The  Gazette 
was  an  important  and  profitable  feature  in  some  of  their 
fields,  as  in  fields  of  greater  renown ;  and  in  most  of  the 
Actions  wherein  they  showed  their  generalship,  it  was  after- 
wards observed  by  the  combatants  that  they  had  had  great 
difficulty  in  making  each  other  out,  or  in  knowing  with  any 
degree  of  distinctness  what  they  were  about,  in  consequence 
of  the  vast  amount  of  smoke  by  which  they  were  surrounded. 

The  offices  of  Messrs.  Snitchey  and  Craggs  stood  convenient, 
with  an  open  door  down  two  smooth  steps,  in  the  market- 
place ;  so  that  any  angry  farmer  inclining  towards  hot  water, 
might  tumble  into  it  at  once.  Their  special  council-chamber 
and  hall  of  conference  was  an  old  back  room  up-stairs,  with 
a  low  dark  ceiling,  which  seemed  to  be  knitting  its  brows 
gloomily  in  the  coiisideration  of  tangled  points  of  law.  It 
was  furnished  with  some  high-backed  leathern  chairs,  gar- 
nished with  great  goggle-eyed  brass  nails,  of  which,  every 
here  and  there,  two  or  three  had  fallen  out- — or  had  been 
picked  out,  perhaps,  by  the  wandering  thumbs  and  fore- 
fingers of  bewildered  clients.  There  was  a  framed  print  of 
a  great  judge  in  it,  every  curl  in  whose  dreadfiil  wig  had 
made  a  man's  haii-  stand  on  end.     Bales  of  papers  filled  tho 


THE   BATTLE   OF   LIFE.  271 

dusty  closets,  shelves,  and  tables  ;  and  round  the  waiuscot 
there  were  tiers  of  boxes,  padlocked  and  fireproof,  with 
people's  names  painted  outside,  which  anxious  visitors  felt 
themselves,  by  a  cruel  enchantment,  obliged  to  spell  back- 
wards and  forwards,  and  to  make  anagrams  of,  while  they 
sat,  seeming  to  listen  to  Snitchey  and  Craggs,  without  com- 
prehending one  word  of  what  they  said. 

Snitchey  and  Craggs  had  each,  in  private  life  as  in  pro- 
fessional existence,  a  partner  of  his  own.  Snitchey  and 
Craggs  were  the  best  friends  in  the  world,  and  had  a  real 
confidence  in  one  another ;  but,  Mrs.  Snitchey,  by  a  dispen- 
sation not  uncommon  in  the  affairs  of  life,  was  on  principle 
suspicious  of  Mr.  Craggs ;  and  Mrs.  Craggs  was  on  principle 
suspicious  of  Mr.  Snitchey.  "  Your  Snitch eys  indeed,"  the 
latter  lady  would  observe,  sometimes,  to  Mr.  Craggs;  using 
that  imaginative  plural  as  if  in  disparagement  of  an  objec- 
tionable pair  of  pantaloons,  or  other  articles  not  possessed 
of  a  singular  number ;  "I  don't  see  what  you  want  with 
your  Suitcheys,  for  my  part.  You  trust  a  great  deal  too 
much  to  yoiu'  Snitcheys,  I  think,  and  I  hope  you  may  never 
find  my  words  come  true."  While  Mrs.  Snitchey  would 
observe  to  Mr.  Snitchey,  of  Craggs,  "  that  if  ever  he  -o^as  led 
away  by  man  he  was  led  away  by  that  man,  and  that  if  ever 
she  read  a  double  purpose  in  a  mortal  eye,  she  read  that  purpose 
in  Craggs's  eye."  Notwithstanding  this,  however,  they  were 
all  very  good  fi-iends  in  general :  and  Mrs.  Snitchey  and  Mrs. 
Craggs  maintained  a  close  bond  of  alliance  against  "  the  office," 
which  they  both  considered  the  Blue  chamber,  and  common 
enemy,  full  of  dangerous  (because  unknown)  machinations. 

In  this  ofiice,  nevertheless,  Snitchey  and  Craggs  made  honey 
for  their  several  hives.  Here,  sometimes,  they  would  linger 
of  a  fine  evening,  at  the  window  of  their  council-chamber, 
overlooking  the  old  battle-ground,  and  wonder  (but  that  was 
generally  at  assize  time,  when  much  business  liad  made  them 
sentimental)  at  the  folly  of  nmnkiud,  who  couldn't  always  be 
at  peace  with  one  another  and  go  to  law  comfortably.  Here, 
days,  and  weeks,  and  months,  and  years,  passed  over  them  ; 
their  calendar,  the  gradually  diminisliing  number  of  brass 
nails  in  the  leathern  chairs,  and  the  incnuising  bvdk  of  papers 
on  the  tables.  Here,  nearly  three  years'  flight  liad  thinned 
tbj  on  3  and  swelled  the  other,  since  the  breakfast  in  the 
orihnrd ;   whou  they  sat  together  in  considtation  at  night. 


272  THE   BATTLE   OF   LIFE. 

Not  alone ;  but  with  a  man  of  thirty,  or  about  that  time  of 
life,  negligently  dressed,  and  somewhat  haggard  in  the  face, 
but  well-made,  well-attired,  and  well-looking ;  who  sat  in  the 
arm-chair  of  state,  with  one  hand  in  his  breast,  and  the  other 
in  his  dishevelled  hair,  pondering  moodily.  Messrs.  Snitchey 
and  Craggs  sat  opposite  each  other  at  a  neighbouring  desk. 
One  of  the  fire-proof  boxes,  unpadlocked  and  opened,  was 
upon  it ;  a  part  of  its  contents  lay  strewn  upon  the  table,  and 
the  rest  was  then  in  course  of  passing  through  the  hands  of 
Mr.  Snitchey  ;  who  brought  it  to  the  candle,  document  by 
document ;  looked  at  every  paper  singly,  as  he  produced  it ; 
shook  his  head,  and  handed  it  to  Mr.  Craggs ;  who  looked  it 
over  also,  shook  his  head,  and  laid  it  down.  Sometimes,  they 
would  stop,  and  shaking  their  heads  in  concert,  look  towards 
the  abstracted  client.  And  the  name  on  the  box  being 
Michael  Warden,  Esquire,  we  may  conclude  from  these  pre- 
mises that  the  name  and  the  box  were  both  his,  and  that  the 
affairs  of  Michael  Warden,  Esquire,  were  in  a  bad  way. 

"That's  all,"  said  Mr.  Snitchey,  turning  up  the  last  paper. 
'Really  there  's  no  other  resource.     No  other  resource." 

"  All  lost,  spent,  wasted,  pawned,  borrowed  and  sold,  eh?" 
said  the  client,  looking  up. 

"  All,"  returned  Mr.  Snitchey. 

"Nothing  else  to  be  done,  you  say?" 

"  Nothing  at  all." 

The  client  bit  his  nails,  and  pondered  again. 

"And  I  am  not  even  personally  safe  in  England?  You 
hold  to  that,  do  you  ?  " 

"In  no  part  of  the  United  Kingdom  of  Great  Britain  and 
Ireland,"  replied  Mr.  Snitchey. 

"  A  mere  prodigal  son  with  no  father  to  go  back  to,  no 
swine  to  keep,  and  no  husks  to  share  with  them  ?  Eh  ?  " 
pursued  the  client,  rocking  one  leg  over  the  other,  and  search- 
ing the  ground  with  his  eyes. 

Mr.  Snitchey  coughed  as  if  to  deprecate  the  being  supposed 
to  participate  in  any  figurative  illustration  of  a  legal  position. 
Mr.  Craggs,  as  if  to  express  that  it  was  a  partnership  view  of 
the  subject,  also  coughed. 

"  Ruined  at  thirty  !  "  said  the  client.      "  Humph  !  " 

"Not  ruined,  Mr.  Warden,"  returned  Snitf'hey.  "  Not  so 
bad  as  that.  You  have  done  a  good  deal  towards  it,  I  must 
say,  but  you  are  not  ruined.     A  little  nursing" — 


THE   BATTLE   OF   LIFE.  273 

"  A  little  Devil,"  said  the  client. 

Mr.  Craggs,"  said  Snitchey,  "will  you  oblige  me  with  a 
pinch  of  snuff?     Thank  you,  sir." 

As  the  imperturbable  lawyer  appKed  it  to  his  nose,  with 
great  apparent  relish  and  a  perfect  absorption  of  his  attention 
in  the  proceeding,  the  client  gradually  broke  into  a  smile,  and, 
looking  up,  said : 

"  You  talk  of  nursing.     How  long  nursing  ?  " 

"  How  long  nursing  ?  "  repeated  Snitchey,  dusting  the  snuflF 
from  his  fingers,  and  making  a  slow  calculation  in  his  mind. 
"For  your  involved  estate,  sir?  In  good  hands?  S.  and 
C.'s,  say  ?     Six  or  seven  years." 

"  To  starve  for  six  or  seven  years  !  "  said  the  client  with  a 
fretful  laugh,  and  an  impatient  change  of  his  position. 

"To  starve  for  six  or  seven  years,  Mr.  Warden,"  said 
Snitchey,  "  would  be  very  imcommon  indeed.  You  might 
get  another  estate  by  showing  yourself,  the  while.  But,  we 
don't  think  you  could  do  it — speaking  for  Self  and  Craggs — 
and  consequently  don't  advise  it." 

"  What  do  you  advise  ?  " 

"  Nursing,  I  sa.j,"  repeated  Snitchey.  "  Some  few  years 
of  nursing  by  Self  and  Craggs  woidd  bring  it  round.  But 
to  enable  us  to  make  terms,  and  hold  terms,  and  you  to  keep 
terms,  you  must  go  away ;  you  must  live  abroad.  As  to 
starvation,  we  could  ensure  you  some  hundreds  a-year  to 
starve  upon,  even  in  the  beginning — I  daresay,  Mr.  Warden." 

"Hundreds,"  said  the  client.  "And  I  have  spent  thou- 
sands !  " 

"That,"  retorted  Mr.  Snitchey,  putting  the  papers  slowly 
back  into  the  cast-iron  box,  "  there  is  no  doubt  about.  No 
doubt  a — bout,"  he  repeated  to  himself,  as  he  thoughtfully 
2)ursued  his  occupation. 

The  laAvyer  very  likely  knew  his  man ;  at  any  rate  his  dry, 
bhrewd,  whimsical  manner,  had  a  favourable  influence  on 
llie  client's  moody  state,  and  disposed  him  to  be  more  free  and 
unreserved.  Or,  perhaps  the  client  knew  hi^  man,  and  had 
elicited  such  encouragement  as  he  had  received,  to  render 
some  purpose  lie  was  about  to  disclose  the  more  defensible  in 
appearance.  Gradually  raising  his  head,  he  sat  looking  at 
his  immoveable  adviser  with  a  smile,  which  presently  broke 
into  a  laugh. 

"After  all,"  he  said,  "  my  iron-headed  friend" — 


274  THE   BATTLE   OF   LIFE. 

Mr.  Suitchey  pointed  out  his  partner.  "  Self  and — excuse 
me — Craggs." 

"  I  beg  Mr.  Craggs's  pardon,"  said  the  client.  "  After  all, 
my  iron-headed  friends,"  he  leaned  forward  in  his  chair,  and 
dropped  his  voice  a  little,  "  you  don't  know  half  my  ruin  yet." 

Mr.  Snitchey  stopped  and  stared  at  him.  Mr.  Craggs  also 
stared. 

"  I  am  not  only  deep  in  debt,"  said  the  client,  "but  I  am 
deep  in  " — 

"  Not  in  love  !  "  cried  Snitchey. 

"  Yes  !  "  said  the  client,  falling  back  in  his  chair,  and  sur- 
veying the  Firm  with  his  hands  in  his  pockets.   ' '  Deep  in  love." 

"  And  not  with  an  heiress,  sir  ?  "  said  Snitchey. 

"Not  with  an  heu-ess." 

"Nor  a  rich  lady?" 

"  Nor  a  rich  lady  that  I  know  of — except  in  beauty  and 
merit." 

"  A  single  lady,  I  trust  ? "  said  Mr.  Snitchey,  with  great 
expression. 

"  Certainly." 

"  It 's  not  one  of  Doctor  Jeddler's  daughters  ?  "  said  Snitchey, 
suddenly  squaring  his  elbows  on  his  knees,  and  advancing  his 
face  at  least  a  yard. 

"  Yes  !  "  returned  the  client. 

"  Not  his  younger  daughter  ?  "  said  Snitchey. 

"  Yes  !  "  returned  the  client. 

"  Mr.  Craggs,"  said  Snitchey,  much  relieved,  "  will  you 
oblige  me  with  another  pinch  of  snuff?  Thank  you!  I  am 
happy  to  say  it  don't  signify,  Mr.  Warden ;  she's  engaged, 
sir,  she's  bespoke.  My  partner  can  corroborate  me.  We 
know  the  fact." 

"  We  know  the  fact,"  repeated  Craggs. 

"  Why,  so  do  I  perhaps,"  returned  the  client  quietly. 
"  What  of  that !  Are  you  men  of  the  world,  and  did  you 
never  hear  of  a  woman  changing  her  mind  ?  " 

"  There  certainly  have  been  actions  for  breach,"  said  Mr. 
Snitchey,  "brought  against  both  spinsters  and  widows,  but, 
in  the  majority  of  cases  " — 

"  Cases  !"  interposed  the  client,  impatiently.  "Don't  talk 
to  me  of  cases.  The  general  precedent  is  in  a  much  larger 
volume  than  any  of  your  law  books.  Besides,  do  you  tliink  I 
have  lived  six  weeks  in  the  Doctor's  house  for  nothing  ?  " 


THE    BATTLK   OF    LTF.'^:.  275 

"  I  think,  sir,"  observed  Mr.  Snitchey,  gravely  addressing 
himself  to  his  partner,  "  that  of  all  the  scrapes  Mr.  Warden's 
horses  have  brought,  him  into  at  one  time  and  another — and 
they  have  been  pretty  numerous,  and  pretty  expensive,  as  none 
know  better  than  himself,  and  you,  and  I— the  worst  scrape 
may  turn  out  to  be,  if  he  talks  in  this  way,  his  having  been 
ever  left  by  one  of  them  at  the  Doctor's  garden  wall,  with 
three  broken  ribs,  a  snapped  collar-bone,  and  the  Lord  knows 
how  many  bruises.  We  didn't  think  so  much  of  it,  at  the 
time  when  we  knew  he  was  going  on  well  under  the  Doctor's 
hands  and  roof ;  but  it  looks  bad  now,  sir.  Bad  ?  It  looks 
very  bad.     Doctor  Jeddler  too — our  client,  Mr.  Craggs." 

"  Mr.  Alfi-ed  Heathiield  too — a  sort  of  client,  Mr.  Snitchey," 
said  Cragg-s. 

"  Mr.  Michael  Warden  too,  a  kind  of  client,"  said  the 
careless  visitor,  "  and  no  bad  one  either  :  having  played  the 
fool  for  ten  or  twelve  years.  However,  Mr.  Michael  Warden 
has  sown  his  wild  oats  now — there's  their  crop,  in  that  box  ; 
and  he  means  to  repent  and  be  wise.  And  in  proof  of  it, 
Mr.  Michael  Warden  means,  if  he  can,  to  marry  Clarion,  ths 
Doctor's  lovely  daughter,  and  to  carry  her  away  with  him." 

"  Really,  Mr.  Craggs,"  Snitchey  began. 

"  Really,  Mr.  Snitchey,  and  Mr.  Craggs,  partners  both," 
said  the  client,  interrupting  him;  "you  know  your  duty  to 
your  clients,  and  you  know  well  enough,  I  am  sure,  that  it  is 
no  part  of  it  to  interfere  in  a  mere  love  affair,  wliich  I  am 
obliged  to  confide  to  you.  I  am  not  going  to  carry  the  young 
lady  off,  without  her  own  consent.  There  's  nothing  illegal 
in  it.  I  never  was  Mr.  Heathfield's  bosom  friend.  I  violate 
no  confidence  of  his.  I  love  where  he  loves,  and  I  mean  to 
win  where  he  would  win,  if  I  can." 

"  He  can't,  Mr.  Craggs,"  said  Snitchey,  evidently  anxious 
and  discomfited.  "  He  can't  do  it,  sir.  She  dotes  on  Mr. 
Alfred." 

"  Does  she  ?  "  returned  the  client. 

"  Mr.  Craggs,  she  dotes  on  him,  sir,"  persisted  Snitchey. 

"  I  didn't  live  six  weeks,  some  few  months  ago,  in  the 
Doctor's  house  for  notliing;  and  I  doubted  that  soon," 
observed  the  client.  "  She  would  have  doted  on  him,  if  her 
sister  could  have  brought  it  about ;  but  I  watched  them. 
Marion  avoided  his  name,  avoided  the  subject:  slirunk  from 
the  le  isi  allusion  to  it,  with  evident  distress." 


276  THE   BATTLE   OF   LIFE. 

"  Wliy  should  slie,  Mr.  Craggs,  you  know?  Why  should 
she,  sir  ?  "  inquired  Snitchey. 

"  I  don't  know  why  she  should,  though  there  are  many 
likely  reasons,"  said  the  client,  smiling  at  the  attention  and 
perplexity  expressed  in  Mr.  Snitchey' s  shining  eye,  and  at  hia 
cautious  way  of  carrying  on  the  conversation,  and  making 
himself  informed  upon  the  subject;  "but  I  know  she  does. 
She  was  very  young  when  she  made  the  engagement — if  it 
may  be  called  one,  I  am  not  even  sure  of  that — and  has 
repented  of  it,  perhaps.  Perhaps — it  seems  a  foppish  thing 
to  say,  but  upon  my  soul  I  don't  mean  it  in  that  light — she 
may  have  fallen  in  love  with  me,  as  I  have  fallen  in  love  with 
her  " 

"  He,  he  !  Mr,  Alfred,  her  old  playfellow  too,  you  remem- 
ber, Mr.  Craggs,"  said  Snitchey,  with  a  disconcerted  laugh; 
"  knew  her  almost  from  a  baby !  " 

"  Which  makes  it  the  more  probable  that  she  may  be  tired 
of  his  idea,"  calmly  pursued  the  client,  "and  not  indisposed 
to  exchange  it  for  the  newer  one  of  another  lover,  who 
presents  himself  (or  is  presented  by  his  horse)  under  romantic 
circumstances ;  has  the  not  unfavourable  reputation — with  a 
country  girl — of  having  lived  thoughtlessly  and  gaily,  with- 
out doing  much  harm  to  anybody;  and  who,  for  his  youth 
and  figure,  and  so  forth — this  may  seem  foppish  again,  but 
upon  my  soid  I  don't  mean  it  in  that  light — might  perhaps 
pass  muster  in  a  crowd  with  Mr.  Alfred  himself." 

There  was  no  gainsaying  the  last  clause,  certainly ;  and 
Mr.  Snitchey,  glancing  at  him,  thought  so.  There  was  some- 
thing naturally  graceful  and  pleasant  in  the  very  carelessness 
of  his  air.  It  seemed  to  suggest,  of  his  comely  face  and  well- 
knit  figure,  that  they  might  be  greatly  better  if  he  chose  :  and 
that,  once  roused  and  made  earnest  (but  he  never  had  been 
earnest  yet),  he  coidd  be  fiUl  of  fire  and  purpose.  "  A  dan- 
gerous sort  of  libertine,"  thought  the  shrewd  lawyer,  "  to 
seem  to  catch  the  spark  he  wants,  from  a  young  lady's  eyes." 

' '  Now,  obseiwe,  Snitchey, ' '  he  continued,  rising  and  taking 
him  by  the  button,  "  and  Craggs,"  taking  him  by  the  button 
also,  and  placing  one  partner  on  either  side  of  him,  so  that 
neither  might  evade  him.  "  I  don't  ask  you  for  any  advice. 
You  are  right  to  keep  quite  aloof  from  all  parties  in  such  a 
matter,  which  is  not  one  in  which  grave  men  hke  you,  could 
iuterfere,  on  any  side.     I  am  briefly  going  to  review  in  half-a- 


THE   BATTLE   OF   LIFE.  277 

dozen  words,  iny  position  and  intention,  and  then  I  shall  leave 
it  to  3'ou  to  do  the  best  for  me,  in  money  matters,  that  you 
can :  seeing,  that,  if  I  run  away  with  the  Doctor's  beautifiJ 
daughter  (as  I  hope  to  do,  and  to  become  another  man  under 
her  bright  influence),  it  will  be,  for  the  moment,  more  charge 
able  than  running  away  alone.  But  I  shall  soon  make  ah 
that  up  in  an  altered  life." 

"  I  think  it  wiU  be  better  not  to  hear  this,  Mr.  Craggs  ?  '' 
said  Snitchey,  looking  at  him  across  the  client. 

"  /  think  not,"  said  Craggs. — Both  listening- attentively. 

"  Well !  You  needn't  hear  it,"  replied  their  client.  "  I  '11 
mention  it  however.  I  don't  mean  to  ask  the  Doctor's  con- 
eent,  because  he  wouldn't  give  it  me.  But  I  mean  to  do  the 
Doctor  no  wrong  or  harm,  because  (besides  there  being 
nothing  serious  in  such  trifles,  as  he  says)  I  hope  to  rescue  his 
child,  my  Marion,  fi-om  what  I  see — I  know — she  dreads,  and 
contemplates  with  misery :  that  is,  the  return  of  this  old 
lover.  If  anything  in  the  world  is  true,  it  is  true  that  she 
dreads  his  return.  Nobody  is  injured  so  far.  I  am  so  harrieo 
and  worried  here,  just  now,  that  I  lead  the  life  of  a  flying- 
fish.  I  skulk  about  in  the  dark,  I  am  shut  out  of  my  own 
house,  and  warned  off  my  own  grounds  ;  but,  that  house,  and 
those  grounds,  and  many  an  acre  besides,  wiU  come  back  to 
me  one  day,  as  you  know  and  say ;  and  Marion  will  prob- 
ably be  richer — on  your  showing,  who  are  never  sanguine 
■ — ten  years  hence  as  my  wife,  than  as  the  wife  of  Alfred 
Heathfield,  whose  retui-n  she  dreads  (remember  that),  and  in 
whom  or  in  any  man,  my  passion  is  not  surpassed.  Who  is 
injured  jet  ?  It  is  a  fair  case  throughout.  My  right  is  as 
good  as  his,  if  she  decide  in  my  favour ;  and  I  wiU  try  my 
right  by  her  alone.  You  will  like  to  know  no  more  after  this, 
and  I  wiU  teU  you  no  more.  Now  you  know  my  purpose, 
and  wants.     When  must  I  leave  here  ?  " 

"  In  a  week,"  said  Snitchey.      "  Mr.  Craggs?" 

"  In  something  less,  I  should  say,"  responded  Craggs 

"In  a  month,"  said  the  client,  after  attentively  watching 
the  two  faces.  "This  day  month.  To-day  is  Thursday 
Succeed  or  fail,  on  this  day  month  I  go." 

"  It '  8  too  long  a  delay,"  said  Snitchey;  "much  too  long 
But  let  it  be  so.  I  thought  lie'd  have  stipulated  for  three," 
he  murmui-ed  to  himself.  "Are  you  going?  Good  night, 
8ii  '" 


278  THE    BATTLE    OF    LIFE. 

"Good  night!"  returned  the  client,  shaking  hands  with 
the  Firm.  "  You  '11  live  to  see  me  making  a  good  use  of 
riches  yet.     Henceforth  the  star  of  my  destiny  is,  Marion  !  " 

"Take  care  of  the  stairs,  sir,"  replied  Snitchey;  "for  she 
don't  shine  there.      Good  night !  " 

"  Good  night !  " 

So  they  both  stood  at  the  stair-head  with  a  pair  of  office 
randies,  watching  him  down.  When  he  had  gone  away,  they 
stood  looking  at  each  otlier. 

"What  do  you  think  of  all  this,  Mr.  Craggs  ? "  said 
Snitchey. 

Mr.  Craggs  shook  his  head. 

"  It  was  our  opinion,  on  the  day  when  that  release  was 
executed,  that  there  was  something  curious  in  the  parting  of 
of  that  pair,  I  recollect,"  said  Snitchey. 

"  It  was,"  said  Mr.  Craggs. 

"  Perhaps  he  deceives  himself  altogether,"  pursued  Mr. 
Snitchey,  locking  up  the  fire-proof  box,  and  putting  it  away  ; 
"  or,  if  he  don't,  a  little  bit  of  fickleness  and  perfidy  is  not  a 
miracle,  Mr.  Craggs.  And  yet  I  thought  that  pretty  face  was 
very  true.  I  thought,"  said  Mr.  Snitchey,  putting  on  his 
great  coat  (for  the  weather  was  very  cold),  drawing  on  liis 
gloves,  and  snuffing  out  one  candle,  "that  I  had  even  seen  her 
character  becoming  stronger  and  more  resolved  of  late.  More 
like  her  sister's." 

"  Mrs.  Craggs  Avas  of  the  same  opinion,"  retiirned  Craggs. 

"  I  'd  reaUy  give  a  trifle  to-night,"  observed  Mr.  Snitchey, 
who  was  a  good-natured  man,  "if  I  could  believe  that  Mr. 
Warden  was  reckoning  without  his  host ;  but,  light-headed, 
capricious,  and  unballasted  as  he  is,  he  knows  something  of 
the  world  and  its  people  (he  ought  to,  for  he  has  bought  what 
he  does  know,  dear  enough) ;  and  I  can't  quite  think  that. 
We  had  better  not  interfere :  we  can  do  nothing,  Mr.  Craggs, 
but  keep  quiet." 

"Nothing,"  returned  Craggs. 

"  Our  friend  the  Doctor  makes  light  of  such  things,"  said 
Mr.  Snitchey,  shaking  his  head.  "  I  hope  he  mayn't  stand  in 
need  of  his  philosophy.  Our  friend  Alfred  talks  of  the  battle 
of  life,"  he  shook  his  head  again,  "  I  hope  he  mayn't  be  cut 
down  early  in  the  day.  Have  you  got  your  hat,  Mr.  Craggs  ? 
I  am  going  to  put  the  other  candle  out." 

Mr.  Craggs  replying  in  the  airirmutive,  Mr.  Snitchey  suited 


THE   BATTLE   OF   LIFE.  279 

the  action  to  the  word,  and  they  groped  their  way  out  of  the 
council- chamber,  now  as  dark  as  the  subject,  or  the  law  in 
general. 

My  story  passes  to  a  quiet  little  study,  where,  on  that  same 
night,  the  sisters  and  the  hale  old  Doctor  sat  by  a  cheerful 
fire-side.  Grace  was  working  at  her  needle.  Marion  read 
aloud  from  a  book  before  her.  The  Doctor  in  his  dressing- 
gown  and  slippers,  with  his  feet  spread  out  upon  the  warm 
rug,  leaned  back  in  his  easy  chair,  and  listened  to  the  book, 
and  looked  upon  his  daughters. 

They  were  very  beautiful  to  look  upon.  Two  better  faces 
for  a  fire-side,  never  made  a  fire-side  bright  and  sacred. 
Something  of  the  difference  between  them  had  been  softened 
down  in  three  years'  time ;  and  entlironed  upon  the  clear  brow 
of  the  younger  sister,  looking  through  her  eyes,  and  thrilling 
in  her  voice,  was  the  same  earnest  natvire  that  her  own 
motherless  youth  had  ripened  in  the  elder  sister  long  ago. 
But  she  stiU  appeared  at  once  the  lovelier  and  weaker  of  tlie 
two ;  still  seemed  to  rest  her  head  upon  her  sister's  breast,  and 
put  her  trust  in  her,  and  look  into  her  eyes  for  counsel  and 
reliance.  Those  loving  eyes,  so  calm,  serene,  and  cheerful,  as 
of  old. 

'* '  And  being  in  her  own  home,'  "  read  Marion,  from  the 
book ;  "  '  her  home  made  exquisitely  dear  by  these  re- 
membrances, she  now  began  to  know  that  the  great  trial  of 
her  heart  must  soon  come  on,  and  could  not  be  delayed.  O 
Home,  our  comforter  and  friend  when  others  fall  away,  to 
part  with  whom,  at  any  step  between  the  cradle  and  tlie 
grave '  " — 

"  Marion,  my  love  !  "  said  Grace. 

"  Why,  Puss ! "  exclaimed  her  father,  "  what 's  the 
matter?  " 

She  put  her  hand  upon  the  hand  her  sister  stretched 
towards  her,  and  read  on ;  her  voice  still  faltering  and 
trembling,  though  she  made  an  effort  to  command  it  when 
thus  interrupted. 

"  'To  part  with  whom,  at  any  step  between  the  cradle  and 
the  grave,  is  always  sorrowful.  0  Home,  so  true  to  us,  so 
often  slighted  in  return,  be  lenient  to  them  that  turn  aw*iy 
from  thee,  and  do  not  haunt  tlieir  erring  footsteps  too  re- 
pit)aclifully  !     Let  no  kind  looks,  no  weU-remembered  omiles, 


280  THE    BATTLE   OF   LIFR. 

be  seen  upon  thy  phantom  face.  Let  no  ray  of  affection, 
welcome,  gentleness,  forbearance,  cordiality,  shine  frc>m  thy 
white  head.  Let  no  old  loving  word,  or  tone,  rise  up  in 
judgment  against  thy  deserter;  but  if  thou  canst  look  harshly 
and  severely,  do,  in  mercy  to  the  Penitent ! '  " 

"Dear  Marion,  read  no  more  to-night,"  said  Grace — for 
she  was  weeping. 

"  I  cannot,"  she  replied,  and  closed  the  book.  "  The  words 
seem  all  on  fire  !  " 

The  Doctor  was  amused  at  this ;  and  laughed  as  he  patted 
her  on  the  head. 

"What !  overcome  by  a  story-book  !  "  said  Doctor  Jeddler. 
"  Print  and  paper  !  Well,  well,  it 's  all  one.  It 's  as  rational 
to  make  a  serious  matter  of  print  and  paper  as  of  anything  else. 
But,  dry  your  eyes,  love,  dry  your  ej'^es.  I  dare  say  the 
heroine  has  got  home  again  long  ago,  and  made  it  up  all 
round — and  if  she  hasn't,  a  real  home  is  only  four  walls ;  and 
a  fictitious  one,  mere  rags  and  ink.     What 's  the  matter  now  ?  " 

"  It's  only  me.  Mister,"  said  Clemency,  putting  in  her  head 
at  the  door. 

"  And  what 's  the  matter  with  you  ?  "  said  the  Doctor. 

"  Oh,  bless  you,  nothing  ain't  the  matter  with  me,"  returned 
Clemency — and  truly  too,  to  judge  from  her  well-soaped  face, 
in  which  there  gleamed  as  usual  the  very  soul  of  good-humour, 
which,  ungainly  as  she  was,  made  her  quite  engaging. 
Abrasions  on  the  elbows  are  not  generally  understood,  it  is 
true,  to  range  within  that  class  of  personal  charms  called 
beauty-spots.  But,  it  is  better,  going  through  the  world,  to 
have  the  arms  chafed  in  that  narrow  passage,  than  the  temper: 
and  Clemency's  was  sound,  and  whole  as  any  beauty's  in  the 
land. 

"Nothing  ain't  the  matter  with  me,"  said  Clemency, 
entering,  "  but — come  a  little  closer.  Mister." 

The  Doctor,  in  some  astonishment,  complied  with  this 
invitation. 

"  You  said  I  wasn't  to  give  you  one  before  them,  you  know," 
said  Clemency. 

A  novice  in  the  family  might  have  supposed,  from  her 
extraordinary  ogling  as  she  said  it,  as  well  as  from  a  singular 
rapture  or  ecstasy  which  pervaded  her  elbows,  as  if  she  were 
embracing  herself,  that  "  one,"  in  its  most  favoiirable  interpre- 
tation,  meant  a  chaste  salute.     Indeed    the   Doctor    himsell: 


THE    BATTLE   OF   LIFE.  '2»1 

seemed  alarmed,  for  the  moment;  but  quickly  regained  hia 
composure,  as  Clemeucy,  having  had  recourse  to  both  her 
pockets — beginning  with  the  right  one,  going  away  to  the 
wrong  one,  and  afterwards  coming  back  to  the  right  one  again 
— produced  a  letter  from  the  Post-office. 

"  Britain  was  riding  by  on  a  errand,"  she  chuclded,  handing 
it  to  the  Doctor,  "  and  see  the  mail  come  in,  and  waited  for 
it.  There's  A.H.  in  the  corner.  Mr.  Alfred's  on  his  journey 
home,  I  bet.  We  shall  have  a  wedding  in  the  house — there 
was  two  spoons  in  my  saucer  this  morning.  Oh  Luck,  how 
slow  he  opens  it !  " 

All  this  she  delivered,  by  way  of  soliloquy,  gradually  rising 
higher  and  higher  on  tiptoe,  in  her  impatience  to  hear  the 
news,  and  making  a  corkscrew  of  her  apron,  and  a  bottle  of 
her  mouth.  At  last,  arriving  at  a  climax  of  suspense,  and 
seeing  the  Doctor  still  engaged  in  the  perusal  of  the  letter,  she 
came  down  flat  upon  the  soles  of  her  feet  again,  and  cast  her 
apron,  as  a  veil,  over  her  head,  in  a  mute  despair,  and 
inability  to  bear  it  any  longer. 

"Here!  Girls !"  cried  the  Doctor.  "I  can't  help  it:  I 
never  could  keep  a  secret  in  my  life.  There  are  not  many 
secrets,  indeed,  worth  being  kept  in  such  a — well !  never 
mind  that.      Alfred  's  coming  home,  my  dears,  directly." 

"  Directly  !  "  exclaimed  Marion. 

"  What !  The  story-book  is  soon  forgotten !  "  said  the 
Doctor,  pinching  her  cheek.  "  I  thought  the  news  would  dry 
those  tears.  Yes.  '  Let  it  be  a  surprise,'  he  says,  here.  But 
I  can't  let  it  be  a  surprise.     He  must  have  a  welcome." 

"  Directly  !  "  repeated  Marion. 

"  Why,  perhaps,  not  what  your  impatience  calls  '  directly.'  " 
returned  the  Doctor;  "  but  pretty  soon  too.  Let  us  see.  Let 
us  see.  To-day  is  Thursday,  is  it  not  ?  Then  he  promises  to 
be  here,  this  day  month." 

"  This  day  month  !  "  repeated  Marion,  softly. 

"  A  gay  day  and  a  holiday  for  us,"  said  the  cheerful  voice 
of  her  .sister  Grace,  kissing  her  in  congratulation.  "Long 
looked  forward  to,  dearest,  and  come  at  last." 

She  answered  with  a  smile ;  a  mournful  smile,  but  full  of 
sisterly  affection.  As  she  looked  in  her  sister's  face,  and 
listened  to  the  quiet  music  of  her  voice,  picturing  the  happiness 
of  this  return,  her  own  face  glowed  with  hope  and  joy. 

And  with  a  something  else ;  a  something  shining  more  and 


282  THE    BATTLE   OF    LIFE. 

more  througli  all  the  rest  of  its  expression  ;  for  whicli  I  have 
JiQ  name.  It  was  not  exultation,  triumph,  proud  enthusiasm. 
They  are  not  so  calmly  shown.  It  was  not  love  and  gratitude 
alone,  though  love  and  gratitude  were  part  of  it.  It  emanated 
from  no  sordid  thought,  for  sordid  thoughts  do  not  light  up 
the  brow,  and  hover  on  the  lips,  and  move  the  spirit  like  a 
fluttered  light,  until  the  sympathetic  figure  trembles. 

Doctor  Jeddler,  in  spite  of  his  system  of  philosophy — which 
he  was  continually  contradicting  and  denying  in  practice,  but 
more  famous  philosophers  have  done  that — could  not  help 
having  as  much  interest  in  the  return  of  his  old  ward  and 
pupil,  as  if  it  had  been  a  serious  event.  So,  he  sat  himself 
dovra  in  his  easy  chair  again,  stretched  out  his  slippered  feet 
once  more  upon  the  rug,  read  the  letter  over  and  over  a  great 
many  times,  and  talked  it  over  more  times  still. 

"Ah!  The  day  was,"  said  the  Doctor,  looking  at.  the 
fire,  "  when  you  and  he,  Grace,  used  to  trot  about  arm-in-arm, 
in  his  holiday  time,  like  a  couple  of  walking  doUs.  You 
remember  ?  " 

"  I  remember,"  she  answered,  with  her  pleasant  laugh,  and 
plying  her  needle  busily. 

"  This  day  month,  indeed  !  "  mused  the  Doctor.  "  That 
hardly  seems  a  twelvemonth  ago.  And  where  was  my  little 
Marion  then !  " 

"  Never  far  from  her  sister,"  said  Marion,  cheerily,  "how- 
ever little.  Grace  was  everything  to  me,  even  when  she  was 
a  young  child  herself." 

"  True,  Puss,  true,"  returned  the  Doctor.  "She  was  a  staid 
little  woman,  was  Grace,  and  a  wise  housekeeper,  and  a  busy, 
quiet,  pleasant  body ;  bearing  with  our  humours,  and  antici- 
pating our  wishes,  and  always  ready  to  forget  her  own,  even 
in  those  times.  I  never  knew  you  positive  or  obstinate,  Grace, 
my  darling,  even  then,  on  any  subject  but  one." 

"  I  am  afraid  I  have  changed  sadly  for  the  worse,  since," 
laughed  Grace,  still  busy  at  her  work.  "  What  was  that  one, 
father?" 

"Alfred,  of  course,"  said  the  Doctor.  "Nothing  would 
serve  you  but  you  must  be  called  Alfred  s  wife ;  so  we  called 
you  Alfred's  wife ;  and  you  liked  it  better,  I  believe  ^odd  as  it 
seems  now),  than  being  called  a  Duchess,  if  we  could  have 
made  you  one." 

"  Indeed  ?  "  said  Grace   placidly 


THE    BATTLE    OF    LIFE.  283 

"Why,  don't  you  rememher?"  iuqiiired  the  Doctor. 

"  I  think  I  rememher  something  of  it,"  she  returned,  "but 
not  much.  It 's  so  long  ago."  And  as  she  sat  at  work,  she 
hummed  the  burden  of  an  old  song,  which  the  Doctor  liked. 

"  Alfred  will  find  a  real  wife  soon,"  she  said,  breaking  off; 
••'and  that  will  be  a  happy  time  indeed  for  all  of  us.  My 
three  years'  trust  is  nearly  at  an  end,  Marion.  It  has  been  a 
very  easy  one.  I  shall  tell  Alfred,  when  I  give  you  back  to 
him,  that  you  have  loved  him  dearly  all  the  time,  and  that  he 
has  never  once  needed  my  good  services.  May  I  tell  him  so, 
love  ?  " 

"Tell  him,  dear  Grace,"  replied  Marion,  "that  there  never 
was  a  trust  so  generoush^,  nobl}'-,  steadfastly  discharged;  and 
that  I  have  loved  you,  all  the  time,  dearer  and  dearer  every 
day ;  and  O  !  how  dearly  now  !  " 

"  Nay,"  said  her  cheerful  sister,  returning  her  embrace, 
"  I  can  scarcely  tell  him  that ;  we  will  leave  my  deserts  to 
Alfi-ed's  imagination.  It  will  be  liberal  enough,  dear  Marion; 
like  your  ovm." 

With  that,  she  resumed  the  work  she  had  for  a  moment 
laid  down,  when  her  sister  spoke  so  fervently :  and  with  it  the 
old  song  the  Doctor  liked  to  hear.  And  the  Doctor,  still 
reposing  in  his  easy  chair,  with  his  slippered  feet  stretched 
out  before  him  on  the  rug,  listened  to  the  tune,  and  beat  time 
on  his  knee  with  Alfred's  letter,  and  looked  at  his  two 
daughters,  and  thought  that  among  the  many  trifles  of  the 
trifling  world,  these  trifles  were  agreeable  enough. 

Clemency  Newcome,  in  the  meantime,  having  accomplished 
her  mission  and  lingered  in  the  room  until  she  had  made  her- 
eelf  a  party  to  the  news,  descended  to  the  kitchen,  where  her 
coadjutor,  Mr.  Britain,  was  regaling  after  supper,  surrounded 
by  such  a  plentiful  collection  of  bright  pot-lids,  well-scoured 
saucepans,  burnished  dinner  covers,  gleaming  kettles,  and  other 
tokens  of  her  industrious  habits,  arranged  upon  tlie  walls  and 
shelves,  that  he  sat  as  in  the  centre  of  a  hall  of  mirrors.  The 
majority  did  not  give  forth  very  flattering  portraits  of  him, 
certainly ;  nor  were  they  by  any  means  unanimous  in  their 
reflections ;  as  some  made  him  very  long-faced,  others  very 
broad-faced,  some  tolerably  well-looking,  others  vastly  ill- 
looking,  according  to  tlioir  several  manners  of  reflecting : 
which  were  as  various,  in  respect  of  one  fact,  as  those  of  so 
many  kinds  of  men.      But  they  all  agreed  thai  in  the  midst  oi 


284  TUJ;   BATTLE    OF    LIFE. 

them  sat   quite  at  his  ease,  an   individual  with  a  pipe  in  his 
mouth,   and  a  jug  of  beer  at   his  elbow,   -who  nodded,   con 
descendingly  to  Clemency,  when  she  stationed  herself  at  the 
same  table. 

"Well,  Clemmy,"  said  Britain,  "how  are  you  by  this  time, 
and  what's  the  news  ?  " 

Clemency  told  him  the  news,  which  he  received  very 
graciously.  A  gracious  change  had  come  over  Benjamin 
from  head  to  foot.  He  was  much  broader,  much  redder,  much 
more  cheerful,  and  much  jollier  in  all  respects.  It  seemed  as 
if  his  face  had  been  tied  up  in  a  knot  before,  and  was  now 
untwisted  and  smoothed  out. 

"There'll  be  another  job  for  Snitchey  and  Craggs,  I 
suppose,"  he  observed,  puffing  slowly  at  his  pipe.  "  More 
witnessing  for  you  and  me,  perhaps,  Clemmy  !  " 

"  Lor !  "  replied  his  fair  companion,  with  her  favourite 
twist  of  her  favoiuite  joints.      "  I  wish  it  was  me,  Britain  !  " 

"  Wish  what  was  you  ?  " 

"  A  going  to  be  married,"  said  Clemency. 

Benjamin  took  his  pipe  out  of  his  mouth  and  laughed 
heartily.  "Yes!  you're  a  likely  subject  for  that!"  he  said, 
"  Poor  Clem  ! "  Clemency  for  her  part  laughed  as  heartily 
as  he,  and  seemed  as  much  amused  by  the  idea.  "  Yes," 
she  assented,  "  I  'm  a  likely  subject'for  that ;  an't  I  ?  " 

"  You  'U  never  be  married,  you  know,"  said  Mr.  Britain, 
resuming  his  pipe. 

"  Don 't  you  think  lever  shall  though?"  said  Clemency, 
in  perfect  good  faith. 

Mr.  Britain  shook  his  head.      "  Not  a  chance  of  it !  " 

"  Only  think!  "  said  Clemency.  "  WeU  ! — I  suppose  you 
mean  to,  Britain,  one  of  these  days  ;  don't  you  ?  " 

A  question  so  abrupt,  upon  a  subject  so  momentous, 
required  consideration.  After  blowing  out  a  great  cloud  of 
smoke,  and  looking  at  it  with  his  head  now  on  this  side 
and  now  on  that,  as  if  it  were  actually  the  question,  and 
he  were  surveying  it  in  various  aspects,  Mr.  Britain  replied 
that  he  wasn  't  altogether  clear  about  it,  but — ye-es — he 
thought  he  might  come  to  that  at  last. 

"  I  wish  her  joy,  whoever  she  may  be'  "  cried  Clemency. 

"  Oh  she  '11  have  that,"  said  Benjamin,  "  safe  enough." 

"  But  she  wouldn't  have  led  quite  such  a  jojd'ul  life  as  she 
will  lead,  and  wouldn't  have  had  quite  such  a  sociable  sort  of 


THE   BATTLE   OF   LIFE.  285 

husband  as  she  will  have,"  said  Clemency,  spreading  her- 
self half  over  the  table,  and  staring  retrospectively  at  the 
candle,  "if  it  hadn't  been  for — not  that  I  went  to  do  it, 
for  it  Avas  accidental,  I  am  sure — if  it  hadn't  been  for  me  ; 
now  would  she,  Britain?" 

"  Certainly  not,"  returned  Mr.  Britain,  by  this  time  in 
that  high  state  of  appreciation  of  his  pipe,  when  a  man 
can  open  his  mouth  but  a  very  little  way  for  speaking  pur- 
poses ;  and  sitting  luxuriously  immovable  in  his  chair,  can 
afford  to  tui-n  only  his  eyes  towards  a  companion,  and  that 
very  passively  and  gravely.  "  Oh  !  I  'm  greatly  beholden 
to  you,  you  know,  Clem." 

"  Lor,  how  nice  that  is  to  think  of !  "  said  Clemency. 

At  the  same  time  bringing  her  thoughts  as  well  as  her 
sight  to  bear  upon  the  candle  grease,  and  becoming  abruptly 
reminiscent  of  its  healing  qualities  as  a  balsam,  she  anointed 
her  left  elbow  with  a  plentiful  application  of  that  remedy. 

"  You  see  I  've  made  a  good  many  investigations  of  one 
sort  and  another  in  my  time,"  pursued  Mr.  Britain,  with 
the  profoundity  of  a  sage;  "having  been  always  of  an 
inquiring  turn  of  mind ;  and  I  've  read  a  good  many  books 
about  the  general  Rights  of  things  and  Wrongs  of  things, 
for  I  went  into  the  literary  line  myself  when  I  began  life." 

"  Did  you  though  !  "  cried  the  admiring  Clemency. 

"Yes,"  said  Mr.  Britain:  "I  was  hid  for  the  best  part 
of  two  years  behind  a  bookstall,  ready  to  fly  out  if  anybody 
pocketed  a  volume ;  and  after  tluit,  I  was  light  porter  to  a 
stay  and  mantua-maker,  in  which  capacity  I  was  employed 
to  carry  about,  in  oilskin  baskets,  nothing  but  deceptions — 
which  soui'ed  my  spirits  and  disturbed  my  confidence  in 
human  natiu-e ;  and  after  that,  I  heard  a  world  of  discus- 
sions in  tliis  house,  which  soured  my  spirits  fresh  ;  and  my 
opinion  after  all  is,  that,  as  a  safe  and  comfortable  sweetener 
of  the  same,  and  as  a  pleasant  guide  through  life,  there  's  no- 
thing like  a  nutmeg-grater." 

Clemency  was  about  to  offer  a  suggestion,  but  he  stopped 
her  by  anticipating  it. 

"Com-bined,"  he  added  gravely,  "with  a  thimble." 

"Do  as  you  wold,  you  know,  and  cetrer,  eh!"  observed 
Clemency,  folding  her  arms  comfortably  in  her  delight 
Rt  this  avowal,  and  patting  her  elbows.  "  Such  a  short 
jut,  au't  it  ?  " 


286  THE   BATTLE   OF   LIFE. 

"  I  'm  not  sure,"  said  Mr.  Britain,  "  that  it 's  what  would 
be  considered  good  philosophy.      I  've  my  doubts  about  that 
but  it  were  as  well,  and  saves  a  quantity  of  snarling,  which  the 
genuine  article  don't  always." 

"  See  how  you  used  to  go  on  once,  yourself,  you  know !  " 
said  Clemency. 

"  Ah  !  "  said  Mr.  Britain.  "  But,  the  most  extraordinary 
thing,  Clemmy,  is  that  I  should  live  to  be  brought  round, 
through  you.  That 's  the  strange  part  of  it.  Through  you  ! 
Why,  I  suppose  you  haven't  so  much  as  half  an  idea  in 
your  head." 

Clemency,  without  taking  the  least  offence,  shook  it,  and 
laughed,  and  hugged  herself,  and  said,  "  No,  she  didn't  sup- 
pose she  had." 

"  I  'm  pretty  sure  of  it,"  said  Mr.  Britain. 

"  Oh  !  I  dare  say  you  're  right,"  said  Clemency.  "  I  don't 
pretend  to  none.      I  don't  want  any." 

Benjamin  took  his  pipe  from  his  lips,  and  laughed  till 
the  tears  ran  down  his  face.  "  What  a  natural  you  are, 
Clemmy !  "  he  said,  shaking  his  head,  with  an  infinite 
relish  of  the  joke,  and  wiping  his  eyes.  Clemency,  without 
the  smallest  inclination  to  dispute  it,  did  the  like,  and  laughed 
as  heai'tily  as  he. 

"I  can't  help  liking  you,"  said  Mr.  Britain;  "you're 
a  regular  good  creatiu-e  in  your  way,  so  shake  hands  Clem. 
Whatever  happens,  I  '11  always  take  notice  of  you,  and  be  a 
friend  to  you." 

"Will  you?"  returned  Clemency.  "Well!  that's  very 
good  of  you." 

"  Yes,  3'es,"  said  Mr.  Britain,  ginng  her  his  pipe  to  knock 
the  ashes  out  of  it ;  "I  '11  stand  by  you.  Hark  !  That 's  a 
curious  noise  !  " 

"  Noise  !  "  repeated  Clemency. 

"  A  footstep  outside.  Somebody  dropping  from  the  wall, 
it  sounded  like,"  said  Britain.  "  Are  they  all  abed  up 
etairs  ?  " 

"  Yes,  all  abed  by  this  time,"  she  replied. 

"  Didn't  you  hear  anything  ?  " 

"No." 

They  both  listened,  but  heard  nothing. 

"  I  tell  you  what,"  said  Benjamin,  taking  down  a  lantern, 
"  I  '11  have  a    look    round,   before  I  go    to    bed  myself,  for 


THE    BATTLE    OF    LIFE.  or7 

satisfaction's    sake.     Undo    the    door    while    I    light    this, 
Clem  my !  " 

Clemency  complied  briskly ;  but  observed  as  she  did  so, 
that  he  woidd  onl}'  have  his  walk  for  his  pains,  that  it  was 
all  his  fancy,  and  so  forth.  Mr.  Britain  said  "very  likely;  " 
but  sallied  out,  nevertheless,  armed  with  the  poker,  and  casting 
the  light  of  the  lantern  far  and  near  in  all  directions. 

"  It 's  as  quiet  as  a  churchyard,"  said  Clemency,  looking 
after  him  ;   "  and  almost  as  ghostly  too  !  " 

Glancing  back  into  the  kitchen,  she  cried  fearfully,  as  a 
light  figure  stole  into  her  view,  "  What 's  that !  " 

"Hush!"  said  Marion,  in  an  agitated  whisper.  "\ou 
have  always  loved  me,  liave  you  not !  " 

"  Loved  you,  child  !      You  may  be  sure  I  have." 

'•  I  am  sure.  And  I  may  trust  you,  may  I  not  ?  There  is 
no  one  else  just  now,  in  whom  I  can  trust." 

"  Yes,"  said  Clemency,  with  all  her  heart. 

"  There  is  some  one  out  there,"  pointing  to  the  door,  "  whom 
I  must  see,  and  speak  with,  to-night.  Michael  Warden,  for 
God's  sake  retire  !     Not  now  !  " 

Clemency  started  with  surprise  and  trouble  as,  following  the 
direction  of  the  speaker's  eyes,  she  saw  a  dark  figure  standing 
in  the  doorway. 

"  In  another  moment  you  may  be  discovered,"  said  Marion. 
"  Not  now  !  Wait,  if  you  can,  in  some  concealment.  I  will 
oome  presently." 

He  waved  his  hand  to  her,  and  was  gone. 

"  Don't  go  to  bed.  Wait  here  for  me  !  "  said  Marion, 
hui-riedly.  "  I  have  been  seeking  to  speak  to  you  for  an  hour 
past.     Oh,  be  true  to  me !  " 

Eagerly  seizing  her  bewildered  hand,  and  pressing  it  with 
both  her  own  to  her  breast — an  action  more  expressive,  in 
its  passion  of  entreaty,  than  the  most  eloquent  appeal  in 
words, — Marion  withdrew ;  as  the  light  of  tlie  returning 
lantern  flashed  into  tlie  room. 

"  All  stiU  and  peaceable.  Nobody  there.  Fancy,  I  suppose," 
said  Mr.  Britain,  as  he  locked  and  barred  the  door.  "  One  of 
the  effects  of  having  a  lively  imagination.  Ilulloa !  Why, 
what 's  the  matter  ?  " 

Clemency,  who  could  not  conceal  the  effects  of  her  sur- 
prise and  concern,  was  sitting  in  a  chair :  pale,  and  trom- 
bling  from  head  to  foot. 


288  THE   BATTLE   OF   LIF3. 

"  Matter  !  "  slie  repeated,  chafing  her  hands  and  elbows, 
nervously,  and  looking-  anywhere  but  at  him.  "That's  good 
in  you,  Britain,  that  is  !  After  going  and  frightening  one  out 
of  one's  life  with  noises,  and  lanterns,  and  I  don't  know  what 
all.     Matter!      Oh,  yes!" 

"If  you're  frightened  out  of  your  life  by  a  lantern, 
Clemmy,"  said  Mr.  Britain,  composedly  blowing  it  out  and 
hanging  it  up  again,  "  that  apparition  's  very  soon  get  rid  of. 
But  you  're  as  bold  as  brass  in  general,"  he  said,  stopping 
to  observe  her;  "and  were,  after  the  noise  and  the  lantern 
too.  What  have  you  taken  into  your  head  ?  Not  an 
idea,  eh  ?  " 

But,  as  Clemency  bade  him  good  night  very  much  after  her 
usual  fashion,  and  began  to  bustle  about  with  a  show  of  going 
to  bed  herself  immediately.  Little  Britain,  after  giving  utter- 
ance to  tlie  original  remark  that  it  was  impossible  to 
account  for  a  woman's  whims,  bade  her  good  niglit  in 
return,  and  taking  up  his  candle  strolled  drowsily  away  to 
bed. 

When  all  was  quiet,  Marion  returned. 

"  Open  the  door,"  she  said  ;  "  and  stand  there  close  beside 
me,  while  I  speak  to  him,  outside." 

Timid  as  her  manner  was,  it  still  evinced  a  resolute  and 
settled  purpose,  such  as  Clemency  coidd  not  resist.  She  softly 
unbarred  the  door :  but  before  turning  the  key,  looked  round 
on  the  young  creature  waiting  to  issue  forth  when  she  should 
open  it. 

The  face  was  not  averted  or  cast  down,  but  looking  full 
upon  her,  in  its  pride  of  youth  and  beauty.  Some  simple 
sense  of  the  slightness  of  the  barrier  that  interposed  itself 
between  the  happy  home  and  honoured  love  of  the  fair  girl, 
and  what  might  be  the  desolation  of  that  home,  and  shipwreck 
of  its  dearest  treasure,  smote  so  keenly  on  the  tender  heart 
of  Clemency,  and  so  filled  it  to  overflowing  with  sorrow  and 
compassion,  that,  bursting  into  tears,  she  threw  her  arms 
round  Marion's  neck. 

"  It 's  little  that  I  know,  my  dear,"  cried  Clemency,  "  very 
little ;  but  I  know  that  this  should  not  be.  Think  of  what 
you  do ! " 

"  I  have  thought  of  it  many  times,"  said  Marion  gently. 
"  Once  more,"  urged  Clemency.   "  TiU  to-morrow."   Marion 
shook  her  head. 


THE   BATTLE   OF   LIFE.  289 

"  For  Mr.  Alfred's  sake,"  said  Clemency,  with  homely  eani- 
estiiess.      "  Him  that  you  used  to  love  so  dearly,  once  !  " 

She  hid  her  face,  upon  the  instant,  in  her  hands,  repeating 
"  Ouce  !  "  as  if  it  rent  her  heart. 

"Let  me  go  out,"  said  Clemency,  soothing  her.  "  I  '11  tell 
him  what  you  like.  Don't  cross  the  door-step  to  night.  I  'm 
Bure  no  good  will  come  of  it.  Oh,  it  was  an  unhappy  day 
when  Mr.  Warden  was  ever  bought  here !  Think  of  your 
good  father,  darling — of  your  sister." 

"  I  have,"  said  Marion,  hastily  raising  her  head.  "  You 
don't  know  what  I  do.  You  don't  know  what  I  do.  I  7imsi 
speak  to  him.  You  are  the  best  and  truest  friend  in  all  the 
^\-orld  for  what  you  have  said  to  me,  but  I  must  take  this 
step.  WiU  you  go  with  me.  Clemency,"  she  kissed  her  on 
her  friendly  face,  "  or  shall  I  go  alone  ?  " 

Sorrowing  and  wondering.  Clemency  turned  the  key,  and 
opened  the  door.  Into  the  dark  and  doubtful  night  that  lay 
beyond  the  threshold,  Marion  passed  quickly,  holding  by  her 
hand. 

In  the  dark  night  he  joined  her,  and  they  spoke  together 
earnestly  and  long ;  and  the  hand  that  held  so  fast  by 
Clemency's,  now  trembled,  now  turned  deadly  cold,  now 
clasped  and  closed  on  hers,  in  the  strong  feeling  of  the  speech 
it  emphasised  unconsciously.  "\Mien  they  retiu-ned,  he 
followed  to  the  door,  and  pausing  there  a  moment,  seized  the 
other  hand,  and  pressed  it  to  his  lips.  Then,  stealthily  with- 
drew. 

The  door  was  barred  and  locked  again,  and  once  again  she 
stood  beneath  lier  father's  roof.  Not  bowed  down  by  the 
secret  that  she  brouglit  there,  though  so  young ;  but  with  that 
same  expression  on  her  face  for  which  I  had  no  name  before, 
and  shining  through  her  tears. 

Again  she  thanked  and  thanked  her  humble  friend,  and 
trusted  to  her,  as  she  said,  with  confidence,  implicitly.  Her 
chamber  safely  reached,  she  fell  upon  her  knees ;  and  with 
her  secret  weigliiug  on  heart,  could  pray  ! 

Could  rise  up  from  her  prayers,  so  tranquil  and  serene,  and 
bending  over  lior  fund  sister  in  her  slumber,  look  upon  her 
face  and  smile — tliough  sadly  :  murmuring  as  she  kissed  her 
forehead,  liow  that  Grace  had  been  a  mother  to  her,  ever,  and 
she  loved  her  as  a  child  I 

Could   flraw  tlie  passive  arm   about  her  neck  when  lying 


290  THE   BATTLE   OF   LIFE. 

doAvn  to  rest — it  seemed  to  cling  there,  of  its  own  will,  prt> 
tectingly  and  tenderly  even  in  sleep — and  breathe  upon  the 
parted  lips,  God  bless  her  ! 

Could  sink  into  a  peaceful  sleep,  herself;  but  for  one 
dream,  in  which  she  cried  out,  in  her  innocent  and  touching 
voice,  that  she  was  quite  alone,  and  they  had  aU  forgotten  her. 

A  month  soon  passes,  even  at  its  tardiest  pace.  The  month 
appointed  to  elapse  between  that  night  and  the  return,  was 
quick  of  foot,  and  went  by,  like  a  vapour. 

The  day  arrived.  A  raging  winter  day,  that  shook  the  old 
house,  sometimes,  as  if  it  shivered  in  the  blast.  A  day  to 
make  home  doubly  home.  To  give  the  chimney-corner  new 
delights.  .  To  shed  a  ruddier  glow  upon  the  faces  gathered 
round  the  hearth,  and  draw  each  fireside  group  into  a  closer 
and  more  social  league,  against  the  roaring  elements  without. 
Such  a  wild  winter  day  as  best  prepares  the  way  for  shut-out 
night ;  for  curtained  rooms,  and  cheerful  looks  ;  for  music, 
laughter,  dancing,  light,  and  jovial  entertainment ! 

All  these  the  Doctor  had  in  store  to  welcome  Alfred  back. 
They  knew  that  he  could  not  arrive  tiU  night ;  and  they  would 
make  the  night  air  ring,  he  said,  as  he  approached.  All  his 
old  friends  should  congregate  about  him.  He  should  not  miss 
a  face  that  he  had  known  and  liked.  No  !  They  should  every 
one  be  there  ! 

So,  guests  were  bidden,  and  musicians  were  engaged,  and 
tables  spread,  and  floors  prepared  for  active  feet,  and  bounti- 
fid  provision  made  of  every  hospitable  kind.  Because  it  was 
the  Christmas  season,  and  his  eyes  were  all  unused  to  English 
holly  and  its  sturdy  green,  the  dancing-room  was  garlanded 
and  hung  with  it ;  and  the  red  berries  gleamed  an  English 
welcome  to  him,  peeping  from  among  the  leaves. 

It  was  a  busy  day  for  all  of  them :  a  busier  day  for  none 
of  them  than  Grace,  wlio  noiselessly  presided  everywhere, 
and  was  the  cheerful  mind  of  all  the  preparations.  ]\Iany  a 
time  that  day  (as  well  as  many  a  time  within  the  fleeting 
month  preceding  it),  did  Clemency  glance  anxiously,  and 
almost  fearfully,  at  Marion.  She  saw  her  paler,  perhaps,  than 
usual ;  but  there  was  a  sweet  composure  on  her  face  that 
made  it  lovelier  than  ever. 

"  At  night  when  she  was  dressed,  and  wore  upon  her  head 
a  wreath  that  Grace  had  proudly  twined  about  it — its  mimic 


TI!E   BATTLE   OF   LIFR.  291 

flowevs  were  Alfred's  favourites,  as  Grace  remembered  when 
she  chose  them — that  old  expression,  pensive,  almost  sorrowfui, 
and  yet  so  spiritual,  high,  and  stirring  sat  again  upon  her 
brow,  enhanced  a  hundred  fold. 

"The  next  wreath  I  adjust  on  this  fair  head,  will  be  a 
marriage  wreath,"  said  Grace ;  "or  I  am  no  true  prophet, 
dear." 

Her  sister  smiled,  and  held  her  in  her  arms. 

"  A  moment,  Grace.  Don't  leave  me  yet.  Ai-e  you  sure 
£hat  I  want  nothing  more  ?  " 

Her  care  was  not  for  that.  It  was  her  sister's  face  she 
thought  of,  and  her  eyes  were  fixed  upon  it,  tenderly. 

"  My  art,"  said  Grace,  "  can  go  no  farther,  dear  girl ; 
nor  your  beauty.     I  never  saw  you  look  so  beautiful  as  now." 

"  I  never  was  so  happy,"  she  returned. 

"  Ay,  but  there  is  a  greater  happiness  in  store.  In  such 
another  home,  as  cheerful  and  as  bright  as  this  looks  now," 
said  Grace,  "  Alfred  and  his  young  wife  will  soon  be  Uving." 

She  smiled  again.  "It  is  a  happy  home,  Grace,  in  your 
fancy.  I  can  see  it  in  your  eyes.  I  know  it  ivill  be  happy, 
dear.     How  glad  I  am  to  know  it." 

"  Well,"  cried  the  Doctor,  bustling  in.  "  Here  we  are,  all 
ready  for  Alfred,  eh  ?  "  He  can't  be  here  until  pretty  late — 
an  liour  or  so  before  midnight — so  there  '11  be  plenty  of  time 
for  making  merry  before  he  comes.  He  '11  not  find  us  with 
the  ice  unbroken.  Pile  up  the  fire  here,  Britain !  Let  it 
shine  upon  the  hoUy  till  it  winks  again.  It's  a  world  of 
nonsense.  Puss ;  true  lovers  and  all  the  rest  of  it — all  non- 
sense ;  but  we  'U  be  nonsensical  with  the  rest  of  'em  and  give 
our  true  lover  a  mad  welcome.  Upon  my  word  !  "  said  the 
old  Doctor,  looking  at  his  daughters  proudly,  "  I  'm  not  clear 
to-night,  among  other  absurdities,  but  that  I  'm  the  father  o{ 
two  handsome  girls." 

"  AH  that  one  of  them  has  ever  done,  or  may  do — may  do, 
dearest  father — to  cause  you  pain  or  grief,  forgive  her,"  said 
Marion,  "  forgive  her  now,  when  her  heart  is  full.  Say  that 
you  forgive  her.  That  you  will  forgive  her.  That  she  sliall 
always  share  your  love,  and — ,"  and  the  rest  was  not  said, 
for  her  face  was  hidden  on  the  old  man's  shoulder. 

"  Tut,  tut,  tut,"  said  the  Doctor  gently.  "  Forgive  !  What 
have  I  to  forgive  ?  Heydey,  if  our  true  lovers  come  back  to 
flurry  us  Hke  this,  we  must  hold  them  at  a  distance  i  we  must 


292  THE   BATTLE   OF   LIFE. 

seud  expresses  out  to  stop  'em  short  Tipon  the  road,  and  bring 
'em  on  a  mile  or  two  a  day,  until  we  're  properly  prepared  to 
meet  'em.  Kiss  me.  Puss.  Forgive !  Why,  what  a  silly 
child  you  are.  If  you  had  vexed  and  crossed  me  fifty  times 
a  day,  instead  of  not  at  all,  I  'd  forgive  you  everything,  but 
such  a  supplication.  Kiss  me  again,  Puss.  There  !  Pro- 
spective and  retrospective — a  clear  score  between  us.  Pile  up 
the  fire  here  !  Would  you  freeze  the  people  on  this  bleak 
December  niglit !  Let  us  be  light,  and  warm,  and  merry,  or 
I  '11  not  forgive  some  of  you  !  " 

So  gaily  the  old  Doctor  carried  it !  And  the  fire  was  piled 
up,  and  the  lights  were  bright,  and  company  arrived,  and  a 
murmuring  of  lively  tongues  began,  and  already  there  was 
a  pleasant  air  of  cheerful  excitement  stirring  through  all  the 
Jiouse. 

More  and  more  company  came  flocking  in.  Bright  eyes 
■sparkled  upon  Marion  ;  smiling  lips  gave  her  joy  of  his  return; 
sage  mothers  fanned  themselves,  and  hoped  she  mightn't  be  too 
youthful  and  inconstant  for  the  quiet  round  of  home ;  impetuous 
fathers  fell  into  disgrace,  for  too  much  exaltation  of  her 
beanty  ;  daughters  envied  her  ;  sons  envied  him ;  innumerable 
pairs  of  lovers  profited  by  the  occasion ;  all  were  interested, 
animated,  and  expectant. 

Mr.  and  Mrs.  Craggs  came  arm  in  arm,  but  Mrs.  Snitchey 
came  alone.  "Why,  what's  become  of  him?'"  inquired  the 
Doctor. 

The  feather  of  a  Bird  of  Paradise  in  Mrs.  Suitchey's  turban, 
trembled  as  if  the  Bird  of  Paradise  were  aHve  again,  when  she 
said  that  doubtless  Mr.  Craggs  knew.     She  was  never  told. 

"  That  nasty  office,"  said  Mrs.  Craggs. 

"  I  wish  it  was  burnt  down,"  said  Mrs.  Snitchey. 

*'  He  's — he 's — there  's  a  little  matter  of  business  that  keeps 
my  partner  rather  late,"  said  Mr.  Craggs,  looking  uneasily 
about  him. 

"  Oh — h  !     Business.     Don't  tell  me  !  "  said  Mrs.  Snitchey. 

"  We  know  what  business  means,"  said  Mrs.  Craggs. 

But  their  not  knowing  what  it  meant,  was  perhaps  the 
reason  why  INIrs.  Snitchey's  Bird  of  Paradise  feather  quivered 
80  portentously,  and  why  all  the  pendant  bits  on  Mrs.  Craggs's 
ear-rings  shook  like  little  beUs. 

"  I  wonder  you  could  come  away,  Mr.  Craggs,"  said  his 
wife. 


THE   BAITLE   OF   LIFE.  293 

*'  Mr.  Crag-gs  is  fortunate,  I  'm  sure  I  "  said  Mrs.  Suitcliey. 

"  That  office  so  engrosses  'em,"  said  Mrs.  Craggs. 

"  A  person  with  an  office  has  no  business  to  be  married  at 
all,"  said  Mrs.  Snitchey. 

Then,  Mrs.  Snitchey  said,  within  herself,  that  that  look  of 
hers  had  pierced  to  Craggs' s  soul,  and  he  knew  it ;  and  Mrs. 
Craggs  observed,  to  Craggs,  that  "his  Snitcheys"  were 
deceiving  him  behind  his  back,  and  he  would  find  it  out  wheu 
it  was  too  late. 

Still,  Mr.  Craggs,  without  much  heeding  these  remarks, 
looked  uneasily  about  him  until  his  eye  rested  on  Grace,  to 
whom  he  immediately  presented  himself. 

"  Good  evening,  ma'am,"  said  Craggs.  "  You  look  charm- 
ingly.     Your — Miss — your  sister.  Miss  Marion,  is  she " 

"  Oh  she  's  quite  well,  Mr.  Craggs." 

"  Yes — I — is  she  here  ?  "  asked  Craggs. 

"Here!  Don't  you  see  her  yonder?  Going  to  dance?" 
said  Grace. 

Mr.  Craggs  put  on  his  spectacles  to  see  the  better ;  lookecr 
at  her  through  them,  for  some  time ;  coughed  ;  and  put  them, 
with  an  air  of  satisfaction,  in  their  sheath  again,  and  in  his 
pocket. 

Now  the  music  struck  up,  and  the  dance  commenced.  The 
bright  fire  crackled  and  sparkled,  rose  and  fell,  as  though  it 
joined  the  dance  itself,  in  right  good  fellowship.  Sometimes, 
it  roared  as  if  it  would  make  music  too.  Sometimes,  it  flashed 
and  beamed  as  if  it  were  the  eye  of  the  old  room :  it  winked 
too,  sometimes,  like  a  knowing  Patriarch,  upon  the  youthful 
whisperers  in  comers.  Sometimes,  it  sported  with  the  hoUy- 
boughs ;  and,  shining  on  the  leaves  by  fits  and  starts,  made 
them  look  as  if  they  were  in  the  cold  winter  night  again,  and 
fluttering  in  tlie  wind.  Sometimes  its  genial  humour  grew 
obstreperous,  and  passed  all  bounds ;  and  then  it  cast  into  the 
room,  among  the  twinkling  feet,  with  a  loud  burst,  a  shower 
of  harmless  little  sparks,  and  in  its  exultation  leaped  and 
bounded  like  a  mad  thing,  up  the  broad  old  chimney. 

Another  dance  was  near  its  close,  when  Mr.  Snitchey  touched 
his  partner,  who  was  looking  on,  upon  the  arm. 

Mr.  Craggs  started,  as  if  his  familiar  had  been  a  spectre. 

"  Is  he  gone  ?  "  he  asked. 

"  Hush  !  He  has  been  with  me,"  said  Snitchey,  "  for 
three  hours  and  more,     lie  went  over  ovojything.     He  lookod 


294  THE    BATTLE    OF    LIFL'. 

into  all  our  arrangements  for  him,  and  was  very  partiLular 
indeed.     He — Humph  !  " 

The  dance  was  finished.  Marion  passed  close  before  him, 
as  he  spoke.  She  did  not  observe  him,  or  his  partner  ;  but. 
looked  over  her  shoulder  towards  lier  sister  in  the  distance,  as 
she  slowly  made  her  way  into  the  crowd,  and  passed  out  of 
their  view. 

"  You  see !  All  safe  and  v/ell,"  said  Mr.  Craggs.  "  He 
didn't  recur  to  that  subject,  I  suppose  ?  " 

"Not  a  word." 

"  And  is  he  really  gone  ?  Is  he  safe  away  ?  " 

"  He  keeps  to  his  word.  He  drops  down  the  river  with 
tlie  tide  in  that  shell  of  a  boat  of  his,  and  so  goes  out  to  sea 
on  this  dark  niglit !— a  dtire-devil  he  is — before  the  wind. 
There 's  no  sucli  lonely  road  anywhere  else.  That 's  one 
thing.  The  tide  flows,  he  says,  an  hour  before  midnight — 
about  this  time.  I  'm  glad  it 's  over."  Mr.  Snitchey  wiped 
his  forehead,  which  looked  hot  and  anxious. 

"  What  do  you  think,"  said  Mr.  Craggs,  "  about — " 

"Hush!"  replied  his  cautious  partner,  looking  straight 
before  him.  "  I  understand  you.  Don't  mention  names,  and 
don't  let  us  seem  to  be  talking  secrets.  I  don't  know  what 
to  think ;  and  to  tell  you  the  truth,  I  don't  care  now.  It  s 
a  great  relief.  His  self-love  deceived  him,  I  suppose. 
Perhaps  the  young  lady  coquetted  a  little.  The  evidence 
would  seem  to  point  that  way.     Alfred  not  arrived  ?  " 

"  Not  yet,"  said  Mr.  Craggs.      "  Expected  every  minute." 

"  Good."  Mr.  Snitchey  wiped  his  forehead  again.  "  It's 
a  great  relief.  I  haven't  been  so  nervous  since  we  've  been 
in  partnership.  I  intend  to  spend  the  evening  now,  Mr. 
Craggs." 

Mrs.  Craggs  and  Mrs.  Snitchey  joined  them  as  ne  announced 
this  intention.  The  Bird  of  Paradise  was  in  a  staite  of  extreme 
vibration,  and  the  little  bells  were  ringing  quite  audibly. 

"  It  has  been  the  theme  of  general  comment,  Mr.  Snitchey," 
said  Mrs.  Snitchey.      "  I  hope  the  ofiice  is  satisfied." 

"  Satisfied  with  what,  my  dear?"  asked  Mr.  Snitchey. 

**  With  the  exposure  of  a  defenceless  woman  to  ridicui« 
find  remark,"  re'^urned  his  wife.  "That  is  quite  in  the  way 
of  tlie  office,  thiu  is." 

"  I  really,  myself,"  said  Mrs.  Craggs,  "have  been  so  long 
Accustomed   to   connect  the   ofiice  with  everything  opposed  to 


TnE   BATTLE   OF   LIFE.  295 

vlomesticity,  that  I  am  glad  to  know  it  as  the  avowed  enemy 
of  my  peace.  There  is  something  honest  in  that,  at  all 
events." 

"  My  dear,"  urged  Mr.  Craggs,  "  your  good  opinion  is 
invaluable,  but  I  never  avowed  that  the  office  was  the  enemy 
of  your  peace." 

"  No,"  said  Mrs.  Craggs,  ringing  a  perfect  peal  upon  the 
little  beUs.  "  Not  you,  indeed.  You  wouldn't  be  worthy  of 
the  office,  if  you  had  the  candour  to." 

"  As  to  my  having  been  away  to-night,  my  dear,"  said  Mi. 
SnitcJiey,  giving  her  his  arm,  "the  deprivation  has  been  mine, 
I  'm  sure  ;  but,  as  Mr.  Craggs  knows —  " 

Mrs.  Snitchey  cut  this  reference  very  short  by  hitching  her 
liusband  to  a  distance,  and  asking  him  to  look  at  that  man. 
To  do  her  the  favour  to  look  at  him  ! 

"  At  which  man,  my  dear  ?  "  said  Mr.  Snitchey. 

"  Your  chosen  companion;  I'm.  no  companion  to  you,  Mr. 
Snitchey." 

"  Yes,  yes,  you  are,  my  dear,"  he  interposed. 

"  No,  no,  I  'm  not,"  said  Mrs.  Snitchey  with  a  majestic 
smile.  "  I  know  my  station.  Will  you  look  at  your  chosen 
companion,  Mr.  Snitchey;  at  your  referee,  at  the  keeper  ot 
your  secrets,  at  the  man  you  trust ;  at  your  other  self,  in 
short." 

The  habitual  association  of  Self  with  Craggs,  occasioned 
Mr.  Snitchey  to  look  in  that  direction. 

"  If  you  can  look  that  man  in  the  eye  this  night,"  said 
Mrs.  Snitchey,  "  and  not  know  that  you  are  deluded,  practised 
upon,  made  the  victim  of  his  arts,  and  bent  down  prostrate  to 
his  will  by  some  unaccountable  fascination  which  it  is 
impossible  to  explain  and  against  which  no  warning  of  mine 
is  of  the  least  avail,  all  I  can  say  is — I  pity  you !  " 

At  the  very  same  moment  Mrs.  Craggs  was  oracular  on  the 
cross  subject.  Was  it  possible,  she  said,  that  Craggs  could  so 
blind  himself  to  his  Snitcheys,  as  not  to  feel  his  true  position. 
Did  he  mean  to  say  that  he  had  seen  his  Snitcheys  come  into 
that  room,  and  didn't  plainly  see  that  there  was  reservation, 
cunning,  treachery,  in  the  man  ?  WoiJd  he  tell  her  that  his 
very  action,  when  he  wiped  his  forehead  and  looked  so  stealthily 
about  him,  didn't  show  that  there  was  something  weighing 
on  the  conscience  of  his  precious  Snitcheys  (if  he  had  a  con- 
ecience),  tliat  wouldn't  bear  the  light  ?     Did  anybody  but  hia 


293  TEE   BATTLE   OF   LIFE. 

Snitcheys  come  to  festive  entertainments  like  a  burglar  ?  which, 
by  the  way,  was  hardly  a  clear  illustration  of  the  case,  as  he 
had  walked  in  very  mildly  at  the  door.  And  would  he  still 
assert  to  her  at  noon-day  (it  being  nearly  midnight),  that  hia 
Snitcheys  were  to  be  justified  through  thick  and  thin,  against 
all  facts,  and  reason,  and  experience  ? 

Neither  Snitchey  nor  Craggs  openly  attempted  to  stem  the 
current  which  had  thus  set  in,  but,  both  were  content  to  be 
carried  gently  along  it,  until  its  force  abated.  This  happened 
at  about  the  same  time  as  a  general  movement  for  a  country 
dance ;  when  Mr.  Snitchey  proposed  himself  as  a  partner  to 
Mrs.  Craggs,  and  Mr.  Craggs  gallantly  offered  himself  to  Mrs. 
Snitchey;  and  after  some  such  slight  evasions  as  "why  don't 
you  ask  somebody  else?"  and  "you'll  be  glad,  I  know,  if  I 
decline,"  and  "I  wonder  you  can  dance  out  of  the  ofiice " 
(but  this  jocosely  now),  each  lady  graciously  accepted,  and 
took  her  place. 

It  was  an  old  custom  among  them,  indeed,  to  do  so,  and  to 
pair  off,  in  like  manner,  at  dinners  and  suppers ;  for  they 
were  excellent  friends,  and  on  a  footing  of  easy  familiarity. 
Perhaps  the  false  Craggs  and  the  wicked  Snitchey  were  a 
recognised  fiction  with  the  two  wives,  as  Doe  and  Roe^ 
incessantly  running  up  and  down  bailiwicks,  were  with  the 
two  husbands ;  or,  perhaps  the  ladies  had  instituted,  and 
taken  upon  themselves,  these  two  shares  in  the  business,  rather 
than  be  left  of  it  out  altogether.  But,  certain  it  is,  that  each 
wife  went  as  gravely  and  steadily  to  work  in  her  vocation  as 
her  husband  did  in  his,  and  would  have  considered  it  almost 
impossible  for  the  Firm  to  maintain  a  successful  and  respect- 
able existence,  without  her  laudable  exertions. 

But,  now,  the  Bird  of  Paradise  was  seen  to  flutter  down  the 
middle ;  and  the  little  bells  began  to  bounce  and  jingle  in 
poussette ;  and  the  Doctor's  rosy  face  sj)un  round  and  round, 
like  an  expressive  pegtop  highly  varnished ;  and  breathless 
Mr.  Craggs  began  to  doubt  already,  whether  country  dancing 
had  been  made  "too  easy,"  like  the  rest  of  life;  and  Mr. 
Snitchey,  with  his  nimble  cuts  and  capers,  footed  it  for  Self, 
and  Craggs,  and  half  a  dozen  more. 

Now,  too,  the  fire  took  fr-esh  courage,  favoured  by  the  lively 
wind  the  dance  awakened,  and  burnt  clear  and  high.  It  was 
the  Genius  of  the  room,  and  present  everywhere.  It  shone 
iti  people's  eyes,  it  sparkled  in  the  jewels  on  the  juow}-  necks 


THE   BATTLE   OF   LIFE.  297 

of  girls,  it  twinkled  at  their  ears  £S  if  it  whispered  to  them 
elyly,  it  flashed  about  their  waists,  it  flickered  on  the  ground 
and  made  it  rosy  for  their  feet,  it  bloomed  upon  the  ceiling 
that  its  glow  might  set  off  their  bright  faces,  and  it  kindled  up 
a  general  illumination  in  Mrs.  Craggs's  little  belfry. 

Now,  too,  the  lively  air  that  fanned  it,  grew  less  gentle  aa 
the  music  quickened  and  the  dance  proceeded  with  new  spirit ; 
and  a  breeze  arose  that  made  the  leaves  and  berries  dance 
-  upon  the  wall,  as  they  had  often  done  upon  the  trees ;  and  the 
breeze  rustled  in  the  room  as  if  an  invisible  company  of  fairies, 
treading  in  the  footsteps  of  the  good  substantial  revellers, 
were  whirling  after  them.  Now,  too,  no  feature  of  the 
Doctor's  face  could  be  distinguished  as  he  spun  and  spun ; 
and  now  there  seemed  a  dozen  Birds  of  Paradise  in  fitful 
flight ;  and  now  there  were  a  thousand  little  bells  at  work ; 
and  now  a  fleet  of  flying  skirts  was  ruffled  by  a  little  tempest, 
when  the  music  gave  in,  and  the  dance  was  over. 

Hot  and  breathless  as  the  Doctor  was,  it  only  made  him  the 
more  impatient  for  Alfred's  coming. 

"  Anything  been  seen,  Britain  ?    Anything  been  heard  ?  " 

"  Too  dark  to  see  far,  sir.  Too  much  noise  inside  the  house 
to  hear." 

"That's  right!  The  gayer  welcome  for  him.  IIow  goes 
the  time  ?  " 

"  Just  twelve,  sir.     He  can't  be  long,  sir." 

"  Stir  up  the  fire,  and  throw  another  log  upon  it,"  said  the 
Doctor.  "  Let  him  see  his  welcome  blazing  out  upon  the 
night — good  boy  ! — as  he  comes  along  !  " 

He  saw  it — Yes  !  From  the  chaise  he  caught  the  light,  as 
he  turned  the  corner  by  the  old  church.  He  knew  the  rooui 
from  which  it  shone.  He  saw  the  wintry  branches  of  the  old 
trees  between  the  light  and  him.  He  knew  that  one  of  those 
trees  rustled  musically  in  the  summer  time  at  the  window  of 
Marion's  chamber. 

The  tears  were  in  his  eyes.  His  heart  throbbed  so  violently 
that  he  could  hardly  bear  his  happiness.  How  often  he  had 
thought  of  this  time — pictured  it  under  all  circumstances — 
feared  that  it  might  never  come — yearned,  and  wearied  for  it 
— far  away ! 

Again  the  light  !  Distinct  and  ruddy;  kindled,  he  knew, 
to  give  him  welcome,  and  to  speed  him  home.  He  beckccoii 
with  his  hand,  and  waved  his  hat,  and  cheered  out,  loud,  as  if 


298  THE   BATTLE   OF   LIFE. 

the  light  were  tliey,  and  they  could  see  and  hear  him,  as  he 
dashed  towards  them  through  the  mud  and  mire,  triumphantly 

Stop !  He  knew  the  Doctor,  and  understood  what  he  had 
done.  He  would  not  let  it  be  a  surprise  to  them.  But  he 
could  make  it  one,  yet,  by  going  forward  on  foot.  If  the 
orchard  gate  were  open,  he  could  enter  there  ;  if  not,  the  waU 
was  <>asily  climbed,  as  he  knew  of  old ;  and  he  would  bo 
among  them  in  an  instant. 

He  dismounted  from  the  chaise,  and  telling  the  driver — ■ 
even  that  was  not  easy  in  his  agitation — to  remain  behind  for 
a  few  minutes,  and  then  to  follow  slowly,  ran  on  with  exceeding 
swiftness,  tried  the  gate,  scaled  the  wall,  jumped  down  on  the 
other  side,  and  stood  panting  in  the  old  orchard. 

There  was  a  frosty  rime  upon  the  trees,  which,  in  the  faint 
light  of  the  clouded  moon,  himg  upon  tlie  smaller  branches 
like  dead  garlands.  Withered  leaves  crackled  and  snapped 
beneath  his  feet,  as  he  crept  softly  on  towards  the  house.  The 
desolation  of  a  winter  night  sat  brooding  on  the  earth,  and  in 
the  sky.  But,  the  red  light  came  cheerily  towards  him  from 
the  windows ;  figures  passed  and  re-passed  there  ;  and  the 
hum  and  murmur  of  voices  greeted  his  ear,  sweetly. 

Listening  for  hers :  attempting,  as  he  crept  on,  to  detach 
it  from  the  rest,  and  half-believing  that  he  heard  it :  he  had 
nearly  reached  the  door,  when  it  was  abruptly  opened,  and  a 
figure  coming  out  encountered  his.  It  instantly  recoiled  with 
a  half-suppressed  cry. 

"  Clemency,"  he  said,  "  don't  you  know  me  ?  " 

"  Don't  come  in  !  "  she  answered,  pushing  him  back.  "  Go 
away.     Don't  ask  me  why.     Don't  come  in." 

"  What  is  the  matter  ?  "  he  exclaimed. 

"  I  don't  know.    I — I  am  afraid  to  think.    Go  back.    Hark !  " 

There  was  a  sudden  tumult  in  the  house.  She  put  her 
hands  upon  her  ears.  A  wild  scream,  such  as  no  hands  could 
shut  out,  was  heard ;  and  Grace — distraction  in  her  looks  and 
manner — rushed  out  at  the  door. 

"  Grace !  "  He  caught  her  in  his  arms.  "  "What  is  it ! 
Is  she  dead  !  " 

She  disengaged  herself,  as  if  to  recognise  his  face,  and  fell 
down  at  his  feet. 

A  crowd  of  figures  came  about  them  from  the  house. 
Among  them  was  her  father,  with  a  paper  in  his  hand. 

*'  WTiat   is  it !  "   cried  Alfred,  grasping  his  hair  with,  hia 


THE   BATTLE  OF   LIFE.  299 

hands,  and  looking  in  an  agony  trom  face  to  face,  as  he  bem 
upon  his  knee  beside  the  insensible  girl.  "  Will  no  one  look 
at  me  ?  Will  no  one  speak  to  me  ?  Does  no  one  know  me  ? 
Is  there  no  voice  among  you  all,  to  tell  me  what  it  is !  " 

There  was  a  murmur  among  them.      "  She  is  gone." 

"  Gone  !  "  he  echoed. 

"  Fled,  my  dear  Alfred !  "  said  the  Doctor,  in  a  broken 
voice,  and  with  his  hands  before  his  face.  "  Gone  from  her 
iiome  and  us.  To-night !  She  writes  that  she  has  made  her 
innocent  and  blameless  choice — entreats  that  we  will  forgive 
her — prays  that  we  will  not  forget  her — and  is  gone." 

"  AVith  whom  ?     Where  ?  " 

He  started  up,  as  if  to  follow  in  pursuit ;  but,  when  they 
gave  way  to  let  him  pass,  looked  wildly  round  upon  them, 
staggered  back,  and  sank  down  in  his  former  attitude,  clasping 
one  of  Graces's  cold  hands  in  his  o\\ti. 

There  was  a  hurried  running  to  and  fro,  confusion,  noise, 
disorder,  and  no  purpose.  Some  proceeded  to  disperse  them- 
selves about  the  roads,  and  some  took  horse,  and  some  got 
lights,  and  some  conversed  together,  urging  that  there  was  no 
trace  or  track  to  follow.  Some  approached  him  kindly,  with 
the  view  of  offering  consolation ;  some  admonished  him  that 
Grace  must  be  removed  into  the  house,  and  that  he  prevented 
it.      He  never  heard  them,  and  he  never  moved. 

The  snow  fell  fast  and  thick.  He  looked  up  for  a  moment 
in  the  air,  and  thought  that  those  white  ashes  strewn  upon 
his  hopes  and  misery,  were  suited  to  them  well.  He  looked 
round  on  the  whitening  gi'ound,  and  thought  how  Marion's 
foot-prints  would  be  hushed  and  covered  up,  as  soon  as  mado, 
and  even  that  remembrance  of  her  blotted  out.  But  hd  novoi 
felt  the  weather,  and  he  never  stirred. 


3kO  the  baitle  of  life. 


PAET  THE  THIRD. 


The  world  had  grown  six  years  older  since  that  night  of 
^lie  return.  It  was  a  warm  autumn  afternoon,  and  there  had 
been  heavy  rain.  The  sun  burst  suddenly  from  among  the 
clouds;  and  the  old  battle-ground,  sparkling  brilliantly  and 
fiheerfully  at  sight  of  it  in  one  green  place,  flashed  a  responsive 
welcome  there,  which  spread  along  the  country  side  as  if  a 
joyful  beacon  had  been  lighted  up,  and  answered  from  a  thou- 
sand stations. 

How  beautiful  the  landscape  kindling  in  the  light,  and  that 
luxuriant  influence  passing  on  like  a  celestial  presence, 
brightening  everything !  The  wood,  a  sombre  mass  before, 
revealed  its  varied  tints  of  yellow,  green,  brown,  red :  its 
different  forms  of  trees,  with  raindrops  glittering  on  their 
leaves  and  twinkling  as  they  fell.  The  verdant  meadow-land, 
bright  and  glowing,  seemed  as  if  it  had  been  blind,  a  minute 
since,  and  now  had  found  a  sense  of  sight  wherewith  to  look 
up  at  the  shining  sky.  Cornfields,  hedge-rows,  fences,  home- 
steads, the  clustered  roofs,  the  steeple  of  the  church,  the 
stream,  the  watermill,  aU  sprang  out  of  the  gloomy  darkness, 
smiling.  Birds  sang  sweetly,  flowers  raised  their  di'ooping 
heads,  fresh  scents  arose  from  the  invigorated  ground ;  the 
blue  expanse  above,  extended  and  difi'used  itself;  already  the 
sun's  slanting  rays  pierced  mortally  the  sullen  bank  of  cloud 
that  lingered  in  its  flight;  and  a  rainbow,  spirit  of  aU  the 
colours  that  adorned  the  earth  and  sky,  spanned  the  whole 
arch  with  its  triumphant  glory. 

At  such  a  time,  one  little  roadside  Inn,  snugly  sheltered 
behind  a  great  elm-tree  with  a  rare  seat  for  idlers  encircling 
its  capacious  bole,  addressed  a  cheerful  front  towards  the 
traveller,  as  a  house  of  entertainment  ought,  and  tempted  him 
with  many  mute  but  significant  assurances  of  a  comfortable 
M^elcome.  The  ruddy  sign-board  perched  up  in  the  tree,  with 
its  golden  letters  winking  in  the  sun,  ogled  the  passer-by. 


THE    BATTLE   OF    LIFE.  SOI 

fe'om  among  the  green  leaves,  like  a  jolly  face,  and  promised 
good  clieer.  The  litirse  trough,  full  of  clear  fresh  -svater,  and 
the  ground  below  it  sprinkled  ^Yitll  droppings  of  fragrant  hay, 
made  every  horse  that  passed,  prick  up  his  ears.  The  crimson 
curtains  in  the  lower  rooms,  and  the  piire  white  hangings  in 
the  little  bed-chambers  above,  beckoned,  Come  in !  with  every 
breath  of  air.  Upon  the  bright  green  shutters,  there  were  golden 
legends  about  beer  aud  ale,  and  neat  wines,  and  good  beds ; 
and  an  affecting  picture  of  a  brown  jug  frothing  over  at  the 
top.  Upon  the  window-sills  were  dowering  plants  in  bright 
red  pots,  which  made  a  lively  show  against  the  white  front  of 
the  house ;  and  in  the  darkness  of  the  doorway  there  were 
ttreaks  of  light,  which  glanced  off  fi'om  the  surfaces  of  bottles 
and  tankards. 

On  the  door-step,  appeared  a  proper  figure  of  a  landlord, 
too ;  for,  though  he  was  a  short  man,  he  was  round  and  broad^ 
and  stood  with  his  hands  in  his  pockets,  and  his  legs  just  wide 
enough  apart  to  express  a  mind  at  rest  upon  the  subject  of  the 
cellar,  and  an  easy  confidence — too  calm  and  virtuous  to 
become  a  swagger — in  the  general  resources  of  the  Inn. 
The  superabundant  moistiu-e,  trickling  from  everything  after 
the  late  rain,  set  him  off  well.  Nothing  near  him  was  thirsty. 
Certain  top-heavy  dahlias,  looking  over  the  palings  of  his  neat 
well-ordered  garden,  had  swilled  as  much  as  they  could  cai-ry 
— perhaps  a  trifle  more — and  may  have  been  the  worse  for 
liquor ;  but,  the  sweet-briar,  roses,  wall-flowers,  the  plants  at 
the  windows,  and  the  leaves  on  the  old  tree,  were  in  the 
beaming  state  of  moderate  company  that  had  taken  no  more 
than  was  wholesome  for  them,  and  had  served  to  develope 
their  best  qualities.  Sprinkling  dewy  di'ops  about  them  on 
the  ground,  they  seemed  profuse  of  innocent  and  sparkling 
mirth,  that  did  good  where  it  lignted,  softening  neglected 
corners  which  the  steady  rain  could  seldom  reach,  and  hurting 
nothing. 
^  This  village  Inn  had  assumed,  on  being  established,  an 
uncommon  sign.  It  was  called  Tlie  Nutmeg  Grater.  And 
underneath  that  household  word,  was  inscribed,  up  in  the  tree, 
on  the  same  flaming  board,  and  in  the  like  golden  characters, 
By  Benjamin  Britain. 

At  a  second  glance,  and  on  a  more  minute  examination  of 
bis  face,  you  might  have  known  that  it  was  no  other  than 
Benjamin  Britain  himself  who  stood  in  the  doorway — reason- 


302  THE    BATTLE    OF    LIFE. 

ably  changed  by  time,  but  for  the  better  ;  a  very  comfortable 
host  indeed. 

"  Mrs.  B.,"  said  Mr.  Britain,  looking  down  the  road,  "  is 
rather  late.     It 's  tea  time." 

As  there  was  no  ]\Irs.  Britain  coming,  he  strolled  leisurely 
out  into  the  road  and  looked  up  at  the  house,  very  much  to 
nis  satisfaction.  "  It 's  just  the  sort  of  house,"  said  Benjamin, 
"  I  should  wish  to  stop  at,  if  I  didn't  keep  it." 

Then,  he  strolled  towards  the  garden  paling,  and  took  a 
look  at  the  dahlias.  They  looked  over  at  him,  with  a  helpless 
drowsy  hanging  of  their  heads :  which  bobbed  again,  as  the 
heavy  drops  of  wet  dripped  off  them. 

"  You  must  be  looked  after,"  said  Benjamin.  "  Memor- 
andum, not  to  forget  to  tell  her  so.    She  's  a  long  time  coming." 

Mr.  Britain's  better  half  seemed  to  be  by  so  very  much  hia 
better  half,  that  his  own  moiety  of  himself  was  utterly  cast 
away  and  helpless  without  her. 

"  She  hadn't  much  to  do,  I  think,"  said  Ben.  "  There 
were  a  few  little  matters  of  business  after  market,  but  not 
many.      Oh  !  here  we  are  at  last !  " 

A  chaise -cart,  driven  by  a  boy,  came  clattering  along  the 
road :  and  seated  in  it,  in  a  chair,  with  a  large  well- saturated 
umbrella  spread  out  to  dry  behind  her,  was  the  plump  figure 
of  a  matronly  woman,  with  her  bare  arms  folded  across  a 
Ijasket  which  she  carried  on  her  knee,  several  other  baskets 
and  parcels  lying  crowded  about  her,  and  a  certain  bright 
good-nature  in  her  face  and  contented  awkwardness  in  her 
manner,  as  she  jogged  to  and  fro  with  the  motion  of  her 
carriage,  which  smacked  of  old  times,  even  in  the  distance, 
Upon  her  nearer  approach,  this  relish  of  bygone  days  was  not 
diminished ;  and  when  the  cart  stopped  at  the  Nutmeg  Grater 
door,  a  pair  of  shoes,  alighting  from  it,  slipped  nimbly  through 
Mr.  Britain's  open  arm.s,  and  came  down  with  a  substantial 
weight  upon  the  pathway,  which  shoes  could  hardly  havo 
belonged  to  any  one  but  Clemency  Newcome.  * 

In  fact  they  did  belong  to  her,  and  she  stood  in  them,  aiid 
a  rosy  comfortable-looking  soul  she  was  :  with  as  much  soap 
on  her  glossy  face  as  in  times  of  yore,  but  with  whole  elbows 
now,  that  had  grown  quite  dimpled  in  her  improved  condition. 

"  You  're  late,  Clemmy  !  "  said  Mr.  Britain. 

"  Why,  you  see,  Ben,  I  've  had  a  deal  to  do !  "  she  replied, 
looking  busily  after  tiie  safe  removal  into  the  house  of  all  the 


THE   BATTLE  OP   LIFE.  3fi3 

pat^kag^s  and  baskets;  "eight,  nine,  ten — where 'a  eluveu  ? 
Oh  !  my  basket 's  eleven !  It 's  all  right.  Put  the  horse  up, 
Harry,  and  if  he  coughs  again  give  him  a  warm  mash  to-night. 
Eight,  nine,  ten.  Why,  where  's  eleven  ?  Oh  I  forgot,  it  'a 
all  right.      How  's  the  childi'en,  Ben  ?  " 

"  Hearty,  Clemmy,  hearty." 

"  Bless  their  precious  faces !  "  said  Mrs.  Britain,  un- 
bonneting  her  own  round  countenance  (for  she  and  her 
husband  were  by  this  time  in  the  bar),  and  smoothing  her 
hair  with  her  open  hands.      "  Give  us  a  kiss,  old' man  !  "  . 

Mr.  Britain  promptly  complied. 

"  I  think,"  said  Mrs.  Britain,  applying  herself  to  her 
pockets  and  drawing  forth  an  immense  bulk  of  thin  books 
and  crumpled  papers :  a  very  kennel  of  dog's  ears :  "  I  've 
done  everything.  Bills  all  settled  —  turnips  sold — brewer's 
account  looked  into  and  paid  —  'bacco  pipes  ordered — seven- 
teen pound  four,  paid  into  the  Bank  —  Doctor  Heathfield's 
charge  for  little  Clem  —  you'll  guess  what  that  is  —  Doctor 
Heathfield  won't  take  nothing  again,  Tim." 

"  I  thought  he  wouldn't,"  returned  Britain. 

''  No.  He  says  whatever  family  you  was  to  have,  Tim, 
he  'd  never  put  you  to  the  cost  of  a  halfpenny.  Not  if  you 
M-as  to  liave  twenty." 

Mr.  Britain's  face  assumed  a  serious  expression,  and  he 
looked  hard  at  the  wall. 

"  A'nt  it  kind  of  him  ?  "  said  Clemency. 

"  Very,''  returned  Mr.  Britain.  "  It 's  the  sort  of  kindness 
that  I  wouldn't  presume  upon,  on  any  account." 

"  No,"  retorted  Clemency.  "  Of  course  not.  Then  there  'a 
the  pony — he  fetched  eight  pound  two  ;  and  that  a'nt  bad, 
is  it  ?  " 

"  It 's  very  good,"  said  Ben. 

"I'm  glad  you're  pleased!"  exclaimed  his  wife.  "I 
tliought  you  would  be ;  and  I  think  that 's  all,  and  so  no 
more  at  present  from  yours  and  cetrer,  C.  Britain.  Ha  ha  ha ! 
There  !  Take  all  the  papers,  and  lock  'em  up.  Oh  !  Wait 
a  minute.  Here  's  a  printed  bill  to  stick  on  the  wall.  Wet 
from  the  printer's.      How  nice  it  smells  !  " 

"  W^hat  's  this  ?  "  said  Tim,  looking  over  the  document. 

"  I  don't  know,"  replied  his  wife.  "  I  haven't  road  a 
■word  of  it." 

"  '  To  be  sold  by  Auction,*  "  read  the  host  of  the  Nutmeg 


304  THE   BATTLE   OF   LIFE. 

Grator,  "'unless  previously  disposed  of  by  private  con- 
tract.' " 

"They  always  put  that,"  said  Clemency. 

"  Yes,  hut  they  don't  always  put  this,"  he  returned.  "  Lock 
here,  'Mansion,'  &c. — 'offices,'  &c.,  'shrubberies,'  &c.,  'ring 
fence,'  &c.  '  Messrs.  Snitchey  and  Craggs,'  &c.,  '  ornamental 
portion  of  the  unencumbered  freehold  property  of  Michael 
Warden,  Esquire,  intending  to  continue  to  reside  abroad'  !  " 

"Intending  to  continue  to  reside  abroad!"  repeated 
Clemency. 

"  Here  it  is,"  said  Mr.  Britain.      "Look  !  " 

"  And  it  was  only  this  very  day  that  I  heard  it  whispered 
at  the  old  house,  that  better  and  plainer  news  had  been  half 
promised  of  her,  soon  !  "  said  Clemency,  shaking  her  head 
sorrowfully,  and  patting  her  elbows  as  if  the  recollection  of 
old  times  unconsciously  awakened  her  old  habits.  ''  Dear, 
dear,  dear  !     There  '11  be  heavy  hearts,  Ben,  yonder." 

Mr.  Britain  heaved  a  sigh,  and  shook  his  head,  and  said  he 
couldn't  make  it  out:  he  had  .left  off  trying  long  ago.  With 
that  remark,  he  applied  himself  to  putting  up  the  bill  just 
inside  the  bar  window.  Clemency,  after  meditating  in  silence 
for  a  few  moments,  roused  herself,  cleared  her  thovightfid 
brow,  and  bustled  off  to  look  after  the  children. 

Though  the  host  of  the  Nutmeg  Grater  had  a  lively  regard 
for  his  good-wdfe,  it  w^as  of  the  old  patronising  kind,  and  she 
amused  him  mightily.  Nothing  would  have  astonished  him 
so  much,  as  to  have  known  for  certain  from  any  third  party, 
that  it  was  she  who  managed  the  whole  house,  and  made  him, 
by  her  plain  straightforward  tlirift,  good-humour,  honesty, 
and  industry,  a  thriving  man.  So  easy  it  is,  in  any  degree 
of  life  (as  the  world  very  often  finds  it),  to  take  those  cheer- 
ful natures  that  never  assert  their  merit,  at  their  own  modest 
valuation ;  and  to  conceive  a  flippant  liking  of  people  for 
t;heir  outward  oddities  and  eccentricities,  whose  innate  worth, 
i£  "we  would  look  so  far,  might  make  us  blush  in  tlie 
comparison ! 

It  was  comfortable  to  Mr.  Britain,  to  tliink  of  his  o^vn 
condescension  in  having  married  Clemency.  She  was  a 
perpetual  testimony  to  him  of  the  goodness  of  his  heart,  and 
the  kindness  of  his  disposition  ;  and  he  felt  that  her  being  an 
fesceUent  wife  was  an  illustration  of  the  old  precept  that 
«irtue  is  its  own  reward. 


THE   BATTLE  OF   LIFE.  305 

He  liad  finished  waferiug  up  the  bill,  and  had  locked  five 
vouchers  for  her  day's  proceedings  in  the  cupboard — chuck- 
ling all  the  time,  over  her  capacity  for  business — when, 
returning  with  the  news  that  the  two  INIaster  Britains  were 
playing  in  the  coach-house  under  the  superintendence  of  one 
Betsey,  and  that  little  Clem  was  sleeping  "like  a  picture, '■" 
she  sat  down  to  tea,  which  had  awaited  her  arrival,  on  a  little 
table.  It  was  a  very  neat  little  bar,  with  the  usual  display 
of  bottles  and  glasses  ;  a  sedate  clock,  right  to  the  minute  (ic 
was  half-past  five) ;  everything  in  its  place,  and  everything 
furbished  and  polished  up,  to  the  very  utmost. 

"  It 's  tlie  first  time  I  've  sat  down  quietly  to-day,  I 
declare,"  said  Mrs.  Britain,  taking  a  long  breath,  as  if  she 
bad  sat  down  for  the  night;  but  getting  up  again  immediately 
to  hand  her  husband  his  tea,  and  cut  him  his  bread-aud- 
butter ;   "  how  that  biU  does  set  me  thinking  of  old  times  !  " 

"  Ah ! "  said  Mr.  Britain,  handling  his  saucer  like  an 
oyster,  and  disposing  of  its  contents  on  the  same  principle. 

"  That  same  Mr.  Michael  Warden,"  said  Clemency, 
shaking  her  head  at  the  notice  of  sale,  "lost  me  my  old  place." 

"  And  got  you  your  husband,"  said  Mr.  Britain. 

"  Well !  So  he  did,"  retorted  Clemency,  "  and  many 
thanks  to  him." 

"  Man's  the  creature  of  habit,"  said  Mr.  Britain,  surveying 
her,  over  his  saucer.  "  I  had  somehow  got  used  to  you, 
Clem;  and  I  found  I  shouldn't  be  able  to  get  on  without  you. 
So  we  went  and  got  made  man  and  wife  Ha  !  ha !  We ! 
Who  'd  have  thought  it !  " 

"Who  indeed!"  cried  Clemency.  "It  was  very  good  of 
you,  Ben." 

"  No,  no,  no,"  replied  Mr.  Britain,  with  an  air  of  self- 
denial.      "  Nothing  worth  mentioning." 

"  Oh  yes  it  was,  Ben,"  said  his  wife,  with  great  simplicity ; 
"  I  'm  sure  I  think  so,  and  am  very  much  obliged  to  you. 
Ah!"  looking  again  at  the  bill ;  "when  she  was  known  to 
be  gone,  and  out  of  reacli,  dear  girl,  I  couldn't  help  telling — ■ 
for  her  sake  quite  as  much  as  tlieirs — what  I  knew,  could  1?" 

"  You  told  it,  anyhow,"  ODserved  her  husband. 

"  And  Doctor  .Teddler,"  pursued  Clemency,  putting  down 
her  tea-cup,  and  Lxjking  thouglilfully  at  the  bill,  "  in  his 
grief  and  passion  turned  me  out  of  lioiiso  and  home !  I 
never  have  been  bo  glad  of  anything  in  all  my  life,  as  that  I 


■W6  THE   BATTLE   OF   LIFE. 

didn't  say  an  angry  word  to  him,  and  hadn't  an  angry 
feeling  towards  him,  even  then ;  for  he  repented  that  truly, 
afterwards.  How  often  he  has  sat  in  this  room,  and  told  me 
over  and  over  again  he  was  sorry  for  it ! — the  last  time,  only 
yesterday,  when  you  were  out.  How  often  he  has  sat  in  this 
room,  and  talked  to  me,  hour  after  hour,  about  one  thing  and 
another,  in  which  he  made  believe  to  be  interested ! — but  only 
for  tlie  sake  of  the  days  that  are  gone  by,  and  because  he 
knows  she  used  to  like  me,  Ben  !  " 

"  Why,  how  did  you  ever  come  to  catch  a  glimpse  of  that, 
Clem  ?  "  asked  her  husband  ;  astonished  that  she  should  have 
a  distinct  perception  of  a  truth  which  had  only  dimly  sug- 
gested itself  to  his  inquiring  mind. 

"  I  don't  know,  I  'm  sure,"  said  Clemency,  blowing  her 
tea,  to  cool  it.  "  Bless  you,  I  couldn't  tell  you,  if  you  was  to 
offer  me  a  reward  of  a  hundred  pound." 

He  might  have  pursued  this  metaphysical  subject  but  for 
her  catching  a  glimpse  of  a  substantial  fact  behind  him,  in 
the  shape  of  a  gentleman  attired  in  mourning,  and  cloaked 
and  booted  like  a  rider  on  horseback,  who  stood  at  the  bar- 
door.  He  seemed  attentive  to  their  conversation,  and  not  at 
all  impatient  to  interrupt  it. 

Clemency  hastily  rose  at  this  sight.  Mr.  Britain  also  rose 
and  saluted  the  guest.  "  WiU  you  please  to  walk  up  stairs, 
sir.     There's  a  very  nice  room  up-stairs,  sir." 

^ank  you,"  said  the  stranger,  looking  earnestly  at  Mr. 
Britain's  wife.      "  May  I  come  in  here  ?  " 

"  Oh,  surely,  if  you  like,  sir,"  returned  Clemency,  admitting 
him.      "  What  would  you  please  to  want,  sir  ?  " 

The  bill  had  caught  his  eye,  and  he  was  reading  it. 

"  Excellent  property  that,  sir,"  observed  Mr.  Britain. 

He  made  no  answer ;  but,  turning  round,  when  he  had 
finished  reading,  looked  at  Clemency  with  the  same  observant 
curioaity  as  before.  "  You  were  asking  me," — he  said,  stiU 
looking  at  her, — 

"What  you  would  please  to  take,  sir,"  answered  Clemency, 
stealing  a  glance  at  him  in  return. 

"  If  you  will  let  me  have  a  draught  of  ale,"  he  said 
moving  to  a  table  by  the  window,  "  and  wiU  let  me  have  i\ 
here,  without  being  any  interruption  to  your  meal,  I  shall  ])e 
much  obliged  to  you." 

He  sat  down  as  he  spoke  without  any  further  parley,  and 


THE    BATTLE    OF    LIFE,  307 

looked  out  at  the  prospect.  He  was  an  easy,  well-knit 
figure  of  a  man  in  the  prime  of  life.  His  face,  much  browned 
by  the  sun,  was  shaded  by  a  quantity  of  dark  hair ;  and  he 
wore  a  moustache.  His  beer  being  set  before  him,  he  filled 
out  a  glass,  and  di-ank,  good-humouredly,  to  the  house ; 
adding,  as  he  put  the  tumbler  down  again  : 

"  It 's  a  new  house,  is  it  not  ?  " 

"  Not  particularly  new,  sir,"  replied  Mr.  Britain. 

"Between  five  and  six  years  old,"  said  Clemency:  speaking 
very  distinctly. 

"  I  think  I  heard  you  mention  Doctor  Jeddler's  name,  as  1 
came  in,"  inquired  the  stranger.  "  That  bill  reminds  me  of 
him ;  for  I  happen  to  know  something  of  that  story,  by 
hearsay,  and  through  certain  connections  of  mine. — Is  the  old 
man  living?" 

"Yes,  he's  living,  sir,"  said  Clemency. 

"Much  changed?" 

"  Since  when,  sir  ?  "  returned  Clemency,  with  remarkable 
emphasis  and  expression. 

"  Since  his  daughter — went  away." 

"  Yes  !  he  's  greatly  changed  since  then,"  said  Clemency. 
"He's  grey  and  old,  and  hasn't  the  same  way  with  him  at 
aU ;  but,  I  think  he 's  happy  now.  He  has  taken  on  with 
his  sister  since  then,  and  goes  to  see  her  Yerj  often.  That 
did  him  good,  directly.  At  first,  he  was  sadly  broken  down ; 
and  it  was  enough  to  make  one's  heart  bleed,  to  see  him 
wandering  about,  railing  at  the  world ;  but  a  great  change 
for  the  better  came  over  him  after  a  year  or  two,  and  then  he 
began  to  like  to  talk  about  his  lost  daughter,  and  to  praise 
her,  ay  and  the  world  too  !  and  was  never  tired  of  saying, 
with  the  tears  in  his  poor  eyes,  how  beautiful  and  good  she 
was.  He  had  forgiven  her  then.  That  was  about  the  same 
time  as  Miss  Grace's  marriage.     Britain,  you  remember  ?  " 

Mr.  Britain  remembered  very  well. 

"The  sister  is  married  then,"  returned  the  stranger.  He 
paused  for  some  time  before  he  asked,  "  To  whom  ?  " 

Clemency  narrowly  escaped  oversetting  the  tea-board,  in 
her  emotion  at  t])is  question. 

"  Did  you  never  hear  ?  "  she  said. 

"  I  should  like  to  hear,"  he  replied,  as  he  filled  his  glass 
again,  and  raised  it  to  his  lips. 

"  Ah  !     It  would  be  a  lonjj  story^  if  it  was  properly  told," 


303  THE   BATTLE   OF   LIFE. 

said  Clemency,  resting  her  chin  on  the  palm  of  her  left  hand, 
and  supporting  that  elbow  on  her  right  hand,  as  she  shook 
her  head,  and  looked  back  through  the  intervening  years,  as 
if  she  were  looking  at  a  fire.  "It  would  be  a  long  story,  I 
am  sure." 

"  But  told  as  a  short  one,"  suggested  the  stranger. 

"  Told  as  a  short  one,"  repeated  Clemency  in  the  same 
thoughtful  tone,  and  without  any  apparent  reference  to  him, 
6T  consciousness  of  having  auditors,  "  what  would  there  be  to 
tell  ?  That  they  grieved  together,  and  remembered  her 
together,  like  a  person  dead ;  that  they  were  so  tender  of  her, 
never  would  reproach  her,  called  her  back  to  one  another  aa 
she  used  to  be,  and  found  excuses  for  her  !  Every  one  knows 
that.  I  'm  sure  I  do.  No  one  better,"  added  Clemency, 
wiping  her  eyes  with  her  hand. 

"And  so,"  suggested  the  stranger. 

"  And  so,"  said  Clemency,  taking  him  up  mechanically, 
and  without  any  change  in  her  attitude  or  manner,  "  they  at 
last  were  married.  They  were  married  on  her  birth-day — it 
comes  round  again  to-morrow — very  quiet,  very  humble  like, 
but  very  happy.  Mr.  Alfred  said,  one  night  when  they  were 
walking  in  the  orchard,  '  Grace,  shall  our  wedding-day  be 
Marion's  birth-day  ?  '     And  it  was." 

"And  they  have  lived  happily  together?"  said  the  stranger. 

"  Ay,"  said  Clemency.  "  No  two  people  ever  more  so. 
They  have  had  no  sorrow  but  this." 

She  raised  her  head  as  with  a  sudden  attention  to  the 
circumstances  under  which  she  was  recalling  these  events,  and 
looked  quickly  at  the  stranger.  Seeing  that  liis  face  was 
turned  towards  the  window,  and  that  he  seemed  intent  upon 
the  prospect,  she  made  some  eager  signs  to  her  husband,  and 
pointed  to  the  bill,  and  moved  her  mouth  as  if  she  were 
repeating  with  great  energy,  one  word  or  phrase  to  him  over 
and  over  again.  As  she  uttered  no  sound,  and  as  her  dumb 
motions  like  most  of  her  gestures  were  of  a  very  extraordinary 
kind,  this  unmtelligible  conduct  reduced  Mr.  Britain  to  the 
confines  of  despair.  He  stared  at  the  table,  at  the  stranger, 
at  the  spoons,  at  his  wife — followed  her  pantomime  with 
looks  of  deep  amazement  and  perplexity — asked  in  the  same 
language,  was  it  property  in  danger,  was  it  he  in  danger, 
was  it  she — answered  her  signals  with  other  signals  expressive 
of  the  deepest  distress  and  confusion — followed  the  motions  of 


THE    BATTLE    OF    LIFE.  309 

her  lips — guessed  half  aloud  "  milk  and  water,"  "  monthly 
warning,"  "  mice  and  walnuts  " — and  couldn't  approach  her 
meaning. 

Clemency  gave  it  up  at  last,  as  a  hopeless  attempt ;  and 
moving  her  chair  by  very  slow  degrees  a  little  nearer  to  the 
stranger,  sat  with  her  eyes  apparently  cast  down  but  glancing 
sharply  at  him  now  and  then,  waiting  until  he  should  ask 
some  other  question.  She  had  not  to  wait  long  ;  for  he  said, 
presently : 

"  And  what  is  the  after  history  of  the  young  lady  who 
went  away  ?     They  know  it,  I  suppose  ?  " 

Clemency  shook  her  head.  "  I  've  heard,"  she  said,  "  that 
Doctor  Jeddler  is  thought  to  know  more  of  it  than  he  tells. 
Miss  Grace  has  had  letters  from  her  sister,  saying  that  she 
was  well  and  happy,  and  made  much  happier  by  her  being 
married  to  Mr.  Alfred :  and  has  written  letters  back.  But 
there 's  a  mystery  about  her  life  and  fortunes,  altogether, 
which  nothing  has  cleared  up  to  this  hoiir,  and  which — " 

She  faltered  here,  and  stopped. 

"  And  which  " — repeated  the  stranger. 

"  ^\Tiich  only  one  other  person,  I  believe,  could  explain," 
said  Clemency,  drawing  her  breath  quickly. 

"  Who  may  that  be  ?  "  asked  the  stranger. 

"  Mr.  Michael  Warden  !  "  answered  Clemency,  almost  in  a 
shriek  :  at  once  conveying  to  her  husband  what  she  would 
have  had  him  miderstand  before,  and  letting  Michael  Warden 
know  that  he  was  recognised. 

"  You  remember  me,  sir  ?  "  said  Clemency,  trembling  with 
emotion;  "I  saw  just  now  you  did!  You  remember  me, 
that  night  in  the  garden.     I  was  with  her  !  " 

"Yes.     You  were,"  he  said. 

"Yes,  sir,"  returned  Clemency.  "Yes,  to  be  sxire.  This 
is  my  husband,  if  you  please.  Ben,  my  dear  Ben,  run  to 
Miss  Grace — run  to  Mr.  Alfred — run  somewhere,  Ben !  Bring 
somebody  here,  directly  !  " 

"  Stay  I  "  said  Michael  Warden,  quietly  interposing  himself 
between  the  door  and  Britain.      "  What  would  you  do?" 

"  Let  them  know  that  you  are  here,  sir,"  answered  Cle- 
mency, clapping  her  hands  in  sheer  agitation.  "Let  them 
know  that  they  may  hear  of  her,  from  your  own  lips ;  let 
;hem  know  that  she  is  not  quite  lost  to  them,  but  that  she 
will  come  Lome  again  yet.  to  bless  her  father  and  her  loving 


810  THE   BATTLE   OF   LIFE. 

sister — even  her  old  servant,  even  me,"  she  struck  herseli 
upon  the  breast  with  both  hands,  "with  a  sight  of  her  sweet 
face.  Run,  Ben,  run ! "  And  still  she  pressed  him  on 
towards  the  door,  and  still  Mr.  Warden  stood  before  it,  with 
his  hand  stretched  out,  not  angrily,  but  sorrowfully. 

"  Or,  perhaps,"  said  Clemency,  running  past  her  husband 
and  catching  in  her  emotion  at  Mr.  Warden's  cloak,  "  perhaps 
she  's  here  now ;  perhaps  she  's  close  by.  I  think  from  your 
manner  she  is.  Let  me  see  her,  sir,  if  you  please.  I  waited 
on  her  when  she  was  a  little  child.  I  saw  her  grow  to  be  the 
pride  of  all  this  place.  I  knew  her  when  she  was  Mr.  Alfred's 
promised  wife.  I  tried  to  warn  her  when  you  tempted  her 
away.  I  know  what  her  old  home  was  when  she  was  like  the 
soul  of  it,  and  how  it  changed  when  she  was  gone  and  lost. 
Let  me  speak  to  her,  if  you  please  !  " 

He  gazed  at  her  with  compassion,  not  unmixed  with 
wonder  :  but  he  made  no  gesture  of  assent. 

"  I  don't  think  she  ca7i  know,"  pursued  Clemency,  "  how 
truly  they  forgive  her  ;  how  they  love  her  ;  what  joy  it  would 
be  to  them  to  see  her  once  more.  She  may  be  timorous  of 
going  home.  Perhaps  if  she  sees  me  it  may  give  her  new 
heart.     Only  tell  me  truly,  Mr.  Warden,  is  she  with  you  ?  " 

"  She  is  not,"  he  answered,  shaking  his  head. 

This  answer,  and  his  manner,  and  his  black  dress,  and  his 
coming  back  so  quietly,  and  his  announced  intention  of  con- 
tinuing to  live  abroad,  explained  it  all.     Marion  was  dead. 

He  didn't  contradict  her;  yes,  she  was  dead!  Clemency 
sat  down,  hid  her  face  upon  the  table,  and  cried. 

At  that  moment,  a  grey-headed  old  gentleman  came  running 
in :  quite  out  of  breath,  and  panting  so  much  that  his  voice 
was  scarcely  to  be  recognised  as  the  voice  of  Mr.  Snitchey. 

"  Good  Heaven,  Mr.   Warden !  "   said  the    lawyer,   taking 

him  aside,  "  what  wind  has  blown  " .     He  was  so  blown 

himself,  that  he  couldn't  get  on  any  further  until  after  a 
pause,  when  he  added,  feebly,  "you  here?" 

"  An  ill  wind,  I  am  afraid,"  he  answered.  ''  If  you  could 
have  heard  what  has  just  passed — how  I  have  been  besought 
and  entreated  to  perform  impossibilities — what  confusion  and 
affliction  I  carry  with  me  !" 

"  I  can  guess  it  all.  But  why  did  you  ever  come  here,  my 
good  sir?  "  retorted  Snitchey. 

"  Come  !    How  shoidd  I  know  who  kept  the  house  ?    When 


THE   BATTLE   OF   LIFE.  811 

I  sent  my  servant  on  to  you,  I  strolled  in  here  LecauB* 
the  place  was  new  to  me ;  and  I  had  a  natural  curiosity  in 
everything  new  and  old  in  these  old  scenes ;  and  it  was 
outside  the  town  I  wanted  to  communicate  with  you,  first, 
before  appearing  there.  I  wanted  to  know  what  people  would 
say  to  me.  I  see  by  your  manner  that  you  can  tell  me.  I  f 
it  were  not  for  your  confounded  caution,  I  should  have  been 
possessed  of  everything  long  ago." 

"  Our  caution  !  "  returned  the  lawyer,  "  speaking  for  Self 
and  Craggs — deceased,"  hei"e  Afr.  Snitchey,  glancing  at  his 
hat-band,  shook  his  head,  "  how  can  you  reasonably  blame 
us,  Mr.  Warden  ?  It  was  understood  between  us  that  the 
subject  was  never  to  be  renewed,  and  that  it  wasn't  a  subject 
on  which  grave  and  sober  men  like  us  (I  made  a  note  of  your 
observations  at  the  time)  could  interfere  ?  Our  caution  too  ! 
When  Mr.  Craggs,  sir,  went  down  to  his  respected  grave  in 
the  fidl  belief" 

"  I  had  given  a  solemn  promise  of  silence  imtil  I  should 
return,  whenever  that  might  be,"  interrupted  Mr.  Warden; 
"  and  I  have  kept  it." 

"  WeU,  sir,  and  I  repeat  it  "  returned  Mr.  Snitchey,  ''  we 
were  bound  to  silence  too.  We  were  bound  to  sUence  in  our 
duty  towards  ourselves,  and  in  our  duty  towards  a  variety  of 
clients,  j-ou  among  them,  who  were  as  close  as  wax.  It  was 
not  our  place  to  make  inquiries  of  you  on  such  a  delicate 
subject.  I  had  my  suspicions,  sir ;  but,  it  is  not  six  months 
since  I  have  known  the  truth,  and  been  assured  that  you  lost 
her." 

"  By  whom  ?  "  inquired  his  client. 

"  By  Doctor  Jeddler,  himself,  sir,  who  at  last  reposed  that 
confidence  in  me  voluntarily.  He,  and  only  he,  has  kno^\^l 
the  whole  truth,  years  and  years." 

*'  And  you  know  it  ?  "  said  his  client. 

"I  do,  sir!"  replied  Snitchey;  "and  I  have  also  reason 
to  know  that  it  will  be  })rokeu  to  her  sister  to-morrow  evening. 
The}'  have  given  her  that  promise.  In  the  meantime,  perhaps 
you  '11  give  me  the  honor  of  your  company  at  my  house ; 
being  unexpected  at  your  own.  But,  not  to  run  the  chance  of 
any  more  such  difficulties  as  you  liave  had  here,  in  case'  you 
should  be  rerognised — tliough  you  're  a  good  deal  changed  ; 
I  think  I  might  liave  passed  you  mj'self,  Mr.  Warden — we 
had  better  dine  liere,  and  walk  on  in  tlie  evening.     It  's  a  very 


312  THE    BATTLE   OF   LIFE. 

good  place  to  dine  at,  Mr.  Warden :  your  own  property,  by  the 
by.  Self  and  Craggs  (deceased)  took  a  chop  here  sometimes, 
and  had  it  very  comfortably  served.  Mr.  Craggs,  sir,"  said 
Snitchey,  shutting  his  eyes  tight  for  an  instant,  and  opening 
them  again,  "  was  struck  off  the  roll  of  life  too  soon." 

"  Heaven  forgive  me  for  not  condoling  with  you,"  returned 
Michael  Warden,  passing  his  hand  across  his  forehead,  "  but 
I  'm  like  a  man  in  a  dream  at  present.  I  seem  to  want  my 
wits.  Mr.  Craggs — yes — I  am  very  sorry  we  have  lost  Mr. 
Craggs."  But  he  looked  at  Clemency  as  he  said  it,  and 
seemed  to  sympathise  with  Ben,  consoling  her. 

"  Mr.  Craggs,  sir,"  observed  Snitchey,  "  didn't  find  life,  I 
regret  to  say,  as  easy  to  have  and  to  hold  as  his  theory  made 
it  out,  or  he  would  have  been  among  us  now.  It 's  a  great 
loss  to  me.  He  was  my  right  arm,  my  right  leg,  my  right 
ear,  my  right  eye,  was  Mr.  Craggs.  I  am  paralytic  without 
him.  He  bequeathed  his  share  of  the  business  to  Mrs.  Craggs, 
her  executors,  administrators,  and  assigns.  His  name  remains 
in  the  Firm  to  this  hour.  I  try,  in  a  childish  sort  of  way,  to 
make  believe,  sometimes,  that  he  's  alive.  You  may  observe 
that  I  speak  for  Self  and  Craggs — deceased  sir — deceased," 
said  the  tender-hearted  attorney,  waving  his  pocket-handker- 
cliief 

Michael  Warden,  who  had  still  been  observant  of  Clemency, 
turned  to  Mr.  Snitchey  when  he  ceased  to  speak,  and  whis- 
pered in  his  ear. 

"Ah,  poor  thing!"  said  Snitchey,  shaking  his  head. 
"Yes.  She  was  always  very  faithful  to  Marion.  She  waa 
always  very  fond  of  her.  Pretty  Marion !  Poor  Marion ! 
Cheer  up.  Mistress — you  are  married  now,  you  know,  Cle- 
mency." 

Clemency  only  sighed,  and  shook  her  head. 

"  Well,  well !  Wait  till  to-morrow,"  said  the  la\\^er, 
kindly. 

"To-morrow  can't  bring  back  the  dead  to  life.  Mister," 
said  Clemency,  sobbing. 

"No.  It  can't  do  that,  or  it  would  bring  back  Mr.  Craggs, 
deceased,"  returned  the  lawyer.  "But  it  may  bring  some 
soothing  circumstances  ;  it  may  bring  some  comfort.  Wait 
till  to-morrow !  " 

So  Clemency,  shaking  his  proffered  hand,  said  she  would  ; 
and  Britain,   who   had  been  terribly  cast  down  at   sight  of 


THE    BATTLE  OF  LIFE.  318 

his  despondent  wife  (which  was  like  the  business  hanging  its 
head),  said  that  was  right ;  and  Mr.  Snitchey  and  Michael 
Warden  went  up  stairs ;  and  there  they  were  soon  engaged  in 
a  conversation  so  cautiously  conducted,  that  no  murmur  of  it 
was  audible  above  the  clatter  of  plates  and  dishes,  the  hissing 
of  the  frying-pan,  the  bubbling  of  saucepans,  the  low,  mono- 
tonous waltzing  of  the  jack — with  a  dreadful  click  every  now 
and  then  as  if  it  had  met  with  some  mortal  accident  to  its 
head,  in  a  fit  of  giddiness — and  all  the  other  preparations  in 
the  kitchen  for  their  dinner. 

To-morrow  was  a  bright  and  peaceful  day ;  and  nowhere 
were  the  autumn  tints  more  beautifully  seen,  than  from  the 
quiet  orchard  of  the  Doctor's  licmse.  The  snows  of  many 
winter  nights  had  melted  from  that  ground,  the  withered 
leaves  of  many  summer  times  had  rustled  there,  since  she  had 
fled.  The  honey-suckle  porch  was  green  again,  the  trees  cast 
bountiful  and  changing  shadows  on  the  grass,  the  landscape 
was  as  tranquil  and  serene  as  it  had  ever  been ;  but  where 
was  she ! 

Not  there.  Not  there.  She  would  have  been  a  stranger 
sight  in  her  old  home  now,  even  than  that  home  had  been  at 
first,  without  her.  But,  a  lady  sat  in  the  familiar  place,  from 
whose  heart  she  had  never  passed  away;  in  whose  true 
memory  she  lived,  unchanging,  youthful,  radiant  with  all 
promise  and  all  hope ;  in  whose  affection — and  it  was  a 
mother's  now,  there  was  a  cherished  little  daughter  playing 
by  her  side — she  had  no  rival,  no  successor;  upon  whose 
gentle  lips  her  name  was  trembling  then. 

The  spirit  of  the  lost  girl  looked  out  of  those  eyes.  Those 
eyes  of  Grace,  her  sister,  sitting  with  her  husband  in  the 
orchard,  on  their  wedding-day,  and  his  and  Marion's  birth- 
day. 

He  had  not  become  a  great  man ;  he  had  not  grown  rich  ; 
he  had  not  forgotten  the  scenes  and  friends  of  his  youth ;  he 
had  not  fulfilled  any  one  of  the  Doctor's  old  predictions.  But, 
in  his  useful,  patient,  unknown  visiting  of  poor  men's  homes  ; 
and  in  his  watching  of  sick  beds ;  and  in  his  daily  knowledge 
of  the  gentleness  and  goodness  flowering  the  by-paths  of  this 
vrorld,  not  to  be  trodden  down  beneath  the  heavy  foot  of 
poverty,  but  springing  uj),  elastic,  in  its  track,  and  making  its 
way  beautiful ;    he  had  better  learned  and  proved,   in  eaca 


SI 4  THE   BATTLE   OF   LIFE. 

eucceeding  year,  the  truth  of  his  old  faith.  The  manner  of 
his  life,  though  quiet  and  remote,  had  shown  him  how  often 
men  still  entertained  angels,  unawares,  as  in  the  olden  time ; 
and  how  the  most  unlikely  forms — even  some  that  were  mean 
and  ugly  to  the  view,  and  poorly  clad — became  irradiated  l)y 
the  couch  of  sorrow,  want,  and  pain,  and  changed  to 
ministering  spirits  with  a  glory  round  their  heads. 

He  lived  to  better  purpose  on  the  altered  battle-ground 
perhaps,  than  if  he  had  contended  restlessly  in  more  ambitious 
lists ;  and  he  was  happy  with  his  wife,  dear  Grace. 

And  Marion.     Had  he  forgotten  her  ? 

"The  time  has  flown,  dear  Grace,"  he  said,  "  since  then  ;" 
they  had  been  talking  of  that  night;  "and  yet  it  seems  a 
long  while  ago.  We  count  by  changes  and  events  within  us. 
Not  by  years." 

"  Yet  we  have  years  to  count  by,  too,  since  Marion  was  with 
us,"  returned  Grace,  "  Six  times,  dear  husband,  counting  to- 
night as  one,  we  have  sat  here  on  her  birth-day,  and  spoken 
together  of  that  happy  return,  so  eagerly  expected  and  so  long 
deferred.     Ah  when  will  it  be !     When  will  it  be !  " 

Her  husband  attentively  observed  her,  as  the  tears  collected 
in  her  eyes  ;   and  drawing  nearer,  said  : 

"  But,  Marion  told  you,  in  that  farewell  letter  which  she 
left  for  you  upon  your  table,  love,  and  which  you  read  so  often, 
that  years  must  pass  away  before  it  could  be.     Did  she  not?" 

She  took  a  letter  from  her  breast,  and  kissed  it,  and  said 
"  Yes." 

"  That  through  those  intervening  years,  however  happy  she 
might  be,  she  would  look  forward  to  the  time  when  you  would 
meet  again,  and  aU  would  be  made  clear ;  and  that  she  prayed 
you,  trustfully  and  hopefully  to  do  the  same.  The  letter  runs 
so,  does  it  not,  my  dear?  " 

"Yes,  Alfred." 

"  And  every  other  letter  she  has  written  since  ?  " 

"  Except  the  last — some  months  ago — in  which  she  spoke 
of  you,  and  what  you  then  knew,  and  what  I  was  to  leam  to- 
night." 

He  looked  towards  the  sun,  then  fast  declining,  and  said 
that  the  appointed  time  was  sunset. 

"  Alfred !  "  said  Grace,  laying  her  hand  upon  his  shoulder 
earnestly,  "  there  is  something  in  this  letter — this  old  letter, 
which  you   say  I  read  so  often — that  I  have  never  told  you 


TnE   BATTLE  OF  LIFE.  315 

But,  to-niglit,  dear  husband,  with  that  sunset  drawing  near, 
and  all  our  life  seeming  to  soften  and  become  hushed  with  the 
departing  day,  I  cannot  keep  it  secret." 

"What  is  it,  love?" 

"  When  Marion  went  away,  she  wrote  me,  here,  that  you 
had  once  left  her  a  sacred  trust  to  me,  and  that  now  she  left 
you,  Alfred,  such  a  trust  in  my  hands  :  praying  and  beseech- 
ing me,  as  I  loved  her,  and  as  I  loved  you,  not  to  reject  the 
affection  she  believed  (she  knew,  she  said)  you  would  transfer 
to  me  when  the  new  wound  was  healed,  but  to  encoiu-age  and 
return  it." 

"  — And  make  me  a  proud,  and  happy  man  again,  Grace. 
Did  she  say  so  ?  " 

"  She  meant,  to  make  myself  so  blest  and  honored  in  your 
love,"  was  his  wife's  answer,  as  he  held  her  in  his  arms. 

"  Hear  me,  my  dear  !  "  he  said. — "  No.  Hear  me  so  !  " — 
and  as  he  spoke,  he  gently  laid  the  head  she  had  raised,  again 
upon  his  shoulder.  "  I  know  why  I  have  never  heard  this 
passage  in  the  letter,  until  now.  I  know  why  no  trace  of  it 
ever  showed  itself  in  any  word  or  look  of  yours  at  that  time. 
I  know  why  Grace,  although  so  true  a  friend  to  me,  was  hard 
to  win  to  be  my  wife.  And  knowing  it,  my  ot\ti  !  I  know 
the  priceless  value  of  the  heart  I  gii-d  within  my  arms,  and 
thank  God  for  the  rich  possession  !  " 

She  wept,  but  not  for  sorrow,  as  he  pressed  her  to  his  heart. 
After  a  brief  space,  he  looked  down  at  the  child  who  was  sit- 
ting at  their  feet  playing  with  a  little  basket  of  flowers,  and 
bade  her  look  how  golden  and  how  red  the  sun  was. 

"  Alfred,"  said  Grace,  rising  her  head  quickly  at  these 
words.  "  The  sun  is  going  down.  You  have  not  forgotten 
what  I  am  to  know  before  it  sets." 

"  You  are  to  know  the  truth  of  Marion's  historj',  my  love," 
he  answered. 

"All  the  truth,"  she  said  imploringly.  "  Nothing  veiled 
from  me  any  more.     That  was  the  promise.     Was  it  not  ?  " 

"  It  was,"  he  answered. 

"  Before  the  sun  went  down  on  Marion's  birthday.  And 
you  see  it,  Alfred  ?     It  is  sinking  fast." 

He  put  his  arm  about  her  waist,  and  looking  steadily  into 
her  eyes,  rejoined  : 

"  That  truth  is  not  reserved  so  long  for  me  to  tell,  dear 
(Jrace.     It  is  to  come  from  other  lips." 


3:6  THE    BATTLE    OF    LIFE. 

"  From  other  lips  !  "  she  faintly  echoed. 

"  Yes.  I  know  your  constant  heai-t,  I  know  how  brave  you 
are,  I  know  that  to  you  a  word  of  preparation  is  enough.  You 
have  said,  truly,  that  the  time  is  come.  It  is.  Tell  me  that 
you  have  present  fortitude  to  bear  a  trial — a  surprise— a 
shock  :   and  the  messenger  is  waiting  at  the  gate." 

"What  messenger?"  she  said.  "And  what  intelligence 
does  he  bring  ?  " 

"  I  am  pledged,"  he  answered  her,  preserving  his  steady 
look,  "  to  say  no  more.     Do  you  think  you  understand  me  ?  " 

"  I  am  afraid  to  think,"  she  said. 

There  was  that  emotion  in  his  face,  despite  its  steady  gaze, 
which  frightened  her.  Again  she  hid  her  own  face  on  his 
shoulder,  trembling,  and  entreated  him  to  pause — -a  moment. 

"  Courage,  my  wife  !  When  you  have  fh'mness  to  receive 
the  messenger,  the  messenger  is  waiting  at  the  gate.  The  suu 
is  setting  on  Marion's  birth-day.     Coui-age,  courage,  Grace  !  " 

She  raised  her  head,  and,  looking  at  him,  told  him  she  was 
ready.  As  she  stood,  and  looked  upon  him  going  away,  her 
face  was  so  like  Marion's  as  it  had  been  in  her  later  days  at 
home,  that  it  was  wonderful  to  see.  He  took  the  child  witn 
him.  She  called  her  back — she  bore  the  lost  girl's  name — 
and  pressed  her  to  her  bosom.  The  Kttle  creature,  being 
released  again,  sped  after  him,  and  Grace  was  left  alone. 

She  knew  not  what  she  dreaded,  or  what  hoped ;  but 
remained  tliere,  motionless,  looking  at  the  porch  by  which 
they  had  disappeared. 

Ah  !  what  was  that,  emerging  from  its  shadow  ;  standing 
on  its  threshold  !  That  figure,  with  its  white  garments  rustling 
in  the  evening  air ;  its  head  laid  down  upon  her  father's 
breast,  and  pressed  against  it  to  his  loving  heart !  O  God  ! 
was  it  a  vision  that  came  bursting  from  the  old  man's  arms, 
and,  with  a  cry,  and  with  a  waving  of  its  hands,  and  with  a 
wild  precipitation  of  itself  upon  her  in  its  boundless  love,  sank 
down  in  her  embrace  ! 

"  Oh,  Marion,  Marion  !  Oh,  my  sister  !  Oh,  my  heart's 
dear  love  I  Oh,  joy  and  hai)piness  unutterable,  so  to  meet 
again  !  " 

It  was  no  dream,  no  phantom  conjured  up  by  hope  and 
fear,  but  Marion,  sweet  Mai-ion  !  So  beautiful,  so  happy,  so 
unalloyed  by  care  and  trial,  so  elevated  and  exalted  in  her 
loveliness,  that,  as  the  setting  sun  shone  brightly  on  her  up- 


THE    BATTLE   OF    LTFR.  Zl'i 

turned  face,  she  Tnight  have  been  a  spirit  visiting  the  earth 
upon  some  healing  mission. 

Clinging  to  her  sister,  who  had  dropped  upon  a  seat  and 
bent  down  over  her — and  smiling  through  her  tears — and 
kneeling,  close  before  her,  -ndth  botli  arms  twining  round  her, 
and  never  turning  for  an  instant  from  her  face — and  with 
the  glory  of  the  setting  sun  upon  her  brow,  and  with  the 
soft  tranquillity  of  evening  gathering  around  them — Marion 
at  length  broke  silence ;  her  voice,  so  calm,  low,  clear,  and 
pleasant,  well-tuned  to  the  time. 

"  When  this  was  my  dear  home,  Grace,  as  it  will  be 
now  again" — 

"  Stay,  my  sweet  love  !  A  moment !  O  JMarion,  to  hear 
you  speak  again." 

She  could  not  bear  the  voice  she  loved,  so  well,  at 
first. 

"  ^Mien  this  was  my  dear  home,  Grace,  as  it  will  be  now 
again,  I  loved  him  from  my  soul.  I  loved  him  most  devo- 
tedly. I  would  have  died  for  him,  though  I  was  so  young. 
I  never  slighted  his  affection  in  my  secret  breast,  for  one 
brief  instant.  It  was  far  beyond  all  price  to  me.  Although 
it  is  so  long  ago,  and  past  and  gone,  and  everything  is  wholly 
changed,  I  could  not  bear  to  think  that  you,  who  loved  so  well, 
should  think  I  did  not  truly  love  him  once.  I  never 
loved  him  better,  Grace,  than  when  he  left  this  very  scene 
upon  this  very  day.  I  never  loved  him  better,  dear  one,  than 
I  did  thiit  night  when  I  left  here." 

Her  sister,  bending  over  her,  could  look  into  her  face,  and 
hold  her  fast. 

"But  he  had  gained,  unconsciously,"  said  Marion,  with  a 
o;entle  smile,  "  another  heart,  before  I  knew  that  I  had  one  to 
give  him.  That  heart — yours,  my  sister  ! — was  so  yielded 
up,  in  all  its  other  tenderness,  to  me  ;  was  so  devoted,  and 
60  noble  ;  that  it  plucked  its  love  away,  and  kept  its  secret 
irom  all  eyes  but  mine — Ah  !  what  other  eyes  were  quickened 
by  such  tenderness  and  gratitude  ! — and  was  content  to  sacri- 
fice itself  to  me.  But,  I  knew  something  of  its  depths. 
I  knew  the  struggle  it  had  made.  I  knew  its  high,  ines- 
timable worth  to  him,  and  his  appreciation  of  it,  let  him 
love  me  as  he  would.  I  knew  the  debt  I  owed  it.  I  had 
its  great  example  every  day  before  me.  "What  you  had 
done  for  me,  I  knew  that  I  coidd  do,  Grace,  if  I  would,  for 


318  THE    BATTLE   OF    LIFE. 

you.  I  never  laid  my  head  down  on  my  pillow,  but  1 
prayed  with  tears  to  do  it.  I  never  laid  my  head  down  ou 
my  pillow,  but  I  thought  of  Alfred's  own  words,  on  the 
day  of  his  departure,  and  how  truly  he  had  said  (for  I  kne\» 
that,  knowing  you)  that  there  were  victories  gained  every 
day,  in  struggling  hearts,  to  which  these  fields  of  battle  were  as 
nothing.  Thinking  more  and  more  upon  the  great  endurance 
cheerfully  sustained,  and  never  known  or  cared  for,  that  there 
must  be,  every  day  and  hour,  in  that  great  strife  of  which  he 
spoke,  my  trial  seemed  to  grow  light  and  easy.  And  He  who 
knows  our  hearts,  my  dearest,  at  this  moment,  and  who  knows 
there  is  no  drop  of  bitterness  or  grief — of  anything  but  un- 
mixed happiness — in  mine,  enabled  me  to  make  the  resolution 
that  I  never  would  be  Alfred's  wife.  That  he  should  be  my 
brother,  and  your  husband,  if  the  course  I  took  could  bring 
that  happy  end  to  pass;  but  that  I  never  would  (Grace,  I  then 
loved  him  dearly,  dearly  ! )  be  his  wife  !  " 

"O  Marion!  O  Marion!" 

"  I  had  tried  to  seem  indifferent  to  him ;  "  and  she 
pressed  her  sister's  face  against  her  own;  "but  that  was 
hard,  and  you  were  always  his  true  advocate.  I  had  tried 
to  tell  you  of  my  resolution,  but  you  would  never  hear  me ; 
you  would  never  understand  me.  The  time  was  drawing  near 
for  liis  return.  I  felt  that  I  must  act,  before  the  daily  inter- 
course between  us  was  renewed.  I  knew  that  one  great  pang, 
undergone  at  that  time,  would  save  a  lengthened  agony  to  all 
of  us.  I  knew  that  if  I  went  away  then,  that  end  must  foUow 
which  lias  followed,  and  which  has  made  us  both  so  happy, 
Grace  !  I  wrote  to  good  Aunt  Martha,  for  a  refuge  in  her 
house  :  I  did  not  then  tell  her  all,  but  something  of  my  story, 
and  she  freely  promised  it.  While  I  was  contesting  that  step 
with  myself,  and  with  my  love  of  you,  and  home,  Mr. 
Warden,  brought  here  by  an  accident,  became,  for  some  time, 
our  companion." 

"  I  have  sometimes  feared  of  late  years,  that  this  might 
have  been,"  exclaimed  her  sister ;  and  her  countenance  was 
ashy-pale.  "  You  never  loved  him — and  you  married  liim  in 
your  self-sacrifice  to  me  !  " 

"  He  was  then,"  said  Marion,  drawing  her  sister  closer  to 
her,  "  on  the  eve  of  going  secretly  away  for  a  long  time.  He 
wrote  to  me,  after  leaving  here ;  told  me  what  his  condition 
aad  prospects  really  were ;    and  offered  me  his  hand.     He 


THE    BATTLE    OF    LIFE.  319 

told  nie  lie  had  seen  I  was  not  happy  in  the  prospect  of 
Alfred's  return.  I  believe  he  thought  my  heart  had  no  part 
in  that  contract ;  perhaps  thought  I  might  have  loved  him 
once,  and  did  not  then ;  perhaps  thought  that  when  I  tried  to 
seem  indifferent,  I  tried  to  hme  indifference — I  cannot  tell. 
But  I  wished  that  you  should  feel  me  wholly  lost  to  Alfred — 
liopeless  to  him — dead.     Do  you  understand  me,  love  ?  " 

Her  sister  looked  into  her  face,  attentively.  She  seemed 
in  doubt. 

"I  saw  Mr.  Warden,  and  confided  in  his  honor;  charged 
him  with  my  secret,  on  the  eve  of  his  and  my  departure.  He 
kept  it.     Do  you  understand  me,  dear  ?  " 

Grace  looked  confusedly  upon  her.  She  scarcely  seemed 
to  hear. 

"  My  love,  my  sister  !  "  said  Marion,  "  recal  your  thoughts 
a  moment ;  listen  to  me.  Do  not  look  so  strangely  on  me. 
There  are  coimtries,  dearest,  where  those  who  woidd  abjure 
a  misplaced  passion,  or  would  strive  against  some  cherished 
feeling  of  their  hearts  and  conquer  it,  retire  into  a  hope- 
less solitude,  and  close  the  M^orld  against  themselves  and 
worldly  loves  and  hopes  for  ever.  When  women  do  so,  they 
assume  that  name  which  is  so  dear  to  you  and  me,  and  call 
each  other  Sisters.  But,  there  may  be  sisters,  Grace,  who,  in 
the  broad  world  out  of  doors,  and  underneath  its  free  sky,  and 
in  its  crowded  places,  and  a-mong  its  busy  Hfe,  and  trying 
to  assist  and  cheer  it  and  to  do  some  good, — learn  the  same 
lesson  ;  and  who,  with  hearts  still  fresh  and  young,  and  open 
to  aU  happiness  and  means  of  happiness,  can  say  the  battle  is 
long  past,  the  victory  long  won.  And  such  a  one  am  I !  You 
understand  me  now  ?  " 

Still  she  looked  fixedly  upon  her,  and  made  no  reply. 

"  Oh  Grace,  dear  Grace,"  said  Marion,  clinging  yet  more 
tenderly  and  fondly  to  that  breast  from  which  she  had  been  so 
long  exiled,  "  if  you  were  not  a  happy  wife  and  mother — if  1 
nad  no  little  namesake  here — if  Alfred,  my  kind  brother,  were 
not  your  own  fond  husband — from  whence  could  I  derive  the 
ecstasy  I  feel  to-night !  But,  as  I  left  here,  so  I  have  returned. 
My  heart  has  known  no  other  love,  my  hand  has  never  been 
bestowed  apart  frojn  it.  1  am  still  your  maiden  sister,  un- 
married, unbetrothed  :  your  own  old  loving  Marion,  in  whose 
aii'ection  you  exist  alone  and  have  no  partner,  Grace  I  " 

She  understood  her  now      Her  face  rela-sed ;  sobs  came  tc 


320  THE   BATTLE   OF   LIFE. 

her  r'^lief ;  and  falling  on  her  neck,  she  wept  and  wept,  and 
fondled  her  as  if  she  were  a  child  again. 

When  they  were  more  composed,  they  found  that  the 
Doctor,  and  his  sister,  gooij  Aunt  Martha,  were  standing  near 
at  hand,  with  Alfred. 

"  This  is  a  weary  day  for  me,"  said  good  Aunt  Maitha, 
smiling  through  her  tears,  as  she  embraced  her  nieces  ;  for 
I  lose  my  dear  companion  in  making  you  all  happy ;  and  what 
can  you  give  me,  in  return  for  my  Marion  ?  " 

"  A  converted  brother,"  said  the  Doctor. 

"That's  something,  to  be  sure,"  retorted  Aunt  Martha, 
"  in  such  a  farce  as — " 

"  No,  pray  don't,"  said  the  Doctor,  penitently. 

"  Well,  I  won't,"  replied  Aunt  Martha.  "  But,  I  consider 
myself  ill-used.  I  don't  know  what 's  to  become  of  me 
without  my  Marion,  after  we  have  lived  together  half-a-dozen 
years." 

"  You  must  come  and  live  here,  I  suppose,"  replied  the 
Doctor.      "We  shan't  quarrel  now,  Martha." 

'*■  Or  you  must  get  married.  Aunt,"  said  Alfred. 

"Indeed,"  returned  the  old  lady,  "I  think  it  might  be  a 
good  speculation  if  I  were  to  set  my  cap  at  Michael  Warden, 
w^ho,  I  hear,  is  come  home  much  the  better  for  his  absence  in 
all  respects.  But  as  I  knew  him  when  he  was  a  boy,  and  I 
was  not  a  very  young  woman  then,  perhaps  he  mightn't 
respond.  So  I  '11  make  up  my  mind  to  go  and  live  with 
Marion,  when  she  marries,  and  until  then  (it  will  not  be  very 
long,  I  dare  say)  to  live  alone.     What  do  you  say.  Brother  ?  " 

"I've  a  great  mind  to  say  it's  a  ridiculous  world 
altogether,  and  there  's  nothing  serious  in  it,"  observed  the 
poor  old  Doctor. 

"You  might  take  twenty  affidavits  of  it  if  you  chose, 
Anthony,"  said  his  sister;  "but  nobody  would  believe  you 
with  such  eyes  as  those." 

"  It 's  a  world  full  of  hearts,"  said  the  Doctor,  hugging  his 
younger  daugliter,  and  bending  across  her  to  hug  Grace — for 
he  couldn't  separate  the  sisters ;  "  and  a  serious  world,  with 
aU  its  folly — even  with  mine,  which  was  enough  to  have 
swamped  the  whole  globe ;  and  it  is  a  world  on  which  the 
sun  never  rises,  but  it  looks  upon  a  thousand  bloodless  battles 
that  are  some  set-off  against  the  miseries  and  wickedness 
of  Battle-Fields ;  and  it  is  a   world  we  need  be  careful  how 


THE    BATTLE    OF    LIFE.  S2I 

we  libel,  Heaven  forgive  iis,  for  it  is  a  world  of  sacred  mys- 
teries, aud  its  Creator  only  knows  wliat  lies  beneath  tlie  sur- 
face of  His  lightest  image  !  " 

You  woidd  not  be  the  better  pleased  with  my  rude  pen,  if 
it  dissected  and  laid  open  to  yoiu*  view  the  transports  of  this 
family,  long  severed  and  now  reunited.  Therefore,  I  will  not 
follow  the  poor  Doctor  through  his  humbled  recollection  of 
the  sorrow  he  had  liad,  when  Marion  was  lost  to  him ;  nor, 
■  will  I  tell  how  serious  he  had  found  that  world  to  be  in 
which  some  love,  deep- anchored,  is  the  portion  of  all  humnn 
creatures ;  nor,  how  such  a  trifle  as  the  absence  of  one  little 
unit  in  the  great  absurd  account,  had  stricken  him  to  the 
ground.  Nor,  how,  in  compassion  for  his  distress,  liis  sister 
had,  long  ago,  revealed  the  truth  to  him  by  slow  degrees,  and 
brought  him  to  the  knowledge  of  the  heart  of  his  self- 
banished  daughter,  and  to  that  daughter's  side. 

Nor,  how  Alfred  Heathfield  had  been  told  the  truth,  too,  in 
the  course  of  that  then  current  year ;  and  Marion  had  seen 
hira,  and  had  promised  him,  as  her  brother,  that  on  her 
birth-day,  in  the  evening,  Grace  should  know  it  from  her 
lips  at  last. 

"  I  beg  your  pardon,  Doctor,"  said  Mr.  Snitchey,  looking 
into  the  orchard,  "  but  have  I  liberty  to  come  in  ?  " 

Without  waiting  for  permission,  he  came  straight  to  Marion, 
and  kissed  her  hand,  quite  joyfully. 

"  If  Mr.  Craggs  had  been  alive,  my  dear  Miss  Marion," 
said  Mr.  Snitchey,  "  he  would  have  had  great  interest  in  this 
occasi(m.  It  might  have  suggested  to  him.  Mr.  Alfred,  that 
our  life  is  not  too  easy  perhaps  ;  that,  taken  auogether,  it  will 
bear  any  little  smoothing  we  can  give  it ;  but  Mr.  Craggs  was 
a  man  who  could  endure  to  be  convinced,  sir.  He  was  always 
open  to  conviction.  If  he  were  open  to  conviction,  now,  I — 
this  is  weakness.  Mrs.  Suite] ley,  my  dear," — at  his  summons 
that  lady  appeared  from  behind  the  door,  "  you  are  among  old 
friends." 

Mrs.  Snitchey  having  delivered  her  congratulations,  took 
her  husband  aside. 

"  One  moment;  Mr.  Snitchey,"  said  that  lady.  "  It  is  not 
in  my  nature  to  rake  up  the  ashes  of  the  departed." 

"No  my  dear,"  returned  her  husband. 

*•  Mr.  Craggs  is—  " 

T 


322  THE   BATTLE   OF   LTFB. 

"  Yes,  my  dear,  lie  is  deceased,"  said  Mr.  Snitchey. 

"But  I  ask  you  if  jou.  recollect,"  pursued  his  wife,  "that 
ev^ening  of  the  baU  ?  I  only  ask  you  that.  If  you  do ;  and 
if  your  memory  has  not  entirely  failed  you,  Mr.  Snitchey ; 
and  if  jou  are  not  absolutely  in  your  dotage ;  I  ask  you  to 
connect  this  time  with  that — to  remember  how  I  begged  and 
prayed  you,  on  my  knees —  " 

"  Upon  your  knees,  my  dear  !  "  said  Mr.  Snitchey. 

"Yes,"  said  Mrs.  Snitchey,  confidently,  "and  you  know  it 
— to  beware  of  that  man — to  observe  his  eye — and  now  to 
tell  me  whether  I  was  right,  and  whether  at  that  moment  he 
knew  secrets  which  he  didn't  choose  to  tell." 

"Mrs.  Snitchey,"  returned  her  husband,  in  her  ear,  "Madam. 
Did  you  ever  observe  anything  in  my  eye  ?  " 

"  No,"  said  Mrs.  Snitchey,  sharply.  "  Don't  flatter  your- 
self." 

"  Because,  ma'am,  that  night,"  he  continued,  twitching  her 
by  the  sleeve,  "  it  happens  that  we  both  knew  secrets  which 
we  didn't  choose  to  tell,  and  both  knew  just  the  same  pro- 
fessionally. And  so  the  less  you  say  about  such  tilings  the 
better,  Mrs.  Snitchey ;  and  take  this  as  a  warning  to  have 
wiser  and  more  charitable  eyes  another  time.  Miss  Marion, 
I  brought  a  friend  of  yours  along  with  me.     Here!    Mistress!" 

Poor  Clemency,  with  her  apron  to  her  eyes,  came  slowly  in 
escorted  by  her  husband ;  the  latter  doleful  with  the  presenti- 
ment, that  if  she  abandoned  herself  to  grief,  tlie  Nutmeg 
Grater  was  done  for. 

"  Now,  Mistress,"  said  the  lawyer,  checking  Marion  as  she 
ran  towards  her,  and  interposing  himself  between  them, 
"  what 's  the  matter  with  you  ?  " 

"  The  matter,"  cried  poor  Clemency. — When,  looking  up  in 
wonder,  and  in  indignant  remonstrance,  and  in  the  added 
emotion  of  a  great  roar  from  Mr.  Britain,  and  seeing  that 
sweet  face  so  well-remembered  close  before  her,  she  stared, 
sobbed,  laughed,  cried,  screamed,  embraced  her,  held  her  fast, 
released  her,  fell  on  Mr.  Snitchey  and  embraced  him  (much  to 
Mrs.  Snitchey' s  indignation),  feU  on  the  Doctor  and  embraced 
him,  fell  on  Mr.  Britain  and  embraced  him,  and  concluded  by 
embracing  herself,  tlirowing  her  apron  over  her  head,  and 
going  into  hysterics  behind  it. 

A  stranger  had  come  into  the  orchard,  after  Mr.  Snitchey, 
ctnd  hud  remained  apart,  near  the  gate,  without  being  oVjsti'ved 


THE    SISTERS. 


Til  I']   BATTLE   OF    LIFE.  323 

by  any  of  the  group ;  for  tliey  had  little  spare  attention  to 
bestow,  and  that  had  been  monopolised  by  the  ecstasies  of 
Clemency.  He  did  not  appear  to  wish  to  be  observed,  but 
stood  alone,  with  downcast  eyes  ;  and  there  was  an  air  of 
dejection  about  him  (though  he  was  a  gentleman  of  a  gallant 
appearance)  which  the  general  happiness  rendered  more  re- 
markable. 

None  but  the  quick  eyes  of  Aimt  Martha,  however,  remarked 
him  at  all ;  but,  almost  as  soon  as  she  espied  him,  she  was  in 
conversation  with  him.  Presently,  goiug  to  where  Marion 
stood  with  Grace  and  her  little  namesake,  she  whispered 
something  in  Marion's  ear,  at  which  she  started,  and  appeared 
sui'prised  ;  but  soon  recovering  from  her  confusion,  she  timidly 
approached  the  stranger,  in  Aunt  Martha's  company,  and 
engaged  in  conversation  with  him  too. 

"  Mr.  Britaio,"  said  the  lawyer,  putting  h.s  hand  in  his 
pocket,  and  bringing  out  a  legal-looking  document  while  this 
was  going  on,  "  I  congratulate  you.  You  are  now  the  whole 
and  sole  proprietor  of  that  freehold  tenement,  at  present  occu- 
pied and  held  by  yourself  as  a  licensed  tavern,  or  house  of 
public  entertainment,  and  commonly  cailea  or  known  by  tlie 
sign  of  the  Nutmeg  Grater.  Your  wife  lost  one  house,  througii 
my  client,  Mr.  Michael  Warden  ;  and  now  gains  another.  I 
shall  have  the  pleasure  of  canvassing  you  for  the  county,  one 
of  these  fine  mornings." 

"  Would  it  make  any  difference  in  the  vote  if  the  sign  was 
altered,  sir?"  asked  Britain. 

"  Not  in  the  least,"  replied  the  lawyer. 

"Then,"  said  Mr.  Britain,  handing  him  back  the  convey- 
ance, "just  clap  in  the  words,  'and  Thimble,'  will  you  be  so 
good ;  and  I  '11  have  the  two  mottoes  painted  up  in  the  parlor, 
instead  of  my  wife's  portrait." 

"And  let  me,"  said  a  voice  behind  them;  it  was  the 
stranger's — ^Michael  Warden's  ;  "  let  me  claim  the  benefit  of 
those  inscriptions.  Mr.  Heatlifield  and  Doctor  Jeddler,  I  might 
have  deeply  wi'onged  you  both.  That  I  did  not,  is  no  virtue 
of  my  own.  I  will  not  say  that  I  am  six  years  wiser  than  I 
was,  or  better.  But  I  have  known,  at  any  rate,  that  term  of 
self-reproach.  1  can  urge  no  reason  why  you  should  deal 
gently  with  me.  I  abused  the  hospitality  of  this  house  ;  and 
learnt  my  own  dem(?ritH,  with  a  shame  I  never  have  forgotten, 
vet  with  some  profit  too   I   would   fain  hope,    from   one,"  he 


324  THE    BATTLE    OF    LIFE. 

glanced  at  Marion,  "  to  whom  1  made  rny  liumble  supplication 
for  forgiveness,  when  I  knew  her  merit  and  my  deep  un- 
worthiness.  In  a  few  days  I  shall  quit  this  place  for  ever. 
1  entreat  your  pardon.  Do  as  you  would  he  done  by!  Forget 
and  forgave  !  " 

Time — from  whom  I  had  the  latter  portion  of  this  story, 
and  with  whom  I  have  the  pleasure  of  a  personal  acquaintance 
of  some  five  and  thirty  years'  duration — informed  me,  leaning 
easily  upon  his  scythe,  that  Michael  Warden  never  went  away 
again,  and  never  sold  his  house,  but  opened  it  afresh,  main- 
tained a  golden  mean  of  hospitality,  and  had  a  wife,  the  pride 
and  honour  of  that  country-side,  whose  name  was  Marion. 
But,  as  I  have  observed  that  Time  confuses  facts  occasionally, 
I  hardly  know  what  weight  to  give  to  his  authority. 


THE  HAUNTED   MAN, 

AND  THE  GHOST'S  BARGAIN. 


HAUXTED 


THE   HAUNTED   MAN. 


CHAPTER  I. 


THE    GIFT   BESTOWED. 


EvEETBODX^  said  so. 

Far  be  it  from  me  to  assert  that  M'hat  everybody  saj's  must 
be  true.  Everybody  is,  often,  as  likely  to  be  wrong  as  right. 
In  the  general  experience,  everybody  has  been  wrong  so  often,, 
and  it  has  taken  in  most  instances  such  a  weary  while  to  find 
out  how  wrong,  that  authority  is  proved  to  be  fallible.  Every- 
body may  sometimes  be  right ;  "but  that's  no  rule,"  as  the 
ghost  of  Giles  Scroggins  says  in  the  baUad. 

The  dread  word.  Ghost,  recals  me. 

Everybody  said  he  looked  like  a  haunted  man.  The  extent 
of  my  present  claim  for  everybody  is,  that  they  were  so  far 
right.     He  did. 

Who  could  have  seen  his  hollow  cheek,  his  sunkea  brilliant 
eye  ;  his  black-attired  figure,  indefinably  grim,  although  well- 
knit  and  well-proportioned ;  his  grizzled  hair  hanging,  like 
tangled  sea-weed,  about  his  face, — as  if  he  had  been,  through 
his  whole  hfe,  a  lonely  mark  for  the  chafing  and  beating  of 
the  great  deep  of  hiimanity, — but  might  have  said  he  looked 
like  a  haunted  man  ? 

Who  could  have  observed  his  manner,  taciturn,  thoughtful, 
gloomy,  shadowed  by  habitual  reserve,  retiring  always  and 
jocund  never,  with  a  distrauglit  air  of  reverting  to  a  bygone 
place  and  time,  or  of  listening  to  some  old  echoes  in  his  mind, 
but  miglit  have  said  it  was  the  nuinner  of  a  haimted  man  ? 

Who  could  have  heard  his  voice,  slow-speakmg,  deep,  and 
grave,    with  a  natural  fulness    and   melody  in  it  which  ho 


328  Tllli;    DAUN'TED    MAN. 

seemed  to  set  himself  ao-fiinst  and  stop,  but  might  have  said 
it  was  the  voice  of  a  haunted  m;m  ? 

"Wlio  that  had  seen  him  in  his  inner  chaml3er,  part  library 
and  part  laboratorv, — foi  he  was,  as  the  world  knew,  far 
and  wide,  a  learned  man  in  chemistry,  and  a  teacher  on 
whose  lips  and  hands  a  crowd  of  aspiring  ears  and  eyes 
hung  daily, — who  that  had  seen  him  there,  upon  a  winter 
night,  alone,  surrounded  by  his  drugs  and  instruments  and 
books ;  the  shadow  of  his  shaded  lamp  a  monstrous  beetle 
on  the  wall,  motionless  among  a  crowd  of  spectral  shapes 
raised  there  by  the  fiiekering  of  the  fire  upon  the  quaint 
objects  around  him  ;  some  of  these  phantoms  (the  reflection 
of  glass  vessels  that  held  liquids),  trembling  at  heart  like 
things  that  knew  his  power  to  uncombine  them,  and  to  give 
back  their  component  parts  to  fire  and  vapour ; — who  that 
liad  seen  him  then,  his  work  done,  and  he  pondering  in'  his 
chair  before  the  rusted  grate  and  red  flame,  moving  his  thin 
moutli  as  if  in  speech,  but  silent  as  the  dead,  would  not 
have  said  that  the  man  seemed  haunted  and  the  chamber 
too. 

Who  might  not,  by  a  very  easy  flight  of  fancy,  have  believed 
that  everj'tliing  about  him  took  tliis  haunted  tone,  and  that  he 
lived  on  haunted  ground  ? 

His  dwelling  was  so  solitary  and  vault-like, — an  old,  retired 
part  of  an  ancient  endowment  for  students,  once  a  brave  edifice 
planted  in  an  open  place,  but  now  the  obsolete  whim  of  for 
gotten  architects  ;  smoke-age-and-weathei -darkened,  squeezed 
on  every  side  by  the  overgrowing  of  the  great  city,  and 
ciioked,  like  an  old  well,  with  stones  and  bricks ;  its  small 
quadrangles,  Ij'ing  down  in  very  pits  formed  by  the  streets 
and  buildings,  which,  in  course  of  time,  had  been  constructed 
above  its  heavy  chimney  stacks  ;  its  old  trees,  insulted  by 
the  neighbouring  smoke,  which  deigned  to  droop  so  low 
M  hen  it  was  very  feeble  and  the  weather  very  moody ;  its 
grass-plots,  struggling  with  the  mildewed  earth  to  be  grass, 
or  to  win  any  show  of  compromise ;  its  silent  pavement,  un 
accustomed  to  the  tread  of  feet,  and  even  to  the  observation 
of  eyes,  except  when  a  stray  face  looked  down  from  the  upper 
world,  wondering  what  nook  it  was  ;  its  sun-dial  in  a  little 
bricked -up  corner,  where  no  sun  had  straggled  for  a  himdred 
years,  but  where,  in  compensation  for  the  sun's  neglect,  the 
snow  would  lie  for  weeks  when  it  lay  nowhfre  else,  and  the 


THE    IIAUNL'ED   MAN.  S29 

,'ilack  east  wind  ■vrould  spin  like  a  huge  hummin,'T-top,  wlien 
in  all  other  places  it  was  silent  and  still. 

His  dwelling,  at  its  heart  and  core — within  doors — at  his 
fireside — was  so  lowering  and  old,  so  crazy,  yet  so  strong, 
with  its  worm-eaten  beams  of  wood  in  the  ceiling  and  its 
sturdy  floor  shelving  downward  to  the  great  oak  chimney- 
piece  ;  so  environed  and  hemmed  in  by  the  pressure  of  the 
town,  yet  so  remote  in  fashion,  age,  and  custom ;  so  quiet, 
yet  so  thundering  with  echoes  when  a  distant  voice  was  raised 
or  a  door  was  shut, — echoes  not  confixied  to  the  many  low 
passages  and  empty  rooms,  but  rumbling  and  grumbling  till 
they  were  stifled  in  the  heavj'  air  of  the  forgotten  Crj'pt  where 
the  Norm  an  arches  were  half  buried  in  the  earth. 

You  should  have  seen  him  in  his  dwelling  about  twilight, 
in  the  dead  winter  time. 

AYhen  the  wind  was  blowing,  shrill  and  shrewd,  with  the 
going  down  of  the  blurred  sun.  WTien  it  was  just  so  dark, 
as  that  the  forms  of  things  were  indistinct  and  big — but  not 
whoUy  lost.  When  sitters  by  the  fii-e  began  to  see  wild 
faces  and  figures,  mountains  and  abysses,  ambuscades  and 
armies,  in  the  coals.  When  people  in  the  streets  bent  down 
their  heads  and  ran  before  the  weather.  When  those  who 
were  obliged  to  meet  it,  were  stopped  at  angry  corners,  stung 
by  wandering  snow-flakes  alighting  on  the  lashes  of  their 
eyes, — which  fell  too  sparingly,  and  were  blown  away  too 
quickly,  to  leave  a  trace  upon  the  frozen  ground.  When 
windows  of  private  houses  closed  up  tight  aud  warm.  When 
lighted  gas  began  to  burst  forth  in  the  busy  and  the  cpiiet 
streets,  fast  blackening  otherwise.  When  stray  pedestrians, 
shivering  along  the  latter,  looked  down  at  the  gLjwing  fires 
in  kitchens,  and  sharpened  their  sharp  appetites  by  snifling 
up  the  fragrance  of  whole  miles  of  dinners. 

When  travellers  by  land  were  bitter  cold,  and  looked  wearily 
on  gloomy  Lindscapes,  rustling  and  shuddering  in  the  blast. 
When  mariners  at  sea,  outlying  upon  icy  yards,  were  tossed 
and  swung  al)Ove  the  howling  ocean  dreadfully.  When  light- 
houses, on  rocl<s  and  headlands,  showed  solitary  and  W'atcliful; 
and  benighted  sea-birds  breasted  on  against  their  ponderous 
lanterns,  and  fell  dead.  When  little  readers  of  story-books., 
by  the  fire-light,  trembled  to  think  of  Cassim  Baba  cut  into 
quarters,  Iianging  in  the  llobbers'  Cave,  or  had  some  small 
misgivings  that  the  fierce  little  old  woman,  with  the  crutch, 


330  TIJE    HAUNTED    iMAX. 

who  used  to  start  out  of  the  box  in  the  merchant  Abudah's 
bed-room,  might,  one  of  these  nights,  be  found  upon  the 
stairs,  in  the  long,  cold,  dusky  journey  up  to  bed. 

When,  in  rustic  places,  the  last  glimmering  of  daylight 
died  away  from  the  ends  of  avenues ;  and  the  trees,  arching 
overhead,  were  sullen  and  black.  When,  in  parks  and  woods, 
the  high  wet  fern  and  sodden  moss  and  beds  of  fallen  leaves, 
and  trunks  of  trees,  were  lost  to  view,  in  masses  of  impene- 
trable shade.  When  mists  arose  from  dyke,  and  fen,  and 
river.  When  lights  in  old  halls  and  in  cottage  windows  were 
a  cheerful  sight.  When  the  miU  stopped,  the  wheelwright 
and  the  blacksmith  shut  their  workshops,  the  turnpike-gate 
closed,  the  plough  and  harrow  were  left  lonely  in  the  fields, 
the  labourer  and  team  went  home,  and  the  striking  of  the 
church  clock  had  a  deeper  sound  than  at  noon,  and  the  church- 
yard wicket  would  be  swung  no  more  that  night. 

When  twilight  everywhere  released  the  shadows,  prisoned 
up  all  day,  that  now  closed  in  and  gathered  like  mustering 
swarms  of  ghosts.  When  they  stood  lowering  in  corners  of 
rooms,  and  frowned  out  from  behind  half  opened  doors.  When 
they  had  full  possession  of  unoccupied  apartments.  When 
they  danced  upon  the  floors,  and  walls,  and  ceilings  of  in- 
habited chambers  while  the  fire  was  low,  and  withdrew  like 
ebbing  waters  when  it  sprung  into  a  blaze.  When  they  fan- 
tastically mocked  the  shapes  of  household  objects,  making  the 
nurse  an  ogress,  the  rocking-horse  a  monster,  the  wondering 
child,  half-scared  and  half-amused,  a  stranger  to  itself, — the 
very  tongs  upon  the  hearth  a  straddling  giant  with  his  arms 
a-kimbo,  evidently  smelling  the  blood  of  Englishmen,  and 
wanting  to  grind  people's  bones  to  make  his  bread. 

When  these  shadows  brought  into  the  minds  of  older  people 
other  thoughts,  and  showed  them  dilferent  images.  When 
they  stole  from  their  retreats,  in  the  likenesses  of  foi-ms  and 
faces  from  the  past,  from  the  grave,  from  the  deep,  deep  gulf, 
where  the  things  that  might  have  been,  and  never  were,  are 
always  wandering. 

When  he  sat,  as  already  mentioned,  gazing  at  the  fire. 
Wlien,  as  it  rose  and  fell,  the  shadows  went  and  came.  When 
he  took  no  heed  of  them,  with  his  bodily  eyes  ;  but,  let  them 
come  or  let  them  go,  looked  fixedly  at  the  fire.  You  should 
have  seen  him,  then. 

When   the   sounds  that  had  arisen  with  the  shadows   and 


A   WILD   NIOHT    OFF   THE   LIGHTHOUSE. 


TBE   HAUNTED    MAN,  S31 

come  out  of  their  hirking-places  at  tlie  twilight  summons, 
seemed  to  make  a  deeper  stilkiess  all  about  him.  When  the 
wind  was  rumbling  in  the  chimney,  and  sometimes  crooning, 
sometimes  howling,  in  the  house.  When  the  old  trees  out- 
ward were  so  shaken  and  beaten,  that  one  querulous  old  rook, 
unable  to  sleep,  protested  now  and  then,  in  a  feeble,  dozy, 
high-up  "  Caw  !  "  When,  at  intervals,  the  window  trembled, 
the  rusty  vane  upon  the  turret-top  complained,  the  clock 
beneath  it  recorded  that  another  quarter  of  an  hour  was  gone, 
or  the  fire  collapsed  and  fell  in  with  a  rattle. 

—When  a  knock  came  at  his  door,  in  short,  as  he  waa 
sitting  so,  and  roused  him. 

"  mo  's  that  ?  "  said  he,  "  Come  in  !  " 

Surely  there  had  been  no  figure  leaning  on  the  back  of 
his  chair ;  no  face  looking  over  it.  It  is  certain  that  no 
gliding  footstep  touched  the  floor,  as  he  lifted  up  his  head 
with  a  start,  and  spoke.  And  yet  there  was  no  mirror  in  the 
room  on  whose  surface  his  own  form  could  have  cast  its 
shadow  for  a  moment :  and  Something  had  passed  darkly  and 
gone ! 

"  I  'm  humbly  fearful,  sir,"  said  a  fresh-coloured  busy  man, 
holding  the  door  open  with  his  foot  for  the  admission  of  him- 
self and  a  wooden  tray  he  carried,  and  letting  it  go  again  by 
very  gentle  and  careful  degrees,  when  he  and  the  tray  had  got 
in,  lest  it  should  close  noisily,  "that  it's  a  good  bit  past  the 
time  to-night.  But  Mrs.  William  has  been  taken  off  her  legs 
60  often " 

"  By  the  wind  ?     Ay  !   I  have  heard  it  rising." 

"  — By  the  wdnd,  sir — that  it 's  a  mercy  she  got  home  at 
all.  Oh  dear,  yes.  Yes.  It  was  by  the  wind,  Mr.  Redlaw. 
By  the  wind." 

He  had,  by  this  time,  put  down  the  tray  for  dinner,  and 
was  employed  in  lighting  the  lamp,  and  spreading  a  cloth  on  the 
table.  From  this  employment  he  desisted  in  a  hurry,  to  stir 
and  feed  the  fire,  and  then  resumed  it ;  the  lamp  he  had  lighted, 
and  the  blaze  that  rose  under  his  hand,  so  quickly  changing 
the  appearance  of  the  room,  that  it  seemed  as  if  the  mere 
coming  in  of  his  fresh  red  face  and  active  manner  had  made 
the  pleasant  alteration. 

"  Mrs.  William  is  of  course  subject  at  any  time,  sir,  to  be 
taken  off  her  balance  by  the  elements.  She  is  not  formed 
superior  to  that." 


332  THE    HAUNTED    MAN- 

"  No,"  returned  Mr.  Redlaw  good-naturedly,  though 
abruptly. 

"  No,  sir.  Mrs.  William  may  be  taken  off  her  balance  by 
Earth ;  as,  for  example,  last  Sunday  week,  when  sloppy  and 
greasy,  and  she  going  out  to  tea  with  her  newest  sister-in-law, 
and  having  a  pride  in  herself,  and  wishing  to  appear  perfectly 
spotless  though  pedestrian.  Mrs.  William  may  be  taken  off 
her  balance  by  Air ;  as  being  once  over-persuaded  by  a  friend 
to  try  a  swing  at  Peckham  Fair,  which  acted  on  her  constitu- 
tion instantly  like  a  steam-boat.  Mrs.  William  may  be  taken 
off  her  balance  by  Fire ;  as  on  a  false  alarm  of  engines  at 
her  mother's,  when  she  went  two  mile  in.  her  night-cap. 
Mrs.  William  may  be  taken  off  her  balance  by  Water ;  as 
at  Battersea,  when  rowed  into  the  piers  by  her  young  nephew^ 
Charley  Swidger  junior,  aged  twelve,  which  had  no  idea  of 
boats  whatever.  But  these  are  elements.  Mrs.  William  must 
be  taken  out  of  elements  for  the  strength  of  her  character 
to  come  into  play." 

As  he  stopped  for  a  reply,  the  reply  was  "  Yes,"  in  the 
same  tone  as  before. 

"Yes,  sir.  Oh  dear,  yes!"  said  Mr.  Swidger,  still  pro- 
ceeding with  his  preparations,  and  checking  them  off  as  he 
made  them.  "  That 's  where  it  is,  sir.  That 's  what  I 
always  say  myself,  sir.  Such  a  many  of  us  Swidgers  I — 
Pepper.  Why  there  's  my  father,  sir,  superannuated  keeper 
and  custodian  of  this  Institution,  eigh-ty-soven  year  old. 
He  's  a  Swidger  ! — Spoon." 

"  True,  William,"  was  the  patient  and  abstracted  answer, 
when  lie  stopped  again. 

"Yes,  sir,"  said  Mr.  Swidger.  "That's  what  I  always 
say,  sir.  You  may  call  him  xhe  trunk  of  the  tree  ! — Bread. 
Then  you  come  to  his  successor,  my  unworthy  self — Salt — 
and  Mrs.  William,  Swidgers  both. — Knife  and  fork.  Then 
you  come  to  all  my  brothers  and  their  families,  Swidgers, 
man  and  woman,  boy  and  girl.  Why,  what  with  cousins, 
uncles,  aunts,  and  relationships  of  this,  that,  and  t'other 
degree,  and  what-not  degree,  and  marriages,  and  lyings-in, 
the  Swidgers — Tumbler — might  take  hold  of  hands,  and  make 
a  ring  round  England !  " 

Receiving  no  reply  at  all  here,  from  the  thoughtful  man 
whom  he  addressed,  Mr.  William  approached  him  neai-er,  and 
made  a  feint  of  accidentally  knocking  the  table  with  a  decanter 


TUE   UAUNTED   MAN.  335 

to  rouso  him.  The  moment  he  succeeded,  he  went  on,  as  if 
in  great  alacrity  of  acquiescence. 

"  Yes,  sir  !  That  's  just  what  I  say  myself,  sir.  Mrs. 
"William  and  me  have  often  said  so.  '  There 's  Swidgers 
enough,'  we  say,  '  witliout  our  voluntary  contributions, — 
Butter.  In  fact,  sir,  my  father  is  a  family  in  himself — Castors 
— to  take  care  of;  and  it  liappens  all  for  the  Lest  that  we  havo 
no  child  of  our  own,  though  it 's  made  Mrs.  William  rather 
quiet-Hke,  too.  Quite  ready  for  the  fowl  and  mashed  potatoes, 
sir  ?  Mrs.  William  said  she  'd  dish  in  ten  mimites  when  I 
left  the  Lodge  ?  " 

"  I  am  quite  ready,"  said  the  other,  waking  as  from  a  dream, 
and  walking  slowly  to  and  fro. 

"  Mrs.  Williams  has  been  at  it  again,  sir  !  "  said  the  keeper, 
as  he  stood  warming  a  plate  at  tiie  fire,  and  pleasantly  shading 
his  face  with  it.  Mr.  Redlaw  stopped  in  his  walking,  and  au 
expression  of  interest  appeared  in  him. 

"  What  I  always  say  myself,  sir.  She  will  do  it !  There  's 
a  motherly  feeling  in  Mrs.  William's  breast  that  must  and  will 
have  went." 

"  What  has  she  done  ?  " 

"  Why,  sir,  not  satisfied  with  being  a  sort  of  mother  to  all 
the  young  gentlemen  that  come  up  from  a  wariety  of  parts,  to 
attend  your  courses  of  lectures  at  this  ancient  foundation — 
it 's  surprising  how  stone-chaney  catches  the  heat,  this  frosty 
weather,  to  be  sure  !  "  Here  he  turned  the  plates,  and  cooled 
his  fingers. 

"Well?"  said  Mr.  Redlaw. 

"  That 's  just  what  I  say  myself,  sir,"  returned  Mr.  William, 
speaking  over  his  shoulder,  as  if  in  ready  and  delighted  assent. 
"  That 's  exactly  where  it  is,  sir  !  There  ain't  one  of  our 
students  but  appears  to  regard  Mrs.  Williams  iu  that  light. 
Every  day,  right  through  tlie  course,  they  put  their  heads  into 
the  Lodge,  one  after  another,  and  have  all  got  sometliing  to 
teU  her,  or  something  to  ask  lier.  '  Swidge '  is  the  appellation 
by  which  they  speak  of  Mrs.  William  in  general,  among 
themselves,  I  'in  told;  but  that's  wliat  I  say,  sir.  Better  be 
called  ever  so  far  out  of  your  name,  if  it 's  done  in  real  liking, 
than  have  it  made  ever  so  much  of,  and  not  cared  about ' 
What 's  a  name  for  ?  To  know  a  person  by.  If  Mrs.  William 
is  kno\vn  by  something  better  than  her  name — I  allude  to 
Mrs.  William's   qualities  and  disposition — never  mind   hei 


334  THE    HAUNTED   MAX. 

name,  though  it  is  Swidger,  by  rights.  Let  'em  call  her 
Swidge,  Widge,  Bridge — Lord  !  London  Bridge,  Blackfriara, 
Chelsea,  Putney,  "Waterloo,  or  Hammersmith  Suspension — if 
they  like !  " 

The  close  of  this  triumphant  oration  brought  him  and  the 
plate  to  the  table,  upon  which  he  half  laid  and  half  dropped 
it,  with  a  lively  sense  of  its  being  thoroughly  heated,  just  as 
the  subject  of  his  praises  entered  the  room,  bearing  another 
tray  and  a  lantern,  and  followed  by  a  venerable  old  man  with 
long  grey  hair. 

Mrs.  William,  like  Mr.  William,  was  a  simple,  innocent- 
looking  person,  in  whose  smooth  cheeks  the  cheerful  red  of 
her  husband's  official  waistcoat  was  very  pleasantly  repeated. 
But  whereas  Mr.  William's  light  hair  stood  on  end  all  over 
his  head,  and  seemed  to  draw  his  eyes  up  with  it  in  an  excess 
of  bustling  readiness  for  anything,  tlie  dark  brown  hair  of 
Mrs.  William  was  carefully  smoothed  down,  and  waved  away 
under  a  trim  tidy  cap,  in  the  most  exact  and  quiet  manner 
imaginable.  Whereas  Mr.  William's  very  trousers  hitched 
themselves  up  at  the  ankles,  as  if  it  were  not  in  their  irongrey 
nature  to  rest  without  loufi-c;^  about  them,  Mrs.  William's 
neatly-flowered  skirts — rea  and  white,  like  her  own  pretty 
face — were  as  composed  and  orderly,  as  if  the  very  wind  that 
blew  so  hard  out  of  doors  could  not  disturb  one  of  their  folds. 
Whereas  his  coat  had  something  of  a  fly-away  and  half-ofif 
appearance  about  the  collar  and  breast,  her  -  little  bodice  was 
so  placid  and  neat,  that  there  should  have  been  protection  for 
her,  in  it,  had  she  needed  any,  with  the  roughest  people. 
Who  could  have  had  the  heart  to  make  so  calm  a  bosom  swell 
Avith  grief,  or  throb  with  fear,  or  flutter  with  a  thouglit  of 
shame !  To  whom  would  its  repose  and  peace  liave  not 
appealed  against  disturbance,  like  the  inuoceni  slumber  of  a 
child  ! 

"  Punctual,  of  course,  Milly,"  said  her  husband,  relieving 
her  of  the  tray,  "  or  it  wouldn't  be  you.  Here  's  Mrs.  WiUiam, 
sir  ! — He  looks  lonelier  than  ever  to-night,"  whispering  to  his 
wife,  as  he  was  taking  the  tray,  "  and  ghostlier  altogether." 

Without  any  show  of  hurry  or  noise,  or  any  show  of  herself 
even,  she  was  so  calm  and  quiet,  Milly  set  the  dishes  she  had 
brought  upon  the  table, — Mr.  William,  after  much  clattering 
and  running  about,  having  only  gained  possession  of  a  butter- 
hoid  of  gravy,  which  he  stood  ready  to  serve. 


THE    HAUNTED    MAX.  33-5 

"  "WTiat  is  that  the  old  man  has  in  his  arms  ?  "  asked  Mr. 
Redlaw,  as  he  sat  down  to  his  solitary  meal. 

"  Holly,  sir,"  replied  the  quiet  voice  of  Milly. 

"That's  what  I  say  myself,  sir,"  interposed  Mr.  William, 
striking  in  with  the  butter-boat.  "Berries  is  so  seasonable  to 
the  time  of  year  ! — Brown  gravy  !  " 

"  Another  Christmas  come,  another  year  gone  !"  murmured 
the  Chemist,  with  a  gloomy  sigh.  '•  More  figures  in  the 
lengthening  sum  of  recollection  that  we  work  and  work  at  to 
'our  torment,  till  Death  idly  jumbles  altogether,- and  rubs  all 
out.  So,  Philip  !  "  breaking  off,  and  raising  his  voice  as  he 
addressed  the  old  man  standing  apart,  with  his  glistening 
burden  in  his  arms,  from  which  the  quiet  Mrs.  William  took 
small  branches,  which  she  noiselessly  trimmed  with  her 
scissors,  and  decorated  the  room  with,  while  her  aged  father- 
in-law  looked  on  much  interested  in  the  ceremony. 

"  My  dut}' to  you,  sir,"  returned  the  old  man.  "Should 
have  spoke  before,  sir,  but  know  your  ways,  Mr.  Redlaw — 
proud  to  say — and  wait  till  spoke  to  !  Merry  Christmas,  sir, 
and  happy  New  Year,  and  many  of  'em.  Have  had  a  pretty 
many  of 'em  myself — ha,  ha! — and  may  take  the  liberty  of 
wishing  'era.      I  'm  eighty-seven  !  " 

"  Have  you  had  so  many  that  were  merry  and  happy  ? '' 
asked  the  other. 

"  Ay,  sir,  ever  so  many,"  returned  the  old  man. 

"  Is  his  memory  impaired  with  age  ?  It  is  to  be  expected 
now,"  said  Mr.  Redlaw,  turning  to  the  son,  and  speaking  lower. 

"Not  a  morsel  of  it,  sir,"  replied  Mr.  William.  "  That's 
exactly  what  I  say  myself,  sir.  There  never  was  such  a 
memory  as  my  f;\tlier's.  Ho  's  the  most  wonderful  man  in  the 
world.  He  don't  know  wliat  forgetting  means.  It 's  the  very 
oV)servation  I  'm  always  making  to  Mrs.  William,  sir,  if 
you  '11  believe  me  !  " 

Mr.  Swidger.  in  his  polite  desire  to  seem  to  acquiesce  at  all 
events,  delivered  this  as  if  there  were  no  iota  of  contradiction 
in  it,  and  it  were  all  said  in  unbounded  and  uuqualified  assent. 

The  Chemist  pushed  his  plate  away,  and,  rising  from  the 
table,  walked  across  the  room  to  wliere  the  old  man  stood 
looking  at  a  little  sprig  of  holly  in  his  hand. 

"  It  recals  the  time  when  many  of  those  years  were  old  and 
new,  then  ?  "  he  said,  observing  him  atttentively,  and  touching 
him  on  the  shoulder.      "  Does  it  ?  " 


336  THE   HAUNTED   MAV. 

"  Oh  many,  many  !  "  said  Philip,  half  awaking  from  liis 
reverie.      "  I  'm  eighty-seven  !  " 

"Merry  and  happy,  was  it?"  asked  the  Chemist,  in  a  low 
voice.      "  Merry  and  happy,  old  man  ?  " 

"  May  he  as  high  as  that,  no  higher,"  said  the  old  man, 
holding  out  his  hand  a  little  way  above  the  level  of  his  knee, 
and  looking  retrospectively  at  his  questioner,  "  when  I  first 
remember  'em !  Cold,  snnshiny  day  it  was,  out  a-walking, 
when  some  one — it  was  m}'  mother  as  sure  as  you  stand  there, 
though  I  don't  know  what  her  blessed  face  was  like,  for  she 
took  iU  and  died  that  Christmas-time — told  me  they  were  food 
for  birds.  The  pretty  little  fellow  thought — that 's  me,  you 
understand — that  bird's  eyes  were  so  bright,  perhaps,  because 
the  berries  that  they  lived  on  in  the  winter  were  so  bright.  I 
recollect  that.     And  I  'm  eighty-seven  !  " 

"Merry  and  happy!"  mused  the  other,  bending  his  dark 
eyes  upon  the  stooping  figure,  with  a  smile  of  compassion. 
"  Merry  and  happy — and  remember  Avell  ?  " 

"  Ay,  ay,  ay  !  "  resumed  the  old  man,  catching  the  last 
words.  "  I  remember  'em  well  in  my  school  time,  year  after 
year,  and  all  the  merry-making  that  used  to  come  along  with 
them.  I  was  a  strong  chap  then,  Mr.  Redlaw ;  and,  if  you'll 
believe  me,  had'nt  my  match  at  foot-ball  within  ten  mile. 
Where  's  my  son  William  ?  Hadn't  my  match  at  foot-ball, 
William,  within  ten  mile  !  " 

"  Tliat  's  Avhat  I  always  say,  father  ! "  returned  the  son 
promptly,  and  with  great  respect.  "  You  ake  a  Swidger,  if 
ever  there  was  one  of  the  family  !  " 

"  Dear !  "  said  the  old  man,  sliaking  his  head  as  he  again 
looked  at  the  liolly.  "  His  mother — my  son  William's  my 
youngest  son — and  I,  have  set  among  'em  all,  boys  and  girls, 
little  children  and  babies,  many  a  year,  when  the  berries  like 
these  were  not  shining  half  so  bright  all  round  us,  as  their 
bright  faces.  Many  of  'em  are  gone  ;  she  's  gone ;  and  my 
son  George  (our  eldest,  who  was  her  pride  more  than  all  the 
rest !)  is  fallen  very  low:  but  I  can  see  them,  when  I  look 
here,  alive  and  healthy,  as  they  used  to  be  in  those  days  ;  and 
I  can  see  him,  thank  God,  in  his  innocence.  It 's  a  blessed 
thing  to  me,  at  eighty-seven." 

The  keen  look  that  had  been  fixed  upon  him  with  so  much 
eaxnestness,  had  gradually  sought  the  ground. 

"  When  my  circumstance  s  got  to  be  not  so  good  as  formerly, 


THE   HAUNTED    MAN.  337 

through  not  being  honestly  dealt  by,  and  I  first  come  here  to 
be  custodian,"  said  the  old  man,  " — which  was  upwards  of 
fifty  years  ago — where  's  my  son,  "William  ?  More  than  half 
a  century  ago.  William  !  " 

"  That 's  what  I  say,  father,"  replied  the  son,  as  promptly 
and  dutifully  as  before,  "that's  exactty  where  it  is.  Two 
times  ought 's  an  ought,  and  twice  five  ten,  and  there 's  a 
hundi-ed  of  'em." 

"  It  was  quite  a  pleasure  to  know  that  one  of  our  founders 

or  more  correctly  speaking,"  said  the  old  man,  with  a  great 

glory  in  his  subject  and  his  knowledge  of  it,  "  one  of  the 
learned  gentlemen  that  helped  endow  us  in  Queen  Elizabeth's 
time,  for  we  were  founded  afore  her  day — left  in  his  will, 
among  the  other  bequests  he  made  us,  so  much  to  buy  holly, 
for  garnishing  the  walls  and  windows,  come  Christmas.  There 
was  something  homely  and  friendly  in  it.  Being  but  strange 
here,  then,  and  coming  at  Cliristmas  time,  we  took  a  liking 
for  his  very  picter  that  hangs  in  what  used  to  be,  anciently, 
afore  our  ten  poor  gentlemen  commuted  for  an  annual  stipend 
in  money,  our  great  Dinner  Hall. — A  sedate  gentleman  in  a 
peaked  beard,  with  a  ruff  round  his  neck,  and  a  scroll  below 
him,  in  old  English  letters,  '  Lord  !  keep  my  memory  green ! ' 
You  know  all  about  him,  Mr.  Redlaw?" 

"  I  know  the  portrait  hangs  there,  Philip." 

"  Yes,  sure,  it 's  the  second  on  the  right,  above  the  panel- 
ling. I  was  going  to  say — he  has  helped  to  keep  my  memory 
green,  I  thank  him ;  for,  going  round  the  building  every  year, 
as  I  'm  a  doing  now,  and  fi-eshening  up  the  bare  rot  ms  with 
these  branches  and  berries,  freshens  up  my  bare  old  brain. 
One  year  brings  back  another,  and  that  year  another,  and 
those  others  numbers !  At  last,  it  seems  to  me  as  if  the 
birth-time  of  our  Lord  was  the  birth-time  of  all  I  have  ever 
had  afi'ection  for,  or  mourned  for,  or  delighted  in, — and 
they  're  a  pretty  many,  for  I  'm  eighty-seven  !  " 

"  Merry  and  happy,"  murmured  Redlaw  to  himself. 

The  room  began  to  darken  strangely. 

"  So  you  see,  sir,"  pursued  old  Philip,  whose  hale  wintry 
cheek  had  warmed  into  a  ruddier  glow,  and  whose  blue  eyes 
had  brightened  while  he  spoke,  "  I  have  plenty  to  keep,  when 
1  keep  this  present  season.  Now  where  's  my  quiet  Mouse  ? 
Chattering 's  the  sin  of  my  time  of  life,  and  tliere's  half  the 
building  to   do  yet,  if  the  cold  don't  freeze  us  first,  or  the 

z 


33S  THE    HAUNl'ED    MAN. 

wiud   dou't  blow  us  away,    or    the   darkness    don't    swallow 
us  up." 

The  quiet  Mouse  had  brought  her  calm  face  to  his  side,  and 
silently  taken  his  arm,  before  he  finished  speaking. 

"  Come  away,  my  dear,"  said  the  old  man.  "  Mr.  Redlaw 
won't  settle  to  his  dinner,  otherwise,  till  it 's  cold  as  the 
winter.  I  hope  you  '11  excuse  me  rambling  on,  sir,  and  I  wish 
you  good  night,  and,  once  again,  a  merry — " 

"  Stay !"  said  Mr.  Redlaw,  resuming  his  place  at  the  table, 
more,  it  would  have  seemed  from  his  manner,  to  re-assure  the 
old  keeper,  than  in  any  remembrance  of  his  own  appetite. 
"  Spare  me  another  moment,  Philip.  William,  you  were  going 
to  teU  me  something  to  your  excellent  wife's  honor.  It  will  not 
be  disagreeable  to  her  to  hear  you  praise  her.  "What  was  it?" 

"Why,  that's  where  it  is,  you  see,  sir,"  returned  Mr. 
WilHam  Swidger,  looking  towards  his  wife  in  considerable 
embarrassment.      "  Mrs.  William  's  got  her  eye  upon  me." 

•'  But  you  're  not  afraid  of  Mrs.  William's  eye  ?  " 

"  Why,  no,  sir,"  returned  Mr.  Swidger,  "  that 's  what  I 
say  myself.  It  wasn't  made  to  be  afraid  of.  It  wouldn't  have 
been  made  so  mild,  if  that  was  the  intention.  But  I  wouldn't 
like  to — MiUy  ! — him,  you  know.     Down  in  the  Buildings." 

Mr.  WiUiam,  standing  behind  the  table,  and  rummaging 
disconcertedly  among  the  objects  upon  it,  directed  persuasive 
glances  at  Mrs.  William,  and  secret  jerks  of  his  head  and 
thumb  at  Mr.  Redlaw,  as  alluring  her  towards  him. 

''  Him,  you  know,  my  love,"  said  Mr.  William.  "  Down 
in  the  Bidldings.  Tell,  my  dear  !  You  're  the  works  of 
Shakspeare  in  comparison  with  myself.  Down  in  the 
Buildings,  you  know,  my  love. — Student." 

"  Student !  "  repeated  Mr.  Redlaw,  raising  his  head. 

"That's  what  I  say,  sir!"  cried  Mr.  William,  in  the 
utmost  animation  of  assent.  "If  it  wasn't  the  poor  student 
down  in  the  Buildings,  why  should  you  wish  to  hear  it  from 
Mrs.  William's  lips  ?     Mrs.  William,  my  dear — Buildings." 

"  I  didn't  know,"  said  Milly,  with  a  quiet  frankness,  free 
from  any  haste  or  confusion,  "  that  William  had  said  anything 
about  it,  or  I  wouldn't  have  come.  I  asked  him  not  to.  It 's 
a  sick  young  gentleman,  sir — and  very  poor,  I  am  afraid — 
who  is  too  iU  to  go  home  this  hoHday-time,  and  Kves,  unknown 
to  any  one,  in  but  a  common  kind  of  lodging  for  a  gentle- 
man, down  in  Jerusalem  Buildings.     That 's  all.  sir," 


THE    HAUNTED   MAN.  839 

"  Why  have  I  never  heard  of  him?"  said  the  Chemist, 
rising  hurriedly.  "  Why  has  lie  not  made  his  situation 
known  to  me  ?  Sick  ! — give  me  my  hat  and  cloak.  Poor  ! 
— what  house  ? — what  number  ?  " 

"  Oh,  you  mustn't  go  there,  sir,"  said  MiUy,  leaving  her 
father-in-law,  and  calmly  confronting  him  with  her  collected 
little  face  and  folded  hands. 

"  Not  go  there  ?  " 

•'Oil  dear,  no!"  said  Milly,  shaldng  her  head  as  at  a 
most  manifest  and  self-evident  impossibility.  '!  It  couldn't  be 
thought  of !  " 

"  What  do  you  mean  ?     \\Tiy  not  ?  " 

"  Why,  you  see,  sir,"  said  Mr.  William  Swidger,  persua- 
sively and  confidentially,  "that's  what  I  say.  Depend  upon 
it,  the  young  gentleman  would  never  have  made  his  situation 
known  to  one  of  his  own  sex.  Mrs.  William  has  got  into 
his  confidence,  but  that 's  quite  different.  They  all  confide  in 
Mrs.  William ;  they  all  trust  her.  A  man,  sir,  couldn't  have 
got  a  whisper  out  of  him ;  but  woman,  sir,  and  Mrs.  WiUiam 
combined — !  " 

"  There  is  good  sense  and  delicacy  in  what  you  sa}^ 
William,"  retui-ned  Mr.  Redlaw,  observant  of  the  gentle  and 
composed  face  at  his  shoulder.  And  laying  liis  finger  on  his 
lip,  he  secretly  put  his  purse  into  her  hand. 

"  Oh  dear  no,  su- !  "  cried  Milly,  giving  it  back  again. 
"  Worse  and  worse  !      Couldn't  be  dreamed  of !  " 

Such  a  staid  matter-of-fact  housewife  she  was,  and  so  un- 
ruffled by  the  momentary  hasto  of  this  rejection,  that,  an 
instant  afterwards,  she  was  tidily  picking  up  a  few  leaves 
which  had  strayed  from  betweeii  her  scissors  and  her  apron, 
when  she  had  arranged  the  holly. 

Finding,  when  she  rose  from  her  stooping  posture,  that 
Mr.  Redlaw  was  still  regarding  her  with  doubt  and  astonish- 
ment, she  quietly  repeated — looking  about,  the  while,  for  any 
other  fragments  that  might  have  escaped  her  observation  : 

"  Oh  dear  no,  sir  !  He  said  that  of  all  the  world  he  would 
not  be  known  to  you,  or  receive  help  from  you — though  he  is  a 
student  in  your  class.  I  have  made  no  terms  of  secresy  with 
you,  but  I  trust  to  your  honoui'  completely." 

"  Wliy  did  he  say  so  ?  " 

"  Indeed  I  can't  tell,  sir,"  said  Milly,  after  thinking  a  littlf?, 
"  because  I  am  not  at  all  clever,  you  know ;  and  I  wante<l  to 


340  THE   HAUNTED   MAN. 

be  useful  to  him  in  making  things  neat  and  comfortable  about 
liim,  and  employed  myself  that  way.  But  I  know  he  is  poor, 
and  lonely,  and  I  think  he  is  somehow  neglected  too. — How 
dark  it  is  !  " 

The  room  had  darkened  more  and  more.  There  was  a 
very  heavy  gloom  and  shadow  gathering  behind  the  Chemist's 
chair. 

"  What  more  about  him  ?  "  he  asked. 

"  He  is  engaged  to  be  married  when  he  can  afford  it,"  said 
Milly,  "  and  is  studying,  I  think,  to  qualify  himself  to  earn  a 
living.  I  have  seen,  a  long  time,  that  he  has  studied  hard 
and  denied  himself  much. — How  very  dark  it  is  !  " 

"  It 's  turned  colder,  too,"  said  the  old  man,  rubbing  his 
hands.  "  There  's  a  chill  and  dismal  feeling  in  the  room. 
Where  's  my  son  William  ?  •  William,  my  boy,  turn  the  lamp, 
and  rouse  the  fire  !  " 

Milly' s  voice  resumed,  like  quiet  music  very  softly  played  : 

"  He  muttered  in  his  broken  sleep  yesterday  afternoon, 
after  talking  to  me"  (this  was  to  herself )  "about  some  one 
dead,  and  some  great  wrong  done  that  could  never  be  for- 
gotten ;  but  whether  to  him  or  to  another  person,  I  don't 
know.     Not  by  him,  I  am  sure." 

"  And,  in  short,  Mrs.  William,  you  see — which  she  wouldn't 
say  herself,  Mr.  Redlaw,  if  she  was  to  stop  here  till  the  new 
year  after  this  next  one — "  said  Mr.  William,  coming  up  to 
him  to  speak  in  his  ear,  "has  done  him  worlds  of  good! 
Bless  you,  worlds  of  good  !  All  at  home  just  the  same  as 
ever — my  father  made  as  snug  and  comfortable — not  a  crumb 
of  litter  to  be  found  in  the  house,  if  you  were  to  offer  fifty 
pound  ready  money  for  it — Mrs.  William  apparently  never 
out  of  the  way — yet  Mrs.  William  backwards  and  forwards, 
backwards  and  forwards,  up  and  down,  up  and  down,  a  mother 
to  him !  " 

The  room  turned  darker  and  colder,  and  the  gloom  and 
shadow  gathering  behind  the  chair  was  heavier. 

"  Not  content  with  this,  sir,  Mrs.  William  goes  and  finds, 
this  very  night,  when  she  was  coming  home  (why  it 's  not 
above  a  couple  of  hours  ago),  a  creature  more  klie  a  young 
wild  beast  than  a  young  child,  shivering  upon  a  door-step. 
What  does  Mrs.  William  do,  but  brings  it  home  to  dry  it,  and 
feed  it.  and  keep  it  till  our  old  Bounty  of  food  and  flannel  is 
given   away   on  Christmas  nioruiug  !      If  it   ever  felt  a  lira 


TUE   HAUNTED   MAN.  341 

before,  it 's  as  mucli  as  it  ever  did;  for  it's  sitting  in  the  old 
Lodge  chimney,  staring  at  ours  as  if  its  ravenous  eyes  would 
never  shut  again.  It 's  sitting  there,  at  least,"  said  Mr. 
William,  correcting  himself,  on  reflection,  "  unless  it 's 
bolted !  " 

"  Heaven  keep  her  happy  !  "  said  the  Chemist  aloud,  "  and 
you  too,  Philip  !  and  you,  William  !  I  must  consider  what 
to  do  in  this.  I  may  desire  to  see  this  student,  I  '11  not  detain 
you  longer  now.     Good  night !  " 

"  I  thankee,  sir,  I  thankee !  "  said  the  old  man,  "  for 
Mouse,  and  for  my  son  William,  and  for  myself.  Where  's 
my  son  William  ?  William,  you  take  the  lantern  and  go  on 
first,  through  them  long  dark  passages,  as  you  did  last  year 
and  the  year  afore.  Ha,  ha !  I  remember — though  I  'm 
eightj'-seven  !  '  Lord  keep  my  memory  green  !  '  It 's  a  very 
good  prayer,  Mr.  Redlaw,  that  of  the  learned  gentleman  in 
the  peaked  beard,  with  a  ruff  round  his  neck — hangs  up, 
second  on  the  right  above  the  panelling,  in  what  used  to  be, 
afore  our  ten  poor  gentlemen  commuted,  our  great  Dinner 
HaU.  '  Lord  keep  my  memory  green  !  '  It 's  very  good  and 
pious,  sir.     Amen  !     Amen  !  " 

As  they  passed  out  and  shut  the  heavy  door,  which,  how- 
ever carefully  withheld,  fired  a  long  train  of  thundering  rever- 
berations when  it  shut  at  last,  the  room  turned  darker. 

As  he  fell  a-musing  in  his  chair  alone,  the  healthy  holly 
withered  on  the  wall,  and  dropped — dead  branches. 

As  the  gloom  and  shadow  thickened  behind  him,  in  that 
place  where  it  had  been  gathering  so  darkly,  it  took,  by  slow 
degrees, — or  out  of  it  there  came,  by  some  imreal,  unsub- 
stantial process — not  to  be  traced  by  any  human  sense,  an 
awful  likeness  of  himself. 

Ghastly  and  cold,  colourless  in  its  leaden  face  and  hands, 
but  with  his  features,  and  his  bright  eyes,  and  his  grizzled 
hair,  and  dressed  in  the  gloomy  shadow  of  his  dress,  it  came 
into  its  terrible  appearance  of  existence,  motionless,  without  a 
sound.  As  he  leaned  his  arm  upon  the  elbow  of  his  chair, 
ruminating  before  the  fire,  it  leaned  upon  the  chair-back,  close 
above  him,  with  its  appalling  copy  of  his  face  looking  where 
his  face  looked,  and  bearing  the  expression  his  face  bore. 

This,  then,  was  the  Something  that  had  passed  and  gone 
already.  This  was  the  dread  companion  of  the  hauiitod 
moil! 


342  THE    HAUNTED    MAN. 

It  took,  for  some  moments,  no  more  apparent  heed  of  liim, 
than  he  of  it.  The  Christmas  Waits  were  pbiying  somewhere 
in  the  distance,  and,  through  his  thoiightfuhiess,  he  seemed 
to  listen  to  the  music.      It  seemed  to  listen  too. 

At  length  he  spoke ;  without  moving  or  lifting  up  his  face. 

"  Here  again  !  "  he  said. 

"  Here  again  !  "  replied  the  Phantom. 

"I  see  you  in  the  fire,"  said  the  haunted  man;  "I  hear 
you  in  music,  in  the  wind,  in  the  dead  stillness  of  the  night." 

The  Phantom  moved  his  head,  assenting. 

"  Why  do  you  come,  to  haunt  me  thus  ?  " 

"  I  come  as  I  am  called,"  replied  the  Ghost. 

"No.     Unbidden,"  exclaimed  the  Chemist. 

"  Unbidden  be  it,"  said  the  Spectre.  "It  is  enough.  I 
am  here." 

Hitherto  the  light  of  the  fire  had  shone  on  the  two  faces — 
if  the  dread  lineaments  behind  the  chair  might  be  called  a 
face — both  addressed  towards  it,  as  at  first,  and  neither  looking 
at  the  other.  But,  now,  the  haunted  man  turned,  suddenly, 
and  stared  upon  the  Ghost.  The  Ghost,  as  sudden  in  its 
motion,  passed  to  before  the  chair,  and  stared  on  him. 

The  living  man,  and  the  animated  image  of  himself  dead, 
might  so  have  looked,  the  one  upon  the  other.  An  awful 
survey,  in  a  lonely  and  remote  part  of  an  empty  old  pile  of 
building,  on  a  winter  night,  with  the  loud  wind  going  by 
upon  its  journey  of  mystery — whence,  or  whither,  no  man 
knowing  since  the  world  began — and  tlie  stars,  in  unimagin- 
able millions,  glittering  through  it,  from  eternal  space,  where 
the  world's  bulk  is  as  a  grain,  and  its  hoary  age  is  infancy. 

"  Look  upon  me  !  "  said  the  Spectre.  "  I  am  he,  neglected 
in  my  youth,  and  miserably  poor,  who  strove  and  suffered, 
and  still  strove  and  suffered,  until  I  hewed  out  knowledge 
from  the  mine  where  it  was  buried,  and  made  rugged  steps 
thereof,  for  my  worn  feet  to  rest  and  rise  on." 

"  I  am  that  man,"  returned  the  Chemist. 

"  No  mother's  self-denying  love,"  pursued  the  Phantom, 
"  no  father's  counsel,  aided  me.  A  stranger  came  into  my 
father's  place  when  I  was  but  a  child,  and  I  was  easily  an 
alien  from  my  mother's  heart.  My  parents,  at  the  best,  were 
of  that  sort  whose  care  soon  ends,  and  whose  duty  is  soon 
done;  who  cast  their  offspring  loose,  early,  as  birds  do  theirs; 
and,  if  they  do  well,  claim  the  merit ;   and   if  ill,  the  pity." 


T1!E    HAUNTED    MAN.  343 

It  paused,  and  seemed  to  tempt  and  goad  him  with  its  look, 
and  with  the  manner  of  its  speech,  and  with  its  smile. 

"  I  am  he,"  pursued  the  Phantom,  "  who,  in  this  struggle 
upward,  found  a  friend.  I  made  him — won  him — bound 
him  to  me !  We  worked  together,  side  by  side.  All  the 
love  and  confidence  that  in  my  earlier  youth  had  had  no 
outlet,  and  found  no  expression,  I  bestowed  on  him." 

"  Not  all,"  said  Redlaw,  hoarsely. 

"  No,  not  all,"  returned  the  Phantom.      "  I  had  a  sister." 

The  haunted  man,  with  his  head  resting  on  his  hands, 
replied,  "  I  had  !  "  The  Phantom,  with  an  evil  smile,  drew 
closer  to  the  chair,  and  resting  its  chin  upon  its  folded  hands, 
its  folded  hands  upon  the  back,  and  looking  down  into  his 
face  with  searching  eyes,  that  seemed  instinct  with  fire,  went 
on  : 

"  Such  glimpses  of  the  light  of  home  as  I  had  ever  known, 
had  streamed  from  her.  How  young  she  was,  how  fair,  how 
loving !  I  took  her  to  the  first  poor  roof  that  I  was  master 
of,  and  made  it  rich.  She  came  into  the  darkness  of  my  life, 
and  made  it  bright. — She  is  before  me  !  " 

"  I  saw  her,  in  the  fire,  but  now.  I  hear  her  in  music,  in 
the  wind,  in  the  dead  stillness  of  the  night,"  returned  the 
haunted  man. 

"  Did  he  love  her?"  said  the  Phantom,  echoing  his  con- 
templative tone.  "  I  think  he  did  once.  I  am  sure  he  did. 
Better  had  she  loved  him  less— less  secretly,  less  dearly,  from 
the  shallower  depths  of  a  more  divided  heart !  " 

"  Let  me  forget  it,"  said  the  Chemist,  with  an  angry 
motion  of  his  hand.      "  Let  me  blot  it  from  my  memory !  " 

The  Spectre,  without  stirring,  and  with  its  unwinking,  cruel 
eyes  still  fixed  upon  his  face,  went  on  : 

"  A  dream,  like  hers,  stole  upon  my  own  life." 

"  It  did,"  said  Redlaw. 

"  A  love,  as  like  hers,"  pursued  the  Phantom,  "  as  my 
inferior  nature  might  cherish,  arose  in  my  ovm.  heart.  I  was 
too  poor  to  bind  its  object  to  my  fortune  then,  by  any  thread 
of  promise  or  entreaty.  I  loved  her  far  too  well,  to  seek  to 
do  it.  But,  more  than  ever  I  had  striven  in  my  life,  I  strove 
to  climb !  Only  an  inch  gained,  brought  me  something 
nearer  to  the  height.  I  toiled  up !  In  the  late  pauses  of 
my  labour  at  that  time, — my  sister  (sweet  companion  !)  still 
skfiring  with  me  tlie  expiring  embers  and  the  cooling  hearth, 


344  THE   HAUNTED   MAN. 

— when  day  was  breaking,  what  pictm'es  of  the  future  did 
I  see !  " 

"  I  saw  them  in  the  fire,  but  now,'*  he  murmured.  ''They 
oome  back  to  me  in  music,  in  the  wind,  in  the  dead  stillness 
of  the  night,  in  the  revolving  years." 

" — Pictures  of  my  own  domestic  life,  in  after- time,  with 
her  who  was  the  inspiration  of  my  toil.  Pictures  of  my 
sister,  made  the  wife  of  my  dear  fi-iend,  on  equal  terms — for 
he  had  some  inheritance,  we  none — pictures  of  our  sobered 
age  and  mellowed  happiness,  and  of  the  golden  links,  extend- 
ing back  so  far,  that  should  bind  us,  and  our  children,  in  a 
radiant  garland,"  said  the  Phantom. 

"Pictures,"  said  the  haunted  man,  "that  were  delusions. 
Why  is  it  my  doom  to  remember  them  too  well !  " 

"  Delusions,"  echoed  the  Phantom  in  its  changeless  voice, 
and  glaring  on  him  with  its  changeless  eyes.  "  For  my  friend 
(in  whose  breast  my  confidence  was  locked  as  in  my  own), 
passing  between  me  and  the  centre  of  the  system  of  my  hopes 
and  struggles,  won  her  to  himself,  and  shattered  my  frail 
universe.  My  sister,  doubly  dear,  doubly  devoted,  doubly 
cheerful  in  my  home,  lived  on  to  see  me  famous,  and  my  old 
ambition  so  rewarded  when  its  sj)ring  was  broken,  and  then — " 

"  Then  died,"  he  interposed.  "  Died,  gentle  as  ever, 
happy,  and  with  no  concern  but  for  her  brother.     Peace !  " 

The  Phantom  watched  him  silently. 

"  Remembered !  "  said  the  haunted  man,  after  a  pause. 
"  Yes.  So  well  remembered,  that  even  now,  when  years  have 
passed,  and  nothing  is  more  idle  or  more  visionary  to  me  than 
the  boyish  love  so  long  outlived,  I  think  of  it  with  sympathy, 
as  if  it  were  a  younger  brother's  or  a  son's.  Sometimes  I 
even  wonder  when  her  heart  first  inclined  to  him,  and  how 
it  had  been  afiected  towards  me. — Not  lightly,  once,  I  think. 
■ — But  that  is  nothing.  Early  unhappiness,  a  woimd  from  a 
hand  I  loved  and  trusted,  and  a  loss  that  nothing  can  replace, 
outlive  such  fancies." 

"Thus,"  said  the  Phantom,  "  I  bear  within  me  a  Sorrow 
and  a  Wrong.  Thus  I  prey  upon  myself.  Thus,  memory  is 
my  curse ;  and,  if  I  could  forget  my  sorrow  and  my  wrong,  I 
would  ! " 

"  Mocker !  "  said  the  Chemist,  leaping  up,  and  making, 
with  a  wrathful  hand,  at  the  throat  of  his  other  self.  "  Why 
have  I  always  that  taunt  in  my  ears  ?  " 


THE  HAUNTED   MAN.  346 

"  Forbear !  "  exclaimed  the  Spectre  in  an  awful  voice. 
"  Lay  a  hand  on  me,  and  die  !  " 

He  stopped  midway,  as  if  its  words  had  paralysed  him,  and 
stood  looking  on  it.  It  had  glided  from  him  ;  it  had  its  arm 
raised  high  in  warning ;  and  a  smile  passed  over  its  unearthly 
features,  as  it  reared  its  dark  figure  in  triumph. 

"  If  I  could  forget  my  sorrow  and  wrong,  I  woidd,"  the 
Ghost  repeated.  "If  I  coidd  forget  my  sorrow  and  my 
.wrong,  I  would  !  " 

"  Evil  spirit  of  myself,"  returned  the  haunt6d  man,  in  a 
low,  trembling  tone,  "  my  life  is  darkened  by  that  incessant 
whisper." 

"  It  is  an  echo,''  said  the  Phantom. 

"  If  it  be  an  echo  of  my  thoughts — as  now,  indeed,  I  know 
it  is,"  rejoined  the  haunted  man,  "why  should  I,  therefore, 
be  tormented  ?  It  is  not  a  selfish  thought.  I  sufi'er  it  to 
range  beyond  myself.  All  men  and  women  have  their 
sorrows, — most  of  them  their  wrongs ;  ingratitude,  and  sordid 
jealousy,  and  interest,  besetting  all  degrees  of  life.  Who 
would  not  forget  their  sorrows  and  their  wrongs  ?  " 

"Who  Avould  not,  truly,  and  be  the  happier  and  better  for 
it?"  said  the  Phantom. 

"These  revolutions  of  years,  which  we  commemorate," 
proceeded  Redlaw,  "  what  do  they  recal !  Are  there  any 
minds  in  which  they  do  not  re-awaken  some  sorrow,  or  some 
trouble  ?  What  is  the  remembrance  of  the  old  man  who  was 
here  to-night  ?     A  tissue  of  sorrow  and  trouble." 

"  But  common  natures,"  said  the  Phantom,  with  its  evil 
Bmile  upon  its  glassy  face,  "  unenlightened  minds  and 
ordinary  spirits,  do  not  feel  or  reason  on  these  things  like 
men  of  higher  cultivation  and  profounder  thought." 

"Tempter,"  answered  Redlaw,  "whose  hollow  look  and 
voice  I  dread  more  than  words  can  express,  and  from  whom 
some  dim  foreshadowing  of  greater  fear  is  stealing  over  me 
whQe  I  speak,  I  hear  again  an  echo  of  my  o^\^l  mind." 

"  Receive  it  as  a  proof  that  I  am  powerful,"  retui'ned  the 
Ghost.  "  Hoar  what  I  offer  !  Forget  the  sorrow,  wrong, 
and  trouble  you  have  known  !  " 

"  Forget  them  !  "  ho  repeated. 

"  I  have  the  power  to  cancel  their  remembrance — to  leave 
but  very  faint,  confused  traces  of  them,  that  will  die  out 
eoon,''  returned  the  Spectre.     '  Say  I     Is  it  done  ?  ' 


S46  THE   HAUNTliD    MAN. 

"  Stay  I  "  cried  the  haunted  man,  arresting  by  a  terrified 
gesture  the  uplifted  hand.  "I  tremble  "with  distrust  and 
doubt  of  you ;  and  the  dim  fear  you  cast  upon  me  deepens 
into  a  nameless  horror  I  can  hardly  bear. —  I  would  not 
deprive  myseJf  of  any  kindly  recollection,  or  any  sympathy 
that  is  good  for  me,  or  others.  What  shall  I  lose,  if  I  assent 
to  •^liis  ?     What  else  will  pass  from  my  remembrance  ?  " 

•'  No  knowledge ;  no  result  of  study ;  nothing  but  the 
intertwisted  chain  of  feelings  and  associations,  each  in  its 
turn  dependent  on,  and  noiuished  by,  the  banished  recollec- 
tions.    Those  will  go." 

"  Are  they  so  many  ?  "  said  the  haunted  man,  reflecting  in 
alarm. 

"They  have  been  wont  to  show  themselves  in  the  fire,  in 
music,  in  the  wind,  in  the  dead  stillness  of  the  night,  in  the 
revolving  years,"  returned  the  Phantom  scornfully. 

"  In  nothing  else  ?  " 

The  Phantom  held  its  peace. 

But,  having  stood  before  him,  silent,  for  a  little  while,  it 
moved  towards  the  fii*e ;  then  stopped. 

"  Decide  !  "  it  said,  "  before  the  opportunity  is  lost !  " 

"  A  moment !  I  call  Heaven  to  witness,"  said  the  agitated 
man,  "  that  I  have  never  been  a  hater  of  my  kind, — never 
morose,  indifierent,  or  hard,  to  anything  around  me.  If, 
living  here  alone,  I  have  made  too  much  of  all  that  was  and 
might  have  been,  and  too  little  of  what  is,  the  evil,  I  believe, 
has  fallen  on  me,  and  not  on  others.  But,  if  there  were 
poison  in  my  body,  should  I  not,  possessed  of  antidotes  and 
knowledge  how  to  use  them,  use  them  ?  If  there  be  poison 
in  my  mind,  and  through  this  fearful  shadow  I  can  cast  it 
out,  shall  I  not  cast  it  out  ?  " 

"  Say,"  said  the  Spectre,  "is  it  done  ?  " 

"  A  moment  longer  !  "  he  answered  hurriedly.  "  I  would 
forget  it  if  I  could !  Have  I  thought  that,  alone,  or  has  it 
been  the  thought  of  thousands  upon  thousands,  generation 
after  generation  ?  All  human  memory  is  fraught  with  sorrow 
and  trouble,  ^ly  memory  is  as  the  memory  of  other  men, 
but  other  men  have  not  this  choice.  Yes,  T  close  the  bargain 
lies  !  I  WILL  forget  my  sorrow,  wrong,  and  trouble  !  " 

"  Say,"  said  the  Spectre,  "is  it  done ?  " 

"  It  is  :  " 

"  It    is.     And  take   this   with   you,   man   whom   I   here 


THE    HAUNTED   MAN.  347 

reuounce !  The  gift  that  I  have  given,  you  shall  give  again, 
go  where  you  will.  "Without  recovering  youi'self  the  power 
that  you  have  yielded  up,  you  shall  henceforth  destroy  its 
like  in  all  w^hom  you  approach.  Your  wisdom  has  discovered 
that  the  memory  of  sorrow,  wrong,  and  trouble  is  the  lot  of 
all  mankind,  and  that  mankind  would  be  the  happier,  in  its 
other  memories,  without  it.  Go  !  Be  its  benefactor  !  Freed 
from  such  remembrance,  from  this  hoxir,  carry  involuntarily 
,the  blessing  of  such  freedom  with  you.  Its  diffusion  is 
inseparable  and  inahenable  from  you.  Go !  Be  happy  in 
the  good  you  have  won,  and  in  the  good  you  do !  " 

The  Phantom,  which  had  held  its  bloodless  hand  above 
him  while  it  spoke,  as  if  in  some  unholy  invocation,  or  some 
ban;  and  which  had  gradually  advanced  its  eyes  so  close  to 
his,  that  he  coidd  see  how  they  did  not  participate  in  the 
terrible  smile  upon  its  face,  but  were  a  fixed,  unalterable, 
steady  horror ;  melted  from  before  him,  and  was  gone. 

As  he  stood  rooted  to  the  spot,  possessed  by  fear  and 
wonder,  and  imagining  he  heard  repeated  in  melancholy 
echoes,  dying  away  fainter  and  fainter,  the  words,  "  Destroy 
its  like  in  all  whom  you  approach  !  "  a  shrill  cry  reached  his 
ears.  It  came,  not  fr'om  the  passages  beyond  the  door,  but 
from  another  part  of  the  old  building,  and  sounded  like  the 
cry  of  some  one  in  the  dark  who  had  lost  the  way. 

He  looked  confusedly  upon  his  hands  and  limbs,  as  if  to  be 
assured  of  his  identity,  and  then  shouted  in  reply,  loudly  and 
wildly  ;  for  there  was  a  strangeness  and  terror  upon  him,  as 
if  he  too  were  lost. 

The  cry  responding,  and  being  nearer,  he  caught  up  the 
lamp,  and  raised  a  heavy  curtain  in  the  wall,  by  which  he 
was  accustomed  to  pass  into  and  out  of  the  theatre  where  he 
lectured, — which  adjoined  his  room.  Associated  with  youth 
and  animation,  and  a  high  amphitheatre  of  faces  which  his 
entrance  charmed  to  interest  in  a  moment,  it  was  a  ghostly 
place  w^hen  all  tliis  life  was  faded  out  of  it,  and  stared  upon 
him  like  an  emblem  of  Death. 

"Halloa!"  he  cried.  "Halloa!  This  way!  Come  to 
the  liglit !  "  When,  as  he  held  the  curtain  with  one  hand, 
and  with  the  other  raised  the  lamp  and  tried  to  pierce  the 
gloom  that  filled  the  place,  something  rushed  past  him  into 
the  room  like  a  wild  cat,  and  crouched  down  in  a  corner. 

"  What  is  it?  "  he  said,  hastily. 


848  THE   HAUNTED   MAN. 

He  might  have  asked  "What  is  it?"  even  had  he  seen  it 
well,  as  presently  he  did  when  he  stood  looking  at  it  gathered 
up  in  its  corner. 

A  bundle  of  tatters,  held  together  by  a  hand,  in  size  and 
form  almost  an  infant's,  but,  in  its  greedy,  desperate  little 
clutch,  a  bad  old  man's.  A  face  roimded  and  smoothed  by 
some  half-dozen  years,  but  pinched  and  twisted  by  the 
experiences  of  a  life.  Bright  eyes,  but  not  youthful.  Naked 
feet,  beautiful  in  their  childish  delicacy, — ugly  in  the  blood 
and  dirt  that  cracked  upon  them.  A  baby  savage,  a  young 
monster,  a  child  who  had  never  been  a  child,  a  creature  who 
might  live  to  take  the  outward  form  of  man,  but  who,  within, 
would  live  and  perish  a  mere  beast. 

Used,  already,  to  be  worried  and  hunted  like  a  beast,  the 
boy  crouched  down  as  he  was  looked  at,  and  looked  back 
again,  and  interposed  his  arm  to  ward  off  the  expected  blow. 

"  I  '11  bite,"  he  said,  "  if  you  hit  me  !  " 

The  time  had  been,  and  not  many  minutes  since,  when 
such  a  sight  as  this  would  have  wrung  the  Chemist's  heart. 
He  looked  upon  it  now,  coldly ;  but,  with  a  heavy  effort  to 
remember  something — he  did  not  know  what — he  asked  the 
boy  what  he  did  there,  and  whence  he  came. 

"  Where 's  the  woman  ?  "  he  replied.  "  I  want  to  find  the 
woman." 

"Who?" 

"  The  woman.  Her  that  brought  me  here,  and  set  me  by 
the  large  fire.  She  was  so  long  gone,  that  I  went  to  look  for 
her,  and  lost  myself.     I  don't  want  you.    I  want  the  woman." 

He  made  a  spring,  so  suddenly,  to  get  away,  that  the  diill 
Boimd  of  his  naked  feet  upon  the  floor  was  near  the  curtain, 
when  Redlaw  caught  him  by  his  rags. 

"  Come  !  you  let  me  go !  "  muttered  the  boy,  struggling, 
and  clenching  his  teeth.  "  I  've  done  nothing  to  you.  Let 
me  go,  will  you,  to  the  woman  !  " 

"That  is  not  the  way.  There  is  a  nearer  one,"  said 
Bedlaw,  detaining  him,  in  the  same  blank  effort  to  remember 
some  association  that  ought  of  right,  to  bear  upon  this 
monstrous  object.      "  What  is  yoiir  name  ?  " 

"  Got  none." 

"  Where  do  you  live  ?  " 

"  Live  !     What 's  that  ?  " 

The  boy  shook  his  hair  from  his  eyes  to  look  at  him  for  a 


THE    HAUNTED    MAN.  349 

moment,  and  tlien,  twisting  round  his  legs  and  wrestling  with 
him,  broke  again  into  his  repetition  of  "  You  let  me  go,  will 
you  ?  I  want  to  find  the  woman." 

'flie  Chemist  led  him  to  the  door.  "  This  way,"  he  said, 
looking  at  him  still  confusedly,  but  with  repugnance  and 
avoidance,  growing  out  of  his  coldness.  "  I  '11  take  you  to 
her." 

The  sharp  eyes  in  the  child's  head,  wandering  round  the 
room,  lighted  on  the  table  where  the  remnants  of  the  dinner 
'were. 

"  Give  me  some  of  that !  "  he  said,  covetously. 

''  Has  she  not  fed  you  ?  " 

"  I  shall  be  hungry  again  to-morrow,  sha'n't  I  ?  Ain't  I 
hungry  every  day  ?  " 

Finding  himself  released,  he  bounded  at  the  table  like  some 
small  animal  of  prey,  and  hugging  to  his  breast  bread  and 
meat,  and  his  own  rags,  all  together,  said : 

"  There  !     Now  take  me  to  the  woman !  " 

As  the  Chemist,  with  a  new-born  dislike  to  touch  him, 
sternly  motioned  him  to  follow,  and  was  going  out  of  the 
door,  he  ti'embled  and  stopped. 

"  The  gift  that  I  have  given,  j^ou  shall  give  again,  go 
where  you  will !  " 

The  Phantom's  words  were  blowing  in  the  wind,  and  the 
wind  blew  chill  upon  him. 

"  I  '11  not  go  there,  to-night,"  he  murmured  faintly. 

"  I  '11  go  nowhere  to-night.  Boy !  straight  down  this 
long-arched  passage,  and  past  the  great  dark  door  into  the 
yard, — you  will  see  the  fire  shining  on  a  window  there." 

"  The  woman's  fii-e  ?  "  inquired  the  boy. 

He  nodded,  and  the  naked  feet  had  sprung  away.  Ho 
came  back  with  his  lamp,  locked  his  door  hastily,  and  sat 
do^vn  ia  his  chair,  covering  his  face  like  one  who  was 
frightened  at  himself. 

i*'or  now  be  was.  indeed,  alone.     Alonej  alone. 


350  TUE   HAUNTED   MAN", 


CHAPTER  IL 


THB      GIFT     DIFFUSED. 


A  SMALL  man  sat  in  a  small  parlour,  partitioned  off  from  a 
small  shop  by  a  small  screen,  pasted  all  over  with  small 
scraps  of  newspapers.  In  company  with  the  small  man,  was 
almost  any  amount  of  small  childi^en  you  may  please  to  name 
— at  least,  it  seemed  so ;  they  made,  in  that  very  limited 
sphere  of  action,  such  an  imposing  effect,  in  point  of  numbers. 

Of  these  small  fry,  two  had,  by  some  strong-  machinery, 
been  got  into  bed  in  a  corner,  where  they  might  have  reposed 
snugly  enough  in  the  sleep  of  innocence,  but  for  a  constitu- 
tional projiensity  to  keep  awake,  and  also  to  scuffle  in  and  out 
of  bed.  The  immediate  occasion  of  these  predatory  dashes  at 
the  waking  world,  was  the  construction  of  an  oyster-shell  wall 
in  a  corner,  by  two  other  youths  of  tender  age ;  on  which 
fortification  the  two  in  bed  made  harassing  descents  (like 
those  accursed  Picts  and  Scots  who  beleaguer  the  early 
historical  studies  of  most  young  Britons),  and  then  withdi-ew 
to  their  own  territory. 

In  addition  to  the  stir  attendant  on  these  inroads,  and  the 
retorts  of  the  invaded,  who  pursued  hotly,  and  made  lunges 
at  the  bed-clothes,  under  whieli  the  marauders  took  refuge, 
another  little  boy,  in  another  little  bed,  contributed  his  mite 
of  confusion  to  the  family  stock,  by  casting  his  boots  upon  the 
waters  ;  in  other  words,  by  launching  these  and  several  small 
objects,  inoffensive  in  themselves,  though  of  a  hard  substance 
considered  as  missiles,  at  the  disturbers  of  his  repose, — who 
were  not  slow  to  return  these  compliments. 

Besides  which,  another  little  boy — the  biggest  there,  but 
still  little  —  was  tottering  to  and  fro,  bent  on  one  side,  and 
considerably  affected  in  his  knees  by  the  weight  of  a  large 
baby,  which  he  was  supposed,  by  a  fiction  that  obtains  some- 
times in  sanguine  families,  to  be  hushing  to  sleep.  But  oh  ! 
the  inexhaustible  regions  of  contemplation  and  watchfulness 


THE    HAUNTED    MAN.  351 

into   -wliicli    this  "baby's   eyes   were   then  only   bep^inning    to 
compose  themselves  to  stare,  over  his  iinconscious  shoulder  I 

It  was  a  very  Moloch  of  a  baby,  on  whose  insatiate  altar 
the  whole  existence  of  this  particular  young-  brother  was 
offered  up  a  daily  sacrifice.  Its  personality  may  be  said  to 
have  consisted  in  its  never  being  quiet^  in  any  one  place,  for 
five  consecutive  minutes,  and  never  going  to  sleep  when 
required.  "  Tetterby's  baby,"  was  as  well  known  in  the 
neighboxu'hood  as  the  postman  or  the  pot-boy.  It  roved  from 
door-step  to  door-step,  in  the  arms  of  little  Johnny  Tetterby, 
and  lagged  heavily  at  the  rear  of  troops  of  juveniles  who 
followed  the  Tumblers  or  the  Monkey,  and  came  up,  all  on 
one  side,  a  little  too  late  for  everything  that  was  attractive, 
from  Monday  morning  until  Satiu-day  night.  Wherever 
childhood  congregated  to  play,  there  was  little  Moloch  making 
Johnny  fag  and  toil.  WTierever  Johnny  desired  to  stay,  little 
Moloch  became  fi'actious,  and  would  not  remain.  Whenever 
Johnny  wanted  to  go  out,  Moloch  was  asleep,  and  must  be 
watched.  Whenever  Johnny  wanted  to  stay  at  home,  Moloch 
was  awake,  and  must  be  taken  out.  Yet  Johnny  was  verily 
persuaded  that  it  was  a  faultless  baby,  without  its  peer  in  the 
realm  of  England ;  and  was  quite  content  to  catch  meek 
glimpses  of  things  in  general  from  behind  its  skirts,  or  over 
its  limp  flapping  bonnet,  and  to  go  staggering  about  with  it 
like  a  very  little  porter  with  a  very  large  parcel,  which  was 
not  directed  to  anybody,  and  could  never  be  deKvered  any- 
where. 

The  small  man  who  sat  in  the  small  parlor,  making  fruitless 
attempts  to  read  his  newspaper  peaceably  in  the  midst  of  this 
disturbance,  was  the  father  of  the  family,  and  the  chief  of 
the  firm  described  in  the  inscription  over  the  little  shop  front, 
by  the  name  and  title  of  A.  Tetterby  and  Co.,  Newsmen. 
Indeed,  strictly  speaking,  he  was  the  only  personage  answer- 
ing to  that  designation  ;  as  Co.  was  a  mere  poetical  abstraction, 
altogether  baseless  and  impersonal. 

Tetterby's  was  the  corner  shop  in  Jerusalem  Buildings 
There  was  a  good  show  of  literature  in  the  window,  chiefly 
consisting  of  picture-newspapers  out  of  date,  and  serial  pirates, 
and  footpads.  Walking-sticks,  likewise,  and  marbles,  were 
included  in  the  stock  in  trade.  It  had  once  extended  into  the 
light  confectionery  line ;  but  it  would  seem  that  those 
elegancies   of    life   were   not   in   demand    about    Jerusalem 


352  THE   HAUNTED   MAN. 

Buildings,  for  notliiug  connected  with  that  branch  of  commerce 
remained  in  the  window,  except  a  sort  of  small  glass  lantern 
containing  a  languishing  mass  of  bull's-eyes,  which  had 
melted  in  the  summer  and  congealed  in  the  winter  until  all 
hope  of  ever  getting  them  out,  or  of  eating  them  without 
eating  the  lantern  too,  was  gone  for  ever.  Tetterby's  had 
tried  its  hand  at  several  things.  It  had  once  made  a  feeble 
little  dart  at  the  toy  business ;  for,  in  another  lantern,  there 
was  a  heap  of  minute  wax  dolls,  all  sticking  together  upside 
down,  in  the  direst  confusion,  with  their  feet  on  one  another's 
heads,  and  a  precipitate  of  broken  arms  and  legs  at  the 
bottom.  It  had  made  a  move  in  the  millinery  direction,  which 
a  few  dry,  wiry  bonnet-shapes  remained  in  a  corner  of  the 
window  to  attest.  It  had  fancied  that  a  living  might  lie  hidden 
in  the  tobacco  trade,  and  had  stuck  up  a  representation  of  a 
native  of  each  of  the  three  integral  portions  of  the  British 
empire,  in  the  act  of  consuming  that  fragrant  weed ;  with  a 
poetic  legend  attached,  importing  that  united  in  one  cause 
they  sat  and  joked,  one  chewed  tobacco,  one  took  snuff,  one 
smoked  :  but  nothing  seemed  to  have  come  of  it — except  flies 
Time  had  been  when  it  had  put  a  forlorn  trust  in  imitative 
jewellery,  for  in  one  pane  of  glass  there  was  a  card  of  cheap 
seals,  and  another  of  pencil-cases,  and  a  mysterious  black 
amulet  of  inscrutable  intention  labelled  ninepence.  But,  to 
that  hour,  Jerusalem  Buildings  had  bought  none  of  them.  In 
short,  Tetterby's  had  tried  so  hard  to  get  a  livelihood  out  of 
Jerusalem  Buildings  in  one  way  or  other,  and  appeared  to 
have  done  so  indifferently  in  all,  that  the  best  position  in  the 
firm  was  too  evidently  Co.'s;  Co.,  as  a  bodiless  creation, 
being  untroubled  with  the  vulgar  inconveniences  of  hunger 
and  thirst,  being  chargeable  neither  to  the  poor's-rates  nor 
the  assessed  taxes,  and  having  no  young  family  to  provide  for. 
Tetterby  himself,  however,  in  his  little  parlor,  as  already 
mentioned,  having  the  presence  of  a  young  family  impressed 
upon  his  mind  in  a  manner  too  clamorous  to  be  disregarded,  or 
to  comport  with  the  quiet  perusal  of  a  newspaper,  laid  down 
his  paper,  wheeled  in  his  distraction,  a  few  times  round  the 
parlor,  like  an  undecided  carrier-pigeon,  made  an  ineffectual 
rush  at  one  or  two  flying  little  figures  in  bed-gowns  that 
skimmed  past  him,  and  then,  bearing  suddenly  down  upon  tho 
only  unoffending  member  of  the  family,  boxed  the  ears  of  little 
Moloch's  nurse. 


THE   HAUNTED   MAN.  358 

"  You  bad  boy  !  "  said  Mr.  Tetterby,  "  haven't  you  any 
feeling  for  your  poor  father  after  the  fatigues  and  anxieties  of 
a  hard  winter's  day,  since  five  o'clock  in  the  morning,  but 
must  you  wither  his  rest,  and  corrode  his  latest  intelligence, 
■with  your  wicious  tricks  ?  Isn't  it  enough,  sir,  that  your 
brother  'Dolphus  is  toiling  and  moiling  in  the  fog  and  cold, 
and  you  rolling  in  the  lap  of  luxury  with  a — with  a  baby, 
and  everythink  you  can  wish  for,"  said  Mr.  Tetterby,  heaping 
this  up  as  a  great  climax  of  blessings,  "  but  must  you  make 
-a  wilderness  of  home,  and  maniacs  of  your  parents?  Must 
you,  Johnny?  Hey?"  At  each  interrogation,  Mr.  Tetterby 
made  a  feint  of  boxing  his  ears  again,  but  thought  better  of 
it,  and  held  his  hand. 

"  Oh,  father!  "  whimpered  Johnny,  "when  I  wasn't  doing 
anything,  I  'm  sure,  but  taking  such  care  of  Sally,  and  getting 
her  to  sleep.     Oh,  father  !  " 

"  I  wish  my  little  woman  would  come  home !  "  said  Mr. 
Tetterby,  relenting  and  repenting,  "  I  only  wish  my  little 
woman  would  come  home  !  I  ain't  fit  to  deal  with  'em.  They 
make  my  head  go  round,  and  get  the  better  of  me.  Oh, 
Johnny !  Isn't  it  enough  that  your  dear  mother  has  provided 
you  with  that  sweet  sister?"  indicating  Moloch;  "  isn't  it 
enough  that  you  were  seven  boys  before,  without  a  ray  of 
gal,  and  that  your  dear  mother  went  through  what  she  did  go 
through,  on  purpose  that  you  might  aU  of  you  have  a  little 
sister,  but  must  you  so  behave  yourself  as  to  make  my  head 
swim  ?  " 

Softening  more  and  more,  as  his  own  tender  feelings  and 
those  of  his  injured  son  were  worked  on,  Mr.  Tetterby  con- 
cluded by  embracing  him,  and  immediately  breaking  away 
to  catch  one  of  the  real  delinquents.  A  reasonably  good  start 
occurring,  he  succeeded,  after  a  short  but  smart  run,  and 
some  rather  severe  cross-country  work  under  and  over  the 
bedsteads,  and  in  and  out  among  the  intricacies  of  the  chairs, 
in  capturing  this  infant,  whom  he  coudiguly  punished,  and 
bore  to  bed.  Tliis  example  had  a  powerful,  and  apparently, 
mesmeric  influence  on  him  of  the  boots,  who  instantly  fell 
into  a  deep  sleep,  though  he  had  been,  but  a  moment  before, 
broad  awake,  and  in  the  highest  possible  feather.  Nor  was 
it  lost  upon  the  two  young  architects,  who  retired  to  bed,  in 
an  adjoining  closet,  with  great  privacy  and  speed.  The 
comrade  of  the  Intercepted  One  also  shrinking  into  his  nest 

AA 


S54  THE  HAUNTED  MAN. 

Mnth.  similar  discretion,  Mr.  Tetterby,  when    lie   paused  for 
breath,  found  himself  vmexpectedly  in  a  scene  of  peace. 

"  My  little  woman  herself,"  said  Mr.  Tetterby,  wiping  his 
flushed  face,  "could  hardly  have  done  it  better  !  I  only  wish 
my  little  woman  had  had  it  to  do,  I  do  indeed !  " 

Mr.  Tetterby  sought  upon  his  screen  for  a  passage  appro- 
priate to  be  impressed  upon  his  children's  minds  on  the 
occasion,  and  read  the  following. 

"  '  It  is  an  imdoubted  fact  that  all  remarkable  men  have 
had  remarkable  mothers,  and  have  respected  them  in  after  life 
as  their  best  friends.'  Think  of  your  own  remarkable  mother, 
my  boys,"  said  Mr.  Tetterby,  *'  and  know  her  value  while  she 
is  stiU  among  you  !  " 

He  sat  down  again  in  his  chair  by  the  fire,  and  composed 
himself,  cross-legged,  over  his  newspaper. 

"  Let  anybody,  I  don't  care  who  it  is,  get  out  of  bed  a,gain," 
said  Tetterby,  as  a  general  proclamation,  delivered  in  a  very 
soft-hearted  manner,  "  and  astonishment  will  be  the  portion 
of  that  respected  contemporary!" — which  expression  Mr. 
Tetterby  selected  from  his  screen.  "  Johnny,  my  child,  take 
care  of  your  only  sister,  Sally ;  for  she  's  the  brightest  gem 
that  ever  sparkled  on  your  early  brow." 

Johnny  sat  down  on  a  little  stool,  and  devotedly  crushed 
himself  beneath  the  weight  of  Moloch. 

"  Ah,  what  a  gift  that  baby  is  to  you,  Johnny !  "  said  his 
father,  "  and  how  thankful  you  ought  to  be !  *  It  is  not 
generally  known,'  Johnny,"  he  was  now  referring  to  the  screen 
again,  "  '  but  it  is  a  fact  ascertained,  by  accurate  calculations, 
that  the  following  immense  per-centage  of  babies  never  attain 
to  two  years  old  ;   that  is  to  say '  " — 

"  Oh,  don't,  father,  please  !  "  cried  Johnny.  "  I  can't  bear 
it,  when  I  think  of  SaUy." 

Mr.  Tetterby  desisting,  Johnny,  with  a  profounder  sense  of 
his  trust,  wiped  his  eyes,  and  hushed  his  sister. 

*'  Your  brother  'Dolphus,"  said  his  father,  poking  the  fire, 
"  is  late  to-night,  Johnny,  and  will  come  home  like  a  lump  of 
ice.      What 's  got  your  precious  mother  ?  " 

"  Here  's  mother,  and  'Dolphus  too,  father ! "  exclaimed 
Johnny,  "  1  think." 

*'  You  're  right !  "  returned  his  father,  listening.  "  Yes, 
that 's  the  footstep  of  my  little  woman." 

The  process  of  induction,  by  which  Mr.  Tetterby  had  come 


THE   HAUNTED    MAN.  Kf 

to  the  conclusion  that  his  wife  was  a  little  woman,  was  his 
own  secret.  She  would  have  made  two  editions  of  himself, 
very  easily.  Considered  as  an  individual,  she  was  rather 
remarkable  for  being  robust  and  portly ;  but  considered  with 
reference  to  her  husband,  her  dimensions  became  magnificent. 
Nor  did  they  assume  a  less  imposing  proportion,  when  studied 
with  reference  to  the  size  of  her  seven  sons,  who  were  but 
diminutive.  In  the  case  of  Sally,  however,  Mrs.  Tetterby 
had  asserted  herself,  at  last ;  as  nobody  knew  better  than  the 
victim  Johnny,  who  weighed  and  measured  that  exacting  idol 
every  hour  in  the  day. 

Mrs.  Tetterby,  who  had  been  marketing,  and  carried  a 
basket,  threw  back  her  bonnet  and  shawl,  and  sitting  down, 
fatigued,  commanded  Johnny  to  bring  his  sweet  charge  to  her 
straightway,  for  a  kiss.  Johnnj'-  having  complied,  and  gone 
back  to  his  stool,  and  again  crushed  himself,  IMaster  Adolphus 
Tetterby,  who  had  by  this  time  unwound  his  Torso  out  of  a 
prismatic  comforter,  apparently  interminable,  requested  the 
same  fav-or.  Johnny  having  again  complied,  and  again  gone 
back  to  his  stool,  and  again  crushed  himself,  Mr.  Tetterby, 
struck  by  a  sudden  thought,  preferred  the  same  claim  on  his 
own  parental  part.  The  satisfaction  of  this  third  desire  com- 
pletely exhausted  the  sacrifice,  who  had  hardly  breath  enough 
left  to  get  back  to  his  stool,  crush  himself  again,  and  pant  at 
his  relations. 

"  Whatever  you  do,  Johnny,"  said  Mrs.  Tetterby,  shaking 
her  head,  "  take  care  of  her,  or  never  look  your  mother  in  the 
face  again." 

"  Nor  your  brother,"  said  Adolphus. 

"  Nor  your  father,  Johnny,"  added  Mr.  Tetterby. 

Johnny,  much  affected  by  this  conditional  renunciation  of 
him,  looked  down  at  Moloch's  eyes  to  see  that  they  were 
all  right,  so  far,  and  skilfully  patted  her  back  (which  was 
uppermost),  and  rocked  her  with  his  foot. 

"Are  you  wet,  'Dolphus,  my  boy?"  said  his  father. 
"  Come  and  take  my  chair,  and  dry  yourself." 

"  No,  father,  thankee,"  said  Adolphus,  smoothing  himself 
down  with  his  hands.  "  I  an't  very  wet,  I  don't  think.  Does 
my  face  shine  mucli,  father?  " 

"  Well,  it  does  look  waxy,  my  boy,"  returned  Mr.  Tetterby. 

"  It 's  the  weather,  father,"  said  Adolphus,  polisliing  his 
cheeks  on  the  worn  sleeve  of  his  jacket      "  What  with  rain. 


S56  THE   HAUNTED   MAN. 

and  sleet,  and  wind,  and  snow,  and  fog,  my  face  gets  quite 
brought  out  into  a  rash  sometimes.  And  shines,  it  does — oh, 
don't  it,  though  !  " 

Master  Adolphus  was  also  in  the  newspaper  line  of  life, 
being  employed,  by  a  more  thriving  firm  than  his  father  and 
Co.,  to  vend  newspapers  at  a  railway  station,  where  his 
chubby  little  person,  like  a  shabbily  disguised  Cupid,  and  his 
shrill  little  voice  (he  was  not  much  more  than  ten  years  old), 
were  as  well  known  as  the  hoarse  panting  of  the  locomotives, 
running  in  and  out.  His  juvenility  might  have  been  at  some 
loss  for  a  harmless  outlet,  in  this  early  application  to  traffic, 
but  for  a  fortunate  discovery  he  made  of  a  means  of  entertain- 
ing himself,  and  of  dividing  the  long  day  into  stages  of 
interest,  without  neglecting  business.  This  ingenious  invention, 
remarkable,  like  many  great  discoveries,  for  its  simplicity, 
consisted  in  varying  the  first  vowel  in  the  word  "  paper,"  and 
substituting  in  its  stead,  at  different  periods  of  the  day,  aU 
the  other  vowels  in  grammatical  succession.  Thus,  before  day- 
light in  the  winter-time,  he  went  to  and  fro,  in  his  little  oilskin 
cap  and  cape,  and  his  big  comforter,  piercing  the  heavy  air 
with  his  cry  of  "  Morn-ing  Pa-per !  "  which,  about  an  hour 
before  noon,  changed  to  "  Morn-ing  Pep-per  !  "  which,  at  about 
two,  changed  to  ''Morn-ing  Pip-per;  "  which,  in  a  couple  of 
hours,  changed  to  "  Morn-ing  Pop-per !  "  and  so  declined  with 
the  sun  into  "  Eve-ning  Pup-per  !  "  to  the  great  relief  and  com- 
fort of  this  young  gentleman's  spirits. 

Mrs.  Tetterby,  his  lady-mother,  who  had  been  sitting  with 
her  bonnet  and  shawl  thrown  back,  as  aforesaid,  thoughtfully 
turning  her  wedding  ring  round  and  round  upon  her  finger, 
now  rose,  and  divesting  herself  of  her  out-of-door  attire, 
began  to  lay  the  cloth  for  supper. 

"  Ah,  dear  me,  dear  me,  dear  me  !  "  said  Mrs.  Tetterby. 
*'  That 's  the  way  the  world  goes  !  " 

"  Wliich  is  the  way  the  world  goes,  my  dear  ?  "  asked  Mr. 
Tetterby,  looking  round. 

"  Oh,  nothing,"  said  Mrs.  Tetterby. 

Mr.  Tetterby  elevated  his  eyebrows,  folded  his  newspaper 
afresh,  and  carried  his  eyes  up  it,  and  down  it,  and  across  it, 
but  was  wandering  in  his  attention,  and  not  reading  it. 

Mrs.  Tetterby,  at  the  same  time,  laid  the  cloth,  but  rather 
as  if  she  were  punishing  the  table  than  preparing  the  family 
Slipper;   hitting  it  unnecessarily  hard  with  the    knives  and 


THE   HAUNTED    MAN.  357 

forks,  slapping  it  with  the  plates,  dinting  it  with  the  salt 
cellar,  and  coming  heavily  down  upon  it  with  the  loaf. 

"  Ah,  dear  me,  dear  me,  dear  me !  "  said  Mrs.  Tetterby, 
"  That 's  the  way  the  world  goes !  " 

''  My  duck,"  returned  her  husband,  looking  round  again, 
"  you  said  that  before.     Which  is  the  way  the  world  goes  ?  " 

"Oh,  nothing,"  said  Mrs.  Tetterby. 

"  Sophia  !  "  remonstrated  her  hiisband,  "  you  said  thai 
before,  too." 

"  Well,  I  '11  say  it  again  if  you  like,"  returned. Mrs.  Tetterby. 
"  Oh  nothing — there  !  And  again  if  you  like,  oh  nothing — • 
there  !     And  again  if  you  like,  oh  nothing — now  then  !  " 

Mr.  Tetterby  brought  his  eye  to  bear  upon  the  partner  of 
his  bosom,  and  said,  in  mild  astonishment : 

"  ]\Iy  little  woman,  what  has  put  you  out  ?  " 

"  I  'm  sure  /  don't  know,"  she  retorted.  "  Don't  ask  me. 
Who  said  I  was  put  out  at  all  ?     I  never  did." 

Mr.  Tetterby  gave  up  the  perusal  of  his  newspaper  as  a  bad 
job,  and,  taking  a  slow  walk  across  the  room,  with  his  hands 
behind  him,  and  his  shoulders  raised — liis  gait  according  per- 
fectly with  the  resignation  of  his  manner — addressed  himelf  to 
his  two  eldest  offspring. 

"Your  supper  will  be  ready  in  a  minute  'Dolphus,"  said 
Mr.  Tetterby.  "  Your  mother  has  been  out  in  the  wet,  to  the 
cook's  shop,  to  buy  it.  It  was  very  good  of  your  mother  so  to 
do.  You  shall  get  some  supper  too,  very  soon,  Johnny.  Your 
mother  's  pleased  with  you,  my  man,  for  being  so  attentive  to 
your  precious  sister." 

Mrs.  Tetterby,  without  any  remark,  but  with  a  di^cided 
subsidence  of  her  animosity  towards  the  table,  finished  her 
preparations,  and  took,  from  her  ample  basket,  a  substantial 
slab  of  liot  pease  pudding  wrapped  in  paper,  and  a  basin 
covered  with  a  saucer,  which,  on  being  uncovered,  sent  forth 
an  odour  so  agreeable,  tliat  the  three  pair  of  eyes  in  the  two 
beds  opened  wide  and  fixed  themselves  upon  the  banquet.  Mr. 
Tetterby,  without  regarding  this  tacit  invitation  to  be  seated, 
etcjod  repeating  slowly,  "  Yes,  yes,  your  supper  will  be  ready 
in  a  minute,  'Dolphus — your  mother  went  out  in  the  wet,  to 
tlie  cook's  shop,  to  buy  it.  It  was  very  good  of  your  mother 
80  to  do  " — until  Mrs.  Tetterby,  who  had  been  exhibiting 
sundry  tokens  of  contrition  behind  him,  caught  him  round  the 
neck,  and  wept. 


858  THE   HAUNTED   MAN. 

"  Oh,  'Dolphus  !  "  said  Mrs.  Tetterby,  "  how  could  T  go  and 
behave  so  I  " 

This  reconciliation  affected  Adolphus  the  younger  and 
Johnny  to  that  degree,  that  they  both,  as  with  one  accord, 
raised  a  dismal  cry,  which  had  the  effect  of  immediately  shut- 
ting up  the  round  eyes  in  the  beds,  and  utterly  routing  the 
two  remaining  little  Tetterbys,  just  then  stealing  in  from  the 
adjoining  closet  to  see  what  was  going  on  in  the  eating  way. 

"  I  am  sure,  'Dolphus,"  sobbed  Mrs.  Tetterby,  "  coming 
home,  I  had  no  more  idea  than  a  child  unborn " 

Mr.  Tetterby  seemed  to  dislike  this  figure  of  speech,  and 
observed,  "  Say  than  the  baby,  my  dear." 

" — Had  no  more  idea  than  the  baby,"  said  Mrs.  Tetterby. 
— "  Johnny,  don't  look  at  me,  but  look  at  her,  or  she  '11  fall 
out  of  your  lap  and  be  killed,  and  then  you  '11  die  in  agonies 
of  a  broken  heart,  and  serve  you  right. — No  more  idea  I 
hadn't  than  that  darling,  of  being  cross  when  I  came  home  ; 

but  somehow,  'Dolphus "  Mrs.  Tetterby  paused,  and  again 

turned  her  wedding-ring  round  and  round  upon  her  finger. 

"I  see  !  "  said  Mr.  Tetterby.  "  I  understand  !  My  little 
woman  was  put  out.  Hard  times,  and  hard  weather,  and  hard 
work,  make  it  trying  now  and  then.  I  see,  bless  your  soul ! 
No  wonder !  'Dolf,  my  man,"  continued  Mr.  Tetterby, 
exploring  the  basin  with  a  fork,  "  here  's  your  mother  been 
and  bought,  at  the  cook's  shop,  besides  pease  pudding,  a  whole 
knuckle  of  a  lovely  roast  leg  of  pork,  with  lots  of  crackling 
left  upon  it,  and  with  seasoning  gravy  and  mustard  quite  un- 
limited. •  Hand  in  your  plate,  my  boy,  and  begin  while  it 's 
simmering." 

Master  Adolphus,  needing  no  second  summons,  received  his 
portion  with  eyes  rendered  moist  by  appetite,  and  withdrawing 
to  his  particular  stool,  fell  upon  his  supper  tooth  and  nail. 
Johnny  was  not  forgotten,  but  received  his  rations  on  bread, 
lest  he  should,  in  a  flush  of  gravy,  trickle  any  on  the  baby. 
He  was  required,  for  similar  reasons,  to  keep  his  pudding, 
when  not  on  active  service,  in  his  pocket. 

There  might  have  been  more  pork  on  the  knucklebone, — 
which  knucklebone  the  carver  at  the  cook's  shop  had  assuredly 
not  forgotten  in  carving  for  previous  customers, — but  there 
was  no  stint  of  seasoning,  and  that  is  an  accessory  dreamily 
suggesting  pork,  and  pleasantly  cheating  the  sense  of  taste. 
The   pease  pudding,   too,   the  gravy  and  mustard,   like  the 


THE   HAUNTED   MAN.  369 

Eastern  rose  in  respect  of  the  nightingale,  if  they  were  not 
absolutely  pork,  had  lived  near  it ;  so,  upon  the  whole,  there 
\\  as  the  flavour  of  a  middle-sized  pig.  It  was  irresistible  to 
the  I'etterbys  in  bed,  who,  though  professing  to  slumber 
peacefully,  crawled  out  when  unseen  by  their  parents,  and 
silently  appealed  to  their  brothers  for  any  gastronomic  token 
of  fraternal  affection.  They,  not  hard  of  heart,  presenting 
scraps  in  return,  it  resulted  that  a  party  of  light  skirmishers  in 
night-gowns  were  careering  about  the  parlor  all  through 
supper,  which  harassed  Mr.  Tetterby  exceedingly,  and  once 
or  twice  imposed  upon  him  the  necessity  of  a  charge,  before 
which  these  guerilla  troops  retired  in  all  directions  and  in 
great  confusion. 

Mrs.  Tetterby  did  not  enjoy  her  supper.  There  seemed 
to  be  something  on  Mrs.  Tetterby's  mind.  At  one  time  she 
laughed  without  reason,  and  at  another  time  she  cried  without 
reason,  and  at  last  she  laughed  and  cried  together  in  a  manner 
so  very  unreasonable  that  her  husband  was  confounded. 

"My  little  woman,"  said  Mr,  Tetterby,  "if  the  world  goes 
that  way,  it  appears  to  go  the  wrong  way,  and  to  choke  you." 

"Give  me  a  drop  of  water,"  said  Mrs.  Tetterby,  struggling 
with  herself,  "  and  don't  speak  to  me  for  the  present,  or  take 
any  notice  of  me.     Don't  do  it !  " 

Mr.  Tetterby  having  administered  the  water,  turned  sud- 
denly on  the  unlucky  Johnny  (who  was  full  of  sympathy), 
and  demanded  why  he  was  wallowing  there,  in  gluttony  and 
idleness,  instead  of  coming  forward  with  the  baby,  that  the 
sight  of  her  might  revive  his  mother.  Johnny  immediately 
approached,  borne  down  by  its  weight ;  but  Mrs.  Tetterby 
holding  out  her  hand  to  signify  that  she  was  not  in  a  condition 
to  bear  that  trying  appeal  to  her  feeling's,  he  was  interdicted 
from  advancing  another  inch,  on  pain  of  perpetual  hatred  from 
all  his  dearest  connections ;  and  accordingly  retired  to  his 
Btool  again,  and  crushed  himself  as  before. 

After  a  pause,  Mrs.  Tetterby  said  she  was  better  now,  and 
began  to  laugh. 

"  My  little  woman,"  said  her  husband,  dubiously,  "  are  you 
quite  sure  you  're  better  ?  Or  are  you,  Sophia,  about  to  break 
out  in  a  fresh  direction  ?  " 

"  No,  'Dolphus,  no,"  replied  his  wife.  "  I  'm  quite  myself." 
With  that,  settling  her  hair,  and  pressing  the  palms  of  hej 
hands  upon  her  eyes,  she  laughed  ag;ain. 


360  THE  HAUNTED   MAN. 

"What  a  wicked  fool  I  was,  to  think  so  for  a  moment !  " 
said  Mrs.  Tetterby.  "  Come  nearer,  'Dolphus,  and  let  me 
ease  my  mind,  and  tell  you  what  I  mean.  Let  me  tell  you 
all  about  it." 

Mr.  Tetterby  bringing  his  chair  closer,  Mrs.  Tetterby 
laughed  again,  gave  hiin  a  hug,  and  wiped  her  eyes. 

"  You  know,  'Dolphus,  my  dear,"  said  Mrs.  Tetterby,  "  that 
when  I  was  single,  I  might  have  given  myself  away  in  several 
directions.  At  one  time,  four  after  me  at  once ;  two  of  them 
were  sons  of  Mars." 

"  We  're  all  sons  of  Ma's,  my  dear,"  said  Mr.  Tetterby, 
"jointly  with  Pa's." 

"  I  don't  mean  that,"  replied  his  wife,  I  mean  soldiers — 
Serjeants." 

"  Oh  !  "  said  Mr.  Tetterby. 

"  Well,  'Dolphus,  I  'm  siire  I  never  think  of  such  things 
now,  to  regret  them  ;  and  I  'm  siu"e  I  've  got  as  good  a  hus- 
band, and  woidd  do  as  much  to  prove  that  I  was  fond  of 
him,  as — " 

"  As  any  little  woman  in  the  world,"  said  Mr.  Tetterby. 
"Very  good.      Very  good." 

If  Mr.  Tetterby  had  been  ten  feet  high,  he  could  not  have 
expressed  a  gentler  consideration  for  Mrs.  Tetterby' s  fairy- 
like stature ;  and  if  ]\Irs.  Tetterby  had  been  two  feet  high, 
she  could  not  have  felt  it  more  appropriately  her  due. 

"  But  you  see,  'Dolphus,"  said  Mrs.  Tetterby,  "  this  being 
Christmas-time,  when  all  people  who  can,  make  holiday, 
and  when  all  people  who  have  got  money,  like  to  spend  some, 
I  did,  somehow,  get  a  little  out  of  sorts  when  I  was  in  the 
streets  just  now.  There  were  so  many  things  to  be  sold — 
such  delicious  things  to  eat,  such  fine  things  to  look  at,  such 
delightful  things  to  have — and  there  was  so  much  calculating 
and  calculating  necessary,  before  I  durst  lay  out  a  sixpence 
for  the  commonest  thing ;  and  the  basket  was  so  large,  and 
wanted  so  much  in  it ;  and  my  stock  of  money  was  so  small, 
and  would  go  such  a  little  way ; — you  hate  me,  don't  you, 
'Dolphus?" 

"  Not  quite,"  said  Mr.  Tetterby,  "  as  yet  " 

"  Well !  I  '11  tell  you  the  whole  truth,"  pursued  his  wife, 
penitently,  "  and  then  perhaps  you  will.  I  felt  all  this,  so 
much,  when  I  was  trudging  about  in  the  cold,  and  when  I 
saw  a  lot  of  other  calculating  faces  and  large  baskets  trudging 


THE   HAUNTED   MAN.  361 

about,  too,  that  I  began  to  think  whether  I  mightn't  have 
done  better,  and  been  happier,  if — I — hadn't — "  the  wedding 
ring  went  round  again,  and  Mrs.  Tetterby  shook  her  down- 
cast head  as  she  turned  it. 

"I  see,"  said  her  husband  quietly;  "if  you  hadn't 
married  at  all,  oi-  if  you  had  married  somebody  else  ?  " 

"Yes,"  sobbed  Mrs.  Tetterby.  "That's  really  what  I 
thought.     Do  you  hate  me  now ,  'Dolphus  ?  " 

"  ^\Tiv  no,"  said  Mr.  Tetterby,  "  I  don't  find  that  I  do  aa 
yet." 

Mrs.  Tetterby  gave  him  a  thankful  kiss,  and  went  on. 

"  I  begin  to  hope  you  won't,  now,  'Dolphus,  though  I  am 
afraid  I  haven't  told  you  the  worst.  I  can't  think  what  came 
over  me.  I  don't  know  whether  I  was  ill,  or  mad,  or  what  I 
was,  but  I  coiddn't  call  up  anything  that  seemed  to  bind  us 
to  each  other,  or  to  reconcile  me  to  my  fortime.  All  the 
pleasures  and  enjoyments  we  had  ever  had — they  seemed  so 
poor  and  insignificant,  I  hated  them.  I  could  have  trodden 
on  them.  And  I  could  think  of  nothing  else  except  our 
being  poor,  and  the  number  of  mouths  there  were  at  home." 

"Well,  well,  my  dear,"  said  Mr.  Tetterby,  shaking  her 
hand  encouragingly,  "  that 's  truth,  after  all.  We  are  poor, 
and  there  are  a  number  of  mouths  at  home  here." 

"Ah!  but,  Dolf,  Dolf !  "  cried  his  wife,  laying  her  hands 
upon  his  neck,  "  my  good,  kind,  patient  fellow,  when  I  had 
been  at  home  a  very  little  while — how  different !  Oh,  Dolf, 
dear,  how  different  it  was  !  I  felt  as  if  there  was  a  rush  of 
recollection  on  me,  all  at  once,  that  softened  my  hard  heart, 
and  filled  it  up  till  it  was  bursting.  All  our  struggles  for 
a  livelihood,  all  our  cares  and  wants  since  we  have  been 
married,  aU  the  times  of  sickness,  all  the  hours  of  watching, 
we  have  ever  had,  by  one  another,  or  by  the  children,  seemed 
to  speak  to  me,  and  say  that  they  had  made  us  one,  and  that 
I  never  might  have  been,  or  could  have  been,  or  would  have 
been,  any  other  than  the  wife  and  mother  I  am.  Then,  the 
cheap  enjoyments  that  I  could  have  trodden  on  so  cruelly,  got 
to  be  so  precious  to  me — On  so  priceless,  and  dear  ! — tliat 
I  couldn't  bear  to  think  how  much  I  had  wronged  them  ; 
and  I  said,  and  say  again  a  hundred  times,  how  coidd  1 
ever  behave  so,  'Dolphus,  how  coidd  I  ever  have  the  heart 
to  do  it !  " 

The  good  woman,  quite  carried  away  by  her  honest  tender- 


362  THE   HAUNTED   MAN. 

ness  and  remorse,  was  weeping  with  all  her  heart,  when  she 
started  up  with  a  scream,  and  ran  behind  her  husband.  Her 
cry  was  so  terrified,  that  the  children  started  from  their  sleep 
and  from  their  beds,  and  clung  about  her.  Nor  did  her  gaze 
belie  her  voice,  as  she  pointed  to  a  pale  man  in  a  black  cloak 
who  had  come  into  the  room. 

"  Look  at  that  man  !     Look  there  !     What  does  he  want  ?  " 

"  My  dear,"  returned  her  husband,  "  I  '11  ask  him  if 
you  '11  Let  me  go.     What 's  the  matter  ?     How  you  shake  !  " 

"  I  saw  him  in  the  street  when  I  was  out  just  now.  He 
looked  at  me,  and  stood  near  me.     I  am  afraid  of  him." 

"Afraid  of  him!     Why?" 

"  I  don't  know  why — I — stop  !  husband  !  "  for  he  was 
going  towards  the  stranger. 

She  had  one  hand  pressed  upon  her  forehead,  and  one  upon 
her  breast  ;  and  there  was  a  peculiar  fluttering  all  over  her, 
and  a  hurried  unsteady  motion  of  her  eyes,  as  if  she  had  lost 
something. 

"  Are  you  ill,  my  dear  ?  " 

"  What  is  it  that  is  going  from  me  again  ?  "  she  muttered, 
in  a  low  voice.      "  What  is  this  that  is  going  away  ?  " 

Then  she  abruptly  answered  :  "  lU?  No,  I  am  quite  well," 
and  stood  looking  vacantly  at  the  floor. 

Ker  husband,  who  had  not  been  altogether  free  from  the 
infection  of  her  fear  at  first,  and  whom  the  present  strangeness 
of  her  manner  did  not  tend  to  reassure,  addressed  himself  to 
the  pale  visitor  in  the  black  cloak,  who  stood  still,  and  whose 
eyes  were  bent  upon  the  ground. 

'•'  What  may  be  your  pleasure,  sir,"  he  asked,  "  with  us  ?  " 

"  I  fear  that  my  coming  in  unperceived,"  returned  the 
visitor,  "  has  alarmed  you ;  but  you  were  talking  and  did 
not  hear  me." 

"  My  little  woman  says — perhaps  you  heard  her  say  it," 
returned  Mr.  Tetterby,  "  that  it  *s  not  the  first  time  you  have 
alarmed  her  to-night." 

"  I  am  sorry  for  it.  I  remember  to  have  observed  her,  for 
a  few  moments  only,  in  the  street.  I  had  no  intention  of 
frightening  her." 

As  he  raised  his  eyes  in  speaking,  she  raised  hers.  It  was 
extraordinary  to  see  what  dread  she  had  of  him,  and  with 
what  dread  he  observed  it —  and  yet  how  narrowly  and 
dosely. 


THE    HAUNTED   MAN.  363 

"  My  name,"  he  said,  "  is  Redlaw.  I  come  from  the  old 
college  hard  by.  A  young  gentleman  who  is  a  student  there, 
lodges  in  your  house,  does  he  not?" 

"  Mr.  Denham?  "  said  Tetterby. 

"  Yes." 

It  was  a  natural  action,  and  so  slight  as  to  be  hardly 
noticeable;  but  the  little  man,  before  speaking  again,  passed 
his  hand  across  his  forehead,  and  looked  quickly  round  the 
room,  as  though  he  were  sensible  of  some  change  in  its 
atmosphere.  The  Chemist,  instantly  transferring  to  him  the 
look  of  dread  he  had  directed  towards  the  wife,  stepped  back, 
and  his  face  turned  paler. 

"The  gentleman's  room,"  said  Tetterby,  "is  up  stairs,  sir. 
There 's  a  more  convenient  private  entrance ;  but  as  you  have 
come  in  here,  it  will  save  your  going  out  into  the  cold,  if 
you  '11  take  this  little  staircase,"  showing  one  communicating 
directly  with  the  parlor,  "  and  go  up  to  him  that  way,  if  you 
wish  to  see  him." 

"  Yes,  I  wish  to  see  him,"  said  the  Chemist.  "  Can  you 
spare  a  light  ?  " 

The  watchfulness  of  his  haggard  look,  and  the  inexplicable 
distrust  that  darkened  it,  seemed  to  trouble  Mr.  Tetterby.  He 
paused  ;  and  looking  fixedly  at  him.  in  return,  stood  for  a 
minute  or  so,  like  a  man  stupefied,  or  fascinated. 

At  length  he  said,  "  I  'U  light  you,  sir,  if  you  'U  follow 
me." 

"  No,"  replied  the  Chemist,  "  I  don't  wish  to  be  attended, 
or  announced  to  him.  He  does  not  expect  me.  I  would 
rather  go  alone.  Please  to  give  me  the  light,  if  you  can  spare 
it,  and  I  'U  find  the  way." 

In  the  quickness  of  his  expression  of  this  desire,  and  in 
taking  the  candle  from  the  newsman,  he  touched  him  on  the 
breast.  Withdrawing  his  hand  hastily,  almost  as  though  he 
had  wounded  him  by  accident  (for  he  did  not  know  in  what 
part  of  himself  his  new  power  resided,  or  how  it  was  com- 
mujiicated,  or  how  the  manner  of  its  reception  varied  in 
difi'erent  persons),  he  turned  and  ascended  the  stair. 

But  when  he  reached  the  top,  he  stopped  and  looked  down 
The  wife  was  standing  in  the  same  place,  twisting  her  ring 
round  and  round  upon  her  finger.  The  husband,  with  his 
head  bent  forward  on  his  breast,  was  musing  heavUy  and 
sullenly.    The  children,  stUl  clustering  about  the  mother,  gazed 


364  THE   HAUNTED   MAN. 

timidly  after  the  visitor,  and  nestled  together  when  they  saw 
him  looking  down. 

"  Come  !  "  said  the  father,  roughly.  "  There  's  enough  oi 
this.     Get  to  bed  here  !  " 

"  The  place  is  inconvenient  and  small  enough,"  the  mothei 
added,  "  without  you.     Get  to  bed  !  " 

The  whole  brood,  scared  and  sad,  crept  away ;  little  Johnny 
and  the  baby  lagging  last.  The  mother,  glancing  con- 
temptuously round  the  sordid  room,  and  tossing  from  her  the 
fragments  of  their  meal,  stopped  on  the  threshold  of  her 
task  of  clearing  the  table,  and  sat  down,  pondering  idly  and 
dejectedly.  The  father  betook  himself  to  the  chimney-comer, 
iXid  impatiently  raking  the  small  fire  together,  bent  over  it  aa 
if  he  would  monopolise  it  all.  They  did  not  interchange  a 
word. 

The  Chemist,  paler  than  before,  stole  upward  like  a  thief; 
looking  back  upon  the  change  below,  and  dreading  equally  to 
go  on  or  return. 

"  What  have  I  done  !  "  he  said,  confusedly.  "  What  am  1 
going  to  do!  " 

"  To  be  the  benefactor  of  mankind,"  he  thought  he  heard 
a  voice  reply. 

He  looked  round,  but  there  was  nothing  there;  and  a 
passage  now  shutting  out  the  little  parlor  from  his  view,  he 
went  on,  directing  his  eyes  before  him  at  the  way  he  went. 

"  It  is  only  since  last  night,"  he  muttered  gloomily,  "that 
I  have  remained  shut  up,  and  yet  all  things  are  strange  to  me, 
I  am  strange  to  myself.  I  am  here,  as  in  a  dream.  What 
interest  have  I  in  this  place,  or  in  any  place  that  I  can  bring 
to  my  remembrance  ?     My  mind  is  going  blind  !  " 

There  was  a  door  before  him.  and  he  knocked  at  it.  Being 
invited,  by  a  voice  within,  to  enter,  he  complied. 

"  Is  that  my  kind  nurse?"  said  the  voice.  "But  I  need 
not  ask  her.     There  is  no  one  else  to  come  here." 

It  spoke  cheerfully,  though  in  a  languid  tone,  and  attracted 
liis  attention  to  a  young  man  lying  on  a  couch,  di-awn  before 
the  chimney-piece,  with  the  back  towards  the  door.  A  meagre 
scanty  stove,  pinched  and  hollowed  like  a  sick  man's  cheeks, 
and  bricked  into  the  centre  of  a  hearth  that  it  could  scarcely 
warm,  contained  the  fire,  to  which  his  face  was  turned. 
Being  so  near  the  windy  house-top,  it  wasted  quickly,  and 
with  a  busy  sound,  and  the  burning  ashes  di'opped  down  fast. 


THE   HAUNTED   MAN.  ^i 

■'They  ohmk  -^hen  they  shoot  out  here,"  said  the  student, 
smiling,  "  so,  according  to  the  gossips,  they  are  not  coffins, 
but  purses.  I  shall  be  well  and  rich  yet,  some  day,  if  it 
please  God,  and  shall  live  perhaps  to  love  a  daughter  ]Milly, 
in  remembrance  of  the  kindest  nature  and  the  gentlest  heart 
in  the  world." 

He  put  up  his  hand  as  if  expecting  her  to  take  it,  but, 
being  weakened,  he  lay  stiU,  with  his  face  resting  on  his  other 
hand,  and  did  not  turn  round. 

The  Chemist  glanced  about  the  room ; — at  the  student's 
books  and  papers,  piled  upon  a  table  in  a  corner,  where  they, 
and  his  extinguished  reading-lamp,  now  prohibited  and  put 
away,  told  of  the  attentive  hours  that  had  gone  before  this 
illness,  and  perhaps  caused  it ; — at  such  signs  of  his  old  health 
and  freedom,  as  the  out-of-door  attire  that  hung  idle  on  the 
wall ; — at  those  remembrances  of  other  and  less  solitary  scenes, 
the  little  miniatures  upon  the  chimney-piece,  and  the  drawing 
of  home ; — at  that  token  of  his  emulation,  perhaps,  in  some 
sort,  of  his  personal  attachment  too,  the  framed  engraving  of 
himself,  the  looker-on.  The  time  had  been,  only  yesterday, 
when  not  one  of  these  objects,  in  its  remotest  association  of 
interest  with  the  living  figure  before  him,  would  have  been 
lost  on  Redlaw.  Now,  they  were  but  objects ;  or,  if  any 
gleam  of  such  connexion  shot  upon  him,  it  perplexed,  and  not 
enlightened  him,  as  he  stood  looking  round  with  a.^dull 
wonder. 

The  student,  recalling  the  thin  hand  which  had  remained 
so  long  untouched,  raised  himself  on  the  couch,  and  turned'  his 
head. 

"  Mr.  Redlaw !  "  he  exclaimed,  and  started  up. 

Redlaw  put  out  his  arm. 

"Don't  come  near  to  me.  I  will  sit  here.  Remain  you, 
where  you  are  !  " 

He  sat  do^vTi  on  a  chair  near  the  door,  and  having  glanced 
at  the  young  man  standing  leaning  with  his  hand  upon  the 
couch,  spoke  with  his  eyes  averted  towards  the  ground. 

"  I  heard,  by  an  accident,  by  what  accident  is  no  matter, 
that  one  of  my  class  M'as  iU  and  solitary.  I  received  no  other 
description  of  him,  than  that  he  lived  in  this  street.  Begin- 
ning my  inquiries  at  the  first  house  in  it,  I  have  found  him." 

*•  I  have  been  ill,  sir,"  returned  the  student,  not  merely 
with  a  modest  hesitation,  but  with  a  kind  of  awe  of  him. 


366  THE   EAUNTED    MAN. 

"but  am  greatly  better.  An  attack  of  fever — of  the  brain,  I 
believe — has  weakened  me,  but  I  am  much  better.  I  cannot 
say  I  have  been  solitary  in  my  illness,  br  I  should  forget 
the  ministering  hand  that  has  been  near  me." 

"  You  are  speaking  of  the  keeper's  wife,"  said  Redlaw. 

"  Yes."  The  student  bent  his  head,  as  if  he  rendered  her 
some  silent  homage. 

The  Chemist,  in  whom  there  was  a  cold,  monotonous  apathy, 
(vhich  rendered  him  more  like  a  marble  image  on  the  tomb  of 
the  man  who  had  started  from  his  dinner  yesterday  at  the 
tirst  mention  of  this  student's  case,  than  the  breathing  man 
himself,  glanced  again  at  the  student  leaning  with  his  hand 
upon  the  couch,  and  looked  upon  the  ground,  and  in  the  air, 
as  if  for  light  for  his  blinded  mind. 

"I  remembered  your  name,"  he  said,  "when  it  was 
mentioned  to  me  down  stairs,  just  now ;  and  I  recollect  your 
face.  We  have  held  but  very  little  personal  communication 
together?" 

"  Very  little." 

"  You  have  retired  and  withdrawn  from  me,  more  than  any 
of  the  rest,  I  think  ?  " 

The  student  signified  assent. 

"And  why?"  said  the  Chemist;  not  with  the  least 
expression  of  interest,  but  with  a  moody,  wayward  kind  of 
curiosity.  "  Why  ?  How  comes  it  that  you  have  sought  to 
keep  especially  from  me,  the  knowledge  of  your  remaining 
here,  at  this  season,  when  aU  the  rest  have  dispersed,  and  of 
your  being  ill  ?     I  want  to  know  why  this  is  ?  " 

The  young  man,  who  had  heard  him  with  increasing  agita- 
tion, raised  his  downcast  eyes  to  his  face,  and  clasping  his 
hands  together,  cried  with  sudden  earnestness,  and  with 
trembling  lips : 

"  Mr.  Hedlaw !  You  have  discovered  me.  You  know  my 
secret !  " 

"Secret  ?  "  said  the  Chemist,  harshly.      "  I  know  ?  " 

"  Yes  !  Your  manner,  so  different  from  the  interest  and 
sympathy  which  endear  you  to  so  many  hearts,  your  tJtered 
voice,  the  constraint  there  is  in  everything  you  say,  and  in  your 
looks,"  replied  the  student,  "warn  me  that  you  know  me. 
That  you  woiJd  conceal  it,  even  now,  is  but  a  proof  to  me  (God 
knows  I  need  none  !)  of  your  natural  kindness,  and  of  the  baj 
there  is  between  us." 


TEE   HAUNTED    MAN.  367 

A  vacant  and  contemptuous  laugh,  -was  all  his  answer. 

"  But,  Mr.  Redlaw,"  said  the  student,  "  as  a  just  man,  and 
a  good  man,  think  how  innocent  I  am,  except  in  name  and 
descent,  of  participation  in  any  wrong  inflicted  on  you,  or  in 
any  sorrow  you  have  home." 

"  Sorrow  !  "  said  Redlaw,  laughing.  "  Wrong  !  What 
are  those  to  me  ?  " 

*'  For  Heaven's  sake,"  entreated  the  shrinking  student,  "  do 
not  let  the  mere  interchange  of  a  few  words  with  me  change 
you  like  this,  sir !  Let  me  pass  again  from  your  knowledge 
and  notice.  Let  me  occupy  my  old  reserved  and  distant  place 
among  those  whom  you  instruct.  Know  me  only  by  the  name 
I  have  assumed,  and  not  by  that  of  Longford —  " 

**  Longford !  "  exclaimed  the  other. 

He  clasped  his  head  with  both  his  hands,  and  for  a  moment 
turned  upon  the  young  man  his  own  intelligent  and  thoughtful 
face.  But  the  light  passed  from  it,  like  the  sunbeam  of  an 
instant,  and  it  clouded  as  before. 

"  The  name  my  mother  bears,  sir,"  faltered  the  young  man, 
"  the  name  she  took,  when  she  might,  perhaps,  have  taken  one 
more  honoured.  Mr.  Redlaw,"  hesitating,  "  I  believe  I  know 
that  history.  WTiere  my  information  halts,  my  guesses  at 
what  is  wanting  may  supply  something  not  remote  from  the 
truth.  I  am  the  child  of  a  marriage  that  has  not  proved 
itself  a  well  assorted  or  a  happy  one.  From  infancy,  I  have 
heard  you  spoken  of  with  honor  and  respect — with  something 
that  was  almost  reverence.  I  have  heard  of  such  devotion,  of 
such  fortitude  and  tenderness,  of  such  rising  up  against  the 
obstacles  which  press  men  down,  that  my  fancy,  since  I  learnt 
my  little  lesson  from  my  mother,  has  shed  a  lustre  on  your 
name.  At  last,  a  poor  student  myself,  from  whom  could  I 
learn  but  you? " 

Redlaw,  unmoved,  unchanged,  and  looking  at  him  with  a 
staring  frown,  answered  by  no  word  or  sign. 

"  I  cannot  say,"  pursued  the  other,  "  I  should  try  in  vain 
to  say,  how  much  it  has  impressed  me,  and  affected  me,  to  find 
the  gracious  traces  of  the  past,  in  that  certain  power  of  winning 
gratitude  and  confidence  which  is  associated  among  us  students 
(among  the  humblest  of  us,  most)  with  Mr.  Redlaw's  generous 
name.  Our  ages  and  positions  are  so  different,  sir,  and  I  am 
so  accustomed  to  regard  you  from  a  distance,  that  I  wonder 
at  my  own  presumption  when  I  touch,  however  lightly,  on 


368  THE   HAUNTED   MAN. 

that  theme.  But  to  one  who — I  may  say,  who  felt  no  common 
interest  in  my  mother  once — it  may  be  something  to  hear, 
now  that  is  all  past,  with  what  indescribable  feelings  of 
affection  I  have,  in  my  obscurity,  regarded  him ;  with  what 
pain  and  reluctance  I  have  kept  aloof  from  his  encouragement, 
when  a  word  of  it  would  have  made  me  rich ;  yet  how  I  have 
felt  it  fit  that  I  should  hold  my  course,  content  to  know  him, 
and  to  be  unknown.  Mr.  Redlaw,"  said  the  student,  faintly, 
"  what  I  would  have  said,  I  have  said  ill,  for  my  strength  is 
strange  to  me  as  jet ;  but  for  anjiihing  unworthy  in  this  fraud 
of  mine,  forgive  me,  and  for  all  the  rest  forget  me  !  " 

The  staring  frown  remained  on  Redlaw' s  face,  and  yielded 
to  no  other  expression  until  the  student,  with  these  words, 
advanced  towards  him,  as  if  to  touch  his  hand,  when  he  drew 
back  and  cried  to  him : 

"  Don't  come  nearer  to  me  !  " 

The  young  man  stopped,  shocked  by  the  eagerness  of  his 
recoil,  and  by  the  sternness  of  his  repulsion ;  and  he  passed  his 
hand,  thoughtfidly,  across  his  forehead. 

"The  past  is  past,"  said  the  Chemist.  "It  dies  like  the 
brutes.  Who  talks  to  me  of  its  traces  in  my  life  ?  He  raves 
or  lies  !  "What  have  I  to  do  with  your  distempered  dreams  ? 
If  you  want  money,  here  it  is.  I  came  to  offer  it ;  and  that  is 
all  I  came  for.  There  can  be  nothing  else  that  brings  me 
here,"  he  muttered,  holding  his  head  again,  with  both  his 
hands.      "  There  can  be  nothing  else,  and  yet " 

He  had  tossed  his  purse  upon  the  table.  As  he  fell  into 
this  dim  cogitation  with  himself,  the  student  took  it  up,  and 
held  it  out  to  him. 

"Take  it  back,  sir,"  he  said  proudly,  though  not  angrily. 
*  I  wish  you  could  take  from  me,  with  it,  the  remembrance  of 
your  words  and  offer." 

"  You  do  ?  "  he  retorted,  with  a  wild  light  in  his  eyes.  "  You 
do?" 

"  I  do  !  " 

The  Chemist  went  close  to  him,  for  the  first  time,  and  took  the 
purse,  and  turned  him  by  the  arm,  and  looked  him  in  the  face. 

"  There  is  sorrow  and  trouble  in  sickness,  is  there  not?  "  he 
demanded,  with  a  laugh. 

The  wondering  student  answered,  "  Yes." 

"  In  its  unrest,  in  its  anxiety,  in  its  suspense,  in  all  its  train 
of  physical  and  mental  miseries  ?  "  said  the  Chemist,  with  a 


THE    HAUNTED    MAN.  SCO 

wiLl  uueartkly  exiJliilioii.  "  All  best  forp^otten,  arc  tb.07 
not  ?  " 

The  student  did  not  answer,  but  again  passed  liis  hand, 
confusedly,  across  his  forehead.  Redlaw  still  held  him  by 
the  sleeve,  when  MiUy's  voice  was  heard  outside. 

"I  can  see  very  well  now,"  she  said,  "thank  j'ou,  Dolf. 
Don't  cry,  dear.  Father  and  mother  will  be  comfortable 
again,  to-morrow,  and  home  will  be  comfortable  too.  A 
gentleman  with  him,  is  there  !  " 

Redlaw  released  his  hold,  as  he  listened. 

"I  have  feared,  from  the  first  moment,"  he  murmured  to 
himself,  "  to  meet  her.  There  is  a  steady  quality  of  goodness 
in  her,  that  I  dread  to  influence.  I  may  be  the  murderer  of 
what  is  tenderest  and  best  within  her  bosom." 

She  was  knocking  at  the  door. 

"  Shall  I  dismiss  it  as  an  idle  foreboding,  or  still  avoid 
her?"  he  muttered,  looking  uneasily  around. 

She  was  knocking  at  the  door  again. 

"  Of  all  the  visitors  who  could  come  here,"  he  said,  in  a 
hoarse  alarmed  voice,  tuxning  to  his  companion,  "  this  is  the 
one  I  should  desire  most  to  avoid.     Hide  me  !  " 

The  student  opened  a  frail  door  in  the  wall,  communicating, 
where  the  garret-roof  began  to  slope  towards  the  3oor,  with 
a  small  inner  room.  Kedlaw  passed  in  hastily,  and  shut  it 
after  him. 

The  student  then  resumed  his  place  upon  the  couch,  and 
called  to  her  to  enter. 

"  Dear  Mr.  Edmund,"  said  MiUy,  looking  round,  "  they  told 
me  there  was  a  gentleman  here." 

"  There  is  no  one  here  but  I." 

"  There  has  been  some  one  ?  " 

"  Yes,  yes,  tliere  has  been  some  one." 

She  put  her  little  basket  on  the  table,  and  wont  up  to  tlio 
back  of  the  couch,  as  if  to  take  the  extended  hand — but  it  Avas 
not  there.  A  little  surprised,  in  her  quiet  way,  she  leaned 
over  to  look  at  his  face,  and  gently  touched  him  on  the  brow. 

"Are  you  quite  as  well  to-night?  Your  head  is  not  so 
cool  as  in  the  afternoon  " 

"  Tut  1 "  6uid  the  student,  petulantly,  "  very  little 
ails  me." 

A  little  more  surprise,  but  no  reproach,  was  expressed  iu 
her   face,  as    she  withdrew  to  the   other  side  of  the  tabla 

SB 


370  THE   HAUNTED   MAN. 

and  took  a  small  packet  of  needlework  from  iier  laskefc. 
But  sue  laid  it  down  again,  on  second  thoughts,  and  going 
noiselessly  about  the  room,  set  everything  exactly  in  its  place, 
and  in  the  neatest  order ;  even  to  the  cushions  on  the  couch, 
which  she  touched  with  so  light  a  hand,  that  he  hardly 
seemed  to  know  it,  as  he  lay  looking  at  the  fire.  When  all 
this  was  done,  and  she  had  swept  the  hearth,  she  sat  down, 
in  her  modest  little  bonnet,  to  her  work,  and  was  quietly  busy 
on  it  directly. 

"  It 's  the  new  muslin  curtain  for  the  window,  Mr. 
Edmund,"  said  Milly,  stitching  away  as  she  talked.  "  It  will 
look  very  clean  and  nice,  though  it  costs  very  little,  and  will 
save  your  eyes,  too,  from  the  light.  My  William  says  the 
room  should  not  be  too  light  just  now,  when  you  ai'e  recover- 
ing so  well,  or  the  glare  might  make  you  giddy." 

He  said  nothing ;  but  there  was  something  so  fretful  and 
impatient  in  his  change  of  position,  that  her  quick  fingers 
stopped,  and  she  looked  at  him  anxiously. 

"  The  pillows  are  not  comfortable,"  she  said,  laying  down 
her  work  and  rising.      "  I  will  soon  put  them  right." 

"They  are  very  well,"  he  answered.  "  Leave  them  alone, 
pray.     You  make  so  much  of  everything." 

He  raised  his  head  to  say  this,  and  looked  at  her  so 
thanklessly,  that,  after  he  had  thrown  himself  down  again, 
she  stood  timidly  pausing.  However,  she  resumed  her  seat, 
and  her  needle,  without  having  directed  even  a  murmuring 
look  towards  him,  and  was  soon  as  busy  as  before. 

"I  have  been  thinking,  Mr.  Edmund,  that  you  have  been 
often  thinking  of  late,  when  I  have  been  sitting  by,  how 
true  the  saying  is,  that  adversity  is  a  good  teacher.  Health 
will  be  more  precious  to  you,  after  this  illness,  than  it  has 
ever  been.  And  years  hence,  when  this  time  of  year  comes 
round,  and  you  remember  the  days  when  you  lay  here  sick, 
alone,  that  the  knowledge  of  your  iUness  might  not  afflict 
those  who  are  dearest  to  you,  your  home  will  be  doubly 
dear  and  doubly  blest.  Now,  isn't  that  a  good,  truo 
thing?" 

She  was  too  intent  upon  her  work,  and  too  earnest  in 
what  she  said,  and  too  composed  and  quiet  altogether,  to  be 
on  the  watch  for  any  look  he  might  direct  towards  her  in 
reply  ;  so  the  shaft  of  his  ungrateful  glor.ce  fell  harmless,  and 
did  not  wound  her. 


THE  HAUNTED   MAN.  371 

"  All !  "  said  Milly,  with  her  pretty  head  inclining  thought- 
fully on  one  side,  as  she  looked  down,  following  her  busy 
fingers  with  her  eyes.  "  Even  on  me — and  I  am  very 
different  from  you,  Mr.  Edmund,  for  I  have  no  learning, 
and  don't  know  how  to  think  properly — this  view  of  sunh 
things  has  made  a  great  impression,  since  you  have  been 
lying  iU.  "WTien  I  have  seen  you  so  touched  by  the  kind- 
ness and  attention  of  the  poor  people  down  stairs,  I  have 
felt  that  you  thought  even  that  experience  some  repayment 
for  the  loss  of  health,  and  I  have  read  in  your  face,  as  plain 
as  if  it  was  a  book,  that  but  for  some  trouble  and  sorrow 
we  should  never  know  half  the  good  there  is  about  us." 

His  getting  up  from  the  couch,  interrupted  her,  or  she  was 
going  on  to  say  more. 

"  We  needn't  magnify  the  merit,  Mrs.  William,"  he  rejoined 
slightingly.  "  The  people  down  stairs  will  be  paid  in  good 
time  I  dare  say,  for  any  little  extra  service  they  may  have 
I'endered  me ;  and  perhaps  they  anticipate  no  less.  I  am 
much  obliged  to  you,  too." 

Her  fingers  stopped,  and  she  looked  at  him. 

"  I  can't  be  made  to  feel  the  more  obliged  by  your 
exaggerating  the  case,"  he  said  "  I  am  sensible  that  you  have 
been  interested  in  me,  and  I  say  I  am  much  obliged  to  you. 
What  more  would  yoii  have  ?  " 

Her  work  fell  on  her  lap,  as  she  still  looked  at  him 
walking  to  and  fro  with  an  intolerant  air,  and  stopping  now 
and  then. 

"  I  say  again,  I  am  much  obliged  to  you.  ^Vhy  weaken 
my  sense  of  what  is  your  due  in  obligation,  by  preferring 
enormous  claims  upon  me  ?  Trouble,  sorrow,  affliction, 
adversity  !  One  might  suppose  I  had  been  dying  a  score  of 
deaths  here  I  " 

"  Do  you  believe,  Mr.  Edmund,"  she  asked,  rising  and 
going  nearer  to  him,  "  that  I  spoke  of  the  poor  people  of  the 
house,  with  any  reference  to  myself?  To  me?"  laj'ing  her 
hand  upon  her  bosom  with  a  simple  and  innocent  smile  of 
astonishment. 

"Oh!  I  think  nothing  about  it,  my  good  creature,"  he 
returned.  "  I  have  had  an  indisposition,  which  yoiix  solici- 
tude— observe  !  I  say  solicitude — makes  a  great  deal  more  o^ 
than  it  merits ;   and  it  'a  over,  and  we  can't  perpetuate  it." 

He  coldly  took  a  book,  and  cat  down  at  the  table. 


372  THE   IJAUNTED   MAN. 

She  watched  him  for  a  little  while,  until  her  smile  was 
quite  gone,  and  then,  returning  to  where  her  basket  was 
said  gently : 

"  Mr.  Edmund,  would  you  rather  be  alone  ?  " 

"There  is  no  reason  why  I  should  detain  you  here,"  ho 
replied. 

"  Except — "  said  Milly,  hesitating,  and  showing  her 
work. 

"  Oh !  the  curtain,"  he  answered,  with  a  supercilious  laugh. 
"  That 's  not  worth  staying  for." 

She  made  up  the  little  packet  again,  and  put  it  in  her 
basket.  Then,  standing  before  him  with  such  an  air  of 
patient  entreaty  that  he  could  not  choose  but  look  at  her, 
she  said  : 

"  If  you  should  want  me,  I  will  come  back  willingly. 
When  you  did  want  me,  I  was  quite  happy  to  come  j  there 
was  no  merit  in  it.  I  think  you  must  be  afraid,  that,  now 
you  are  getting  weU,  I  may  be  troublesome  to  you ;  but  I 
should  not  have  been,  indeed.  I  should  have  come  no 
longer  than  your  weakness  and  confinement  lasted.  You  owe 
me  nothing ;  but  it  is  right  that  you  should  deal  as  justly 
by  me  as  if  I  was  a  lady — even  the  very  lady  that  you  love; 
and  if  you  suspect  me  of  meanly  making  much  of  the 
little  I  have  tried  to  do  to  comfort  your  sick  room,  you  do 
yourself  more  wrong  than  ever  you  can  do  me.  That  is 
why  I  am  sorry.     That  is  why  I  am  very  sorry." 

If  she  had  been  as  passionate  as  she  was  quiet,  as  indig- 
nant as  she  was  calm,  as  angry  in  her  look  as  she  was 
gentle,  as  loud  of  tone  as  she  was  low  and  clear,  she  might 
have  left  no  sense  of  her  departure  in  the  room,  compared 
with  that  which  fell  upon  the  lonely  student  when  she  went 
away. 

He  was  gazing  drearily  upon  the  place  where  she  had 
been,  when  Redlaw  came  out  of  his  concealment,  and  came  to 
the  door. 

"  When  sickness  lays  its  hand  on  you  again,"  he  said, 
looking  fiercely  back  at  him,  "  — may  it  be  soon  ! — Die  here ! 
Rot  here  I  " 

"  "What  have  you  done  ? "  returned  the  other,  catching 
ut  his  cloak.  "  What  change  have  you  wrought  in  me  ? 
What  curse  have  you  brought  upon  me  ?  Give  me  back 
myself ! " 


THE   HAUNTED   MAN.  373 

•'Give  me  back  my selV."  exclaimed  Redlaw  like  a  mad- 
man. "I  am  infected!  T  am  infectious!  I  am  charged 
with  poison  for  my  own  mind,  and  the  minds  of  all  mankind. 
Where  I  felt  interest,  compassion,  sympathy,  I  am  turning 
into  stone.  Selfishness  and  ingratitude  spring  up  in  my 
blighting  footsteps.  I  am  only  so  much  less  base  than  the 
wretches  whom  I  make  so,  that  in  the  moment  of  their  trans- 
formation I  can  hate  them." 

As  he  spoke — the  yoxmg  man  still  holding  to  his  cloak — 
lie  cast  him  off,  and  struck  him  :  then,  wildly  hurried  out  into 
the  night  air  where  the  wind  was  blowing,  the  snow  falling, 
the  cloud-drift  sweeping  on,  the  moon  dimly  shining ;  and 
where,  blowing  in  the  wind,  falling  with  the  snow,  drifting 
with  the  clouds,  shining  in  the  moonlight,  and  heavily  loom- 
ing in  the  darkness,  were  the  Phantom's  words,  "  The  gift 
that  I  have  given,  you  shall  give  again,  go  where  you  will !  " 

Whither  he  went,  he  neither  knew  nor  cared,  so  that  he 
avoided  company.  The  change  he  felt  within  him  made  the 
busy  streets  a  desert,  and  himself  a  desert,  and  the  multitude 
around  him,  in  their  manifold  endurances  and  ways  of  life,  a 
mighty  waste  of  sand,  which  the  winds  tossed  into  imintelligi- 
ble  heaps  and  made  a  ruinous  confusion  of.  Those  traces 
in  his  breast  which  the  Phantom  had  told  him  would  "  die 
out  soon,"  were  not,  as  yet,  so  far  upon  their  way  to  death, 
but  that  he  understood  enough  of  what  he  was,  and  what  he 
made  of  others,  to  desire  to  be  alone. 

This  put  it  in  his  mind — he  suddenly  bethought  him- 
self, as  he  was  going  along,  of  the  boy  who  had  rushed  into 
his  room.  And  then  he  recollected,  that  of  those  with 
whom  he  had  communicated  since  the  Phantom's  disappear- 
ance, that  boy  alone  had  shown  no  sign  of  being  changed. 

Monstrous  and  odious  as  the  wild  thing  was  to  him,  he 
determined  to  seek  it  out,  and  prove  if  this  were  really  so ; 
and  also  to  seek  it  with  another  intention,  which  came  into  his 
thoughts  at  the  same  time. 

So,  resolving  ^^^th  some  difficulty  where  he  was,  he  directed 
his  steps  back  to  the  old  college,  and  to  that  part  of  it  whore 
the  general  porch  was,  and  where,  alone,  the  pavement  was 
worn  by  the  tread  of  the  students'  feet. 

The  keeper's  house  stood  just  within  the  iron  gates,  forming 
a  part  of  the  chief  quadrangle.  There  was  a  little  cloister 
outside,  and  from  that  sheltered  place  he  knew  he  could  look 


374  THE   HAUNTED  MAN. 

in  at  the  window  of  their  ordinary  room,  and  see  who  was 
within.  The  iron  gates  were  shut,  but  his  hand  was  familiar 
with  the  fastening,  and  drawing  it  back  by  thrusting  in  his 
wrist  between  the  bars,  he  passed  through  softly,  shut  it  again 
and  crept  up  to  the  window,  crumbling  the  thin  crust  of  snow 
with  his  feet. 

The  fire,  to  which  he  had  directed  the  boy  last  night, 
shining  brightly  through  the  glass,  made  an  illuminated 
place  upon  the  ground.  Instinctively  avoiding  this,  and 
going  round  it,  he  looked  in  at  the  window.  At  first,  he  thought 
that  there  was  no  one  there,  and  that  the  blaze  was  redden- 
ing only  the  old  beams  in  the  ceiling  and  the  dark  walls  ;  but 
peering  in  more  narrowly,  he  saw  the  object  of  his  search 
coiled  asleep  before  it  on  the  floor.  He  passed  quickly  to  the 
door,  opened  it,  and  went  in. 

The  creature  lay  in  such  a  fiery  heat,  that,  as  the 
Chemist  stooped  to  rouse  him,  it  scorched  his  head.  So 
soon  as  he  was  touched,  the  boy,  not  half  awake,  clutched  his 
rags  together  with  the  instinct  of  flight  upon  him,  half  rolled 
and  half-ran  into  a  distant  corner  of  the  room,  where,  heaped 
upon  the  ground,  he  struck  his  foot  out  to  defend  himself. 

"  Get  up  !  "  said  the  Chemist.  "  You  have  not  forgotten 
me?" 

"  You  let  me  alone  !  "  returned  the  boy.  "  This  is  the 
woman's  house — not  yours." 

The  Chemist's  steady  eye  controlled  him  somewhat,  or  in- 
spired him  with  enough  submission  to  be  raised  upon  his  feet, 
and  looked  at. 

"  Who  washed  them,  and  put  those  bandages  where  they 
were  bruised  and  cracked  ?  "  asked  the  Chemist,  pointing  to 
their  altered  state. 

"  The  woman  did." 

"  And  is  it  she  who  has  made  you  cleaner  in  the  face, 
too?" 

"  Yes,  the  woman." 

Redlaw  asked  these  questions  to  attract  his  eyes  towards 
himself,  and  with  the  same  intent  now  held  him  by  the  chin, 
and  threw  his  wild  hair  back,  though  he  loathed  to  touch 
him.  The  boy  watched  his  eyes  keenly,  as  if  he  thought 
it  needful  to  his  own  defence,  not  knowing  what  he  might 
do  next ;  and  Redlaw  could  see  well,  that  no  change  cauLC 
over  him. 


THE    HAUNTED    MAN.  3V£ 

*' Where  are  they  ?  "  he  inquired. 

"  The  woman's  out." 

"  I  know  she  is.  Where  is  the  old  man  with  the  white  hair, 
and  his  son?" 

"  The  woman's  husband,  d  'ye  mean  ?  "  inquired  the  boy. 

"  Aye.     Where  are  those  two  ?  " 

"  Out.  Something's  the  matter,  somewhere.  They  were 
fetched  out  in  a  hurry,  and  told  me  to  stop  here." 

"  Come  with  me,"  said  the  Chemist,  "  and  I  '11  give  you 
money." 

"  Come  where  ?  and  how  much  will  you  give  ?  " 

"  I  'U  give  you  more  shillings  than  you  ever  saw,  and  bring 
you  back  soon.  Do  you  know  your  way  to  where  you  came 
from?" 

"  You  let  me  go,"  returned  the  boy,  suddenly  twisting  out 
of  his  grasp.  "  I  'm  not  a  going  to  take  you  there.  Let  me 
be,  or  I  'U  heave  some  fire  at  you  !  " 

He  was  down  before  it,  and  ready,  with  his  savage  little 
hand,  to  pluck  the  burning  coals  out. 

What  the  Chemist  had  felt,  in  observing  the  effect  of  his 
charmed  influence  stealing  over  those  with  whom  he  came  in 
contact,  was  not  nearly  equal  to  the  cold  vague  terror  with 
which  he  saw  this  baby-monster  put  it  at  defiance.  It  chilled 
his  blood  to  look  on  tlie  immoveable  impenetrable  thing,  in 
the  likeness  of  a  child,  with  its  sharp  malignant  face  turned 
up  to  his,  and  its  almost  infant  hand,  ready  at  the  bars. 

"  Listen,  boy  !  "  he  said.  "You  shall  take  me  where  you 
please,  so  that  you  take  me  where  the  people  are  very  miser- 
able or  very  wicked.  I  want  to  do  them  good,  and  not  to 
harm  them.  You  shall  have  money,  as  I  have  told  you, 
and  I  wiU  bring  you  back.  Get  up  !  Come  quickly !  " 
He  made  a  hasty  step  towards  the  door,  afraid  of  her 
returning. 

"  Will  you  let  me  walk  by  myself,  and  never  hold  me, 
nor  yet  touch  me  ?  "  said  the  boy,  slowly  withdrawing  the 
hand  with  which  he  threatened,  and  beginning  to  get  up. 

"I  will!" 

"  And  let  me  go  before,  behind,  or  anyways  I  like  ?  " 

"I  will!" 

"Give  me  some  money  first  then,  and  I  '11  go  " 

The  Chemist  laid  a  few  shillings,  one  by  one,  in  Ms 
extended  hand      To  count  them  was  beyond  the  boy's  knoW' 


37S  THE  HAUNTED  MAN. 

ledge,  but  he  said  "  one,"  every  time,  and  avariciously  looked 
at  each  as  it  was  given,  and  at  tlie  donor.  He  had  no- 
where to  put  them,  out  of  his  hand,  but  in  his  mouth ;  and  lie 
put  them  there. 

Redlaw  then  wrote  with  his  pencil  on  a  leaf  of  his  pocket- 
book,  that  the  boy  was  with  him  ;  and  laying  it  on  the  table, 
signed  to  him  to  follow.  Keeping  his  rags  together,  as  usual, 
tlie  boy  complied,  and  went  out  with  his  bare  head  and  liia 
naked  feet  into  the  winter  night. 

Preferring  not  to  depart  by  the  iron  gate  by  which  he  had 
entered,  where  they  were  in  danger  of  meeting  her  whom  he 
so  anxiously  avoided,  the  Chemist  led  the  way,  through  some 
of  those  passages  among  which  the  boy  had  lost  himself,  and 
by  that  portion  of  the  building  Avhere  he  lived,  to  a  small 
door  of  which  he  had  the  key.  When  they  got  into  the  street, 
he  stopped  to  ask  his  guide — who  instantly  retreated  frojn  him 
— if  he  knew  where  they  were. 

The  savage  thing  looked  here  and  there,  and  at  length, 
nodding  his  head,  pointed  in  the  direction  he  designed  to 
take.  Redlaw  going  on  at  once,  he  followed,  somewhat  less 
suspiciously ;  shifting  his  money  from  his  mouth  into  his 
hand,  and  back  again  into  his  mouth,  and  stealthily  rubbing 
it  bright  upon  his  shreds  of  dress,  as  he  went  along. 

Three  times,  in  their  progress,  they  were  side  by  side. 
Three  times  they  stopped,  being  side  by  side.  Three  times 
the  Chemist  glanced  down  at  his  face,  and  shuddered  as  it 
forced  upon  him  one  reflection. 

The  first  occasion  was  when  they  were  crossing  an  old 
churchyard,  and  Redlaw  stopped  among  the  graves,  utterly  at 
a  loss  how  to  connect  them  with  any  tender,  softening,  or 
ponsolatory  thought. 

The  second  was,  ^hen  the  breaking  forth  of  the  moon 
induced  him  to  look  up  at  the  Heavens,  where  he  saw  her 
in  her  glory,  surrounded  by  a  host  of  stars  he  still  knew  by 
the  names  and  histories  which  human  science  has  appended 
to  them ;  but  where  he  saw  nothing  else  he  had  been  wont  to 
see,  felt  nothing  he  had  been  wont  to  feel,  in  looking  up 
there,  on  a  bright  night. 

The  third  was  when  he  stopped  to  listen  to  a  plaintive 
strain  of  music,  but  could  only  hear  a  tune,  made  manifest  to 
him  by  the  dry  mechanism  of  the  instruments  and  his  own 
ears,  with   no  address  to  any  mystery  within  him,  without  a 


THE   HAUNTED    MAN.  S7" 

whisper  in  it  of  the  past,  or  of  the  future,  powerless  upon 
him  as  the  sound  of  last  year's  running  water,  or  the  rusliiiig 
of  last  year's  wind. 

At  each  of  these  three  times,  he  saw  with  horror  that  in 
epite  of  the  vast  intellectual  distance  between  them,  and  their 
being  unlike  each  other  in  all  physical  respects,  the  expression 
on  the  boy's  face  was  the  expression  on  his  own. 

They  journeyed  on  for  some  time — now  through  such 
crowded  places,  that  he  often  looked  over  his  shoulder,  think- 
ing he  had  lost  his  guide,  but  generally  finding  him  within 
his  shadow  on  his  other  side ;  now  by  ways  so  quiet,  that  he 
could  have  counted  his  sliort,  quick,  naked  footsteps  coming 
on  behind — until  they  arrived  at  a  ruinous  collection  of  houses, 
and  the  boy  touched  him  and  stopped. 

"  In  there!  "  he  said,  pointing  out  one  house  where  there 
were  scattered  lights  in  the  windows,  and  a  dim  lantern  in 
the  doorway,  with  "  Lodgings  for  Travellers  "  painted  on  it. 

Redlaw  looked  about  him ;  from  the  houses,  to  the  waste 
piece  of  ground  on  which  the  houses  stood,  or  rather  did  not 
altogether  tumble  down,  unfenced,  undrained,  unlighted,  and 
bordered  by  a  sluggish  ditch ;  from  that,  to  the  sloping  line 
of  arches,  part  of  some  neighbouring  viaduct  or  bridge  with 
which  it  was  surrounded,  and  which  lessened  gradually, 
towards  them,  until  the  last  but  one  was  a  mere  kennel  for  a 
dog,  the  last  a  plundered  little  heap  of  bricks ;  from  that,  tu 
the  child,  close  to  him,  cowering  and  trembling  with  the  cold, 
and  limping  on  one  little  foot,  Mhile  he  coiled  the  other  round 
his  leg  to  warm  it,  yet  staring  at  all  these  things  with  that 
frighful  likenoss  of  expression  so  apparent  in  his  face,  that 
Redlaw  starred  from  him. 

"  In  there !  "  said  the  boy,  pointing  out  the  house  again. 
"I'Uwait." 

"  Will  they  let  me  in  ?  "  asked  Redlaw. 

"  Say  you  're  a  doctor,"  he  answered  with  a  nod.  "  There 's 
plenty  ill  here." 

Looking  back  on  his  way  to  the  house-door,  Redlaw  saw 
nim  trail  himself  upon  the  dust  and  crawl  within  the  shelter 
of  the  smallest  arch,  as  if  he  were  a  rat.  He  had  no  pity  for 
the  thing,  but  he  was  afraid  of  it ;  and  when  it  looked  out  of 
its  den  at  him,  he  hiu'ried  to  the  house  as  a  retreat. 

"  Sorrow,  wrong,  and  trouble,"  said  the  Chemist,  with  d 
painfid  effort  at  some  more  distinct  remembrance,  "  at  least 


378  THE   HAUNTED   MAN. 

haunt  tliis  place,  darkly.  He  can  do  no  harm,  who  brings 
forge tfulness  of  such  things  here  ! '" 

With  these  words,  he  pushed  the  yielding  door,  and 
went  in. 

There  was  a  woman  sitting  on  the  stairs,  either  asleep  or 
forlorn,  whose  head  was  bent  down  on  her  hands  and  knees. 
As  it  was  not  easy  to  pass  without  treading  on  her,  and  as  she 
was  perfectly  regardless  of  his  near  approach,  he  stopped,  and 
touched  her  on  the  shoulder.  Looking  up,  she  showed  him 
quite  a  young  face,  but  one  whose  bloom  and  promise  were  all 
stt'ept  away,  as  if  the  haggard  winter  should  unnaturally  kill 
the  spring. 

With  little  or  no  show  of  concern  on  his  account,  she 
moved  nearer  to  the  wall  to  leave  him  a  wider  passage. 

"  WTiat  are  you?"  said  Redlaw,  pausing,  with  his  hand 
upon  the  broken  stair-rail. 

"  What  do  you  think  I  am  ?  "  she  answered,  showing  him 
her  face  again. 

He  looked  upon  the  ruined  temple  of  God,  so  lately  made, 
so  soon  disfigured ;  and  something,  which  was  not  compassion 
— for  the  springs  in  which  a  true  compassion  for  such  miseries 
has  its  rise,  were  dried  up  in  his  breast — but  which  was 
nearer  to  it,  for  the  moment,  than  any  feeling  that  had  lately 
struggled  into  the  darkening,  but  not  yet  wholly  darkened, 
night  of  his  mind — mingled  a  touch  of  softness  with  his  next 
words. 

"  I  am  come  here  to  give  relief,  if  I  can,"  he  said.  "  Are 
you  thinking  of  any  wrong  ?  " 

She  frowned  at  him,  and  then  laughed ;  and  then  her 
laugh  prolonged  itself  into  a  shivering  sigh,  as  she  dropped 
her  head  again,  and  hid  her  fingers  in  her  hair. 

"  Are  you  thinking  of  a  wrong  ?  "  he  asked,  once  more. 

"I  am  tliinking  of  my  life,"  she  said,  with  a  momentary 
look  at  him. 

He  had  a  perception  that  she  was  one  of  many,  and  that 
he  saw  the  type  of  thousands  when  he  saw  her,  drooping  at 
Ids  feet. 

"  What  are  your  parents  ?  "  he  demanded. 

"  I  had  a  good  home  once.  My  father  was  a  gardener,  fcir 
away,  in  the  country." 

"Is  he  dead?" 

"  He 's  dead  to  me.    Ail  such  things  are  dead  to  me.     Yon 


THE   EAUNTED    MAN.  379 

a  gentleman,  and  not  know  that !  "  She  raised  her  eyes 
again,  and  laughed  at  him. 

"  Girl ! "  said  Redlaw  sternly,  "  before  this  death,  of  all 
such  things,  was  brought  about,  was  there  no  wrong  done  to 
you  ?  In  spite  of  all  that  you  can  do,  does  no  remembrance 
of  wrong  cleave  to  you  ?  Are  there  not  times  upon  times 
when  it  is  misery  to  you  ?  " 

So  little  of  what  was  womanly  was  left  in  her  appearance, 
that  now,  when  she  burst  into  tears,  he  stood  amazed.  But 
he  was  more  amazed,  and  much  disquieted,  to  note  that  in 
her  awakened  recollection  of  this  wrong,  the  first  trace  of  her 
old  humanity  and  frozen  tenderness  appeared  to  show  itself. 

He  drew  a  little  off,  and  in  doing  so,  observed  that  her 
arms  were  black,  her  face  cut,  and  her  bosom  bruised. 

"  What  brutal  hand  has  hurt  you  so  ?  "  he  asked. 

"  My  OAvn.     I  did  it  myself !  "  she  answered  quickly. 

"  It  is  impossible." 

"  I  'U  swear  I  did  !  He  didn't  touch  me.  I  did  it  to 
myself  in  a  passion,  and  threw  myself  down  here.  He 
wasn't  near  me.     He  never  laid  a  hand  upon  me  !  " 

In  the  white  determination  of  her  face,  confronting  him 
with  this  untruth,  he  saw  enough  of  the  last  perversion  and 
distortion  of  good  surviving  in  that  miserable  breast,  to  be 
stricken  with  remorse  that  he  had  ever  come  near  her. 

"  Sorrow,  wrong,  and  trouble  !  "  he  muttered,  txxming  his 
fearful  gaze  away.  "  AU  that  connects  her  with  the  state 
from  which  she  has  fallen,  has  those  roots  !  In  the  name  of 
God,  let  me  go  by  !  " 

Afraid  to  look  at  her  again,  afraid  to  touch  her,  afraid  to 
think  of  having  sundered  the  last  thread  by  which  she  held 
upon  the  mercy  of  Heaven,  he  gathered  his  cloak  about  him, 
and  glided  swiftly  up  the  stairs. 

Opposite  to  him,  on  the  landing,  was  a  door,  which  stood 
partly  open,  and  which,  as  he  ascended,  a  man  with  a  candle 
in  his  hand,  came  forward  from  within  to  shut.  But  this  man, 
on  seeing  him,  drew  back,  with  much  emotion  in  his  manner, 
and,  as  if  by  a  sudden  impulse,  mentioned  his  name  aloud. 

In  the  surprise  of  such  a  recognition  there,  he  stopped, 
endeavouring  to  recollect  the  wan  and  startled  face.  He  had 
no  time  to  consider  it,  for,  to  his  yet  greater  amazement,  old 
Philip  came  out  of  the  room,  and  took  him  by  the  hand. 

"Mr.  Redlaw,"  said  the  old  man,  "  this  is  like  you,  this  is 


380  THE   HAUNTED   MAN. 

like  you,  sir !  you  Imve  heard  of  it,  and  have  come  after  us  to 
render  any  help  you  can.     Ah,  too  late,  too  late  !  " 

Redlaw,  with  a  bewildered  look,  submitted  to  be  led  into 
the  room.  A  man  lay  there,  on  a  truckle-bed,  and  William 
Swidger  stood  at  the  bedside. 

"  Too  late  !"  murmured  the  old  man,  looking  wistfully  into 
the  Chemist's  face ;   and  the  tears  stole  down  his  cheeks. 

"  That 's  what  I  say,  father,"  interposed  his  son  in  a  low 
voice.  "  That 's  where  it  is,  exactly.  To  keep  as  quiet  as 
ever  we  can  while  he  's  a  dozing,  is  the  only  thing  to  do. 
You  're  right,  father  !  " 

Redlaw  paused  at  the  bedside,  and  looked  down  on  the 
figure  that  was  stretched  upon  the  mattress.  It  was  that  of  a 
man,  who  should  have  been  in  the  vigour  of  his  life,  but  on 
whom  it  was  not  likely  that  the  sun  would  ever  shine  again. 
The  vices  of  his  forty  or  fifty  years'  career  had  so  brxinded 
him,  that,  in  comparison  with  their  efi'ects  upon  his  face,  the 
heav}^  hand  of  time  upon  the  old  man's  face  who  watched  him 
had  been  merciful  and  beautifying. 

"  Who  is  this  ?  "  asked  the  Chemist,  looking  round. 

"  My  son  George,  Mr.  Redlaw,"  said  the  old  man,  wringing 
his  hands.  "  My  eldest  son,  George,  who  was  more  his 
mother's  pride  than  all  the  rest !  " 

Redlaw's  eyes  wandered  from  the  old  man's  grey  head,  as 
he  laid  it  down  upon  the  bed,  to  the  person  who  had  recog- 
nised him,  and  who  had  kept  aloof,  in  the  remotest  corner  of 
the  room.  He  seemed  to  be  about  his  own  age ;  and  although 
he  knew  no  such  hopeless  decay  and  broken  man  as  he 
appeared  to  be,  there  was  something  in  the  turn  of  his  figure, 
as  he  stood  with  his  back  towards  him,  and  now  went  out  at 
the  door,  that  made  him  pass  his  hand  uneasily  across  his 
brow. 

"William,"  he  said  in  a  gloomy  whisper,  "who  is  that 
man  ?  " 

"  Why  you  see,  sir,"  retxirned  Mr.  William,  "  that 's  what 
I  say,  myself.  Why  should  a  man  ever  go  and  gamble,  and 
the  like  of  that,  and  let  himself  down  inch  by  inch  till  he 
can't  let  himself  down  any  lower  !  " 

"  Has  he  done  so  ?  "  asked  Redlaw,  glancing  after  him  with 
the  same  uneasy  action  as  before. 

"  Just  exactly  that,  sir,"  returned  WiUiam  Swidger,  "  as 
I  'm  told.     He  knows  a  little  about  medicine,  sir,  it  seems , 


THE   HAUNTED   MAN.  381 

and  having  been  wayfaring  towards  London  with  my  unhappy 
brother  that  you  see  here,"  ^Ir.  William  passed  his  coat-sleeve 
across  his  eyes,  "  and  being  lodging  up  stairs  for  the  night — 
what  I  say,  you  see,  is  that  strange  companions  come  together 
here  sometimes — he  looked  in  to  attend  upon  him,  and  came 
for  us  at  his  request.  What  a  mournful  spectacle,  sir  !  But 
that 's  where  it  is.     It 's  enough  to  kill  my  father  !  " 

Redlaw  looked  up,  at  these  words,  and,  recalling  where  he 
was  and  with  whom,  and  the  spell  he  carried  with  him — 
which  his  surprise  had  obscured — retired  a  little,  hurriedly, 
debating  with  himself  whether  to  shun  the  house  that  moment, 
or  remain. 

Yielding  to  a  certain  sullen  doggedness,  which  it  seemed 
to  be  part  of  his  condition  to  struggle  with,  he  argued  for 
remaining. 

"Was  it  only  yesterday,"  he  said,  "when  I  observed  the 
memory  of  this  old  man  to  be  a  tissue  of  sorrow  and  trouble, 
and  shall  I  be  afraid,  to-night,  to  shake  it  ?  Are  such 
remembrances  as  I  can  drive  away,  so  precious  to  this  dying 
man  that  I  need  fear  for  him  ?     No,  I  '11  stay  here." 

But  he  stayed,  in  fear  and  trembling  none  the  less  for  these 
words  ;  and,  shrouded  in  his  black  cloak  with  his  face  turned 
from  them,  stood  away  from  the  bedside,  listening  to  what 
they  said,  as  if  he  felt  himself  a  demon  in  the  place. 

*'  Father  !  "  murmured  the  sick  man,  rallying  a  little  from 
his  stupor. 

"  My  boy  !     My  son  George !  "  said  old  Philip. 

"  You  spoke,  just  now,  of  my  bning  mother's  favourite,  long 
ago.     It 's  a  dreadful  thing  to  think  now,  of  long  ago  !  " 

"  Xo,  no,  no;"  returned  the  old  man.  "Think  of  it. 
Don't  say  it 's  dreadful.     It 's  not  dreadful  to  me,  my  son." 

"  It  cuts  you  to  the  heart,  father."  For  the  old  man's  tears 
were  falling  on  him. 

"  Yes,  yes,"  said  Philip,  "so  it  does;  but  it  does  me  good. 
It 's  a  heavy  sorrow  to  think  of  tliat  time,  but  it  does  me 
good,  George.  Oh,  tliink  of  it  too,  tliink  of  it  too,  and  your 
heart  will  be  softened  more  and  more  !  Wlif;re  \s  my  son 
WiUiara  ?  WiUiam,  my  boy,  your  mother  loved  him  dearly 
to  the  last,  and  witlx  her  latest  breath  said,  '  Tell  liim  I  for- 
gave him,  blessed  him,  and  prayed  for  him.'  Those  were 
her  words  to  me.  I  have  never  forgotten  them,  and  I  'm 
eighty -seven!  " 


382  THE   HAUNTED   MAX. 

"  Father  !  "  said  the  man  upon  the  bed,  "  I  am  dying,  I 
know.  I  am  so  far  gone,  that  I  can  hardly  speak,  even  cl 
what  my  mind  most  runs  on.  Is  there  any  hope  for  mo 
beyond  this  bed  ?  " 

"  There  is  hope,"  returned  the  old  man,  "  for  all  who  arc 
softened  and  penitent.  There  is  hope  for  all  such.  Oh !  "  he 
exclaimed,  clasping  his  hands  and  looking  up,  "  I  was  thank- 
ful, only  yesterday,  that  I  could  remember  this  unhappy  son 
when  he  was  an  innocent  child.  But  what  a  comfort  is  it,  now, 
to  think  that  even  God  himself  has  that  remembrance  of  him  ! " 

Redlaw  spread  his  hands  upon  his  face,  and  shrunk  like  a 
murderer. 

"  Ah ! "  feebly  moaned  the  man  upon  the  bed.  "  The  waste 
since  then,  the  waste  of  life,  since  then !  " 

"  But  he  was  a  child  once,"  said  the  old  man.  "  He  played 
with  children.  Before  he  lay  down  on  his  bed  at  night,  and 
fell  into  his  guiltless  rest,  he  said  his  prayers  at  his  poor 
mother's  knee.  I  have  seen  him  do  it,  many  a  time ;  and 
aeen  her  lay  his  head  upon  her  breast,  and  kiss  him.  Sorrow- 
ful as  it  was  to  her,  and  to  me,  to  think  of  this,  when  he 
went  so  wrong,  and  when  our  hopes  and  plans  for  him  were 
all  broken,  this  gave  him  still  a  hold  upon  us,  that  nothing 
else  could  have  given.  Oh,  Father,  so  much  better  than  the 
fathers  upon  earth !  Oh,  Father,  so  much  more  afflicted  by 
the  errors  of  thy  children  !  take  this  wanderer  back !  Not  as 
he  is,  but  as  he  was  then,  let  him  cry  to  thee,  as  he  has  so 
often  seemed  to  cry  to  us  !  " 

As  the  old  man  lifted  up  his  trembling  hands,  the  son,  for 
whom  he  made  the  supplication,  laid  his  sinking  head  against 
him  for  support  and  comfort,  as  if  he  were  indeed  the  child 
of  whom  he  spoke. 

When  did  man  ever  tremble,  as  Redlaw  trembled,  in  the 
silence  that  ensued  !  He  knew  it  must  come  upon  them,  knew 
that  it  was  coming  fast. 

"  My  time  is  very  short,  my  breath  is  shorter,"  said  the  sick 
man,  supporting  himself  on  one  arm,  and  with  the  othei 
groping  in  the  air,  "  and  I  remember  there  is  something  on 
my  mind  concerning  the  man  who  was  here  just  now 
Father  and  William — wait ! — is  there  really  anything  in 
black,  out  there  ?  " 

"  Yes,  yes.  it  is  real,"  said  lils  aged  father, 

"Is  it  a  m-m  i  " 


THE   HAUNTED    MAN.  383 

*'  What  I  say  myself,  Geoi-ge,"  interposed  his  brother, 
beuding  kindly  over  him.      "  It's  Mr.  Redlaw." 

"  I  thought  I  had  dreamed  of  him.    Ask  him  to  come  here." 

The  Chemist,  whiter  than  the  dying  man,  appeared  before 
him.  Obedient  to  the  motion  of  his  hand,  he  sat  upon  the 
bod. 

"  It  has  been  so  ripped  up  to-night,  sir,"  said  the  sick  man, 
laying  his  hand  upon  his  heart,  with  a  look  in  which  the 
mute,  imploring  agony  of  his  condition  was  concentrated,  "  by 
the  sight  of  my  poor  old  father,  and  the  thought  of  all  the 
trouble  I  have  been  the  cause  of,  and  all  the  wrong  and  sorrow 
lying  at  my  door,  that " 

Was  it  the  extremity  to  which  he  had  come,  or  was  it  the 
dawning  of  another  change,  that  made  him  stop  ? 

"  — that  what  I  cmi  do  right,  with  my  mind  running  on  so 
much,  so  fast,  I  '11  try  to  do.  There  was  another  man  here. 
Did  you  see  him  ?  " 

Redlaw  could  not  reply  by  any  word ;  for  when  he  saw  that 
fatal  sign  he  knew  so  well  now,  of  the  wandering  hand  upon 
the  forehead,  his  voice  died  at  his  lips.  But  he  made  some 
indication  of  assent. 

"  He  is  penniless,  hungry,  and  destitute.  He  is  completely 
beaten  down,  and  has  no  resource  at  all.  Look  after  him  I 
Lose  no  time !     I  know  he  has  it  in  his  mind  to  kill  himself." 

It  was  working.  It  was  on  his  face.  His  face  was 
changing,  hardening,  deepening  in  all  its  shades,  and  losing 
all  its  sorrow. 

"  Don't  you  remember  !    Don't  you  know  him  ?"  he  pursued 

He  shut  liis  face  out  for  a  moment,  with  the  hand  that 
again  wandered  over  his  forehead,  and  then  it  lowered  on 
Redlaw,  reckless,  ruffianly  and  callous. 

"  Why,  d — n  you  !  "  he  said,  scowling  round,  "  what  have 
you  been  doing  to  me  here  !  I  have  lived  bold,  and  I  mean 
to  die  bold.     To  the  Devil  with  you  !  " 

And  so  lay  down  upon  his  bed,  and  put  his  arms  up,  over 
his  head  and  ears,  as  resolute  from  that  time  to  keep  out  all 
access,  and  to  die  in  his  indifference. 

If  Redlaw  had  been  struck  by  lightning,  it  could  not  have 
struck  him  from  the  bedside  with  a  more  tremendous  shock. 
But  the  old  man,  who  had  left  the  bed  while  his  son  was 
speaking  to  him,  now  returning,  avoided  it  quickly  likewise, 
and  with  abhoiTence, 


384  •  THE   HAUNTED   !\IAN. 

"  Wliere  's  my  boy  William  ?  "  said  the  old  man,  hurriedly. 
"  "William,  come  away  from  here.     We  '11  go  home." 

"  Home,  father  !  "  returned  William.  "  Are  you  going  to 
leave  your  own  son  ?  " 

"  Wliere  's  my  own  son  ?  "  replied  the  old  man. 
"Where?  why,  there!" 

"That's  no  son  of  mine,"  said  Philip,  trembling  with 
resentment.  "  No  such  wretch  as  that,  has  any  claim  on  me. 
My  children  are  pleasant  to  look  at,  and  they  wait  upon  me, 
and  get  my  meat  and  drink  ready,  and  are  useful  to  mo. 
I  've  a  right  to  it !      I  'm  eighty-seven  !  " 

"You're  old  enough  to  be  no  older,"  muttered  William, 
looking  at  him  grudgingly,  with  his  hands  in  his  pockets. 
"  I  don't  know  what  good  you  are,  myself.  AVe  could  have  a 
deal  more  pleasure  without  you." 

"My  son,  Mr.  Redlaw  !  "  said  the  old  man.  "My  son, 
too  !  The  boy  talking  to  me  of  my  son  !  Why,  what  has  ho 
ever  done  to  give  me  any  pleasure,  I  should  like  to  know?  " 

"  I  don't  know  what  you  have  ever  done  to  give  me  any 
pleasure,"  said  William,  sulkily, 

"  Let  me  think,"  said  the  old  man.  "  For  how  many 
Christmas  times  running,  have  I  sat  in  my  warm  place,  and 
never  had  to  come  out  in  the  cold  night  air ;  and  have  made 
good  cheer,  without  being  disturbed  by  any  such  uncomfort- 
able, wretched  sight  as  him  there  ?  Is  it  twenty,  William  ?  " 
"  Nigher  forty,  it  seems,"  he  muttered.  "  Why,  when  I 
look  at  mj'  father,  sir,  and  come  to  think  of  it,"  addressing 
Redlaw,  with  an  impatience  and  irritation  that  were  quite 
new,  "  I  'm  whipped  if  I  can  see  anything  in  him,  but  a 
calendar  of  ever  so  many  years  of  eating,  and  drinking,  and 
making  himself  comfortable,  over  and  over  again." 

"  I — I  'm  eighty-seven,"  said  the  old  man,  rambling  on, 
childishly,  and  weakly,  "  and  I  don't  know  as  I  ever  was 
much  put  out  by  anything.  I  'm  not  a  going  to  begin  now, 
because  of  what  he  calls  my  son.  He  's  not  my  son.  I  've 
had  a  power  of  pleasant  times.  I  recollect  once — no  I  don't 
— no,  it's  broken  off.  It  was  something  about  a  game  of 
cricket  and  a  friend  of  mine,  but  it 's  somehow  broken  off.  I 
wonder  who  he  was — I  suppose  I  liked  him  ?  And  I  wonder 
what  became  of  him — I  suppose  he  died  ?  But  I  don't  know. 
And  I  don't  care,  neither ;  I  don't  care  a  bit," 

In  his  drowsy  chuckling,  and  the  shaking  of  his  head,  he 


THE    HAUNTED    MAN.  306 

put  his  hands  into  his  waistcoat  pockets.  In  oiip  of  tfimn  ho 
found  a  hit  of  holly  (left  there,  probably  last  nig-ht),  whit^li  he 
now  took  out,  and  looked  at. 

"  Berries,  eh  ?  "  said  the  old  man.  "  Ah  !  It 's  a  pity 
they  're  not  good  to  eat.  I  recollect  when  I  was  a  little 
chap  about  as  high  as  that,  and  out' a  walking  with — let 
me  see — who  was  I  out  a  walking  with  ? — no.  I  don't  re- 
member how  that  was.  I  don't  remember  as  I  ever  walked 
with  any  one  particular,  or  cared  for  any  one,  or  any  one 
■  for  me.  Berries,  eh  ?  There  's  good  cheer  -when  there  's 
berries.  Well;  I  ought  to  have  my  share  of  it,  and  to  be 
waited  on,  and  kept  warm  and  comfortable ;  for  I  'm  eighty- 
seven,  and  a  poor  old  man.  I  'm  eigh-ty-seven.  Eigh-ty- 
seven  !  " 

The  drivelling,  pitiable  manner  in  which,  as  he  repeated 
this,  he  nibbled  at  the  leaves,  and  spat  the  morsels  out ;  the 
cold,  uninterested  eye  with  which  his  youngest  son  (so 
changed)  regarded  him ;  the  determined  apathy  with  which 
his  eldest  son  lay  hardened  in  his  sin  ; — impressed  themselves 
no  more  on  Redlaw's  observation  ;  for  he  broke  his  way  from 
the  spot  to  which  his  feet  seemed  to  have  been  fixed,  and  ran 
out  of  the  house. 

His  guide  came  crawling  forth  from  his  place  of  refuge, 
and  was  ready  for  him  before  he  reached  the  arches. 

"  Back  to  the  woman's?  "  he  inquired. 

"  Back,  quickly  !  "  answered  Redlaw.  "  Stop  nowhere  on 
the  way!  " 

For  a  short  distance  the  boy  went  on  before ;  but  their 
return  was  more  like  a  ilight  than  a  walk,  and  it  was  as  much 
as  his  }>are  feet  could  do,  to  keep  pace  with  the  Chemist's 
rapid  strides.  Shrinking  from  all  who  passed,  shrouded  in 
his  cloak,  and  keeping  it  drawn  closely  about  him,  as  though 
there  were  mortal  contagion  in  any  fluttering  touch  of  his 
garments,  he  made  no  pause  until  they  reached  the  door  by 
which  they  had  come  out.  He  unlocked  it  with  his  key,  went 
in,  accompanied  by  the  boy,  and  hastened  thi-ough  the  dark 
passages  to  his  own  chamber. 

The  boy  watched  him  as  he  made  the  door  fast,  and  witli- 
drew  beliind  tlie  table  when  he  looked  round. 

"  Come  !  "  he  said.  "Don't  you  touch  me!  You've  not 
hrouglit  me  here  to  take  my  money  away." 

Kodlaw  threw  some  more  upon  the  ground.     He  flung  his 


380  THE    HAUNTED    MAS'. 

body  on  it  immediately,  as  if  to  hide  it  from  him,  lest  tho 
eight  of  it  should  tempt  him  to  reclaim  it;  and  not  until  he 
saw  him  seated  by  his  lamp,  with  his  face  hidden  in  his 
hands,  began  furtively  to  pick  it  up.  \Vhen  he  had  done  so, 
lie  crept  near  the  fire,  and  sitting  down  in  a  great  chair  before 
it,  took  from  his  breast  some  broken  scraps  of  food,  and  fell 
to  munching,  and  to  staring  at  the  blaze,  and  now  and.  then 
to  glancing  at  his  shillings,  which  he  kept  clenched  up  in  a 
bunch,  in  one  hand. 

"And  this,"  said  Redlaw,  gazing  on  him  with  increasing 
repugnance  and  fear,  "  is  the  only  one  companion  I  have  left 
on  earth  !  " 

How  long  it  was  before  he  was  aroused  from  his  contempla- 
tion of  this  creature  whom  he  dreaded  so — whether  half  an 
hour,  or  half  the  night — he  knew  not.  Biit  the  stillness  of 
the  room  was  broken  by  the  boy  (whom  he  had  seen  listening) 
starting  up,  and  running  towards  the  door. 

"  Here  's  the  woman  coming  !  "  he  exclaimed. 

The  Chemist  stopped  him  on  his  way,  at  the  moment  when 
she  knocked. 

"  Let  me  go  to  her,  -ndll  you  ?  "  said  the  boy. 

"  Not  now,"  retiu'ned  the  Chemist.  "  Stay  here.  Nobody 
must  pass  in  or  out  of  the  room,  now.     Who  's  that  ?  " 

"  It 's  I,  sir,"  cried  Milly.      "  Pray,  sir,  let  me  in." 

"  No  !  not  for  the  world  !  "  he  said. 

"  Mr.  Redlaw,  Mr.  Redlaw,  jDray,  sir,  let  me  in." 

"  What  is  the  matter  ?  "  he  said,  holding  the  boy. 

"  The  miserable  man  you  saw,  is  worse,  and  nothing  I  can 
say  wiU  wake  him  from  his  terrible  infatuation.  William's 
father  has  tm-ned  childish  in  a  moment.  William  himself  is 
changed.  The  shock  has  been  too  sudden  for  him  ;  I  can- 
not understand  him  :  he  is  not  like  himself.  Oh,  Mr.  Redlaw", 
pray  advise  me,  help  me  !  " 

"  No  !   No  !  No  !  "  he  answered. 

"  Mr.  Redlaw  !  Dear  sir  !  George  has  been  muttering  in 
his  doze,  about  the  man  you  saw  there,  wlio,  he  fears,  will 
kill  himself." 

"  Better  he  should  do  it,  than  come  near  me  !  " 

"  He  says,  in  his  wandering,  that  you  know  him ;  that  ho 
was  your  friend  once,  long  ago ;  that  he  is  the  ruined  fixther 
of  a  student  here — my  mind  misgives  me,  of  the  young 
g-entleman  who  has  been  ill.      What  is  to  be  done  ?     How  i,i 


THE    HAUNT  150    MAN.  387 

he  to  be  followed  ?  How  is  he  to  be  saved  ?  Mr,  Redlaw, 
pray,  oh,  pray  advise  me  !     Help  me  !  " 

All  this  time  he  held  the  boy,  who  was  half-mad  to  pass 
him,  and  let  her  in. 

"  Phantoms !  Punishers  of  impious  thoughts !  "  cried 
Redlaw,  gazing  round  in  anguish,  "  Look  upon  me  !  From 
the  darkness  of  my  mind,  let  the  glimmering  of  contrition 
that  I  know  is  there,  shine  up,  and  show  my  misery  !  In 
the  material  world,  as  I  have  long  taught,  nothing  can  be 
spared ;  no  step  or  atom  in  the  wondrous  structure  could  be 
lost,  without  a  blank  being  made  in  the  great  universe.  I 
know,  now,  that  it  is  the  same  with  good  and  evil,  happiness 
tmd  sorrow,  in  the  memories  of  men.   Pity  me  !   Relieve  me  !  " 

There  was  no  response,  but  her  "  Help  me,  help  me,  let 
me  in  !  "  and  the  boy's  struggling  to  get  to  her. 

"  Shadow  of  myself!  Spirit  of  my  darker  hours  !  "  cried 
Redlaw,  in  distraction,  "  Come  back,  and  haunt  me  day  and 
night,  but  take  this  gift  away !  Or,  if  it  must  still  rest  with 
me,  deprive  me  of  the  di-eadful  power  of  giving  it  to  others. 
Undo  what  I  have  done.  Leave  me  benighted,  but  restore 
the  day  to  those  whom  I  have  cursed.  As  I  have  spared 
this  woman  from  the  first,  and  as  I  never  wiU  go  forth  again, 
but  will  die  here,  with  no  hand  to  tend  nae,  save  this 
creature's  who  is  proof  against  me, — hear  me  !  " 

The  only  reply  still  was,  the  boy  struggling  to  get  to  her, 
while  he  held  him  back  ;  and  the  cry  increasing  in  its  energy, 
"  Help  !  let  me  in.  He  was  your  friend  once,  how  shall  he 
be  followed,  how  shall  he  be  saved  ?  They  are  all  changed, 
there  is  no  one  else  to  help  me,  pray,  pray,  let  mc  in !  " 


888  THE   UAUNTED   MAN. 


cnAPTEH  in. 

THE    GIFT   KEVEKSED. 

Night  was  still  heavy  in  the  sky.  On  open  plains,  from 
hill-tops  and  from  the  decks  of  solitary  ships  at  sea,  a  distant 
low-lying  line,  that  promised  by-and-by  to  change  to  light, 
was  visible  in  the  dim  horizon ;  bvit  its  promise  was  remote 
and  doubtful,  and  the  moon  was  striving  with  the  night-clouds 
busily. 

The  shadows  upon  Redlaw's  mind  succeeded  thick  and  fast 
to  one  another,  and  obscured  its  light  as  the  night-clouds 
hovered  between  the  moon  and  earth,  and  kept  the  latter 
veiled  in  darkness.  Fitful  and  uncertain  as  the  shadows 
which  the  night-clouds  cast,  were  their  concealments  from 
him,  and  imperfect  revelations  to  him ;  and,  like  the  night- 
clouds  still,  if  the  clear  light  broke  forth  for  a  moment,  it 
was  only  that  they  might  sweep  over  it,  and  make  the  dark- 
ness deeper  than  before. 

Without,  there  was  a  profound  and  solemn  hush  upon  the 
ancient  pile  of  building,  and  its  buttresses  and  angles  made 
dark  shapes  of  mystery  upon  the  ground,  which  now  seemed 
to  retire  into  the  smooth  white  snow  and  now  seemed  to 
come  out  of  it,  as  the  moon's  path  was  more  or  less  beset. 
Within,  the  Chemist's  room  was  indistinct  and  murky,  by  the 
light  of  the  expiring  lamp ;  a  ghostly  silence  had  succeeded 
to  the  knocking  and  the  voice  outside  ;  nothing  was  audible 
but,  now  and  then,  a  low  sound  among  the  whitened  ashes 
of  the  fire,  as  of  its  yielding  up  its  last  breath.  Before  it  on 
tlie  ground  the  boy  lay  fast  asleep.  In  his  chair,  the  Chemist 
sat,  as  he  had  sat  there  since  the  calling  at  his  door  had 
ceased — like  a  man  turned  to  stone. 

At  such  a  time,  the  Christmas  music  he  had  heard  before, 
began  to  play.  He  listened  to  it  at  first,  as  he  had  listened 
in  the  churchyard  ;  but  presently — it  pla^dng  still,  and  being 
borne  towards  him  on  the  night -air,  in  a  low,   sweet,  melan- 


THE  HAUNTED    MAN.  389 

choly  strain — he  rose,  and  stood  stretching  his  hands  about 
him,  as  if  there  were  some  friend  approaching  within  his 
reach,  on  whom  his  desolate  touch  might  rest,  yet  do  no 
harm.  As  he  did  this,  his  face  became  less  fixed  and  wonder- 
ing ;  a  gentle  trembling  came  upon  him  ;  and  at  last  his  eyes 
filled  with  tears,  and  he  put  his  hands  before  them,  and 
bowed  down  his  head. 

His  memory  of  sorrow,  wrong,  and  trouble,  had  not  come 
back  to  him ;  he  loiew  that  it  was  not  restored  ;  he  had  no 
passing  belief  or  hop_g  that  it  was.  But  some  dixmb  stir  within 
him  made  him  capable,  again,  of  being  moved  by  what  was 
hidden,  afar  off,  in  the  music.  If  it  were  only  that  it  told 
him  sorrowfully  the  value  of  what  he  had  lost,  he  thanked 
Heaven  for  it  with  a  fervent  gratitude. 

As  the  last  chord  died  upon  his  ear,  he  raised  his  head  to 
listen  to  its  lingering  vibration.  Beyond  the  boy,  so  that  his 
sleeping  figure  lay  at  its  feet,  the  Phantom  stood,  immove- 
able and  silent,  with  its  eyes  upon  him. 

Ghastly  it  was,  as  it  had  ever  been,  but  not  so  cruel  and 
relentless  in  its  aspect — or  he  thought  or  hoped  so,  as  he 
looked  upon  it,  trembling.  It  was  not  alone,  but  in  its 
shadowy  hand  it  held  another  hand. 

And  whose  was  that  ?  Was  the  form  that  stood  beside  it 
indeed  Milly's,  or  but  her  shade  and  picture  ?  The  quiet 
head  was  bent  a  little,  as  her  manner  was,  and  her  eyes  were 
looking  down,  as  if  in  pity,  on  the  sleeping  child.  A 
radiant  light  fell  on  her  face,  but  did  not  touch  the  Phantom ; 
for,  though  close  beside  her,  it  was  dark  and  colourless  as 
ever. 

"  Spectre  !  "  said  the  Chemist,  newly  troubled  as  he  looked, 
"  I  have  not  been  stubborn  or  presumptuous  in  respect  of  her. 
Oh,  do  not  bring  her  here.      Spare  me  that !  " 

"This  is  but  a  shadow,"  said  the  Phantom;  "when  the 
morning  shines,  seek  out  the  reality  whose  image  I  present 
before  you." 

••  Is  it  my  inexorable  doom  to  do  so  ?  "  cried  the  Chemist. 

"  It  is,"  replied  the  Phantom. 

"  To  destroy  her  peace,  her  goodness;  to  make  her  what  I 
am  myself,  and  what  I  have  made  of  others  !  " 

"  I  have  said  '  seek  her  out,'  "  returned  the  Phantom.  "  I 
have  said  no  more." 

"  Oh^  teU  me,"   exclaimed   Redlaw,  catching  at  the  hopo 


390  THE    HAUNTED    MAN. 

which  he  fancied  might  lie  hidden  in  the  words.     "  Can  I 
undo  what  I  have  done  ?  " 

"No,"  returned  the  Phantom. 

"I  do  not  ask  for  restoration  to  myself,"  said  Redlaw. 
"  What  I  abandoned,  I  abandoned  of  my  own  wiU,  and  have 
justly  lost.  But  for  those  to  whom  I  have  transferred  the  fatal 
gift ;  who  never  sought  it ;  who  unknowingly  received  a 
curse  of  which  they  had  no  warning,  and  which  they  had 
no  power  to  shun  ;  can  I  do  nothing  ?  " 

"  Nothing,"  said  the  Phantom.  ^ 

"  If  I  cannot,  can  any  one  ?  " 

The  Phantom,  standing  like  a  statue,  kept  its  gaze  upon 
him  for  a  while ;  then  turned  its  head  suddenly,  and  looked 
upon  the  shadow  at  its  side. 

"  Ah  !  Can  she?"  cried  Redlaw,  still  looking  upon  the  shade. 

The  Phantom  released  the  hand  it  had  retained  till  now, 
and  softly  raised  its  own  with  a  gesture  of  dismissal.  Upon 
that,  her  shadow,  still  preserving  the  same  attitude,  began 
to  move  or  melt  away. 

"  Stay,"  cried  Redlaw,  with  an  earnestness  to  which  he 
could  not  give  enough  expression.  "  For  a  moment !  As 
an  act  of  mercy !  I  know  that  some  change  fell  upon  me, 
when  those  sounds  were  in  the  air  just  now.  Tell  me  have  I 
lost  the  power  of  harming  lier  ?  May  I  go  near  her  without 
dread  ?     Oh,  let  her  give  me  any  sign  of  hope  !  " 

The  Phantom  looked  upon  the  shade  as  he  did — not  at  him 
— and  gave  no  answer. 

"  At  least,  say  tliis — has  she,  henceforth,  the  conscious- 
ness of  any  power  to  set  right  what  I  have  done  ?  " 

"  She  has  not,"  the  Phantom  answered. 

"Has  she  the  power  bestowed  on  her  without  the  con- 
sciousness? " 

The  Phantom  answered :  "  Seek  her  out."  And  her  shadow 
slowly  vanished. 

They  were  face  to  face  again,  and  looking  on  each  other  as 
intently  and  awfully  as  at  the  time  of  the  bestowal  of  the  gift, 
across  the  boy  who  still  lay  on  the  ground  between  them,  at 
the  Phantom's  feet. 

"  Terrible  instructor,"  said  the  Chemist,  sinking  on  his 
knee  before  it,  in  an  attitude  of  supplication,  "  by  whom  I  was 
renounced,  but  by  whom  I  am  revisited  (in  which,  and  in 
whose  milder  aspect,  I  would  fain  believe  I  have  a  gleam  of 


THE   HAUNTED   MAN.  S91 

hope),  I  will  obey  without  inquiry,  praying  that  the  cry  I 
have  sent  up  in  the  anguish  of  my  soul  has  been,  or  will  be 
heard,  in  behalf  of  those  whom  I  have  injui-ed  beyond  human 
reparation.     But  there  is  one  thing — " 

"You  speak  to  me  of  what  is  lying  here,"  the  Phantom 
interposed,  and  pointed  with  its  finger  to  the  boy. 

"  I  do,"  returned  the  Chemist.  "  You  know  what  I  would 
ask.  Why  has  this  child  alone  been  proof  against  my  influence, 
and  why,  why,  have  I  detected  in  its  thoughts  a  terrible  com- 
panionship with  mine  ?  " 

"This,"  said  the  Phantom,  pointing  to  the  boy,  "is  the 
last,  completest  illustration  of  a  human  creature,  utterly  bereft 
of  such  remembrances  as  you  have  yielded  up.  No  softening 
memory  of  sorrow,  wrong,  or  trouble  enters  here,  because 
this  wretched  mortal  from  his  birth  has  been  abandoned  to  a 
worse  condition  than  the  beasts,  and  has,  within  his  know- 
ledge, no  one  contrast,  no  humanising  touch,  to  make  a 
grain  of  such  a  memory  spring  up  in  his  hardened  breast. 
All  within  this  desolate  creature  is  barren  wilderness.  All 
within  the  man  bereft  of  what  you  have  resigned,  is  the  same 
barren  wilderness.  Woe  to  such  a  man !  Woe,  tenfold,  to 
the  nation  that  shall  count  its  monsters  such  as  this,  lying 
here  by  hundreds  and  by  thousands  !  " 

Redlaw  shrunk,  appalled,  from  what  he  heard. 

"  There  is  not,"  said  the  Phantom,  "one  of  these — not  one 
— but  sows  a  harvest  that  mankind  must  reap.  From  every 
seed  of  evil  in  this  boy,  a  field  of  ruin  is  grown  that  shall 
be  gathered  in,  and  gai^nered  up,  and  sown  again  in  many 
places  in  the  world,  until  regions  are  overspread  with 
wickedness  enough  to  raise  the  waters  of  another  Deluge. 
Open  and  unpunished  murder  in  a  city's  streets  would  be  less 
guilty  in  its  daily  toleration,  than  one  such  spectacle  as  this." 

It  seemed  to  look  down  upon  the  boy  in  his  sleep.  Redlaw, 
too,  looked  down  upon  him  with  a  now  emotion. 

"  There  is  not  a  father  "  said  the  Phantom,  "  by  whose  side 
in  his  daily  or  his  nightly  walk,  these  creatures  pass ;  there  is 
not  a  mother  among  all  the  ranks  of  loving  mothers  in  this 
land;  there  is  no  one  risen  from  the  state  of  childhood,  but  shall 
be  responsible  in  his  or  her  degree  for  this  enormity.  There 
is  not  a  country  tliroughout  tlie  earth  on  which  it  would  not 
bring  a  curse.  There  is  no  religion  upon  earth  that  it  would  not 
deny ;  tliere  is  no  people  upon  earth  it  would  not  put  to  shamo." 


092  THE   HAUNT  ID    MAN. 

ITie  Chemist  clasped  his  hands,  and  looked,  with  trembling 
fear  and  pity,  from  the  sleeping  boy  to  the  Phantom,  standing 
above  him  with  its  finger  pointing  down. 

"  Behold,  I  say,"  pursued  the  Spectre,  "the  perfect  type  of 
what  it  was  your  choice  to  be.  Your  influence  is  powerless 
here,  because  from  this  child's  bosom  you  can  banish  nothing. 
His  thoughts  have  been  in  '  terrible  companionship '  with 
yours,  because  you  have  gone  down  to  his  unnatural  level. 
He  is  the  growth  of  man's  indifference ;  you  are  the  growth 
of  man's  presumption  The  beneficent  design  of  Heaven  is, 
iu  each  case,  overthrown,  and  from  the  two  poles  of  the 
immaterial  world  you  come  together." 

The  Chemist  stooped  upon  the  ground  beside  the  boy,  and 
with  the  same  kind  of  compassion  for  him  that  he  now  felt 
for  himself,  covered  him  as  he  slept,  and  no  longer  shrunk 
from  him  with  abhorrence  or  indifference. 

Soon,  now,  the  distant  line  on  the  horizon  brightened,  the 
darkness  faded,  the  sun  rose  red  and  glorious,  and  the  chimney 
stacks  and  gables  of  the  ancient  building  gleamed  in  the  clear 
air,  which  turned  the  smoke  and  vapour  of  the  city  into  a 
cloud  of  gold.  The  very  sundial  in  his  shady  corner,  where 
the  wind  was  used  to  spin  with  such  un- windy  constancy, 
shook  off  the  finer  particles  of  snow  that  had  accumulated  on 
his  dull  old  face  in  the  night,  and  looked  out  at  tlie  little 
white  wreaths  eddying  round  and  round  him.  Doubtless  some 
blind  groping  of  the  morning  made  its  way  down  into  the 
forgotten  ciypt  so  cold  and  earthy,  where  the  Norman  arches 
were  half  buried  in  the  ground,  and  stirred  the  didl  sap  in 
the  lazy  vegetation  hanging  to  the  walls,  and  quickened  the 
slow  principle  of  life  within  the  little  world  of  wonderful  and 
delicate  creation  which  existed  there,  with  some  faint  know- 
ledge that  the  sun  was  up. 

The  Tetterbys  were  up,  and  doing.  Mr.  Tetterby  took 
down  the  shutters  of  the  shop,  and,  strip  by  strip,  revealed 
the  treasures  of  the  window  to  the  eyes,  so  proof  against  their 
seductions,  of  Jerusalem  Buildings.  Adolphus  had  been  out 
.so  long  already,  that  he  was  halfway  on  to  Morning  Pepper. 
Five  small  Tetterbys,  whose  ten  round  eyes  were  much  inflamed 
by  soap  and  friction,  were  in  the  tortures  of  a  cool  wash  in  tho 
back  kitchen ;  Mrs.  Tetterby  presiding.  Johnny,  who  was 
pu.slied  and  hustled  through  his  toilet  with  great  rapidity 
when   Moloch  chanced  to   be  iu  an  exacting-  fi-ume  of  mind 


THE    HADNTID    MAN.  393 

(■which  was  always  the  case),  staggered  up  and  down  with  his 
charge  before  the  shop  door,  under  greater  difficulties  than 
usual ;  the  weight  of  Moloch  being  much  increased  by  a  com- 
plication of  defences  against  the  cold,  composed  of  knitted 
worsted-work,  and  forming  a  complete  suit  of  chain-armour, 
with  a  head-piece  and  blue  gaiters. 

It  was  a  peculiarity  of  this  baby  to  be  always  cutting  teeth. 
Whether  they  never  came,  or  whether  they  came  and  went 
away  again,  is  not  in  evidence ;  but  it  had  certainly  cut 
enough,  on  the  showing  of  ]Mrs.  Tetterby,  to  make  a  hand- 
some dental  provision  for  the  sign  of  the  Bull  and  Mouth. 
All  sorts  of  objects  were  impressed  for  the  rubbing  of  its 
gums,  notwithstanding  that  it  always  carried,  dangling  at  its 
waist  (which  was  immediately  under  its  chin),  a  bone  ring, 
large  enough  to  have  represented  the  rosary  of  a  young  nun. 
Knife-handles,  umbrella-tops,  the  heads  of  walking-sticks 
selected  from  the  stock,  the  fingers  of  the  family  in  general, 
but  especially  of  Johnny,  nutmeg-graters,  crusts,  the  handles 
of  doors,  and  the  cool  knobs  on  the  tops  of  pokers,  were  among 
the  commonest  instruments  indiscriminately  apphed  for  this 
baby's  reHef.  The  amount  of  electricity  that  must  have  been 
rubbed  out  of  it  in  a  week,  is  not  to  be  calculated.  Still 
Mrs.  Tetterby  always  said  "  it  was  coming  through,  and  then 
the  child  would  be  herself ;  "  and  still  it  never  did  come 
througli,  and  the  child  continued  to  be  somebody  else. 

The  tempers  of  the  little  Tetterbys  had  sadly  changed  with 
a  few  hours.  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Tetterby  themselves  were  not 
more  altered  than  their  oll'spring.  Usually  they  were  an 
unselfish,  good-natured,  yielding  little  race,  sharing  short- 
commons  when  it  happened  (which  was  pretty  often)  con- 
tentedly and  even  generously,  and  taking  a  great  deal  of 
enjoyment  out  of  a  very  little  meat.  But  they  were  fighting 
now,  not  only  for  the  soap  and  water,  but  even  for  the  break- 
fast which  was  yet  in  perspective.  The  hand  of  every  little 
Tetterby  was  against  the  other  little  Tetterbys ;  and  even 
Johnny's  hand — the  patient,  much-enduring,  and  devoted 
Johnny — rose  against  tlie  babj' !  Yes.  Mrs.  Tetterby,  going 
to  the  door  by  a  mere  accident,  saw  him  viciously  pick  out  a 
weak  place  in  the  suit  of  aruiour,  where  a  slap  would  tell,  and 
slap  tliat  blessed  child. 

Mrs.  Tetterby  had  him  into  the  parlor,  by  the  collar,  in  that 
Game  flash  of  time,  and  repaid  him  the  assault  with  usui-y  thereto. 


394  THE   HAUNTED    MAN. 

"  You  Lrute,  you  murdering  little  boy,"  said  Mrs.  TetterLy. 
"  Had  you  the  heart  to  do  it  ?  " 

"  Why  don't  her  teeth  come  through,  then,"  retorted 
Johnny,  in  a  loud  rebellious  voice,  "  instead  of  bothering  me? 
How  would  you  like  it  yourself?  " 

"Like  it,  sir!"  said  Mrs.  Tetterby,  relieving  him  of  his 
dishonoiu'ed  load. 

"Yes,  like  it,"  said  Johnny.  "How  would  you?  Not  at 
all.  If  you  was  me,  you  'd  go  for  a  soldier.  I  will,  too. 
There  an't  no  babies  in  the  army." 

Mr.  Tetterby,  who  had  arrived  upon  the  scene  of  action, 
rubbed  his  chin  thoughtfully,  instead  of  correcting  the  rebel, 
and  seemed  rather  struck  by  this  view  of  a  military  life. 

"I  wish  I  was  in  the  army  myself,  if  the  child's  in  tho 
right,"  said  Mrs.  Tetterby,  looking  at  her  husband,  "  for  I 
have  no  peace  of  my  life  here.  I  'ra  a  slave — a  Virginia 
slave ;  "  some  indistinct  association  with  their  weak  descent 
on  the  tobacco  trade  perhaps  suggested  this  aggravated  ex- 
pression to  Mrs.  Tetterby.  "  I  never  have  a  holiday,  or  any 
pleasure  at  all,  from  year's  end  to  year's  end !  Why,  Lord 
bless  and  save  the  child,"  said  Mrs.  Tetterby,  shaking  the 
baby  with  an  irritability  hardly  suited  to  so  pious  an  aspiration, 
"  what 's  the  matter  with  her  now  ?  " 

Not  being  able  to  discover,  and  not  rendering  the  subject 
much  clearer  by  shaking  it,  Mrs.  Tetterby  put  the  baby  away 
in  a  cradle,  and,  folding  her  arms,  sat  rocking  it  angrily  with 
her  foot. 

"  How  you  stand  there,  'Dolphus,"  said  Mrs.  Tetterby  to 
her  husband.      "  Why  don't  you  do  something?  " 

"Because  I  don't  care  about  doing  anything,"  Mr.  Tetterby 
replied. 

"  I  'm  sure  I  don't,"  said  Mrs.  Tetterby. 

"  I  'U  take  my  oath  I  don't,"  said  Mr.  Tetterby. 

A  diversion  arose  here  among  Johnny  and  his  five  younger 
brothers,  who,  in  preparing  the  family  breakfast  table,  had 
fallen  to  skirmishing  for  the  temporary  possession  of  the  loaf, 
and  were  buifeting  one  another  with  great  heartiness ;  the 
smallest  boy  of  all,  with  precocious  discretion,  hovering  outside 
the  knot  of  combatants,  and  harassing  their  legs.  Into  the 
midst  of  this  fray,  Mr.  and  Sirs.  Tetterby  both  precipitated 
themselves  with  great  ardour,  as  if  such  ground  were  the  only 
gfrouud  on  which  they  cfiuld  now  agree ;  and  liaving,  with  no 


THE    HAUNTED   MAN.  896 

visible  remains  of  their  late  soft-lieartedness,  laid  about  them 
without  any  lenity,  and  done  much  execution,  resumed  their 
former  relative  positions. 

"  You  had  better  read  your  paper  than  do  nothing  at  all/' 
said  Mrs.  Tetterby. 

"What 's  there  to  read  in  a  paper  ?  "  returned  Mr.  Tetterby, 
with  excessive  discontent. 

"  What  ?  "  said  Mrs.  Tetterby.     "  Police." 

"It's  nothing  to  me,"  said  Tetterby.  "What  do  I  cara 
what  people  do,  or  are  done  to." 

"  Suicides,"  suggested  Mrs.  Tetterby. 

"  No  business  of  mine,"  replied  her  husband. 

"Births,  deaths,  and  marriages,  are  those  nothing  to  you?" 
said  Mrs.  Tetterby, 

"  If  the  births  were  all  over  for  good,  and  all  to-day;  and 
the  deaths  were  aU  to  begin  to  come  off  to-morrow ;  I  don't 
see  why  it  should  interest  me,  till  I  thought  it  was  a-coming 
to  my  turn,"  grumbled  Tetterby.  "As  to  marriages,  I  've 
done  it  mj'self.      I  know  quite  enough  about  them." 

To  judge  from  the  dissatisfied  expression  of  her  face  and 
manner,  Mrs.  Tetterby  appeared  to  entertain  the  same  opinions 
as  her  husband;  but  she  opposed  him,  nevertheless,  for  the 
gi'atification  of  quarrelling  with  him. 

"  Oh,  you're  a  consistent  man,"  said  Mrs.  Tetterby,  "  an't 
you  ?  You,  with  the  screen  of  your  own  making  there,  made 
of  nothing  else  but  bits  of  newspapers,  which  you  sit  and  read 
to  the  children  by  the  half-hour  together !  " 

"  Say  used  to,  if  jou.  please,"  returned  her  husband.  "  You 
won't  find  me  doing  so  any  more.     I  'm  wiser  now." 

"  Bah !  wiser,  indeed !  "  said  Mrs.  Tetterby.  "  Are  you 
better?" 

The  question  sounded  some  discordant  note  in  Mr.  Tetterby'a 
breast.  He  ruminated  dejectedly,  and  passed  his  hand  across 
and  across  his  forehead. 

"  Better !  "  murmured  Mr.  Tetterby  "  I  don't  know  as 
any  of  us  are  better,  or  happier  either       Better,  is  it  ?  " 

He  turned  to  the  screen,  and  traced  about  it  with  his  finger, 
until  he  found  a  certain  paragraph  of  which  he  was  in  quest. 

"This  used  to  be  one  of  tlie  family  favourites,  I  recoLlact," 
said  Tetterby,  in  a  forlorn  and  stupid  way,  "  and  used  to 
draw  tears  from  the  children,  and  make  'em  good,  if  there 
was  any  little  bickering  or   discontent   among  'em,  next  to 


306  TOE    HAUNTED    MAN. 

the  story  of  the  robin  redbreasts  in  the  wood.  '  Melancholy 
case  of  destitution.  Yesterday  a  small  man,  with  a  baby  in 
his  arms,  and  surrounded  by  half-a-dozen  ragged  little  ones, 
of  various  ages  between  ten  and  two,  the  whole  of  whom  were 
evidently  in  a  famishing  condition,  appeared  before  the  worthy 
magistrate,  and  made  the  following  recital :  ' — Ha !  I  don't 
understand  it,  I  'm  sure,"  said  Tetterby;  "I  don't  see  what 
it  has  got  to  do  with  us." 

"  How  old  and  shabby  he  looks,"  said  Mrs.  Tetterby, 
watching  him.  "  I  never  saw  such  a  change  in  a  man.  Ah  ! 
dear  me,  dear  me,  dear  me,  it  was  a  sacrifice !  " 

"  What  was  a  sacrifice  ?  "  her  husband  sourly  inquired. 

Mrs.  Tetterby  shook  her  head  ;  and  without  replying  in 
words,  raised  a  complete  sea-storm  about  the  baby,  by  her 
violent  agitation  of  the  cradle. 

"  If  you  mean  your  marriage  was  a  sacrifice,  my.  good 
woman —  "  said  her  husband. 

"I  do  mean  it,"  said  his  wife. 

"  Why,  then  I  mean  to  say,"  pursued  Mr.  Tetterby,  as 
sulkily  and  surlily  as  she,  "  that  there  are  two  sides  to  that 
affair ;  and  that  I  was  the  sacrifice ;  and  that  I  wish  the 
sacrifice  hadn't  been  accepted." 

"  I  wish  it  hadn't,  Tetterby,  with  all  my  heart  and  soul, 
I  do  assure  you,"  said  his  wife.  "  You  can't  wish  it  more 
than  I  do,  Tetterby." 

"  I  don't  know  what  I  saw  in  her,"  muttered  the  news- 
man, "  I  'm  sure  ; — certainly,  if  I  saw  anj^thing,  it 's  not 
there  now.  I  was  thinking  so,  last  night,  after  supper,  by 
the  fire.  She  's  fat,  she  's  ageing,  she  won't  bear  comparison 
with  most  other  women." 

"  He 's  common-looking,  he  has  no  air  with  him,  he  's 
small,  he 's  beginning  to  stoop,  and  he 's  getting  bald," 
muttered  Mrs.  Tetterby. 

"  I  must  have  been  half  out  of  my  mind  when  I  did  it," 
muttered  Mr.  Tetterby. 

'•  My  senses  must  have  forsook  me.  That 's  the  only  way 
in  which  I  can  explain  it  to  myself,"  said  Mrs.  Tetterby, 
with  elaboration. 

In  this  mood  they  sat  down  to  breakfast.  The  little 
Tetterbys  were  not  habituated  to  regard  that  meal  in  the  light 
of  a  sedentary  occupation,  but  discussed  it  as  a  dance  or  trot ; 
rather  resembling  a  savage  ceremony,  in  the  occasional  shrill 


THE   HAUNTED    MAN.  397 

whoops,  and  brandisliing-s  of  bread  and  butter,  with,  which 
it  was  accompanied,  as  well  as  in  the  intricate  filings  off 
into  the  street  and  back  again,  and  the  hoppings  up  and 
down  the  doorsteps,  which  were  incidental  to  the  perform- 
ance. In  the  present  instance,  the  contentions  between  these 
Tetterby  children  for  the  milk-and-water  jug,  common  to  all, 
which  stood  upon  the  table,  presented  so  lamentable  an  instance 
of  angry  passions  risen  very  high  indeed,  that  it  was  an  out- 
rag'e  on  the  memory  of  Dr.  Watts.  It  was  not.  until  Mr. 
Tetterby  had  driven  the  whole  herd  out  of  the  front  door,  that 
a  moment's  peace  was  secured;  and  even  that  was  broken  by 
the  discovery  that  Johnny  had  surreptitiously  come  back,  and 
was  at  that  instant  choking'  in  the  jug  like  a  ventriloquist,  in 
his  indecent  and  rapacious  haste. 

"These  children  will  be  the  death  of  me  at  last!"  said 
Mrs.  Tetterby,  after  banishing  the  culprit.  "  And  the  sooner 
the  better,  I  think." 

"Poor  people,"  said  Mr.  Tetterby,  "ought  not  to  have 
children  at  all.     They  give  us  no  pleasure." 

He  was  at  that  moment  taking  up  the  cup  which  Mrs. 
Tatterby  had  rudely  pushed  towards  him,  and  Mrs.  Tetterby 
was  lifting  her  own  cup  to  her  lips,  when  they  both  stopped, 
as  if  they  were  transfixed. 

"  Here  !  Mother  !  Father !  "  cried  Johnny,  running  into 
the  room.      "  Here's  Mrs.  William  coming  down  the  street !  " 

And  if  ever,  since  the  world  began,  a  young  boy  took  a 
baby  from  a  cradle  with  the  care  of  an  old  nurse,  and  hushed 
and  soothed  it  tenderly,  and  tottered  away  with  it  cheerfully, 
Johnny  was  that  boy,  and  Moloch  was  that  baby,  as  they  went 
out  together. 

Mr.  Tetterby  put  down  his  cup ;  Mrs.  Tetterby  put  down 
her  cup.  Mr.  Tetterby  rubbed  his  forehead ;  Mrs.  Tetterby 
rubbed  hers.  Mr.  Tetterby's  face  began  to  smooth  and 
brighten;   Mrs.  Tetterby's  began  to  smooth  and  brighten. 

"Wliy,  Lord  forgive  me,"  said  Mr.  Tetterby  to  himself, 
"what  evil  tempers  have  I  been  giving  way  to  ?  What  has 
been  the  matter  here  !  " 

"  How  could  I  ever  treat  him  ill  again,  after  all  I  said  and  felt 
last  night!"  sobbed  Mrs.  Tetterby,  with  her  apron  to  her  eyes. 

"Am  I  a  brute,"  said  Mr.  Tetterby,  or  is  there  any  good 
in  me  at  all  ?     Sophia  !     My  little  woman !  " 

"  'Dolphus  dear,"  returned  his  wife. 


308  THE    HAUNTED    MAN. 

"I — I've  been  in  a  state  of  mind,"  said  Mr,  Tetter  by. 
"  that  I  can't  abear  to  think  of,  Sophy." 

"  Oh  !  It 's  nothing  to  what  I  've  been  in,  Dolf,"  cried 
his  wife  in  a  great  burst  of  grief. 

"My  Sophia,"  said  Mr.  Tetterby,  "don't  take  on.  I  never 
shall  forgive  myself.  I  must  have  nearly  broke  your  heart 
I  know." 

"  No,  DoLf,  no.      It  was  me  !     Me  !  "  cried  Mrs.  Tetterby. 

"  My  little  woman,"  said  her  husband,  "  don't.  You 
make  me  reproach  myself  dreadful,  when  you  show  such  a 
noble  spirit.  Sojjhia,  my  dear,  you  don't  know  what  I 
thought.  I  showed  it  bad  enough,  no  doubt;  but  what  I 
thought,  my  little  woman  !  " — 

"  Oh,  dear  Dolf,  don't !      Don't !  "  cried  his  wife. 

"  Sophia,"  said  Mr.  Tetterby,  "  I  must  reveal  it.  I 
couldn't  rest  in  my  conscience  unless  I  mentioned  it.  •  My 
Kttle  woman" 

"  Mrs.  William's  very  nearly  here  I  "  screamed  Johnny  at  the 
door. 

"  My  little  woman,  I  wondered  how,"  gasped  Mr.  Tetterby, 
supporting  himself  by  his  chair,  "  I  wondered  how  I  had 
ever  admired  you — I  forgot  the  precious  children  you  have 
brought  about  me,  and  thought  you  didn't  look  as  slim  as 
I  could  wish.  I — I  never  gave  a  recollection,"  said  Mr. 
Tetterby,  with  severe  self-accusation,  "to  the  cares  you've 
had  as  my  wife,  and  along  of  me  and  mine,  when  you  might 
have  had  hardly  any  with  another  man,  who  got  on  better 
and  was  luckier  than  me  (anybody  might  have  found  such  a 
man  easily,  I  am  sure) ;  and  I  quarrelled  with  you  for  having 
aged  a  little  in  the  rough  years  you  've  lightened  for  me.  Can 
you  believe  it,  my  little  woman  ?     I  hardly  can  myself." 

Mrs.  Tetterby,  in  a  whirlwind  of  laughing  and  crying, 
caught  his  face  within  her  hands,  and  held  it  there. 

"Oh,  DoLf  I"  she  cried.  "I  am  so  happy  that  you 
thought  so ;  I  am  so  grateful  that  you  tliought  so  !  For  I 
thought  that  you  were  common-looking,  DoK;  and  so  you  are, 
my  dear,  and  may  you  be  the  commonest  of  all  sights  in  my 
ryes  till  you  close  them  with  your  own  good  hands.  I  thought 
that  you  were  smaU ;  and  so  you  are,  and  I  '11  make  much  of 
you  because  you  are,  and  more  of  you  because  I  love  my  hus- 
band. I  thought  that  you  began  to  stoop ;  and  so  you  do, 
and  you  shall  lean  on  me,  and  I  'U  do  all  I  can  to  keep  you 


MOLOCH    AND    IIIS    VICTIMS. 


THE   HAUNTED   AIAN.  399 

up.  I  thought  there  was  no  air  about  you ;  but  there  is  and 
it 's  the  air  of  home,  and  that 's  the  purest  and  the  best  there 
is,  and  god  bless  home  once  more,  and  all  belonging  to  it, 
Dolf!" 

"  Hurrah  !      Here's  Mrs.  "William  !  "  cried  Johnny. 

So  she  was,  and  all  the  children  with  her  ;  and  as  she  came 
in,  they  kissed  her,  and  kissed  one  another,  and  kissed  the 
baby,  and  kissed  their  father  and  mother,  and  then  ran  back 
and  flocked  and  danced  about  her,  trooping  on  with  her  in 
triumph. 

Mr.  and  Mrs.  Tetterby  were  not  a  bit  behind-hand  in  the 
warmth  of  their  reception.  They  were  as  much  attracted  to 
her  as  the  children  were ;  they  ran  towards  her,  kissed  her 
hands,  pressed  round  her,  could  not  receive  her  ardently  or 
enthusiastically  enough.  She  came  among  them  like  the 
spirit  of  all  goodness,  affection,  gentle  consideration,  love,  and 
domesticity. 

"  What !  are  you  all  so  glad  to  see  me,  too,  this  bright 
Christmas  morning  ? "  said  Milly,  clapping  her  hands  in  a 
pleasant  wonder.      "  Oh  dear,  how  delightful  this  is  !  " 

More  shouting  from  the  children,  more  kissing,  more  troop- 
ing round  her,  more  happiness,  more  love,  more  joy,  more 
honor,  on  all  sides,  than  she  could  bear. 

"  Oh  dear  !  "  said  MiUy,  "  what  delicious  tears  you  make 
me  shed.  How  can  I  ever  have  deserved  this  !  What  have  I 
done  to  be  so  loved  !  " 

"  Who  can  help  it!  "  cried  Mr.  Tetterby. 

"  Wlio  can  help  it !  "  cried  Mrs.  Tetterby. 

"  Who  can  help  it ! "  echoed  the  children,  in  a  joyful 
chorus.  And  they  danced  and  trooped  about  her  again,  and 
clung  to  her,  and  laid  their  rosy  faces  against  her  dress,  and 
kissed  and  fondled  it,  and  coidd  not  fondle  it,  or  her,  enough. 

"I  never  was  so  moved,"  said  Milly,  drying  her  eyes, 
"  as  I  have  been  this  morning.  I  must  tell  you,  as  soon 
as  I  can  speak. — Mr.  Redlaw  came  to  me  at  sunrise,  and 
with  a  tenderness  in  his  manner,  more  as  if  I  had  been 
liis  darling  daughter  than  myself,  implored  me  to  go  with 
him  to  where  William's  brother  George  is  lying  ill.  We 
went  together,  and  all  the  way  along  he  was  so  kind,  and  so 
subdued,  and  seemed  to  put  such  trust  and  hope  in  me, 
that  I  could  not  help  cr}'ing  with  pleasure.  When  we  got 
to  the  house  we  met  a  woman  at  the  door  (somebody  had 


400  THE    HAUNTED   MAN^. 

bruised  and  liurc  her,   I  am  afraid)  who  caught  me  by  the 
hand,  and  blessed  me  as  I  passed." 

"  She  was  right,"  said  Mr.  Tetterby.  INIrs.  Tetterby  said 
she  was  right.     All  the  children  cried  out  she  was  right, 

'*Ah,  but  there 's  more  than  that,"  said  Milly.  "  Wh.6n 
^e  got  up-stairs,  into  the  room,  the  sick  man  who  had 
lain  for  hours  in  a  state  from  which  no  effort  could  rouse 
him,  rose  up  in  his  bed,  and,  biu'sting  into  tears,  stretched 
out  his  arms  to  me,  and  said,  that  he  had  led  a  mis- 
spent life,  but  that  he  was  truly  repentant  now,  in  his 
sorrow  for  the  past,  which  was  all  as  plain  to  him  as  a  great 
prospect  from  which  a  dense  black  cloud  had  cleared  away, 
and  that  he  entreated  me  to  ask  his  poor  old  father  for 
his  pardon  and  liis  blessing,  and  to  say  a  prayer  beside 
his  bed.  And  Avhen  I  did  so,  Mr.  Redlaw  joined  in  it  so 
fervently,  and  then  so  thanked  and  thanked  me,  and  thanked 
Heaven,  that  my  heart  quite  overflowed,  and  I  coiild  have 
done  nothing  but  sob  and  cry,  if  the  sick  man  had  not 
begged  me  to  sit  down  by  him, — which  made  me  quiet  of 
course.  As  I  sat  there,  he  held  my  hand  in  his  until  he 
sunk  in  a  doze ;  and  even  then,  when  I  -withdrew  my  hand 
to  leave  him  to  come  here  (which  ]\lr.  Redlaw  was  very 
earnest  indeed  in  wishing  me  to  do),  his  hand  felt  for 
mine,  so  that  some  one  else  was  obliged  to  take  my  place  and 
make  believe  to  give  him  my  hand  back.  Oh  dear,  oh 
dear,"  said  INIilly,  sobbing.  "  How  thankful  and  how  happy 
I  should  feel,  and  do  feel,  for  all  this  !  " 

While  she  was  speaking,  Redlaw  had  come  in,  and,  after 
pausing  for  a  moment  to  observe  the  group  of  which  she  ■was 
the  centre,  had  silently  ascended  the  stairs.  Upon  those  stairs 
he  now  appeared  again ;  remaining  there,  while  the  young 
student  passed  him,  and  came  running  down. 

"Kind  nurse,  gentlest,  best  of  creatures,"  he  said,  falling 
on  his  knee  to  her,  and  catching  at  her  hand,  "  forgive  my 
cruel  ingratitude !  " 

"Oh  dear,  oh  dear!"  cried  Milly  innocently,  "here's 
another  of  them  !  Oh  dear,  here  's  somebody  else  who  likes 
me.     "What  shall  I  ever  do !  " 

The  guileless,  siniple  way  in  which  she  said  it,  and  in  whicli 
she  put  her  hands  before  her  eyes  and  wept  for  very  happiness, 
was  as  touching  as  it  was  delightful. 

"I  was  not  mj'self"  he  said.        "I  don't  know  what  it 


THE    HAUNTED   MAN.  401 

was — it  was  some  consequence  of  my  disorder  perhaps- — I 
was  mad.  But  I  am  so,  no  longer.  Almost  as  I  speak, 
I  am  restored.  I  heard  the  children  crying  out  your  name, 
and  the  shade  passed  from  me  at  the  very  sound  of  it. 
Oh  don't  weep  !  Dear  Milly,  if  you  could  read  my  heart, 
and  only  know  with  what  affection  and  what  grateful  homage 
it  is  glowing,  you  would  not  let  me  see  you  weep.  It  is 
such  deep  reproach." 

"  No,  no,"  said  Milly,  "  it 's  not  that.  It 's  not  indeed. 
It 's  joy.  It 's  wonder  that  you  should  think '  it  necessary 
to  ask  me  to  forgive  so  little,  and  yet  it's  pleasure  that 
you  do." 

"  And  will  you  come  again  ?  and  will  you  finish  the  little 
curtain  ?  " 

"  No,"  said  Milly,  drying  her  eyes,  and  shaking  her  head. 
"  You  won't  care  for  my  needlework  now." 

"Is  it  forgiving  me,  to  say  that ? " 

She  beckoned  him  aside,  and  whispered  in  his  ear. 

"  There  is  news  from  your  home,  Mr.  Edmimd." 

"News?     How?" 

"  Either  your  not  writing  when  you  were  very  ill,  or  the 
change    in  your  handwriting  when  you  began  to  be  better, 

created  some  suspicion  of  the  truth  ;  however,  that  is but 

you  're  sure  you  '11  not  be  the  worse  for  any  news,  if  it 's  not 
bad  news  ?  " 

"  Sure." 

"  Then  there  'b  some  one  come  !  "  said  Milly. 

"  My  mother  ? "  asked  the  student,  glancing  round 
involuntarily  towards  Redlaw,  who  had  come  down  from  the 
stairs. 

"  Hush  !     No,"  said  Milly. 

"  It  can  be  no  one  else." 

"  Indeed  ?  "  said  Milly,  "  are  you  sure  ?  " 

"  It  is  not  " .     Before  he  could  say  more,  she  put  hei 

hand  upon  his  mouth. 

"  Yes  it  is!  "  said  MUly.  "The  young  lady  (she  is  very 
like  the  miniature,  Mr.  Edmund,  but  she  is  prettier)  was  too 
unhappy  to  rest  without  satisfying  her  doubts,  and  came  up, 
last  night,  wdth  a  little  servant-maid.  As  you  always  dated 
your  letters  from  the  coUege,  she  came  there  ;  and  before  I 
saw  Mr.  Rndluw  this  morning,  I  saw  her.  —  She  likes  me 
too  !  "  said  Milly.      "  Oh  dear,  that 's  another  !  " 

DD 


402  THE    HAUNTED    MAN. 

"  This  morixing  !     Wliere  is  she  now  ?  " 

"  Why,  she  is  now,"  said  Milly,  advancing  her  lips  to 
his  ear,  "  in  my  little  parlor  in  the  Lodge,  and  waiting  to 
see  you." 

He  pressed  her  hand,  and  was  darting  off,  but  she  detained 
him. 

"  Mr.  Redlaw  is  ranch  altered,  and  has  told  me  this  morn- 
ing that  his  memory  is  impaired.  Be  very  considerate  to  him, 
Mr.  Edmund  ;  he  needs  that  from  us  all." 

The  young  man  assured  her,  by  a  look,  that  her  caution 
was  not  ill-bestowed ;  and  as  he  passed  the  Chemist  on  his  way 
out,  bent  respectfully  and  with  an  obvious  interest  before  him. 

Redlaw  returned  the  salutation  courteously  and  even  humbly, 
and  looked  after  him  as  he  passed  on.  He  drooped  his  head 
upon  his  hand  too,  as  trying  to  re-awaken  something  he  had 
lost.     But  it  was  gone. 

The  abiding  change  that  had  come  upon  him  since  the 
influence  of  the  music,  and  the  Phantom's  reappearance, 
was,  that  now  he  truly  felt  how  much  he  had  lost,  and 
could  compassionate  his  own  condition,  and  contrast  it, 
clearly,  with  the  natural  state  of  those  who  were  around 
him.  In  this,  an  interest  in  those  who  were  around  him 
was  revived,  and  a  meek,  submissive  sense  of  his  calamity 
was  bred,  resembling  that  which  sometimes  obtains  in  age, 
when  its  mental  powers  are  weakened,  without  insensibility 
or  sulienness  being  added  to  the  list  of  its  infirmities. 

He  was  conscious,  that,  as  he  redeemed,  through  Milly, 
more  and  more  of  the  evil  he  had  done,  and  as  he  was 
more  and  more  with  her,  this  change  ripened  itself  within 
him.  Therefore,  and  because  of  the  attachment  she  in- 
spired him  with  (but  without  other  hope),  he  felt  that  he 
was  quite  dependent  on  her,  and  that  she  was  his  staff  in 
i»Is  afiliction. 

So,  when  she  asked  him  whether  they  should  go  home 
now,  to  where  the  old  man  and  her  husband  were,  and  he 
readily  replied  "3'es" — being  anxious  in  that  regard — he 
put  his  arm  through  hers,  and  walked  beside  her;  not  as 
if  he  were  the  wise  and  learned  man  to  whom  the  wonders 
of  nature  were  an  open  book,  and  hers  were  the  unin- 
structed  mind,  but  as  if  their  two  positions  were  reversed, 
and  he  knew  nothing,  and  she  aU. 

He  saw  the  childrei'  throng  about  her,  and  caress   hox,  i^^ 


THE    HAUNTED    MAN.  403 

he  and  shf»  went  away  together  thus,  out  of  the  house  ; 
he  heard  the  ringing  of  their  laughter,  and  their  merry 
voices ;  he  saw  their  bright  faces,  clustering  round  hiui 
like  flowers  ;  he  witnessed  the  renewed  contentment  and 
affection  of  their  parents;  he  breathed  the  simple  air  of 
their  poor  home,  restored  to  its  tranquillity ;  he  thought  of 
the  unwholesome  blight  he  had  shed  upon  it,  and  might, 
but  for  her,  have  been  diffusing  then ;  and  perhaps  it  is  no 
wonder  that  he  walked  submissively  beside  her,  and  drew  her 
gentle  bosom  nearer  to  his  own. 

When  they  arrived  at  the  Lodge,  the  old  man  was  sitting 
in  his  chair  in  the  chimney-corner,  with  his  eyes  fixed  on 
the  ground,  and  his  son  was  leaning  against  the  opposite 
side  of  the  fii-e-place,  looking  at  him.  As  she  came  in  at 
the  door,  both  started  and  turned  roimd  towards  her,  and 
a  radiant  change  came  upon  their  faces. 

"  Oh  dear,  dear,  dear,  they  are  pleased  to  see  me  like  the 
rest ! "  cried  Milly,  clapping  her  hands  in  an  ecstacy,  and 
stopping  short.      "  Here  are  two  more  !  " 

Pleased  to  see  her  !  Pleasure  was  no  word  for  it.  She  ran 
into  her  husband's  ai-ms,  thrown  wide  open  to  receive  her,  and 
he  would  have  been  glad  to  have  her  there,  with  her  head 
Ijing  on  his  shoulder,  through  the  short  winter's  day.  But 
the  old  man  coiddn't  spare  her.  He  had  arms  for  her  too, 
and  he  locked  her  in  them. 

"Why,  where  has  my  quiet  Mouse  been  all  this  time?" 
said  the  old  man.  "  She  has  been  a  long  while  away.  I 
find  that  it 's  impossible  for  me  to  get  on  without  Mouse.  I 
— where  's  my  son  William  ? — I  fancy  I  have  been  dreaming, 
William." 

"  That's  what  I  say  myself,  father,"  returned  his  son.  "  I 
have  been  in  an  ugly  sort  of  dream,  I  think. — Hew  are 
you,  father  ?     Are  you  pretty  weU  ?  " 

"  Strong  and  brave,  my  boy,"  returned  the  old  man. 

It  was  quite  a  sight  to  see  Mr.  William  shaking  hands 
with  his  father,  and  patting  him  on  the  back,  and  rubbing 
him  gently  down  with  his  hand,  as  if  he  could  not  possibly 
do  enough  to  show  an  interest  in  him. 

"  What  a  wonderful  man  you  are,  father  ! — How  are  you, 
father  ?  Are  you  really  pretty  hearty,  though  ?  "  said  William, 
shaking  hands  with  him  again,  and  patting  him  affain,  anil 
nibbing  him  genlly  down  again. 


1-04  TTTE    HAUNTl-D    MAN. 

"  I  never  was  fresher  or  stouter  in  my  life,  my  boy." 

"  What  a  wonderful  man  you  are,  father  !  But  that 's 
exactly  where  it  is,"  said  Mr.  William,  with  enthusiasm. 
"  When  I  think  of  all  that  my  father  's  gone  through,  and 
all  the  chances  and  changes,  and  sorrows  and  troubles, 
that  have  happened  to  him  in  the  course  of  his  long  life, 
and  under  which  his  head  has  grown  grey,  and  years  upon 
years  have  gathered  on  it,  I  feel  as  if  w^e  coxildn't  do  enough 
to  honor  the  old  gentleman,  and  make  his  old  age  easy. — 
How  are  you,  father  ?     Are  you  really  pretty  well,  though  ?  " 

Mr.  William  might  never  have  left  off  repeating  this  inquiry 
and  shaking  hands  with  him  again,  and  patting  him  again, 
and  rubbing  him  down  again,  if  the  old  man  had  not  espied 
the  Chemist,  whom  until  now  he  had  not  seen. 

"  I  ask  your  pardon,  Mr.  Eedlaw,"  said  Philip,  "but  didn't 
know  you  were  here,  sir,  or  should  have  made  less  free.  It 
reminds  me,  Mr.  Redlaw,  seeing  you  here  on  a  Christmas 
morning,  of  the  time  when  you  was  a  student  yourself,  and 
worked  so  hard  that  you  was  backwards  and  forwards  in  our 
library  even  at  Christmas  time.  Ha  !  ha  !  I  'm  old  enough 
to  remember  that ;  and  I  remember  it  right  well,  I  do,  though 
I  am  eighty-seven.  It  was  after  you  left  here  that  my  poor 
wife  died.     You  remember  my  poor  wife,  Mr.  Redlaw?  " 

The  Chemist  answered  yes. 

"  Yes,"  said  the  old  man.  "  She  was  a  dear  creetur. — I 
recollect  you  come  here  one  Christmas  morning  with  a  young 
lady — I  ask  your  pardon,  Mr.  Redlaw,  but  I  think  it  was  a 
sister  you  was  very  much  attached  to  ?  " 

The  Chemist  looked  at  him,  and  shook  his  head.  "  I  had 
a  sister,"  he  said  vacantly.     He  knew  no  more. 

"One  Christmas  morning,"  pursued  the  old  man,  "that 
you  come  her  with  her — and  it  began  to  snow,  and  my  wife 
invited  the  young  lady  to  walk  in,  and  sit  by  the  fire  that  is 
always  a  burning  on  Christmas  day  in  what  used  to  be,  before 
our  ten  poor  gentlemen  commuted,  oxxr  great  Dinner  Hall. 
I  was  there ;  and  I  recollect,  as  I  was  stirring  up  the  blaze 
for  the  young  lady  to  warm  her  pretty  feet  by,  she  read  the 
scroll  out  loud,  that  is  underneath  that  picter.  '  Lord  keep 
my  memory  green ! '  She  and  my  poor  wife  fell  a  talking 
about  it ;  and  it 's  a  strange  thing  to  think  of,  now,  that  they 
both  said  (both  being  so  unlike  to  die)  that  it  was  a  good 
prayer,  and  that  it  was  one  they  would  put  up  very  earnestly^ 


THE  HAUNTED   MAN.  406 

if  they  ■were  called  away  young,  with  reference  to  those 
who  were  dearest  to  them.  '  My  brother,'  says  the  young 
lady — *  My  husband,'  says  my  poor  wife. — '  Lord,  keep  hi^ 
memory  of  me,  green,  and  do  not  let  me  be  forgotten  !  '  " 

Tears  more  painful,  and  more  bitter  than  he  had  ever  shed 
in  all  his  life,  coursed  do-wn  Redlaw's  face.  Philip,  fully 
occupied  in  recalling  his  story,  had  not  observed  him  until 
now,  nor  Milly's  anxiety  that  he  should  not  proceed. 

"  Philip ! "  said  Redlaw,"  laying  his  hand  upon  his  arm, 
"  I  am  a  stricken  man,  on  whom  the  hand  of  Providence  has 
fallen  heavily,  although  deservedly.  You  speak  to  me,  my 
friend,  of  what  I  cannot  follow ;  my  memory  is  gone." 

"  Merciful  Power  !  "  cried  the  old  man. 

"  I  have  lost  my  memory  of  sorrow,  wrong,  and  trouble," 
said  the  Chemist;  "  and  with  that  I  have  lost  all  man  would 
remember  !  " 

To  see  old  Philip's  pity  for  him,  to  see  him  wheel  his  own 
great  chair  for  him  to  rest  in,  and  look  down  upon  him  with 
a  solemn  sense  of  his  bereavement,  was  to  know  in  somo 
degree,  how  precious  to  old  age  such  recollections  are. 

The  boy  came  running  in,  and  ran  to  Milly. 

"  Here  's  the  man,"  he  said,  "  in  the  other  room.  I  don't 
want  him." 

"  What  man  does  he  mean  ?  "  asked  Mr.  William. 

"  Hush !  "  said  Milly. 

Obedient  to  a  sign  from  her,  he  and  his  old  father  8oftl_y 
withdrew.  As  they  went  out,  unnoticed,  Redlaw  beckoned  to 
the  boy  to  come  to  him. 

"  I  like  the  woman  best,"  he  answered,  holding  to  her  skirts. 

''You  are  right,"  said  Redlaw,  with  a  faint  smile.  "But 
you  needn't  fear  to  come  to  me.  I  am  gentler  than  I  was. 
Of  aU  the  world,  to  you  poor  child  !  " 

The  boy  still  held  back  at  first ;  but  yielding  little  by  little 
to  her  urging,  he  consented  to  approach,  and  even  to  sit  down 
at  his  feet.  As  Redlaw  laid  his  hand  upon  the  shoidder  of 
the  child,  looking  on  him  with  compassion  and  a  fellow-feeling, 
he  put  out  his  other  hand  to  Milly.  She  stooped  down  on  that 
side  of  him,  so  that  she  could  look  into  his  face ;  and  after 
silence,  said : 

"  Mr.  Redlaw,  may  I  speak  to  you  ?  " 

*'  Yes,"  he  answered,  fixing  his  eyes  upon  her.  "  Yoiu 
voice  and  music  are  the  same  to  me." 


400  THE   PTAUNTED    MAN. 

"  May  I  ask  you  something?" 

"  What  you  wiU." 

"  Do  you  remember  what  I  said,  when  I  knocked  at  your 
door  last  night  ?  About  one  who  was  your  friend  once,  and 
who  stood  on  the  verge  of  destruction  ?  " 

"  Yes.     I  remember,"  he  said  with  some  hesitation. 

"  Do  you  understand  it  ?  *' 

He  smoothed  the  boy's  hair — looking  at  her  fixedly  the 
while,  and  shook  his  head. 

"  This  person,"  said  Milly,  in  her  clear,  soft  voice,  which 
her  mild  ejes,  looking  at  him,  made  clearer  and  softer,  "  I 
found  soon  afterwards.  I  went  back  to  the  house,  and,  with 
Heaven's  help,  traced  hiui.  I  was  not  too  soon.  A  very 
little,  and  I  should  have  been  too  late." 

He  took  his  hand  from  tlie  boy,  and  laying  it  on  the  back 
of  that  hand  of  hers,  whose  timid  and  yet  earnest  touch 
addressed  him  no  less  appealingly  than  her  voice  and  eyes, 
looked  more  intently  on  her. 

"  He  is  the  father  of  Mr.  Edmund,  the  yoimg  gentleman 
we  saw  just  now.  His  real  name  is  Longford. — You  recoUect 
the  name  ?  " 

"  I  recollect  the  name." 

"  And  the  man?" 

"  No,  not  the  man.     Did  he  ever  wrong  me  ?  " 

"  Yes !  " 

"  Ah !  Then  it 's  hopeless — hopeless." 

He  shook  his  head,  and  softly  beat  upon  the  hand  he  held, 
as  though  mutely  asking  her  commiseration. 

"  I  did  not  go  to  Mr.  Edmund  last  night,"  said  Milly, — 
"  You  will  listen  to  me  just  tlie  same  as  if  you  did  remember 
all  ?  " 

"  To  every  syllable  ycm  say." 

"  Both,  because  I  did  not  know,  then,  that  this  really  was 
his  father,  and  because  I  was  fearful  of  the  effect  of  such 
intelligence  upon  him,  after  his  illness,  if  it  should  be.  Since 
I  have  known  who  this  person  is,  I  have  not  gone  either ;  but 
that  is  for  another  reasoa.  He  has  long  been  separated  from 
his  wife  and  son — has  been  a  stranger  to  his  home  almost 
from  his  sod's  infancy,  1  learn  from  him — and  has  abandoned 
and  deserted  what  he  should  have  held  most  dear.  In  all 
that  time,  he  has  been  falling  from  the  state  of  a  gentleman; 
more  and  more,  until —  "  she  rose  up,  hastily,  and  going  out 


THE   HAUNTED   MAN.  407 

for  a  moment,  returned,  accompanied  by  the  wreck  that 
Redlaw  had  beheld  last  night. 

"  Do  you  know  me  ?  "  asked  the  Chemist. 

"  I  should  be  glad,"  returned  the  other,  "  and  that  is 
an  unwonted  word  for  me  to  use,  if  I  could  answer  no." 

The  Chemist  looked  at  the  man,  standing  in  self-abasement 
and  degradation  before  him,  and  woidd  have  looked  longer, 
in  an  effectual  struggle  for  enlightenment,  but  that  Milly 
resumed  her  late  position  by  his  side,  and  attracted  his  attentive 
gaze  to  her  own  face. 

"  See  how  low  he  is  sunk,  how  lost  he  is  !  "  she  whispered, 
stretching  out  her  arm  towards  him,  without  looking  from 
the  Chemist's  face.  "  If  you  could  remember  all  that  is  con- 
nected with  him,  do  you  not  think  it  would  move  your  pity  to 
reflect  that  one  you  ever  loved  (do  not  let  us  mind  how  long 
ago,  or  in  what  belief  that  he  has  forfeited),  should  come 
to  this  ?  " 

"  I  hope  it  would,"  he  answered.     "  I  beHeve  it  would." 

His  eyes  wandered  to  the  figure  standing  near  the  door, 
but  came  back  speedily  to  her,  on  whom  he  gazed  intently, 
as  if  he  strove  to  learn  some  lesson  fi-om  every  tone  of  her 
voice,  and  every  beam  of  her  eyes. 

"  I  have  no  learning,  and  you  have  much,"  said  Milly;  "  I 
am  not  used  to  think,  and  you  are  always  thinking.  May  I 
tell  you  why  it  seems  to  me  a  good  thing  for  us,  to  remember 
wrong  that  has  been  done  us  ?  " 

"Yes." 

"  That  we  may  forgive  it." 

"  Pardon  me,  great  Heaven !  "  said  Redlaw,  lifting  up  his 
eyes,  "  for  having  thrown  away  thine  own  high  attribute  !  " 

"  And  if,"  said  Milly,  "if  your  memory  should  one  day  be 
restored,  as  we  will  hope  and  pray  it  may  be,  would  it  not  be  a 
blessing  to  you  to  recall  at  once  a  wrong  and  its  forgiveness  ?" 

He  looked  at  the  figure  by  the  door,  and  fixstened  his 
attentive  eyes  on  her  again  ;  a  ray  of  clearer  light  appeared  to 
him  to  shine  into  his  mind,  from  her  bright  face. 

"  He  cannot  go  to  his  abandoned  home.  He  does  not  seek 
to  go  there.  He  knows  that  he  could  only  carry  shame  and 
trouble  to  those  lie  has  so  cruelly  neglected ;  and  that  the  best 
reparation  he  can  make  them  now,  is  to  avoid  them.  A  very 
littlo  money  carefully  bestowed,  would  remove  him  to  somo 
distant  place,  where  he  miglit  live  and  do  no  wrong,  and  maJce 


408  THE   HAUNTED   MAN. 

such  atonement  as  is  left  within  his  power  for  the  wrong  he 
has  done.  To  the  unfortunate  lady  who  is  his  wife,  and  to 
his  son,  this  would  be  the  best  and  kindest  boon  that  their 
best  friend  could  give  them — one  too  that  they  need  never 
know  of;  and  to  him,  shattered  in  reputation,  mind,  and  body, 
it  might  be  salvation." 

He  took  her  head  between  his  hands,  and  kissed  it,  and 
said  :  "It  shall  be  done.  I  trust  to  you  to  do  it  for  me,  now 
and  secretly  ;  and  to  tell  him  that  I  would  forgive  him,  if  I 
were  so  happy  as  to  know  for  what." 

As  she  rose,  and  turned  her  beaming  face  towards  the 
fallen  man,, implying  that  her  mediation  had  been  successful, 
he  advanced  a  step,  and  without  raising  his  eyes,  addressed 
himself  to  Redlaw. 

"You  are  so  generous,"  he  said" — ^you  ever  were — that 
you  will  try  to  banish  your  rising  sense  of  retribution  in-  the 
spectacle  that  is  before  you.  I  do  not  try  to  banish  it  from 
myself,  Redlaw.     If  you  can,  believe  me." 

The  Chemist  entreated  Milly,  by  a  gesture,  to  come  nearer 
to  him  ;  and,  as  he  listened,  looked  in  her  face,  as  if  to  find  in 
it  the  clue  to  what  he  heard. 

"  I  am  too  decayed  a  wretch  to  make  professions;  I  recol- 
lect my  own  career  too  well,  to  array  any  such  before  you. 
But  from  the  day  on  which  I  made  my  first  step  downward,  in 
dealing  falsely  by  you,  I  have  gone  down  with  a  certain,  steady, 
doomed  progression.     That,  I  say." 

Redlaw,  keeping  her  close  at  his  side,  turned  his  face 
towards  the  speaker,  and  there  was  sorrow  in  it.  Something 
like  mournful  recognition  too. 

"  I  might  have  been  another  man,  my  life  might  have  been 
another  life,  if  I  had  avoided  that  first  fatal  step.  I  don't 
know  that  it  would  have  been.  I  claim  nothing  for  the 
possibility.  Your  sister  is  at  rest,  and  better  than  she  could 
have  been  with  me,  if  I  had  continued  even  what  you  thought 
me :  even  what  I  once  supposed  myself  to  be." 

Redlaw  made  a  hasty  motion  with  his  hand,  as  if  he  would 
have  put  that  subject  on  one  side. 

"  I  speak,"  the  other  went  on,  "  like  a  man  taken  from  the 
grave.  I  should  have  made  my  own  grave,  last  night,  had  it 
not  been  for  this  blessed  hand." 

"  Oh,  dear,  he  likes  me  too !  "  sobbed  Milly,  under  her 
breath.      "  That  's  another  '  " 


THE   HAUNTED   MAN.  •40!) 

"  I  could  not  have  put  myself  in  your  way,  last  night  even 
for  bread.  But,  to-day,  my  recollection  of  what  has  been 
between  us  is  so  strongly  stirred,  and  is  presented  to  me,  1 
don't  know  how,  so  vividly,  that  I  have  dared  to  come  at  her 
foiggestion,  and  to  take  your  bounty,  and  to  thank  you  for  it, 
and  to  beg  you,  Redlaw,  in  your  dying  hour,  to  be  as  merci- 
ful to  me  in  your  thoughts,  as  you  are  in  your  deeds." 

He  turned  towards  the  door,  and  stopped  a  moment  on  his 
way  forth. 

"  I  hope  my  son  may  interest  you,  for  his  mother's  sake. 
I  hope  he  may  deserve  to  do  so.  Unless  my  life  should  be 
preserved  a  long  time,  and  I  should  know  that  I  have  not 
misused  your  aid,  I  shall  never  look  upon  him  more." 

Going  out,  he  raised  his  eyes  to  Redlaw  for  the  first  time. 
Redlaw,  whose  steadfast  gaze  was  fixed  upon  him,  dreamily  held 
out  his  hand.  He  retm-ned  and  touched  it — little  more — with 
both  his  own — and  bending  down  his  head,  went  slowly  out. 

In  the  few  moments  that  elapsed,  while  MiUy  silently  took 
him  to  the  gate,  the  Chemist  dropped  into  his  chair,  and 
covered  his  face  with  his  hands.  Seeing  him  thus,  when  she 
came  back,  accompanied  by  her  husband  and  his  father  (who 
were  both  greatly  concerned  for  him),  she  avoided  disturbing 
him,  or  permitting  him  to  be  disturbed ;  and  kneeled  down 
near  the  chair,  to  put  some  warm  clothing  on  the  boy. 

"That's  exactly  where  it  is.  That's  what  I  always  say, 
father  !  "  exclaimed  her  admiring  husband.  "  There 's  a 
motherly  feeling  in  Mrs.  William's  breast  that  must  and  wiU 
have  went !  " 

"Ay,  ay,"  said  the  old  man;  "you're  right.  My  son 
William's  right ! " 

"  It  happens  all  for  the  best,  Milly  dear,  no  doubt,"  said 
Mr.  William,  tenderly,  "  that  we  have  no  children  of  our  own ; 
and  yet  I  sometimes  wish  you  had  one  to  love  and  cherish. 
Our  little  dead  child  that  you  built  such  hopes  upon,  and  tliat 
never  breathed  the  breath  of  life — it  has  made  you  quiet- like, 
Milly." 

"  I  am  very  happy  in  the  recollection  of  it,  William  dear," 
she  answered.      "  I  think  of  it  every  day." 

"  I  was  afraid  you  thought  of  it  a  good  deal." 

"  Don't  say  afraid ;  it  is  a  comfort  to  me  ;  it  speaks  to  me 
in  so  many  ways.  The  innocent  thing  that  never  lived  on 
earth,  is  like  an  angel  to  me,  William." 


410  THE   HAUNTED   MAN. 

"  You  are  like  an  angel  to  father  and  me,"  said  Mr.  William., 
softly.      "  I  know  that." 

"  When  I  think  of  all  those  liopes  I  built  upon  it,  and  the 
many  times  I  sat  and  pictured  to  myself  the  little  smiling 
face  upon  my  bosom  that  never  lay  there,  and  the  sweet  eyes 
turned  up  to  mine  that  never  opened  to  the  light,"  said  Milly, 
"  I  can  feel  a  greater  tenderness,  I  think,  for  aR  the  dis- 
appointed hopes  in  which  there  is  no  harm.  When  I  see  a 
beautiful  child  in  its  foud  mother's  arms,  I  love  it  all  the  better, 
thinking  that  my  child  might  have  been  like  that,  and  might 
have  made  my  heart  as  proud  and  happy." 

Redlaw  raised  his  head,  and  looked  towards  her. 

"All  through  life,  it  seems  by  me,"  she  contiaued,  "to  tell 
me  something.  For  poor  neglected  children,  my  little  child 
pleads  as  if  it  were  alive,  and  had  a  voice  I  knew,  with  which 
to  speak  to  me.  When  I  hear  of  youth  in  suffering  or  shame, 
I  think  that  my  child  might  have  come  to  that,  perhaps,  and 
that  God  took  it  from  me  in  his  mercy.  Even  in  age  and  grey 
hair,  such  as  father's,  it  is  present :  saying  that  it  too  might 
have  lived  to  be  old,  long  and  long  after  you  and  I  were  gone, 
and  to  have  needed  the  respect  and  love  of  younger  people." 

Her  quiet  voice  was  quieter  than  ever,  as  she  took  her 
husband's  arm,  and  laid  her  head  against  it. 

"  Children  love  me  so,  that  sometimes  I  half  fancy — it 's  a 
siUy  fancy,  William — they  have  some  way  I  don't  know  of,  of 
feeling  for  my  little  child,  and  me,  and  understanding  why  their 
love  is  precious  to  me.  If  I  have  been  quiet  since,  I  have  been 
more  happy,  William,  in  a  hundred  ways.  Not  least  happy, 
dear,  in  this — that  even  when  my  little  child  was  born  and 
dead  but  a  few  days,  and  I  was  weak  and  sorrowful,  and 
could  not  help  grieving  a  little,  the  thought  arose,  that  if  I 
tried  to  lead  a  good  life,  I  should  meet  in  Heaven  a  bright 
creature,  who  would  call  me.  Mother  I  " 

Redlaw  fell  upon  his  knees,  with  a  loud  crj'. 

"  O  Thou,"  he  said,  "  who,  through  the  teaching  of  pure 
love,  has  graciously  restored  me  to  the  memory  which  wiis 
the  memory  of  Christ  upon  the  cross,  and  of  all  the  good  who 
perished  in  His  cause,  receive  my  thanks,  and  bless  her !  " 

Then  he  folded  her  to  his  heart ;  and  Milly,  sobbing  more 
than  ever,  cried,  as  she  laughed,  "  He  is  come  back  to  himself  I 
He  likes  me  very  much  indeed,  too  ?  Oh,  dear,  dear,  deiu' 
me,  here 's  another !  " 


THE   HAUNTED   MAN.  411 

Then,  the  student  entered,  leading  by  the  hand  a  lovely 
girl,  who  was  afraid  to  come.  And  Redlaw  so  changed 
towards  him,  seeing  in  him  and  in  his  youthful  choice,  the 
softened  shadow  of  that  chastening  passage  in  his  own  life, 
to  which,  as  to  a  shady  tree,  the  dove  so  long  imprisoned  in 
his  solitary  ark  might  fly  for  rest  and  company,  fell  upon  his 
neck,  entreating  them  to  be  his  children. 

Then,  as  Christmas  is  a  time  in  which,  of  all  times  in  the 
year,  the  memory  of  every  remediable  sorrow,  wrong,  and 
trouble  in  the  world  around  us,  should  be  active  with  us,  not 
less  than  our  own  experiences,  for  all  good,  he  laid  his  hand 
upon  the  boy,  and,  silently  calling  Him  to  witness  who  laid 
His  hand  on  children  in  old  time,  rebuking,  in  the  majesty 
of  his  prophetic  knowledge,  those  who  kept  them  from  him, 
vowed  to  protect  him,  teach  him,  and  reclaim  him. 

Then,  he  gave  his  right  hand  cheerily  to  Philip,  and  said 
that  they  would  that  day  hold  a  Christmas  dinner  in  what 
used  to  be,  before  the  ten  poor  gentlemen  commuted,  their 
great  Dinner  HaU ;  and  that  they  would  bid  to  it  as  miiny 
of  that  Swidger  family,  who,  his  son  had  told  him,  were  so 
numerous  that  they  might  join  hands  and  make  a  ring  round 
England,  as  could  be  brought  together  on  so  short  a  notice. 

And  it  was  that  day  done.  There  were  so  many  Swidgers 
there,  grown  up  and  children,  that  an  attempt  to  state  them 
in  round  numbers  might  engender  doubts,  in  the  distrustful, 
of  the  veracity  of  this  history.  Therefore  the  attempt  shall 
not  be  made.  But  there  they  were,  by  dozens  and  scores — 
and  there  was  good  news  and  good  hope  there,  ready  for  them, 
of  George,  who  had  been  visited  again  by  his  father  and 
brother,  and  by  MiUy,  and  again  left  in  a  quiet  sleep.  There, 
present  at  the  dinner,  too,  were  the  Tetterbys,  including  young 
Adolphus,  who  arrived  in  his  prismatic  comforter,  in  good 
time  for  the  beef.  Johnny  and  the  baby  were  too  late,  of 
oourse,  and  came  in  all  on  one  side,  the  one  exhaxisted,  the 
other  in  a  supposed  state  of  double-tooth ;  but  that  wjis 
customary,  and  not  alarming. 

It  was  sad  to  see  the  child  who  had  no  name  or  lineage, 
watching  the  other  children  as  they  played,  not  knowing  how 
to  talk  with  them,  or  sport  with  them,  and  more  strange  to 
the  ways  of  childhood  than  a  rough  dog.  It  was  sad,  though 
in  a  different  way,  to  see  what  an  instinctive  loiowledge  the 
youngest  children  there   hud  of  his  being  different  from  ail 


412  TUE    IIAUNTED   MAN. 

the  rest,  aud  how  they  made  timid  approaches  to  him  with 
soft  words  and  touches,  and  with  little  presents,  that  he  might 
not  be  unhappy.  But  he  kept  by  Milly,  and  began  to  iovG 
her — that  was  another,  as  she  said  ! — and,  as  they  all  liked  her 
dearly,  they  were  glad  of  that,  and  when  they  saw  him 
peeping  at  them  from  behind  her  chair,  they  were  pleased 
that  he  was  so  close  to  it. 

AU  this,  the  Chemist,  sitting  with  the  student  and  his  bride 
that  was  to  be,  and  Philip,  and  the  rest,  saw. 

Some  people  have  said  since,  that  he  only  thought  what  has 
been  herein  set  down ;  others,  that  he  read  it  in  the  fire,  one 
winter  night  about  the  twihght  time ;  others,  that  the  Ghost 
was  but  the  representation  of  his  gloomy  thoughts,  and  Milly 
the  embodiment  of  his  better  wisdom.     /  say  nothing. 

— Except  this.  That  as  they  were  assembled  in  the  old  HaU, 
by  no  other  light  than  that  of  a  great  fire  (having  dined  early), 
the  shadows  once  more  stole  out  of  their  hiding-places,  and 
danced  about  the  room,  showing  the  children  marvellous  shapes 
and  faces  on  the  walls,  and  gradually  changing  what  was  real 
and  famiKar  there,  to  what  was  wild  and  magical.  But  that 
there  was  one  thing  in  the  Hall,  to  which  the  eyes  of  Redlaw, 
and  of  Milly  and  her  husband,  and  of  the  old  man,  and  of  the 
student,  and  his  bride  that  was  to  be,  were  often  turned, 
which  the  shadows  did  not  obscure  or  change.  Deepened  in 
its  gravity  by  the  firelight,  and  gazing  from  the  darkness  of 
tlie  panelled  wall  like  life,  the  sedate  face  in  the  portrait,  with 
tlie  beard  and  ruff,  looked  down  at  them  from  imder  its 
verdant  wreath  of  holly,  as  they  looked  up  at  it ;  and,  clear 
tind  plain  below,  as  if  a  voice  had  uttered  them,  wero  tb.o 
words, 

"  ^orb,  keep  mg  Pemorg  ^rMir." 


PlviN'i'EI>   BY   J.    S.   VIRTUK   ANI>    CO.,    LIMITED,   CITV    KOAIJ.    LOIIUON. 


^c^ 


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PR 
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