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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6833f05 --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,3 @@ +* text=auto +*.txt text +*.md text diff --git a/16540-8.txt b/16540-8.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..20e348d --- /dev/null +++ b/16540-8.txt @@ -0,0 +1,7197 @@ +The Project Gutenberg EBook of Melchior's Dream and Other Tales +by Juliana Horatia Ewing + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: Melchior's Dream and Other Tales + +Author: Juliana Horatia Ewing + +Release Date: August 17, 2005 [EBook #16540] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK MELCHIOR'S DREAM AND OTHER TALES *** + + + + +Produced by Juliet Sutherland, Sankar Viswanathan and the +Online Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net + + + + + + + + + + MELCHIOR'S DREAM + + AND OTHER TALES, + + + + + BY + + JULIANA HORATIA EWING. + + + + + + LONDON: + SOCIETY FOR PROMOTING CHRISTIAN KNOWLEDGE, + NORTHUMBERLAND AVENUE, W.C. + NEW YORK: E. & J.B. YOUNG & CO. + + + + [Published under the direction of the General Literature + Committee.] + + + + +Dedicated + +TO + +FOUR BROTHERS AND FOUR SISTERS. + + + + +CONTENTS. + + + MELCHIOR'S DREAM + + THE BLACKBIRD'S NEST + + FRIEDRICH'S BALLAD + + A BIT OF GREEN + + MONSIEUR THE VISCOUNT'S FRIEND + + THE YEW-LANE GHOSTS + + A BAD HABIT + + A HAPPY FAMILY + + + + +EDITOR'S PREFACE. + + +It is always a memorable era in a mother's life when she first +introduces a daughter into society. Many things contribute to make it +so; among which is the fact of the personal blessing to herself, in +having been permitted to see the day--to have been spared, that is, to +watch over her child in infancy, and now to see her entering life upon +her own account. + +But a more uncommon privilege is the one granted to me on the present +occasion, of introducing a daughter into the literary world; and the +feelings of pride and pleasure it calls forth, are certainly not less +powerful than those created by the commoner occurrence. It is my +comfort also to add that these are not overclouded by any painful +anxiety or misgiving. There may be differences of opinion as to the +precise amount of literary merit in these tales; but viewed as the +first productions of a young author, they are surely full of promise; +while their whole tone and aim is so unmistakably high, that even +those who criticize the style will be apt to respect the writer. + +I ought here to express a hope that it will not be thought +presumptuous on my part, to undertake the office of introduction. I +beg it to be understood that I address myself especially to those +readers who have (I speak it with deep gratitude and pleasure) +listened kindly and favourably to me for several years past, and who +will, I trust, be no less well disposed towards my daughter's +writings. + +To them also it may be interesting to know, that in the "J.H.G." of +"Melchior's Dream," etc., they will find the original of my own +portrait of "Aunt Judy." + +But I have still something more to say: another little bit of +gratification to express. What one sister has written, another has +illustrated by her pencil; a cause of double thankfulness in my heart +to Him from whom all good gifts come. + +MARGARET GATTY. + + +NOTE.--_The foregoing Preface was written for the first +edition of "Melchior's Dream, and other Tales." This was published in +1862 under Mrs. Ewing's maiden initials, "J.H.G." It contained the +first five stories in the present volume, and these were illustrated +by the writer's eldest sister, "M.S.G."_ + + + + +MELCHIOR'S DREAM. + +AN ALLEGORY. + +"Thou that hast given so much to me, Give one thing more--a +grateful heart." + +GEORGE HERBERT. + +"Well, father, I don't believe the Browns are a bit better off than we +are; and yet when I spent the day with young Brown, we cooked all +sorts of messes in the afternoon; and he wasted twice as much rum and +brandy and lemons in his trash, as I should want to make good punch +of. He was quite surprised, too, when I told him that our mince-pies +were kept shut up in the larder, and only brought out at meal-times, +and then just one apiece; he said they had mince-pies always going, +and he got one whenever he liked. Old Brown never blows up about that +sort of thing; he likes Adolphus to enjoy himself in the holidays, +particularly at Christmas." + +The speaker was a boy--if I may be allowed to use the word in speaking +of an individual whose jackets had for some time past been resigned +to a younger member of his family, and who daily, in the privacy of +his own apartment, examined his soft cheeks by the aid of his sisters' +"back-hair glass." He was a handsome boy too; tall, and like +David--"ruddy, and of a fair countenance;" and his face, though +clouded then, bore the expression of general amiability. He was the +eldest son in a large young family, and was being educated at one of +the best public schools. He did not, it must be confessed, think +either small beer or small beans of himself; and as to the beer and +beans that his family thought of him, I think it was pale ale and +kidney-beans at least. + +Young Hopeful had, however, his weak points like the rest of us; and +perhaps one of the weakest was the difficulty he found in amusing +himself without _bothering_ other people. He had quite a monomania for +proposing the most troublesome "larks" at the most inconvenient +moments; and if his plans were thwarted, an Æolian harp is cheerful +compared to the tone in which, arguing and lamenting, he + +"Fought his battles o'er again," + +to the distraction of every occupied member of the household. + +When the lords of the creation of all ages can find nothing else to +do, they generally take to eating and drinking; and so it came to pass +that our hero had set his mind upon brewing a jorum of punch, and +sipping it with an accompaniment of mince-pies; and Paterfamilias had +not been quietly settled to his writing for half-an-hour, when he was +disturbed by an application for the necessary ingredients. These he +had refused, quietly explaining that he could not afford to waste his +French brandy, etc., in school-boy cookery, and ending with, "You see +the reason, my dear boy?" + +To which the dear boy replied as above, and concluded with the +disrespectful (not to say ungrateful) hint, "Old Brown never blows up +about that sort of thing; he likes Adolphus to enjoy himself in the +holidays." + +Whereupon Paterfamilias made answer, in the mildly deprecating tone in +which the elder sometimes do answer the younger in these topsy-turvy +days:-- + +"That's quite a different case. Don't you see, my boy, that Adolphus +Brown is an only son, and you have nine brothers and sisters? If you +have punch and mince-meat to play with, there is no reason why Tom +should not have it, and James, and Edward, and William, and Benjamin, +and Jack. And then there are your sisters. Twice the amount of the +Browns' mince-meat would not serve you. I like you to enjoy yourself +in the holidays as much as young Brown or anybody; but you must +remember that I send you boys to good schools, and give you all the +substantial comforts and advantages in my power; and the Christmas +bills are very heavy, and I have a great many calls on my purse; and +you must be reasonable. Don't you see?" + +"Well, father--" began the boy; but his father interrupted him. He +knew the unvarying beginning of a long grumble, and dreading the +argument, cut it short. + +"I have decided. You must amuse yourself some other way. And just +remember that young Brown's is quite another case. He is an only son." + +Whereupon Paterfamilias went off to his study and his sermon; and his +son, like the Princess in Andersen's story of the Swineherd, was left +outside to sing, + + "O dearest Augustine, + All's clean gone away!" + +Not that he did say that--that was the princess' song--what he said +was, + + "_I wish I were an only son!_" + +This was rather a vain wish, for round the dining-room fire (where he +soon joined them) were gathered his nine brothers and sisters, who, to +say the truth, were not looking much more lively and cheerful than +he. And yet (of all days in the year on which to be doleful and +dissatisfied!) this was Christmas Eve. + +Now I know that the idea of dulness or discomfort at Christmas is a +very improper one, particularly in a story. We all know how every +little boy in a story-book spends the Christmas holidays. + +First, there is the large hamper of good things sent by grandpapa, +which is as inexhaustible as Fortunatus's purse, and contains +everything, from a Norfolk turkey to grapes from the grandpaternal +vinery. + +There is the friend who gives a guinea to each member of the family, +and sees who will spend it best. + +There are the godpapas and godmammas, who might almost be fairy +sponsors from the number of expensive gifts that they bring upon the +scene. The uncles and aunts are also liberal. + +One night is devoted to a magic-lantern (which has a perfect focus), +another to the pantomime, a third to a celebrated conjuror, a fourth +to a Christmas tree and juvenile ball. + +The happy youth makes himself sufficiently ill with plum-pudding, to +testify to the reader how good it was, and how much there was of it; +but recovers in time to fall a victim to the negus and trifle at +supper for the same reason. He is neither fatigued with late hours +nor surfeited with sweets; or if he is, we do not hear of it. + +But as this is a strictly candid history, I will at once confess the +truth, on behalf of my hero and his brothers and sisters. They had +spent the morning in decorating the old church, in pricking holly +about the house, and in making a mistletoe bush. Then in the afternoon +they had tasted the Christmas soup and seen it given out; they had put +a finishing touch to the snow man by crowning him with holly, and had +dragged the yule-logs home from the carpenter's. And now, the early +tea being over, Paterfamilias had gone to finish his sermon for +to-morrow; his friend was shut up in his room; and Materfamilias was +in hers, with one of those painful headaches which even Christmas will +not always keep away. So the ten children were left to amuse +themselves, and they found it rather a difficult matter. + +"Here's a nice Christmas!" said our hero. He had turned his youngest +brother out of the arm-chair, and was now lying in it with his legs +over the side. "Here's a nice Christmas! A fellow might just as well +be at school. I wonder what Adolphus Brown would think of being cooped +up with a lot of children like this! It's his party to-night, and he's +to have champagne and ices. I wish I were an only son." + +"Thank you," said a chorus of voices from the floor. They were all +sprawling about on the hearth-rug, pushing and struggling like so many +kittens in a sack, and every now and then with a grumbled +remonstrance:-- + +"Don't, Jack! you're treading on me." + +"You needn't take all the fire, Tom." + +"Keep your legs to yourself, Benjamin." + +"It wasn't I," etc., with occasionally the feebler cry of a small +sister-- + +"Oh! you boys are so rough." + +"And what are you girls, I wonder?" inquired the proprietor of the +arm-chair with cutting irony. "Whiney piney, whiney piney. I wish +there were no such things as brothers and sisters!" + +"_You wish_ WHAT?" said a voice from the shadow by the door, as deep +and impressive as that of the ghost in Hamlet. + +The ten sprang up; but when the figure came into the fire-light, they +saw that it was no ghost, but Paterfamilias's old college friend, who +spent most of his time abroad, and who, having no home or relatives of +his own, had come to spend Christmas at his friend's vicarage. "You +wish _what_?" he repeated. + +"Well, brothers and sisters are a bore," was the reply. "One or two +would be all very well; but just look, here are ten of us; and it just +spoils everything. If a fellow wants to go anywhere, it's somebody +else's _turn_. If old Brown sends a basket of grapes, it's share and +share alike; all the ten must taste, and then there's about a grape +and a half for each. If anybody calls or comes to luncheon, there are +a whole lot of brats swarming about, looking as if we kept a school. +Whatever one does, the rest must do; whatever there is, the rest must +share; whereas, if a fellow was an only son, he would have the +whole--and by all the rules of arithmetic, one is better than a +tenth." + +"And by the same rules ten is better than one," said the friend. + +"Sold again," sang out Master Jack from the floor, and went head over +heels against the fender. + +His brother boxed his ears with great promptitude, and went on, "Well, +I don't care; confess, sir, isn't it rather a nuisance?" + +Paterfamilias's friend looked very grave, and said, quietly, "I don't +think I am able to judge. I never had brother or sister but one, and +he was drowned at sea. Whatever I have had, I have had the whole of, +and would have given it away willingly for some one to give it to. If +any one sent me grapes, I ate them alone. If I made anything, there +was no one to show it to. If I wanted to act, I must act all the +characters, and be my own audience. I remember that I got a lot of +sticks at last, and cut heads and faces to all of them, and carved +names on their sides, and called them my brothers and sisters. If you +want to know what I thought a nice number for a fellow to have, I can +only say that I remember carving twenty-five. I used to stick them in +the ground and talk to them. I have been only, and lonely, and alone, +all my life, and have never felt the nuisance you speak of." + +This was a funny account; but the speaker looked so far from funny +that one of the sisters, who was very tender-hearted, crept up to him, +and said, gently-- + +"Richard is only joking; he doesn't really want to get rid of us. The +other day the curate said he wished he had a sister, and Richard +offered to sell us all for ninepence; but he is only in fun. Only it +is rather slow just now, and the boys get rather cross; at least, we +all of us do." + +"It's a dreadful state of things," said the friend, smiling through +his black beard and moustachios. "What is to be done?" + +"I know what would be very nice," insinuated the young lady. + +"What?" + +"If you wouldn't mind telling us a very short story till supper-time. +The boys like stories." + +"That's a good idea," said Benjamin. "As if the girls didn't!" + +But the friend proclaimed order, and seated himself with the girl in +question on his knee. "Well, what sort of a story is it to be?" + +"Any sort," said Richard; "only not too true, if you please. I don't +like stories like tracts. There was an usher at a school I was at, and +he used to read tracts about good boys and bad boys to the fellows on +Sunday afternoon. He always took out the real names, and put in the +names of the fellows instead. Those who had done well in the week he +put in as good ones, and those who hadn't as the bad. He didn't like +me, and I was always put in as a bad boy, and I came to so many +untimely ends I got sick of it. I was hanged twice, and transported +once for sheep-stealing; I committed suicide one week, and broke into +the bank the next; I ruined three families, became a hopeless +drunkard, and broke the hearts of my twelve distinct parents. I used +to beg him to let me be reformed next week; but he said he never would +till I did my Cæsar better. So, if you please, we'll have a story that +can't be true." + +"Very well," said the friend, laughing; "but if it isn't true, may I +put you in? All the best writers, you know, draw their characters from +their friends now-a-days. May I put you in?" + +"Oh, certainly!" said Richard, placing himself in front of the fire, +putting his feet on the hob, and stroking his curls with an air which +seemed to imply that whatever he was put into would be highly +favoured. + +The rest struggled, and pushed, and squeezed themselves into more +modest but equally comfortable quarters; and after a few moments of +thought, Paterfamilias's friend commenced the story of + + +MELCHIOR'S DREAM. + + +"Melchior is my hero. He was--well, he considered himself a young man, +so we will consider him so too. He was not perfect; but in these days +the taste in heroes is for a good deal of imperfection, not to say +wickedness. He was not an only son. On the contrary, he had a great +many brothers and sisters, and found them quite as objectionable as my +friend Richard does." + +"I smell a moral," murmured the said Richard. + +"Your scent must be keen," said the story-teller, "for it is a long +way off. Well, he had never felt them so objectionable as on one +particular night, when, the house being full of company, it was +decided that the boys should sleep in 'barracks,' as they called it; +that is, all in one large room." + +"Thank goodness, we have not come to that!" said the incorrigible +Richard; but he was reduced to order by threats of being turned out, +and contented himself with burning the soles of his boots against the +bars of the grate in silence: and the friend continued:-- + +"But this was not the worst. Not only was he, Melchior, to sleep in +the same room with his brothers, but his bed being the longest and +largest, his youngest brother was to sleep at the other end of +it--foot to foot. True, by this means he got another pillow, for, of +course, that little Hop-o'-my-Thumb could do without one, and so he +took his; but, in spite of this, he determined that, sooner than +submit to such an indignity, he would sit up all night. Accordingly, +when all the rest were fast asleep, Melchior, with his boots off and +his waistcoat easily unbuttoned, sat over the fire in the long +lumber-room which served that night as 'barracks'. He had refused to +eat any supper downstairs to mark his displeasure, and now repaid +himself by a stolen meal according to his own taste. He had got a +pork-pie, a little bread and cheese, some large onions to roast, a +couple of raw apples, an orange, and papers of soda and tartaric acid +to compound effervescing draughts. When these dainties were finished, +he proceeded to warm some beer in a pan, with ginger, spice, and +sugar, and then lay back in his chair and sipped it slowly, gazing +before him, and thinking over his misfortunes. + +"The night wore on, the fire got lower and lower, and still Melchior +sat, with his eyes fixed on a dirty old print that had hung above the +mantelpiece for years, sipping his 'brew', which was fast getting +cold. The print represented an old man in a light costume, with a +scythe in one hand and an hour-glass in the other; and underneath the +picture in flourishing capitals was the word TIME. + +"'You're a nice old beggar,' said Melchior, dreamily. 'You look like +an old hay-maker who has come to work in his shirt-sleeves, and +forgotten the rest of his clothes. Time! time you went to the +tailor's, I think.' + +"This was very irreverent; but Melchior was not in a respectful mood; +and as for the old man, he was as calm as any philosopher. + +"The night wore on, and the fire got lower and lower, and at last went +out altogether. + +"'How stupid of me not to have mended it!' said Melchior; but he had +not mended it, and so there was nothing for it but to go to bed; and +to bed he went accordingly. + +"'But I won't go to sleep,' he said; 'no, no; I shall keep awake, and +to-morrow they shall know that I have had a bad night.' + +"So he lay in bed with his eyes wide open, and staring still at the +old print, which he could see from his bed by the light of the candle, +which he had left alight on the mantelpiece to keep him awake. The +flame waved up and down, for the room was draughty; and as the lights +and shadows passed over the old man's face, Melchior almost fancied +that it nodded to him, so he nodded back again; and as that tired him +he shut his eyes for a few seconds. When he opened them again, there +was no longer any doubt--the old man's head was moving; and not only +his head, but his legs, and his whole body. Finally, he put his feet +out of the frame, and prepared to step right over the mantelpiece, +candle, and all. + +"'Take care,' Melchior tried to say, 'you'll set fire to your shirt.' +But he could not utter a sound; and the old man arrived safely on the +floor, where he seemed to grow larger and larger, till he was fully +the size of a man, but still with the same scythe and hour-glass, and +the same airy costume. Then he came across the room, and sat down by +Melchior's bedside. + +"'Who are you?' said Melchior, feeling rather creepy. + +"'TIME,' said his visitor in a deep voice, which sounded as +if it came from a distance. + +"'Oh, to be sure, yes! In copper-plate capitals.' + +"'What's in copper-plate capitals?' inquired Time. + +"'Your name, under the print.' + +"'Very likely,' said Time. + +"Melchior felt more and more uneasy. 'You must be very cold,' he said. +'Perhaps you would feel warmer if you went back into the picture.' + +"'Not at all,' said Time; 'I have come on purpose to see you.' + +"'I have not the pleasure of knowing you,' said Melchior, trying to +keep his teeth from chattering. + +"'There are not many people who have a personal acquaintance with me,' +said his visitor. 'You have an advantage--I am your godfather.' + +"'Indeed,' said Melchior; 'I never heard of it.' + +"'Yes,' said his visitor; 'and you will find it a great advantage.' + +"'Would you like to put on my coat?' said Melchior, trying to be +civil. + +"'No, thank you,' was the answer. 'You will want it yourself. We must +be driving soon.' + +"'Driving!' said Melchior. + +"'Yes,' was the answer; 'all the world is driving; and you must drive; +and here come your brothers and sisters.' + +"Melchior sat up; and there they were, sure enough, all dressed, and +climbing one after the other on to the bed--_his_ bed! + +"There was that little minx of a sister with her curls (he always +called them carrot shavings), who was so conceited (girls always are!) +and always trying to attract notice, in spite of Melchior's incessant +snubbings. There was that clever brother, with his untidy hair and +bent shoulders, who was just as bad the other way; who always ran out +of the back door when visitors called, and was for ever moping and +reading: and this, in spite of Melchior's hiding his books, and +continually telling him that he was a disgrace to the family, a +perfect bear, not fit to be seen, etc.--all with the laudable desire +of his improvement. There was that little Hop-o'-my-Thumb, as lively +as any of them, a young monkey, the worst of all; who was always in +mischief, and consorting with the low boys in the village; though +Melchior did not fail to tell him that he was not fit company for +gentlemen's sons, that he was certain to be cut when he went to +school, and that he would probably end his days by being transported, +if not hanged. There was the second brother, who was Melchior's chief +companion, and against whom he had no particular quarrel. And there +was the little pale lame sister, whom he dearly loved; but whom, odd +to say, he never tried to improve at all; his remedy for her failings +was generally, 'Let her do as she likes, will you?' There were others +who were all tiresome in their respective ways; and one after the +other they climbed up. + +"'What are you doing, getting on to my bed!' inquired the indignant +brother, as soon as he could speak. + +"'Don't you know the difference between a bed and a coach, godson?' +said Time, sharply. + +"Melchior was about to retort, but on looking round, he saw that they +were really in a large sort of coach with very wide windows. 'I +thought I was in bed,' he muttered. 'What can I have been dreaming +of?' + +"'What, indeed!' said the godfather. 'But, be quick, and sit close, +for you have all to get in; you are all brothers and sisters.' + +"'Must families be together?' inquired Melchior, dolefully. + +"'Yes, at first,' was the answer; 'they get separated in time. In +fact, everyone has to cease driving sooner or later. I drop them on +the road at different stages, according to my orders,' and he showed a +bundle of papers in his hands; 'but, as I favour you, I will tell you +in confidence that I have to drop all your brothers and sisters before +you. There, you four oldest sit on this side, you five others there, +and the little one must stand or be nursed.' + +"'Ugh!' said Melchior, 'the coach would be well enough if one was +alone; but what a squeeze with all these brats! I say, go pretty +quick, will you?' + +"'I will,' said Time, 'if you wish it. But, beware that you cannot +change your mind. If I go quicker for your sake, I shall never go slow +again; if slower, I shall not again go quick; and I only favour you so +far, because you are my godson. Here, take the check-string; when you +want me, pull it, and speak through the tube. Now we're off.' + +"Whereupon the old man mounted the box, and took the reins. He had no +whip; but when he wanted to start, he shook the hour-glass, and off +they went. Then Melchior saw that the road where they were driving was +very broad, and so filled with vehicles of all kinds that he could not +see the hedges. The noise and crowd and dust were very great; and to +Melchior all seemed delightfully exciting. There was every sort of +conveyance, from the grandest coach to the humblest donkey-cart; and +they seemed to have enough to do to escape being run over. Among all +the gay people there were many whom he knew; and a very nice thing it +seemed to be to drive among all the grandees, and to show his +handsome face at the window, and bow and smile to his acquaintance. +Then it appeared to be the fashion to wrap oneself in a tiger-skin +rug, and to look at life through an opera-glass, and old Time had +kindly put one of each into the coach. + +"But here again Melchior was much troubled by his brothers and +sisters. Just at the moment when he was wishing to look most +fashionable and elegant, one or other of them would pull away the rug, +or drop the glass, or quarrel, or romp, or do something that spoilt +the effect. In fact, one and all, they 'just spoilt everything;' and +the more he scolded, the worse they became. The 'minx' shook her +curls, and flirted through the window with a handsome but ill-tempered +looking man on a fine horse, who praised her 'golden locks,' as he +called them; and, oddly enough, when Melchior said the man was a lout, +and that the locks in question were corkscrewy carrot shavings, she +only seemed to like the man and his compliments the more. Meanwhile, +the untidy brother pored over his book, or if he came to the window, +it was only to ridicule the fine ladies and gentlemen, so Melchior +sent him to Coventry. Then Hop-o'-my-Thumb had taken to make signs and +exchange jokes with some disreputable-looking youths in a dog-cart; +and when his brother would have put him to 'sit still like a +gentleman' at the bottom of the coach, he seemed positively to prefer +his low companions; and the rest were little better. + +"Poor Melchior! Surely there never was a clearer case of a young +gentleman's comfort destroyed, solely by other people's perverse +determination to be happy in their own way instead of in his. Surely, +no young gentleman ever knew better that if his brothers and sisters +would yield to his wishes, they would not quarrel; or ever more +completely overlooked the fact, that if he had yielded more to theirs +the same happy result might have been attained. At last he lost +patience, and pulling the check-string, bade Godfather Time drive as +fast as he could. + +"'For,' said he, 'there will never be any peace while there are so +many of us in the coach; if a fellow had the rug and glass, and, +indeed, the coach to himself, he might drive and bow and talk with the +best of them; but as it is, one might as well go about in a wild-beast +caravan.' + +"Godfather Time frowned, but shook his glass all the same, and away +they went at a famous pace. All at once they came to a stop. + +"'Now for it,' says Melchior; 'here goes one at any rate.' + +"Time called out the name of the second brother over his shoulder; and +the boy stood up, and bade his brothers and sisters good-bye. + +"'It is time that I began to push my way in the world,' said he, and +passed out of the coach, and in among the crowd. + +"'You have taken the only quiet boy,' said Melchior to the godfather +angrily. 'Drive fast now, for pity's sake; and let us get rid of the +tiresome ones.' + +"And fast enough they drove, and dropped first one and then the other; +but the sisters, and the reading boy, and the youngest still remained. + +"'What are you looking at?' said Melchior to the lame sister. + +"'At a strange figure in the crowd,' she answered. + +"'I see nothing,' said Melchior. But on looking again after a while, +he did see a figure wrapped in a cloak, gliding in and out among the +people, unnoticed, if not unseen. + +"'Who is it?' Melchior asked of the godfather. + +"'A friend of mine,' Time answered. 'His name is Death.' + +"Melchior shuddered, more especially as the figure had now come up to +the coach, and put its hand in through the window, on which, to his +horror, the lame sister laid hers and smiled. At this moment the +coach stopped. + +"'What are you doing?' shrieked Melchior, 'Drive on! drive on!' + +"But even while he sprang up to seize the check-string the door had +opened, the pale sister's face (a little paler now) had dropped upon +the shoulder of the figure in the cloak, and he had carried her away; +and Melchior stormed and raved in vain. + +"'To take her, and to leave the rest! Cruel! cruel!' + +"In his rage and grief, he hardly knew it when the untidy brother was +called, and putting his book under his arm, slipped out of the coach +without looking to the right or left. Presently the coach stopped +again; and when Melchior looked up the door was open, and at it was +the fine man on the fine horse, who was lifting the sister on to the +saddle before him. 'What fool's game are you playing?' said Melchior, +angrily. 'I know that man. He is both ill-tempered and a bad +character.' + +"'You never told her so before,' muttered young Hop-o'-my-Thumb. + +"'Hold your tongue,' said Melchior. 'I forbade her to talk to him, +which was enough.' + +"'I don't want to leave you; but he cares for me, and you don't,' +sobbed the sister; and she was carried away. + +"When she had gone, the youngest brother slid down from his corner and +came up to Melchior. + +"'We are alone now, Brother,' he said; 'let us be good friends. May I +sit on the front seat with you, and have half the rug? I will be very +good and polite, and will have nothing more to do with those fellows, +if you will talk to me.' + +"Now Melchior really rather liked the idea, but as his brother seemed +to be in a submissive mood, he thought he would take the opportunity +of giving him a good lecture, and would then graciously relent and +forgive. So he began by asking him if he thought that he was fit +company for him (Melchior), what he thought that gentlefolks would say +to a boy who had been playing with such youths as young +Hop-o'-my-Thumb had, and whether the said youths were not scoundrels? +And when the boy refused to say that they were (for they had been kind +to him), Melchior said that his tastes were evidently as bad as ever, +and even hinted at the old transportation threat. This was too much; +the boy went angrily back to his window corner, and Melchior--like too +many of us!--lost the opportunity of making peace for the sake of +wagging his own tongue. + +"'But he will come round in a few minutes,' he thought A few minutes +passed, however, and there was no sign. A few minutes more, and there +was a noise, a shout; Melchior looked up, and saw that the boy had +jumped through the open window into the road, and had been picked up +by the men in the dog-cart, and was gone. + +"And so at last my hero was alone. At first he enjoyed it very much. +He shook out his hair, wrapped himself in the rug, stared through the +opera-glass, and did the fine gentleman very well indeed. But though +everyone allowed him to be the finest young fellow on the road, yet +nobody seemed to care for the fact as much as he did; they talked, and +complimented, and stared at him, but he got tired of it. For he could +not arrange his hair any better; he could not dispose the rug more +gracefully, or stare more perseveringly through the glass; and if he +could, his friends could do nothing more than they had done. In fact, +he got tired of the crowd, and found himself gazing through the +window, not to see his fine friends, but to try and catch sight of his +brothers and sisters. Sometimes he saw the youngest brother, looking +each time more wild and reckless; and sometimes the sister, looking +more and more miserable; but he saw no one else. + +"At last there was a stir among the people, and all heads were turned +towards the distance, as if looking for something. Melchior asked what +it was, and was told that the people were looking for a man, the hero +of many battles, who had won honour for himself and for his country in +foreign lands, and who was coming home. Everybody stood up and gazed, +Melchior with them. Then the crowd parted, and the hero came on. No +one asked whether he were handsome or genteel, whether he kept good +company, or wore a tiger-skin rug, or looked through an opera-glass? +They knew what he had _done_, and it was enough. + +"He was a bronzed hairy man, with one sleeve empty, and a breast +covered with stars; but in his face, brown with sun and wind, +overgrown with hair and scarred with wounds, Melchior saw his second +brother! There was no doubt of it. And the brother himself, though he +bowed kindly in answer to the greetings showered on him, was gazing +anxiously for the old coach, where he used to ride and be so +uncomfortable, in that time to which he now looked back as the +happiest of his life. + +"'I thank you, gentlemen. I am indebted to you, gentlemen. I have been +away long. I am going home.' + +"'Of course he is!' shouted Melchior, waving his arms widely with +pride and joy. 'He is coming home; to this coach, where he was--oh, +it seems but an hour ago! Time goes so fast. We were great friends +when we were young together. My brother and I, ladies and gentlemen, +the hero and I--my brother--the hero with the stars upon his +breast--he is coming home!' + +"Alas! what avail stars and ribbons on a breast where the life-blood +is trickling slowly from a little wound? The crowd looked anxious; the +hero came on, but more slowly, with his dim eyes straining for the old +coach; and Melchior stood with his arms held out in silent agony. But +just when he was beginning to hope, and the brothers seemed about to +meet, a figure passed between--a figure in a cloak. + +"'I have seen you many times, Friend, face to face,' said the hero; +'but now I would fain have waited for a little while.' + +"'To enjoy his well-earned honours,' murmured the crowd. + +"'Nay,' he said, 'not that; but to see my home, and my brothers and +sisters. But if it may not be, friend Death, I am ready, and tired +too.' With that he held out his hand, and Death lifted up the hero of +many battles like a child, and carried him away, stars and ribbons and +all. + +"'Cruel Death!' cried Melchior; 'was there no one else in all this +crowd, that you must take him?' + +"His friends condoled with him; but they soon went on their own ways; +and the hero seemed to be forgotten; and Melchior, who had lost all +pleasure in the old bowings and chattings, sat sadly gazing out of the +window, to see if he could see any one for whom he cared. At last, in +a grave dark man, who was sitting on a horse, and making a speech to +the crowd, he recognized his clever untidy brother. + +"'What is that man talking about?' he asked of some one near him. + +"'That man!' was the answer. 'Don't you know? He is _the_ man of the +time. He is a philosopher. Everybody goes to hear him. He has found +out that--well--that everything is a mistake.' + +"'Has he corrected it?' said Melchior. + +"'You had better hear for yourself,' said the man. 'Listen.' + +"Melchior listened, and a cold clear voice rang upon his ear, +saying:-- + +"'The world of fools will go on as they have ever done; but to the +wise few, to whom I address myself, I would say--Shake off at once and +for ever the fancies and feelings, the creeds and customs that shackle +you, and be true. We have come to a time when wise men will not be +led blindfold in the footsteps of their predecessors, but will tear +away the bandage and see for themselves. I have torn away mine, and +looked. There is no Faith--it is shaken to its rotten foundation; +there is no Hope--it is disappointed every day; there is no Love at +all. There is nothing for any man or for each, but his fate; and he is +happiest and wisest who can meet it most unmoved.' + +"'It is a lie!' shouted Melchior. 'I feel it to be so in my heart. A +wicked foolish lie! Oh! was it to teach such evil folly as this that +you left home and us, my brother? Oh, come back! come back!' + +"The philosopher turned his head coldly, and smiled. 'I thank the +gentleman who spoke,' he said, still in the same cold voice, 'for his +bad opinion, and for his good wishes. I think the gentleman spoke of +home and kindred. My experience of life has led me to find that home +is most valued when it is left, and kindred most dear when they are +parted. I have happily freed myself from such inconsistencies. I am +glad to know that fate can tear me from no place that I care for more +than the next where it shall deposit me, nor take away any friends +that I value more than those it leaves. I recommend a similar +self-emancipation to the gentleman who did me the honour of +speaking.' + +"With this the philosopher went his way, and the crowd followed him. + +"'There is a separation more bitter than death,' said Melchior. + +"At last he pulled the check-string, and called to Godfather Time in +an humble entreating voice. + +"'It is not your fault,' he began; 'it is not your fault, Godfather; +but this drive has been altogether wrong. Let us turn back and begin +again. Let us all get in afresh and begin again.' + +"'But what a squeeze with all the brats!' said Godfather Time, +ironically. + +"'We should be so happy,' murmured Melchior, humbly; 'and it is very +cold and chilly; we should keep each other warm.' + +"'You have the tiger-skin rug and the opera-glass, you know,' said +Time. + +"'Ah, do not speak of me!' cried Melchior, earnestly. 'I am thinking +of them. There is plenty of room; the little one can sit on my knee; +and we shall be so happy. The truth is, Godfather, that I have been +wrong. I have gone the wrong way to work. A little more love, and +kindness, and forbearance, might have kept my sisters with us, might +have led the little one to better tastes and pleasures, and have +taught the other by experience the truth of the faith and hope and +love which he now reviles. Oh, I have sinned! I have sinned! Let us +turn back, Godfather Time, and begin again. And oh! drive very slowly, +for partings come only too soon.' + +"'I am sorry,' said the old man in the same bitter tone as before, 'to +disappoint your rather unreasonable wishes. What you say is admirably +true, with this misfortune, that your good intentions are too late. +Like the rest of the world you are ready to seize the opportunity when +it is past. You should have been kind _then_. You should have advised +_then_. You should have yielded _then_. You should have loved your +brothers and sisters while you had them. It is too late now.' + +"With this he drove on, and spoke no more, and poor Melchior stared +sadly out of the window. As he was gazing at the crowd, he suddenly +saw the dog-cart, in which were his brother and his wretched +companions. Oh, how old and worn he looked! and how ragged his clothes +were! The men seemed to be trying to persuade him to do something that +he did not like, and they began to quarrel; but in the midst of the +dispute he turned his head and caught sight of the old coach; and +Melchior seeing this, waved his hands, and beckoned with all his +might. The brother seemed doubtful; but Melchior waved harder, and +(was it fancy?) Time seemed to go slower. The brother made up his +mind; he turned and jumped from the dog-cart as he had jumped from the +old coach long ago, and ducking in and out among the horses and +carriages, ran for his life. The men came after him; but he ran like +the wind--pant, pant, nearer, nearer; at last the coach was reached, +and Melchior seized the prodigal by his rags and dragged him in. + +"'Oh, thank GOD, I have got you safe, my brother!' + +"But what a brother! with wasted body and sunken eyes; with the old +curly hair turned to matted locks, that clung faster to his face than +the rags did to his trembling limbs; what a sight for the +opera-glasses of the crowd! What a subject for the tongues that were +ever wagging, and complimenting, and backbiting, and lying, all in a +breath, and without sense or scruple! What a sight and a subject for +the fine friends, for whose good opinion Melchior had been so anxious? +Do you think he was as anxious now? Do you think he was troubled by +what they either saw or said; or was ashamed of the wretched prodigal +lying among the cushions? I think not. I think that for the most +foolish of us there are moments in life (of real joy or real sorrow) +when we judge things by a higher standard, and care vastly little for +what 'people say'. The only shame that Melchior felt was that his +brother should have fared so hardly in the trials and temptations of +the world outside, while he had sat at ease among the cushions of the +old coach, that had been the home of both alike. Thank GOD, +it was the home of both now! And poor Hop-o'-my-Thumb was on the front +seat at last, with Melchior kneeling at his feet, and fondly stroking +the head that rested against him. + +"'Has powder come into fashion, brother?' he said. 'Your hair is +streaked with white.' + +"'If it has,' said the other, laughing, 'your barber is better than +mine, Melchior, for your head is as white as snow.' + +"'Is it possible? are we so old? has Time gone so very fast? But what +are you staring at through the window? I shall be jealous of that +crowd, brother.' + +"'I am not looking at the crowd,' said the prodigal in a low voice; +'but I see--' + +"'You see what?' said Melchior. + +"'A figure in a cloak, gliding in and out--' + +"Melchior sprang up in horror. 'No! no!' he cried, hoarsely. 'No! +surely no!' + +"Surely yes! Too surely the well-known figure came on; and the +prodigal's sunken eyes looked more sunken still as he gazed. As for +Melchior, he neither spoke nor moved, but stood in a silent agony, +terrible to see. All at once a thought seemed to strike him; he seized +his brother, and pushed him to the furthest corner of the seat, and +then planted himself firmly at the door just as Death came up and put +his hand into the coach. Then he spoke in a low steady voice, more +piteous than cries or tears. + +"'I humbly beseech you, good Death, if you must take one of us, to +take me. I have had a long drive, and many comforts and blessings, and +am willing if unworthy to go. He has suffered much, and had no +pleasure; leave him for a little to enjoy the drive in peace, just for +a very little; he has suffered so much, and I have been so much to +blame; let me go instead of him.' + +"Alas for Melchior! It is decreed in the Providence of GOD, +that, although the opportunities for doing good, which are in the +power of every man, are beyond count or knowledge, yet, the +opportunity once neglected, no man by any self-sacrifice can atone for +those who have fallen or suffered by his negligence. Poor Melchior! An +unalterable law made him the powerless spectator of the consequences +of his neglected opportunities. 'No man may deliver his brother, or +make agreement unto GOD for him, for it cost more to redeem +their souls, so that he must let that alone for ever.' And is it ever +so bitter to 'let alone,' as in a case where we might have acted and +did not? + +"Poor Melchior! In vain he laid both his hands in Death's outstretched +palm; they fell to him again as if they had passed through air; he was +pushed aside--Death passed into the coach--'one was taken and the +other left.' + +"As the cloaked figure glided in and out among the crowd, many turned +to look at his sad burden, though few heeded him. Much was said; but +the general voice of the crowd was this: 'Ah! he is gone, is he? Well! +a born rascal! It must be a great relief to his brother!' A conclusion +which was about as wise, and about as near the truth, as the world's +conclusions generally are. As for Melchior, he neither saw the figure +nor heard the crowd, for he had fallen senseless among the cushions. + +"When he came to his senses, he found himself lying still upon his +face; and so bitter was his loneliness and grief, that he lay still +and did not move. He was astonished, however, by the (as it seemed to +him) unusual silence. The noise of the carriages had been deafening, +and now there was not a sound. Was he deaf? or had the crowd gone? He +opened his eyes. Was he blind? or had the night come? He sat right up, +and shook himself, and looked again. The crowd _was_ gone; so, for +matter of that, was the coach; and so was Godfather Time. He had not +been lying among cushions, but among pillows; he was not in any +vehicle of any kind, but in bed. The room was dark, and very still; +but through the 'barracks' window, which had no blind, he saw the +winter sun pushing through the mist, like a red hot cannon-ball +hanging in the frosty trees; and in the yard outside, the cocks were +crowing. + +"There was no longer any doubt that he was safe in his old home; but +where were his brothers and sisters? With a beating heart he crept to +the other end of the bed; and there lay the prodigal, but with no +haggard cheeks or sunken eyes, no grey locks or miserable rags, but a +rosy yellow-haired urchin fast asleep, with his head upon his arm. 'I +took his pillow,' muttered Melchior, self-reproachfully. + +"A few minutes later, young Hop-o'-my-Thumb (whom Melchior dared not +lose sight of for fear he should melt away) seated comfortably on his +brother's back, and wrapped up in a blanket, was making a tour of the +'barracks.' + +"'It's an awful lark,' said he, shivering with a mixture of cold and +delight. + +"If not exactly a _lark_, it was a very happy tour to Melchior, as, +hope gradually changing into certainty, he recognized his brothers in +one shapeless lump after the other in the little beds. There they all +were, sleeping peacefully in a happy home, from the embryo hero to the +embryo philosopher, who lay with the invariable book upon his pillow, +and his hair looking (as it always did) as if he lived in a high wind. + +"'I say,' whispered Melchior, pointing to him, 'what did he say the +other day about being a parson?' + +"'He said he should like to be one,' returned Hop-o'-my-Thumb; 'but +you said he would frighten away the congregation with his looks. And +then, you know, he got very angry, and said he didn't know priests +need be dandies, and that everybody was humbuggy alike, and thought of +nothing but looks; but that he would be a philosopher like Diogenes, +who cared for nobody, and was as ugly as an ape, and lived in a tub.' + +"'He will make a capital parson,' said Melchior, hastily, 'and I shall +tell him so to-morrow. And when I'm squire here, he shall be vicar, +and I'll subscribe to all his dodges without a grumble. I'm the eldest +son. And, I say, don't you think we could brush his hair for him in a +morning, till he learns to do it himself?' + +"'Oh, I will!' was the lively answer; 'I'm an awful dab at brushing. +Look how I brush your best hat!' + +"'True,' said Melchior. 'Where are the girls to-night?' + +"'In the little room at the end of the long passage,' said +Hop-o'-my-Thumb, trembling with increased chilliness and enjoyment. +'But you're never going there! we shall wake the company, and they +will all come out to see what's the matter.' + +"'I shouldn't care if they did,' said Melchior, 'it would make it feel +more real.' + +"As he did not understand this sentiment, Hop-o'-my-Thumb said +nothing, but held on very tightly; and they crept softly down the cold +grey passage in the dawn. The girls' door was open; for the girls were +afraid of robbers, and left their bed-room door wide open at night, as +a natural and obvious means of self-defence. The girls slept together; +and the frill of the pale sister's prim little night-cap was buried in +the other one's uncovered curls. + +"'How you do tremble!' whispered Hop-o'-my-Thumb; 'are you cold?' This +inquiry received no answer; and after some minutes he spoke again. 'I +say, how very pretty they look! don't they?' + +"But for some reason or other, Melchior seemed to have lost his voice; +but he stooped down and kissed both the girls very gently, and then +the two brothers crept back along the passage to the 'barracks.' + +"'One thing more,' said Melchior; and they went up to the mantelpiece. +'I will lend you my bow and arrows to-morrow, on one condition--' + +"'Anything!' was the reply, in an enthusiastic whisper. + +"'That you take that old picture for a target, and never let me see it +again.' + +"It was very ungrateful! but perfection is not in man; and there was +something in Melchior's muttered excuse-- + +"'I couldn't stand another night of it.' + +"Hop-o'-my-Thumb was speedily put to bed again, to get warm, this time +with both the pillows; but Melchior was too restless to sleep, so he +resolved to have a shower-bath, and to dress. After which, he knelt +down by the window, and covered his face with his hands. + +"'He's saying very long prayers,' thought Hop-o'-my-Thumb, glancing at +him from his warm nest; 'and what a jolly humour he is in this +morning!' + +"Still the young head was bent, and the handsome face hidden; and +Melchior was finding his life every moment more real and more happy. +For there was hardly a thing, from the well-filled 'barracks' to the +brother bedfellow, that had been a hardship last night, which this +morning did not seem a blessing. He rose at last, and stood in the +sunshine, which was now pouring in; a smile was on his lips, and on +his face were two drops, which, if they were water, had not come from +the shower-bath, or from any bath at all." + + * * * * * + +"Is that the end?" inquired the young lady on his knee, as the story +teller paused here. + +"Yes, that is the end." + +"It's a beautiful story," she murmured, thoughtfully; "but what an +extraordinary one! I don't think I could have dreamt such a wonderful +dream." + +"Do you think you could have eaten such a wonderful supper?" said the +friend, twisting his moustachios. + +After this point, the evening's amusements were thoroughly successful. +Richard took his smoking boots from the fire-place, and was called upon +for various entertainments for which he was famous: such as the +accurate imitation of a train just starting, in which two pieces of +bone were used with considerable effect; as also of a bumble-bee, who +(very much out of season) went buzzing about, and was always being +caught with a heavy bang on the heads and shoulders of those who least +expected it; all which specimens of his talents were received with due +applause by his admiring brothers and sisters. + +The bumble-bee had just been caught (for the twenty-first time) with a +loud smack on brother Benjamin's ear, when the door opened, and +Paterfamilias entered with Materfamilias (whose headache was better), +and followed by the candles. A fresh log was then thrown upon the +fire, the yule cakes and furmety were put upon the table, and +everybody drew round to supper; and Paterfamilias announced that +although he could not give the materials to play with, he had no +objection now to a bowl of moderate punch for all, and that Richard +might compound it. This was delightful; and as he sat by his father, +ladling away to the rest, Adolphus Brown could hardly have felt more +jovial, even with the champagne and ices. + +The rest sat with radiant faces and shining heads in goodly order; and +at the bottom of the table, by Materfamilias, was the friend, as happy +in his unselfish sympathy as if his twenty-five sticks had come to +life, and were supping with him. As happy--nearly--as if a certain +woman's grave had never been dug under the southern sun that could not +save her, and as if the children gathered round him were those of +whose faces he had often dreamt, but might never see. + +His health had been drunk, and everybody else's too, when, just as +supper was coming to a close, Richard (who had been sitting in +thoughtful silence for some minutes) got up with sudden resolution, +and said, + +"I want to propose Mr. What's-his-name's health on my own account. I +want to thank him for his story, which had only one mistake in it. +Melchior should have kept the effervescing papers to put into the +beer; it's a splendid drink! Otherwise it was first-rate; though it +hit me rather hard. I want to say that though I didn't mean all I said +about being an only son (when a fellow gets put out he doesn't know +what he means), yet I know I was quite wrong, and the story is quite +right. I want particularly to say that I'm very glad there are so many +of us, for the more, you know, the merrier. I wouldn't change father +or mother, brothers or sisters, with any one in the world. It couldn't +be better, we couldn't be happier. We are all together, and to-morrow +is Christmas Day. Thank GOD." + +It was very well said. It was a very good speech. It was very well and +very good that while the blessings were with him, he could feel it to +be so, and be grateful. + +It was very well, and good also, that the friend, who had neither home +nor kindred to be grateful for, had something else for which he could +thank GOD as heartily. The thought of that something came to +him then as he sat at his friend's table, filling his eyes with tears. +It came to him next day as he knelt before GOD's altar, +remembering in blessed fellowship that deed of love which is the +foundation of all our hope and joy. It came to him when he went back +to his lonely wandering life, and thought with tender interest of that +boyish speech. It came--a whisper of consolation to silence envy and +regret for ever. + +"There _is_ something far better. There _is_ something far happier. +There is a better Home than any earthly one, and a Family that shall +never be divided." + + + + +THE BLACKBIRD'S NEST. + + "Let me not think an action mine own way, + But as Thy love shall sway, + Resigning up the rudder to Thy skill." + + GEORGE HERBERT. + + +One day, when I was a very little girl (which is a long time ago), I +made a discovery. The place where I made it was not very remote, being +a holly-bush at the bottom of our garden; and the discovery was not a +great one in itself, though I thought it very grand. I had found a +blackbird's nest, with three young ones in it. + +The discovery was made on this wise. I was sitting one morning on a +log of wood opposite this holly-bush, reading the story of Goody +Twoshoes, and thinking to myself how much I should like to be like +her, and to go about in the village with a raven, a pigeon, and a lark +on my shoulders, admired and talked about by everybody. All sorts of +nonsense passed through my head as I sat, with the book on my lap, +staring straight before me; and I was just fancying the kind +condescension with which I would behave to everybody when I became a +Goody Twoshoes, when I saw a bird come out of the holly-bush and fly +away. It was a blackbird: there was no doubt of it; and it must have a +nest in the tree, or why had it been there so long? Down went my book, +and I flew to make my discovery. A blackbird's nest, with three young +ones! I stood still at first in pure pleasure at the sight; and then, +little by little, grand ideas came into my head. + +I would be very kind to these little blackbirds, I thought; I would +take them home out of this cold tree, and make a large nest of cotton +wool (which would be much softer and better for them than to be where +they were), and feed them, and keep them; and then, when they were +full-grown, they would, of course, love me better than any one, and be +very tame and grateful; and I should walk about with them on my +shoulders, like Goody Twoshoes, and be admired by everybody; for, I am +ashamed to say, most of my day dreams ended with this, _to be admired +by everybody_. I was so wrapped up in these thoughts that I did not +know, till his hands were laid upon my shoulders, that my friend, the +curate of the village, had come up behind me. He lived next door to +us, and often climbed over the wall that divided our garden to bring +me flowers for my little bed. He was a tall, dark, not very young man; +and the best hand at making fire-balloons, mending toys, and making a +broken wax doll as good as new with a hot knitting needle, that you +can imagine. I had heard grown-up people call him grave and silent, +but he always laughed and talked to me. + +"What are you doing, little woman?" he said. + +"I have got a nest of poor little birds," I answered; "I am so sorry +for them here in the cold; but they will be all right when I have got +them indoors. I shall make them a beautiful nest of cotton wool, and +feed them. Won't it be nice?" + +I spoke confidently; for I had really so worked up my fancy that I +felt quite a contemptuous pity for all the wretched little birds who +were hatched every year without me to rear them. At the same time, I +had a general idea that grown-up people always _did_ throw cold water +on splendid plans like mine; so I was more indignant than surprised +when my friend the curate tried to show me that it was quite +impossible to do as I wished. The end of all his arguments was that I +must leave the nest in its place. But I had a great turn for +disputing, and was not at all inclined to give up my point. "You told +me on Sunday," I said, pertly, "that we were never too little to do +kind things; let me do this." + +"If I could be sure," he said, looking at me, "that you only wish to +do a kind thing." + +I got more angry and rude. + +"Perhaps you think I want to kill them," I said. + +He did not answer, but taking both my hands in his, said, gravely, +"Tell me, my child, which do you wish most--to be kind to these poor +little birds? or to have the honour and glory of having them, and +bringing them up?" + +"To be kind to them," said I, getting very red. "I don't want any +honour and glory," and I felt ready to cry. + +"Well, well," he said, smiling; "then I know you will believe me when +I tell you that the kindest thing you can do for these little birds is +to leave them where they are. And if you like, you can come and sit +here every day till they are able to fly, and keep watch over the +nest, that no naughty boy may come near it--the curate, for instance!" +and he pulled a funny face. "That will be very kind." + +"But they will never know, and I want them to like me," said I. + +"I thought you only wanted to be kind," he answered. And then he began +to talk very gently about different sorts of kindness, and that if I +wished to be kind like a Christian, I must be kind without hoping for +any reward, whether gratitude or anything else. He told me that the +best followers of Jesus in all times had tried hard to do everything, +however small, simply for GOD's sake, and to put themselves +away. That they often began even their letters, etc., with such words, +as, "Glory to GOD," to remind themselves that everything they +did, to be perfect, must be done to GOD, and GOD alone. And that in +doing good kind things even, they were afraid lest, though the thing +was right, the wish to do it might have come from conceit or +presumption. + +"This self-devotion," he added, "is the very highest Christian life, +and seems, I dare say, very hard for you even to understand, and much +more so to put in practice. But we must all try for it in the best way +we can, little woman; and for those who by GOD's grace really +practised it, it was almost as impossible to be downcast or +disappointed as if they were already in Heaven. They wished for +nothing to happen to themselves but GOD's will; they did +nothing but for GOD's glory. And so a very good bishop says, +'I have my end, whether I succeed or am disappointed.' So you will +have your end, my child, in being kind to these little birds in the +right way, and denying yourself, whether they know you or not." + +I could not have understood all he said; but I am afraid I did not try +to understand what I might have done; however, I said no more, and +stood silent, while he comforted me with the promise of a new flower +for my garden, called "hen and chickens," which he said I was to take +care of instead of the little blackbirds. + +When he was gone I went back to the holly-bush, and stood gazing at +the nest, and nursing angry thoughts in my heart. "What a _preach_," I +thought, "about nothing! as if there could be any conceit and +presumption in taking care of three poor little birds! The curate must +forget that I was growing into a big girl; and as to not knowing how +to feed them, I knew as well as he did that birds lived upon worms, +and liked bread-crumbs." And so _thinking wrong_ ended (as it almost +always does) in _doing wrong_: and I took the three little blackbirds +out of the nest, popped them into my pocket-handkerchief, and ran +home. And I took some trouble to keep them out of everyone's +sight--even out of my mother's; for I did not want to hear any more +"grown-up" opinions on the matter. + +I filled a basket with cotton wool, and put the birds inside, and took +them into a little room downstairs, where they would be warm. Before I +went to bed I put two or three worms, and a large supply of soaked +bread-crumbs, in the nest, close to their little beaks. "What can they +want more?" thought I in my folly; but conscience is apt to be +restless when one is young, and I could not feel quite comfortable in +bed, though I got to sleep at last, trying to fancy myself Goody +Twoshoes, with three sleek full-fledged blackbirds on my shoulders. + +In the morning, as soon as I could slip away, I went to my pets. Any +one may guess what I found; but I believe no one can understand the +shock of agony and remorse that I felt. There lay the worms that I had +dug up with reckless cruelty; there was the wasted bread; and there, +above all, lay the three little blackbirds, cold and dead! + +I do not know how long I stood looking at the victims of my +presumptuous wilfulness; but at last I heard a footstep in the +passage, and fearing to be caught, I tore out of the house, and down +to my old seat near the holly-bush, where I flung myself on the +ground, and "wept bitterly." At last I heard the well-known sound of +some one climbing over the wall; and then the curate stood before me, +with the plant of "hen and chickens" in his hands. I jumped up, and +shrank away from him. + +"Don't come near me," I cried; "the blackbirds are dead;" and I threw +myself down again. + +I knew from experience that few things roused the anger of my friend +so strongly as to see or hear of animals being ill-treated. I had +never forgotten, one day when I was out with him, his wrath over a boy +who was cruelly beating a donkey; and now I felt, though I could not +see, the expression of his face, as he looked at the holly-bush and at +me, and exclaimed, "You took them!" And then added, in the low tone in +which he always spoke when angry, "And the mother-bird has been +wandering all night round this tree, seeking her little ones in vain, +not to be comforted, because they are not! Child, child! has +GOD the Father given life to His creatures for you to destroy +it in this reckless manner?" + +His words cut my heart like a knife; but I was too utterly wretched +already to be much more miserable; I only lay still and moaned. At +last he took pity, and lifting me up on to his knee, endeavoured to +comfort me. + +This was not, however, an easy matter. I knew much better than he did +how very naughty I had been; and I felt that I had murdered the poor +tender little birds. + +"I can never, never, forgive myself!" I sobbed. + +"But you must be reasonable," he said. "You gave way to your vanity +and wilfulness, and persuaded yourself that you only wished to be kind +to the blackbirds; and you have been punished. Is it not so?" + +"O yes!" I cried; "I am so wicked! I wish I were as good as you are!" + +"As I am!"--he began. + +I was too young then to understand the sharp tone of self-reproach in +which he spoke. In my eyes he was perfection; only perhaps a little +_too_ good. But he went on:-- + +"Do you know, this fault of yours reminds me of a time when I was just +as wilful and conceited, just as much bent upon doing the great duty +of helping others in my own grand fashion, rather than in the humble +way which GOD's Providence pointed out, only it was in a much +more serious matter; I was older, too, and so had less excuse. I am +almost tempted to tell you about it; not that our cases are really +quite alike, but that the punishment which met my sin was so +unspeakably bitter in comparison with yours, that you may be thankful +to have learnt a lesson of humility at smaller cost." + +I did not understand him--in fact, I did not understand many things +that he said, for he had a habit of talking to me as if he were +speaking to himself; but I had a general idea of his meaning, and said +(very truly), "I cannot fancy you doing wrong." + +I was puzzled again by the curious expression of his face; but he only +said, "Shall I tell you a story?" + +I knew his stories of old, and gave an eager "Yes." + +"It is a sad one," he said. + +"I do not think I should like a very funny one just now," I replied. +"Is it true?" + +"Quite," he answered. "It is about myself." He was silent for a few +moments, as if making up his mind to speak; and then, laying his head, +as he sometimes did, on my shoulder, so that I could not see his face, +he began. + +"When I was a boy (older than you, so I ought to have been better), I +might have been described in the words of Scripture--I was 'the only +son of my mother, and she was a widow.' We were badly off, and she was +very delicate, nay, ill--more ill, GOD knows, than I had any +idea of. I had long been used to the sight of the doctor once or twice +a week, and to her being sometimes better and sometimes worse; and +when our old servant lectured me for making a noise, or the doctor +begged that she might not be excited or worried, I fancied that +doctors and nurses always did say things of that sort, and that there +was no particular need to attend to them. + +"Not that I was unfeeling to my dear mother, for I loved her +devotedly in my wilful worldly way. It was for her sake that I had +been so vexed by the poverty into which my father's death had plunged +us. For her sake I worried her, by grumbling before her at our narrow +lodgings and lost comforts. For her sake, child, in my madness, I +wasted the hours in which I might have soothed, and comforted, and +waited on her, in dreaming of wild schemes for making myself famous +and rich, and giving her back all and more than she had lost. For her +sake I fancied myself pouring money at her feet, and loading her with +luxuries, while she was praying for me to our common Father, and +laying up treasure for herself in Heaven. + +"One day I remember, when she was remonstrating with me over a bad +report which the schoolmaster had given of me (he said I could work, +but wouldn't), my vanity overcame my prudence, and I told her that I +thought some fellows were made to 'fag,' and some not; that I had been +writing a poem in my dictionary the day that I had done so badly, and +that I hoped to be a poet long before my master had composed a +grammar. I can see now her sorrowful face as, with tears in her eyes, +she told me that all 'fellows' alike were made to do their duty +'before GOD, and Angels, and Men.' That it was by improving +the little events and opportunities of every day that men became +great, and not by neglecting them for their own presumptuous fancies. +And she entreated me to strive to do my duty, and to leave the rest +with GOD. I listened, however, impatiently to what I called a +'jaw' or a 'scold,' and then (knowing the tender interest she took in +all I did) I tried to coax her by offering to read my poem. But she +answered with just severity, that what she wished was to see me a good +man, not a great one; and that she would rather see my exercises duly +written than fifty poems composed at the expense of my neglected duty. +Then she warned me tenderly of the misery which my conceit would bring +upon me, and bade me, when I said my evening prayers, to add that +prayer of King David, 'Keep Thy servant from presumptuous sins, lest +they get the dominion over me.' + +"Alas! they had got the dominion over me already, too strongly for her +words to take any hold. 'She won't even look at my poem,' I thought, +and hurried proudly from the room, banging one door and leaving +another open. And I silenced my uneasy conscience by fresh dreams of +making my fortune and hers. But the punishment came at last. One day +the doctor took me into a room alone, and told me as gently as he +could what everyone but myself knew already--my mother was dying. I +cannot tell you, child, how the blow fell upon me--how, at first, I +utterly disbelieved its truth! It seemed _impossible_ that the only +hope of my life, the object of all my schemes and fancies, was to be +taken away. But I was awakened at last, and resolved that, +GOD helping me, while she did live, I would be a better son. +I can now look back with thankfulness on the few days we were +together. I never left her. She took her food and medicine from my +hand; and I received my First Communion with her on the day she died. +The day before, kneeling by her bed, I had confessed all the sin and +vanity of my heart and those miserable dreams; had destroyed with my +own hand all my papers, and had resolved that I would apply to my +studies, and endeavour to obtain a scholarship and the necessary +preparation for Holy Orders. It was a just ambition, little woman, +undertaken humbly, in the fear of GOD, and in the path of +duty; and I accomplished it years after, when I had nothing left of my +mother but her memory." + +The curate was silent, and I felt, rather than saw, that the tears +which were wetting my frock had not come from my own eyes, though I +was crying bitterly. I flung my arms round his neck, and hugged him +tight. + +"Oh, I am so sorry!" I sobbed; "so very, very sorry!" + +We became quieter after a bit; and he lifted up his head and smiled, +and called himself a fool for making me sad, and told me not to tell +any one what he had told me, and what babies we had been, except my +mother. + +"Tell her _everything_ always," he said. + +I soon cheered up, particularly as he took me over the wall, and into +his workshop, and made a coffin for the poor little blackbirds, which +we lined with cotton-wool and scented with musk, as a mark of respect. +Then he dug a deep hole in the garden and we buried them, and made a +fine high mound of earth, and put the "hen and chicken" plants all +round. And that night, sitting on my mother's knee, I told her +"everything," and shed a few more tears of sorrow and repentance in +her arms. + + * * * * * + +Many years have passed since then, and many showers of rain have +helped to lay the mound flat with the earth, so that the "hen and +chickens" have run all over it, and made a fine plot. The curate and +his mother have met at last; and I have transplanted many flowers that +he gave me to his grave. I sometimes wonder if, in his perfect +happiness, he knows, or cares to know, how often the remembrance of +his story has stopped the current of conceited day-dreams, and brought +me back to practical duty with the humble prayer, "Keep Thy servant +also from presumptuous sins." + + + + +FRIEDRICH'S BALLAD. + +A TALE OF THE FEAST OF ST. NICHOLAS. + + + "Nè pinger nè scolpir fia più che queti, + L'anima volta a quell' Amor divino + Ch'asserse a prender noi in Croce le braccia." + + "Painting and Sculpture's aid in vain I crave, + My one sole refuge is that Love divine + Which from the Cross stretched forth its arms to save." + + _Written by_ MICHAEL ANGELO _at the age of 83._ + + +"So be it," said one of the council, as he rose and addressed the +others. "It is now finally decided. The Story Woman is to be walled +up." + +The council was not an ecclesiastical one, and the woman condemned to +the barbarous and bygone punishment of being "walled up" was not an +offending nun. In fact the Story Woman (or _Märchen-Frau_ as she is +called in Germany) may be taken to represent the imaginary personage +who is known in England by the name of Mother Bunch, or Mother Goose; +and it was in this instance the name given by a certain family of +children to an old book of ballads and poems, which they were +accustomed to read in turn with special solemnities, on one particular +night in the year; the reader for the time being having a peculiar +costume, and the title of "Märchen-Frau," or Mother Bunch, a name +which had in time been familiarly adopted for the ballad-book itself. + +This book was not bound in a fashionable colour, nor illustrated by a +fashionable artist; the Chiswick Press had not set up a type for it, +and Hayday's morocco was a thing unknown. It had not, in short, one of +those attractions with which in these days books are surrounded, whose +insides do not always fulfil the promise of the binding. If, however, +it was on these points inferior to modern volumes, it had on others +the advantage. It did not share a precarious favour with a dozen +rivals in mauve, to be supplanted ere the year was out by twelve new +ones in magenta. It was never thrown aside with the contemptuous +remark,--"I've read that!" On the contrary, it always had been to its +possessors, what (from the best Book downwards) a good book always +should be, a friend, and not an acquaintance--not to be too readily +criticized, but to be loved and trusted. The pages were yellow and +worn, not with profane ill-usage, but with honourable wear and tear; +and the mottled binding presented much such an appearance as might be +expected from a book that had been pressed under the pillow of one +reader, and in the pocket of another; that had been wept over and +laughed over, and warmed by winter fires, and damped in the summer +grass, and had in general seen as much of life as the venerable book +in question. It was not the property of one member of the family, but +the joint possession of all. It was not _mine_, but _ours_, as the +inscription, "For the Children," written on the blank leaf testified; +which inscription was hereafter to be a pathetic memorial to aged eyes +of days when "the children" were not yet separated, and took their +pleasures, like their meals, together. + +And after all this, with the full consent of a council of the owners, +the _Märchen-Frau_ was to be "walled up." + +But before I attempt to explain, or in any way excuse this seemingly +ungracious act, it may be well to give some account of the doers +thereof. Well, then:-- + +Providence had blessed a certain respectable tradesman, in a certain +town in Germany, with a large and promising family of children. He had +married very early the beloved of his boyhood, and had been left a +widower with one motherless baby almost before he was a man. A +neighbour, with womanly compassion, took pity upon this desolate +father, and more desolate child; and it was not until she had nursed +the babe in her own house through a dangerous sickness, and had for +long been chief adviser to the parent, that he awoke to the fact that +she had become necessary to him, and they were married. + +Of this union came a family of eight, the two eldest of whom were laid +in turn in the quiet grave. The others survived, and, with the first +wife's daughter, made a goodly family party, which sometimes sorely +taxed the resources of the tradesman to provide for, though his +business was good and his wife careful. They scrambled up, however, as +children are wont to do in such circumstances; and at the time our +story opens the youngest had turned his back upon babyhood, and Marie, +the eldest, had reached that pinnacle of childish ambition--she was +"grown up." + +A very good Marie she was, and always had been; from the days when she +ran to school with a little knapsack on her back, and her fair hair +hanging down in two long plaits, to the present time, when she +tenderly fastened that same knapsack on to the shoulders of a younger +sister; and when the plaits had for long been reclaimed from their +vagrant freedom, and coiled close to her head. + +"Our Marie is not clever," said one of the children, who flattered +himself that _he was_ a bit of a genius; "our Marie is not clever, but +also she is never wrong." + +It is with this same genius that our story has chiefly to do. + +Friedrich was a child of unusual talent; a fact which, happily for +himself, was not discovered till he was more than twelve years old. He +learnt to read very quickly; and when he was once able, read every +book on which he could lay his hands, and in his father's house the +number was not great. When Marie was a child, the school was kept by a +certain old man, very gentle and learned in his quiet way. He had been +fond of his fair-haired pupil, and when she was no longer a scholar, +had passed many an odd hour in imparting to her a slight knowledge of +Latin, and of the great Linnæus' system of botany. He was now dead, +and his place filled by a less sympathizing pedagogue; and Friedrich +listened with envious ears to his more fortunate sister's stories of +her friend and master. + +"So he taught you Latin--that great language! And botany--which is a +science!" the child would exclaim with envious admiration, when he had +heard for the thousandth time every particular of the old +schoolmaster's kindness. + +And Marie would answer calmly, as she "refooted" one of the father's +stockings, "We did a good deal of the grammar, which I fear I have +forgotten, and I learnt by heart a few of the Psalms in Latin, which I +remember well. Also we commenced the system of Mr. Linnæus, but I was +very stupid, and ever preferred those plates which pictured the flower +itself to those which gave the torn pieces, and which he thought most +valuable. But, above all, he taught me to be good; and though I have +forgotten many of his lessons, there are words and advice of his which +I heeded little then, but which come back and teach me now. Father +once heard the Burgomaster say he was a genius, but I know that he was +good, and that is best of all;" with which, having turned the heel of +her stocking, Marie would put it out of reach of the kitten, and lay +the table for dinner. + +And Friedrich--poor Friedrich!--groaning inwardly at his sister's +indifference to her great opportunities for learning, would speculate +to himself on the probable fate of each volume in the old +schoolmaster's library, which had been sold when he, Friedrich, was +but three years old. Thus, in these circumstances, the boy expressed +his feelings with moderation when he said, "Our Marie is not clever, +but also she is never wrong." + +If the schoolmaster was dead, however, Friedrich was not, +nevertheless, friendless. There was a certain bookseller in his native +town, for whom in his spare time he ran messages, and who in return +was glad to let him spend his playhours and half-holidays among the +books in his shop. There, perched at the top of the shelves on a +ladder, or crouched upon his toes at the bottom, he devoured some +volumes and dipped into others; but what he liked best was poetry, and +this not uncommon taste with many young readers was with this one a +mania. Wherever the sight of verses met his eye, there he fastened and +read greedily. + +One day, a short time before my story opens, he found, in his +wanderings from shelf to shelf, some nicely-bound volumes, one of +which he opened, and straightway verses of the most attractive-looking +metre met his eye, not, however, in German, but in a fair round Roman +text, and, alas! in a language which he did not understand. There were +customers in the shop, so he stood still in the corner with his nose +almost resting on the bookshelf, staring fiercely at the page, as if +he would force the meaning out of those fair clear-looking verses. +When the last beard had vanished through the doorway, Friedrich came +up to the counter, book in hand. + +"Well, now?" said the comfortable bookseller, with a round German +smile. + +"This book," said the boy; "in what language is it?" + +The man stuck his spectacles on his nose, and smiled again. + +"It is Italian, and these are the sonnets of Petrarch, my child. The +edition is a fine one, so be careful." Friedrich went back to his +place, sighing heavily. After a while he came out again. + +"Well now, what is it?" said the bookseller, cheerfully. + +"Have you an Italian grammar?" + +"Only this," said the other, as he picked a book from the shelf and +laid it on the counter with a twinkle in his eye. The boy opened it +and looked up disappointed. + +"It is all Italian," said he. + +"No, no," was the answer; "it is in French and Italian, and was +printed at Paris. But what wouldst thou with a grammar, my child?" + +The boy blushed as if he had been caught stealing, and said hastily-- + +"I _must_ read those poems, and I cannot if I do not learn the +language." + +"And thou wouldst read Petrarch with a grammar," shouted the +bookseller; "ho! ho! ho!" + +"And a dictionary," said Friedrich; "why not?" + +"Why not?" repeated the other, with renewed laughter. "Why not? +Because to learn a language, my Friedrich, one must have a master, and +exercises, and a phrase-book, and progressive reading-lessons with +vocabulary; and, in short, one must learn a language in the way +everybody else learns it; that is why not, my Friedrich." + +"Everybody is nobody," said Friedrich, hotly; "at least nobody worth +caring for. If I had a grammar and a dictionary, I would read those +beautiful poems." + +"Hear him!" said the cheerful little bookseller. "He will read +Petrarch. He! If my volumes stop in the shelves till thou canst read +them, my child--ho! ho! ho!" and he rubbed his brushy little beard +with glee. + +Friedrich's temper was not by nature of the calmest, and this +conversation rubbed its tenderest points. He answered almost +fiercely-- + +"Take care of your volumes. If I live, and they _do_ stop in the +shelves, I will buy them of you some day. Remember!" and he turned +sharply round to hide the tears which had begun to fall. + +For a moment the good shopkeeper's little mouth became as round as his +round little eyes and his round little face; then he laid his hands on +the counter, and jumping neatly over flung his dead weight on to +Friedrich, and embraced him heartily. + +"My poor child! (a kiss)--would that it had pleased Heaven to make +thee the son of a nobleman--(another kiss). But hear me. A man in +Berlin is now compiling an Italian grammar. It is to be out in a month +or two. I shall have a copy, and thou shalt see it; and if ever thou +canst read Petrarch I will give thee my volumes--(a volley of kisses). +And now, as thou hast stayed so long, come into the little room and +dine with me." With which invitation the kind-hearted German released +his young friend and led him into the back room, where they buried the +memory of Petrarch in a mess of vegetables and melted butter. + +It may be added here, that the Petrarchs remained on the shelf, and +that years afterwards the round-faced little bookseller redeemed his +promise with pride. + +Of these visits the father was to all intents and purposes ignorant. +He knew that Friedrich went to see the bookseller, and that the +bookseller was good-natured to him; but he never dreamt that his son +read the books with which his neighbour's shop was lined, and he knew +nothing of the wild visions which that same shop bred and nourished in +the mind of his boy, and which made the life outside its doorstep +seem a dream. The father and son saw that life from different points +of view. The boy felt that he was more talented than other boys, and +designed himself for a poet; the tradesman saw that the boy was more +talented than other boys, and designed him for the business; and the +opposite nature of these determinations was the one great misery of +Friedrich's life. + +If, however, this source of the child's sorrows was a secret one, and +not spoken of to his brothers and sisters, or even to his friend the +bookseller, equally secret also were the sources of his happiness. No +eye but his own ever beheld those scraps of paper which he begged from +the bookseller, and covered with childish efforts at verse-making. No +one shared the happiness of those hours, of which perhaps a quarter +was spent in working at the poem, and three-fourths were given to the +day-dreams of the poet; or knew that the wild fancies of his brain +made Friedrich's nights more happy than his days. By day he was a +child (his family, with some reason, said a tiresome one), by night he +was a man, and a great man. He visited the courts of Europe, and +received compliments from Royalty; _his_ plays were acted in the +theatres; _his_ poems stood on the shelves of the booksellers; he made +his family rich (the boy was too young to wish for money for +himself); he made everybody happy, and himself famous. + +Fame! that was the word that rang in his ears and danced before his +eyes as the hours of the night wore on, and he lived through a +glorious lifetime. And so, when the mother, candle in hand, came round +like a guardian angel among the sleeping children, to see that "all +was right," he--poor child!--must feign to be sleeping on his face, to +hide the traces of the tears which he had wept as he composed the +epitaph which was to grace the monument of the famous Friedrich ----, +poet, philosopher, etc. Whoever doubts the possibility of such +exaggerated folly, has never known an imaginative childhood, or wept +over those unreal griefs, which are not the less bitter at the time +from being remembered afterwards with a mixture of shame and +amusement. Happy or unhappy, however, in his dreams the boy was great, +and this was enough; for Friedrich was vain, as everyone is tempted to +be who feels himself in any way singular and unlike those about him. +He revelled in the honours which he showered upon himself, and so--the +night was happy; and so--the day was unwelcome when he was smartly bid +to get up and put on his stockings, and found Fame gone and himself a +child again, without honour, in his own country, and in his father's +house. + +These sad dreams (sad in their uselessness) were destined, however, to +do him some good at last; and, oddly enough, the childish council that +condemned the ballad-book decided his fate also. This was how it +happened. + +The children were accustomed, as we have said, to celebrate the Feast +of St. Nicholas by readings from their beloved book. St. Nicholas's +Day (the 6th of December) has for years been a favourite festival with +the children in many parts of the Continent. In France, the children +are diligently taught that St. Nicholas comes in the night down the +chimney, and fills the little shoes (which are ranged there for the +purpose) with sweetmeats or rods, according to his opinion of their +owner's conduct during the past year. The Saint is supposed to travel +through the air, and to be followed by an ass laden with two panniers, +one of which contains the good things, and the other the birch, and he +leaves his ass at the top of the chimney and comes down alone. The +same belief is entertained in Holland; and in some parts of Germany he +is even believed to carry off bad boys and girls in his sack, +answering in this respect to our English Bogy. + +The day, as may be supposed, is looked forward to with no small amount +of anxiety; very clean and tidy are the little shoes placed by the +young expectants; and their parents--who have threatened and promised +in St. Nicholas's name for a year past--take care that, with one sort +of present or the other, the shoes are well filled. The great +question--rods or sweetmeats--is, however, finally settled for each +individual before breakfast-time on the great day; and before dinner, +despite maternal warnings, most of the said sweetmeats have been +consumed. And so it came to pass that Friedrich and his brothers and +sisters had hit upon a plan for ending the day, with the same spirit +and enjoyment with which it opened. + +The mother, by a little kind manoeuvring, generally induced the +father to sup and take his evening pipe with a neighbour, for the +tradesman was one of those whose presence is rather a "wet blanket" +upon all innocent folly and fun. Then she good-naturedly took herself +off to household matters, and the children were left in undisturbed +possession of the stove, round which they gathered with the book, and +the game commenced. Each in turn read whichever poem he preferred; and +the reader for the time being, was wrapt in a huge hood and cloak, +kept for the purpose, and was called the "Märchen-Frau," or Story +Woman. Sometimes the song had a chorus, which all the children sang to +whichever suited best of the thousand airs that are always floating +in German brains. Sometimes, if the ballad was a favourite one, the +others would take part in any verses that contained a dialogue. This +was generally the case with some verses in the pet ballad of +Bluebeard, at that exciting point where Sister Anne is looking from +the castle window. First the Märchen-Frau read in a sonorous voice-- + + "Schwester Aennchen, siehst du nichts?" + (Sister Anne, do you see nothing?) + +Then the others replied for Anne-- + + "Stäubchen fliegen, Gräschen wehen." + (A little dust flies, a little grass waves.) + +Again the Märchen-Frau-- + + "Aennchen, lässt sich sonst nichts sehen?" + (Little Anne, is there nothing else to be seen?) + +And the unsatisfactory reply-- + + "Schwesterchen, sonst seh' ich nichts!" + (Little sister, I see nothing else!) + +After this the Märchen-Frau finished the ballad alone, and the +conclusion was received with shouts of applause and laughter, that +would have considerably astonished the good father, could he have +heard them, and that did sometimes oblige the mother to call order +from the loft above, just for propriety's sake; for, in truth, the +good woman loved to hear them, and often hummed in with a chorus to +herself as she turned over the clothes among which she was busy. + +At last, however, after having been for years the crowning enjoyment +of St. Nicholas's Day, the credit of the Märchen-Frau was doomed to +fade. The last reading had been rather a failure, not because the old +ballad-book was supplanted by a new one, or because the children had +outgrown its histories; perhaps--though they did not acknowledge +it--Friedrich was in some degree to blame. + +His increasing knowledge, the long readings in the bookseller's shop, +which his brothers and sisters neither shared nor knew of, had given +him a feeling of contempt for the one book on which they feasted from +year to year; and his part, as Märchen-Frau, had been on this occasion +more remarkable for yawns than for anything else. The effect of this +failure was not confined to that day. Whenever the book was brought +out, there was the same feeling that the magic of it was gone, and +very greatly were the poor children disquieted by the fact. + +At last, one summer's day, in the year of which we are writing, one of +the boys was struck, as he fancied, by a brilliant idea; and as +brilliant ideas on any subject are precious, he lost no time in +summoning a council of his brothers and sisters in the garden. It was +a half-holiday, and they soon came trooping round the great linden +tree--where the bees were already in full possession--and the youngest +girl, who was but six years old, bore the book hugged fast in her two +arms. + +The boy opened the case--as lawyers say--by describing the loss of +interest in their book since the last Feast of St. Nicholas. "This did +not," he said, "arise from any want of love to the stories themselves, +but from the fact of their knowing them so well. Whatever ballad the +Märchen-Frau chose, every line of it was so familiar to each one of +them that it seemed folly to repeat it. In these circumstances it was +evident that the greatest compliment they could pay the stories was to +forget them, and he had a plan for attaining this desirable end. Let +them deny themselves now for their future pleasure; let them put away +the Märchen-Frau till next St. Nicholas's Day, and, in the meantime, +let each of them do his best to forget as much of it as he possibly +could." The speaker ceased, and in the silence the bees above droned +as if in answer, and then the children below shouted applause until +the garden rang. + +But now came the question, where was the Märchen-Frau to be put? and +for this the suggestive brother had also an idea. He had found +certain bricks in the thick old garden wall which were loose, and when +taken out there was a hole which was quite the thing for their +purpose. Let them wrap the book carefully up, put it in the hole, and +replace the bricks. This was his proposal, and he sat down. The bees +droned above, the children shouted below, and the proposal was carried +amid general satisfaction. "So be it," said the suggestor, in +conclusion. "It is now finally decided. The Märchen-Frau is to be +walled up." + +And walled up she was forthwith, but not without a parting embrace +from each of her judges, and possibly some slight latent faith in the +suggestion of one of the party that perhaps St. Nicholas would put a +new inside and new stories into her before next December. + +"I don't think I should like a new inside, though," doubted the child +before mentioned, with a shake of her tiny plaits, "or new stories +either." + +As this quaint little Fräulein went into the house she met Friedrich, +who came from the bookseller's. + +"Friedrich," said she, in a solemn voice, "we have walled up the +'Märchen-Frau.'" + +"Have you, _Schwesterchen_?" + +This was Friedrich's answer; but it may safely be stated that, if any +one had asked him what it was his sister had told him, he would have +been utterly unable to reply. + +He had been to the bookseller's! + +The summer passed, and the children kept faithfully to their resolve. +The little sister sometimes sat by the wall and comforted the +Märchen-Frau inside, with promises of coming out soon; but not a brick +was touched. There was something pathetic in the children's voluntary +renouncement of their one toy. The father was too absent and the +mother too busy, to notice its loss; Marie missed it and made +inquiries of the children, but she was implored to be silent, and +discreetly held her tongue. Winter drew on, and for some time a change +was visible in the manners of one of the children; he seemed restless +and uncomfortable, as if something preyed upon his mind. At last he +was induced to unburden himself to the others, when it was discovered +that he couldn't forget the poems in "Märchen-Frau." This was the +grievance. + +"It seems as if I did it on purpose," groaned he in self-indignation. +"The nearer the time comes, and the more I try to forget, the clearer +I remember them everyone. You know my pet is Bluebeard; well, I +thought I would forget that altogether, every word: and then when my +turn came to be Märchen-Frau I would take it for my piece. And now, of +all the rest, this is just the one that runs in my head. It is quite +as if I did it on purpose." + +Involuntarily the company--who appeared to have forgotten it as little +as he--struck up in a merry tune-- + + "Blaubart war ein reicher Mann," etc.[A] + +"Oh, don't!" groaned the victim. "That's just how it goes in my head +all along, especially the verse-- + + "Stark war seines Körpers Ban, + Feurig waren seine Blicke, + Aber ach!--ein Missgeschicke!-- + Aber ach! sein Bart war blau."[B] + +"On Sunday, when the preacher gave out the text, I was looking at him, +and it came so strongly into my head that I nearly said it out +loud--'But ah! his beard was blue!' To-day the schoolmaster asked me a +question about Solomon. I could remember nothing but 'Ah! his beard +was blue!' I have tried this week with all my might; and the harder I +try, the better I remember every word. It is dreadful." + +[Footnote A: "Bluebeard was a rich man."] + +[Footnote B: + + "Strong was the build of his body, + Fiery were his glances, + But ah!--disaster!-- + But ah! his beard was blue."] + +It was dreadful; but he was somewhat comforted to learn that the +memories of his brothers and sisters were as perverse as his own. +Those ballads were not to be easily forgotten. They refused to give up +their hold on the minds they had nourished and amused so long. + +One and all the children were really distressed, with the exception of +Friedrich, who had, as usual, given about half his attention to the +subject in hand; and who now sat absently humming to himself the +account of Bluebeard's position and character, as set forth in +Gotter's ballad. + +The others came to the conclusion that there was but one hope +left--that St. Nicholas might have put some new ballads into the old +book--and one and all they made for the hiding-place, followed at a +feebler pace by the little Fräulein, who ran with her lips tightly +shut, her hands clenched, and her eyes wide open with a mixture of +fear and expectation. The bricks were removed, the book unwrapped, but +alas! everything was the same, even to the rough woodcut of Bluebeard +himself, in the act of sharpening his scimitar. There was no change, +except that the volume was rather the worse for damp. It was thrown +down with a murmur of disappointment, but seized immediately by the +little Fräulein, who flung herself upon it in a passion of tears and +embraces. Hers was the only faithful affection; the charm of the +Märchen-Frau was gone. + +They were all out of humour with this, and naturally looked about for +some one to find fault with. Friedrich was at hand, and so they fell +upon him and reproached him for his want of sympathy with their +vexation. The boy awoke from a brown study, and began to defend +himself:--"He was very sorry," he said; "but he couldn't see the use +of making such a great fuss about a few old ballads, that after all +were nothing so very wonderful." + +This was flat heresy, and he was indignantly desired to say where any +were to be got like them--where even _one_ might be found, when St. +Nicholas could not provide them? Friedrich was even less respectful to +the idea of St. Nicholas, and said something which, translated into +English, would look very like the word _humbug_. This was no answer to +the question "where were they to get a ballad?" and a fresh storm came +upon his head; whereupon being much goaded, and in a mixture of vanity +and vexation of spirit, he let out the fact that "he thought he could +write one almost as good himself." + +This turned the current of affairs. The children had an instinctive +belief in Friedrich's talents, to which their elders had not attained. +The faith of childhood is great; and they saw no reason why he should +not be able to do as he said, and so forthwith began to pet and coax +him as unmercifully as they had scolded five minutes before. + +"Beloved Friedrich; dear little brother! _Do_ write one for us. We +know thou canst!" + +"I cannot," said Friedrich. "It is all nonsense. I was only joking." + +"It is not nonsense; we know thou canst! Dear Fritz--just to please +us!" + +"Do!" said another. "It was only yesterday the mother was saying, +'Friedrich can do nothing useful!' But when thou hast written a poem +thou wilt have done more than any one in the house--ay, or in the +town. And when thou hast written one poem thou wilt write more, and be +like Hans Sachs, and the Twelve Wise Masters thou hast told us of so +often." + +Friedrich had read many of the verses of the Cobbler Poet, but the +name of Hans Sachs awakened no thought in his mind. He had heard +nothing of that speech but one sentence, and it decided him. + +_Friedrich can do nothing useful._ "I will see what I can do," he +said, and walked hastily away. Down the garden, out into the road, +away to the mill, where he could stand by the roaring water and talk +aloud without being heard. + +"Friedrich can do nothing useful. Yes, I will write a ballad." + +He went home, got together some scraps of paper, and commenced. + +In half-a-dozen days he began as many ballads, and tore them up one +and all. He beat his brains for plots, and was satisfied with none. He +had a fair maiden, a cruel father, a wicked sister, a handsome knight, +and a castle on the Rhine; and so plunged into a love story with a +moonlight meeting, an escape on horseback, pursuit, capture, despair, +suicide, and a ghostly apparition that floated over the river, and +wrung her hands under the castle window. It seems impossible for an +author to do more for his heroine than take her out of the world, and +bring her back again; but our poet was not content. He had not come +himself to the sentiment of life, and felt a rough boyish disgust at +the maundering griefs of his hero and heroine, who, moreover, were +unpleasantly like every other hero and heroine that he had ever read +of under similar circumstances; and if there was one thing more than +another that Friedrich was determined to be, it was to be original. + +He had no half hopes. With the dauntlessness of young ambition, he +determined to do his very best, and that that best should be better +than anything that ever had been done by any one. + +Having failed with the sentimental, he tried to write something funny. +Surely such child's tales as Bluebeard, Cinderella, etc., were easy +enough to write. He would make a _Kindeslied_--a child's song. But he +was mistaken; to write a new nursery ballad was the hardest task of +all. Time after time he struggled; and, at last, one day when he had +written and destroyed a longer effort than usual, he went to bed in +hopeless despair. + +His disappointment mingled with his dreams. He dreamt that he was in +the bookseller's shop hunting among the shelves for some scraps of +paper on which he had written. He could not find them, he thought, but +came across the Petrarch volumes in their beautiful binding. He opened +one and saw--not a word of that fair-looking Italian, but--his own +ballad that he could not write, written and printed in good German +character with his name on the title-page. He took it in his hands and +went out of the shop, and as he did so it seemed to him, in his dream, +that he had become a man. He dreamt that as he came down the steps, +the people in the street gathered round him and cheered and shouted. +The women held up their children to look at him; he was a Great Man! +He thought that he turned back into the shop and went up to the +counter. There sat the smiling little bookseller as natural as life, +who smiled and bowed to him, as Friedrich had a hundred times seen +him bow and smile to the bearded men who came in to purchase. + +"How many have you sold of this?" said Friedrich, in his dream. + +"Forty thousand!" with another smile and bow. + +Forty thousand! It seemed to him that all the world must have read it. +This was Fame. + +He went out of the shop, through the shouting market-place, and home, +where his father led him in and offered pipes and a mug of ale, as if +he were the Burgomaster. He sat down, and when his mother came in, +rose to embrace her, and, doing so, knocked down the mug. Crash! it +went on the floor with a loud noise, which woke him up; and then he +found himself in bed, and that he had thrown over the mug of water +which he had put by his bedside to drink during the thirsty feverish +hours that he lay awake. + +He was not a great man, but a child. + +He had not written a ballad, but broken a mug. + +"Friedrich can do nothing useful." + +He buried his face, and wept bitterly. + +In time, his tears were dried, and as it was very early he lay awake +and beat his brains. He had added nothing to his former character but +the breaking of a piece of crockery. Something must be done. No more +funny ballads now. He would write something terrible--miserable; +something that should make other people weep as he had wept. He was in +a very tragic humour indeed. He would have a hero who should go into +the world to seek his fortune, and come back to find his lady-love in +a nunnery; but that was an old story. Well, he would turn it the other +way, and put the hero into a monastery; but that wasn't new. Then he +would shut both of them up, and not let them meet again till one was a +monk and the other a nun, which would be grievous enough in all +reason; but this was the oldest of all. Friedrich gave up love stories +on the spot. It was clearly not his _forte_. + +Then he thought he would have a large family of brothers and sisters, +and kill them all by a plague. But, besides the want of further +incident, this idea did not seem to him sufficiently sad. Either from +its unreality, or from their better faith, the idea of death does not +possess the same gloom for the young that it does for those older +minds that have a juster sense of the value of human life, and are, +perhaps, more heavily bound in the chains of human interests. + +No; the plague story might be pathetic, but it was not miserable--not +miserable enough at any rate for Friedrich. + +In truth, he felt at last that every misfortune that he could invent +was lost in the depths of the real sorrow which oppressed his own +life, and out of this knowledge came an idea for his ballad. What a +fool never to have thought of it before! + +He would write the history--the miserable bitter history--of a great +man born to a small way of life, whose merits should raise him from +his low estate to a deserved and glorious fame; who should toil, and +strive, and struggle, and when his hopes and prayers seemed to be at +last fulfilled, and the reward of his labours at hand, should awake +and find that it was a dream; that he was no nearer to Fame than ever, +and that he might never reach it. Here was enough sorrow for a +tragedy. The ballad should be written now. + +The next day. Friedrich plunged into the bookseller's shop. + +"Well, now, what is it?" smiled the comfortable little bookseller. + +"I want some paper, please," gasped Friedrich; "a good big bit if I +may have it, and, if you please, I must go now. I will come and clean +out the shop for you at the end of the week, but I am very busy +to-day." + +"The condition of the shop," said the little bookseller, +grandiloquently, with a wave of his hand, "yields to more important +matters; namely, to thy condition, my child, which is not of the best. +Thou art as white as this sheet of paper, to which thou art heartily +welcome. I am silent, but not ignorant. Thou wouldst be a writer, but +art not yet a philosopher, my Friedrich. Thou art not fast-set on thy +philosophic equilibrium. Thou hast knocked down three books and a +stool since thou hast come in the shop. Be calm, my child: consider +that even if truly also the fast-bound-eternally-immutable-condition +of everlastingly-varying-circumstance--" + +But by this time Friedrich was at home. + +How he got through the next three days he never knew. He stumbled in +and out of the house with the awkwardness of an idiot, and was so +stupid in school that nothing but his previous good character saved +him from a flogging. The day before the Feast of St. Nicholas (which +was a holiday) the schoolmaster dismissed him with the severe inquiry, +if he meant to be a dunce all his life? and Friedrich went home with +two sentences ringing in his head-- + +"Do I mean to be a dunce all my life?" + +"Friedrich can do nothing useful." + +To-night the ballad must be finished. + +He contrived to sit up beyond his usual hour, and escaped notice by +crouching behind a large linen chest, and there wrote and wrote till +his heart beat and his head felt as if it would split in pieces. At +last, the careful mother discovered that Friedrich had not bid her +good-night, and he was brought out of his hiding-place and sent to +bed. + +He took a light and went softly up the ladder into the loft, and, to +his great satisfaction, found the others asleep. He said his prayers, +and got into bed, but he did not put out the light; he put a box +behind it to prevent its being seen, and drew out his paper and wrote. +The ballad was done, but he must make a fair copy for the +Märchen-Frau; and very hard work it was, in his feverish excited +state, to write out a thing that was finished. He worked resolutely, +however, and at last completed it with trembling hands, and pushed it +under his pillow. + +Then he sat up in bed, and looked round him. + +Time passed, and still he sat shivering and clasping his knees, and +the reason he sat so was--because he dared not lie down. + +The work was done, and the overstrained mind, no longer occupied, +filled with ghastly fears and fancies. He did not dare to put out the +light, and yet its faint glimmer only made the darkness more horrible. +He did not dare to look behind him, though he knew that there was +nothing there. He trembled at the scratching sound in the wainscot, +though he knew that it was only mice. A sudden light on the window, +and a distant chorus, did not make his heart beat less wildly from +being nothing more alarming than two or three noisy students going +home with torches. Then his light took the matter into its own hands, +and first flared up with a suddenness that almost made Friedrich jump +out of his skin, and then left him in total darkness. He could endure +no longer, and, scrambling out of bed, crossed the floor to where the +warm light came up the steps of the ladder from the room beneath. +There our hero crouched without daring to move, and comforted himself +with the sounds of life below. But it was very wearying, and yet he +dared not go back. A neighbour had "dropped in," and he could see +figures passing to and fro across the kitchen. + +At last his sister passed, with the light shining on her golden +plaits, and he risked a low murmur of "Marie! Marie!" + +She stopped an instant, and then passed on; but after a few minutes, +she returned, and came up the ladder with her finger on her lips to +enjoin silence. He needed no caution, being instinctively aware that +if one parental duty could be more obvious than another to the +tradesman, it would be that of crushing such folly as Friedrich was +displaying by timely severity. The boy crept back to bed, and Marie +came after him. + +There are unheroic moments in the lives of the greatest of men, and +though when the head is strong and clear, and there is plenty of light +and good company, it is highly satisfactory and proper to smile +condescension upon female inanity, there are times when it is not +unpleasant to be at the mercy of kind arms that pity without asking a +reason, and in whose presence one may be foolish without shame. And it +is not ill, perhaps, for some of us, whose acutely strung minds go up +with every discovery, and down with every doubt, if we have some +humble comforter (whether woman or man) on whose face a faithful +spirit has set the seal of peace--a face which in its very +steadfastness is "as the face of an angel." + +Such a face looked down upon Friedrich, before which fancied horrors +fled; and he wound his arms round Marie's neck, and laid down his +head, and was comfortable, if not sublime. + +After a dozen or so of purposeless kisses, she spoke-- + +"What is it, my beloved?" + +"I--I don't think I can get to sleep," said the poet. + +Marie abstained from commenting on this remark, and Friedrich was +silent and comfortable. So comfortable that, though he despised her +opinion on such matters he asked it in a low whisper--"Marie, dost +thou not think it would be the very best thing in the world to be a +great man? To labour and labour for it, and be a great man at last?" + +Marie's answer was as low, but quite decided-- + +"No." + +"Why not, Marie?" + +"It is very nice to be great, and I should love to see thee a great +man, Friedrich, very well indeed, but the very best thing of all is to +be good. Great men are not always happy ones, though when they are +good also it is very glorious, and makes one think of the words of the +poor heathen in Lycaonia--'The gods have come down to us in the +likeness of men.' But if ever thou art a great man, little brother, it +will be the good and not the great things of thy life that will bring +thee peace. Nay, rather, neither thy goodness nor thy greatness, but +the mercy of GOD!" + +And in this opinion Marie was obstinately fixed, and Friedrich argued +no more. + +"I think I shall do now," said the hero at last; "I thank thee very +much, Marie." + +She kissed him anew, and bade GOD bless him, and wished him +good-night, and went down the ladder till her golden plaits caught +again the glow of the warm kitchen, and Friedrich lost sight of her +tall figure and fair face, and was alone once more. + +He was better, but still he could not sleep. Wearied and vexed, he lay +staring into the darkness till he heard steps upon the ladder, and +became the involuntary witness of--the true St. Nicholas. + +It was the mother, with a basket in her hand, and Friedrich watched +her as she approached the place where all the shoes were laid out, his +among them. + +The children were by no means immaculate or in any way greatly +superior to other families, but the mother was tender-hearted, and had +a poor memory for sins that were past, and Friedrich saw her fill one +shoe after another with cakes and sweetmeats. At last she came to his, +and then she stopped. He lifted up his head, and an indefinable fury +surged in his heart. He had been very tiresome since the ballad was +begun; was she going to put rods into his shoes only? _His_! He could +have borne anything but this. Meanwhile, she was fumbling in the +basket; and, at last, pulled out--not a rod, but--a paper of cakes of +another kind, to which Friedrich was particularly attached, and with +these she lined the shoes thickly, and filled them up with sweetmeats, +and passed on. + +"Oh, mother! mother! Far, far too kind!" The awkwardness and +stupidity of yesterday, and of many yesterdays, smote him to the +heart, and roused once more the only too ready tears. But he did not +cry long, he had a happy feeling of community with his brothers and +sisters in getting more than they any of them deserved; to have seen +the St. Nicholas's proceedings had diverted his mind from gloomy +fancies, and altogether, with a comfortable sensation of cakes and +kindness, he fell asleep smiling, and slept soundly and well. + +The next day he threw his arms round his mother, and said that the +cakes were "so nice." + +"But I don't deserve them," he added. + +"Thou'lt mend," said she kindly. "And no doubt the Saint knew that +thou hadst eaten but half a dinner for a week past, and brought those +cakes to tempt thee; so eat them all, my child; for, doubtless, there +are plenty more where they come from." + +"I am very much obliged to whoever did think of it," said Friedrich. + +"And plenty more there are," said the good woman to Marie afterwards, +as they were dishing the dinner. "Luise Jansen's shop is full of them. +But, bless the boy! he's too clever for anything. There's no playing +St. Nicholas with him." + +The day went by at last, and the evening came on. The tradesman went +off of himself to see if he could meet with the Burgomaster, and the +children became rabid in their impatience for Friedrich's ballad. + +He would not read it himself, so Marie was pressed into the service, +and crowned with the hood and cloak, and elected Märchen-Frau. + +The author himself sat in an arm-chair, with a face as white and +miserable as if he were ordered for execution. He formed a painful +contrast to his ruddy brothers and sisters; and it would seem as if he +had begun already to experience the truth of Marie's assertion, that +"great men are not always happy ones." + +The ballad was put into the Märchen-Frau's hands, and she was told +that Friedrich had written it. She gave a quick glance at it, and +asked if he had really invented it all. The children repeated the +fact, which was a pleasant but not a surprising one to them, and Marie +began. + +The young poet had evidently a good ear, for the verses were easy and +musical, and the metre more than tolerably correct; and as the hero of +the ballad worked harder and harder, and got higher and higher, the +children clapped their hands, and discovered that it was "quite like +Friedrich." + +Why, when that hero was almost at the height of fortune, and the +others gloried in his success, did the foolish author bury his face +upon his arms, and sob silently but bitterly in sympathy?--moreover, +with such a heavy and absorbing grief that he did not hear it, when +Marie stopped for an instant and then went on again, or know that +steps had come behind his chair, and that his father and the +Burgomaster were in the room. + +The Märchen-Frau went on; the hero awoke from his unreal happiness to +his real fate, and bewailed in verse after verse the heavy weights of +birth, and poverty, and circumstance, that kept him from the heights +of fame. The ballad was ended. + +Then a voice fell on Friedrich's ear, which nearly took away his +breath. It was his father's asking sternly, "What is all this?" + +And then he knew that Marie was standing up, with a strange emotion on +her face, and he heard her say-- + +"It is a poem that Friedrich has written. He has written it all +himself. Every word. And he is but twelve years old!" She was pointing +to him, or, perhaps, the Burgomaster might not have recognized in that +huddled miserable figure the genius of the family. + +His was the next voice, and what he said Friedrich could hardly +remember; the last sentences only he clearly understood. + +"GOD has not blessed me with children, neighbour. My wife, as +well as I, would be ashamed if such genius were lost for want of a +little money. Give the child to me. He shall have a liberal education, +and will be a great man." + +"I shall not," said the tradesman, "stand in the way of his interests +or your commands. I cannot tell what to say to your kindness, +Burgomaster. GOD willing, I hope he will be a credit to the town." + +"GOD willing, he will be a credit to his country," said the +Burgomaster. + +The words rang in Friedrich's ears over and over again, like the +changes of bells. They danced before his eyes as if he saw them in a +book. They were written in his heart as if "graven with an iron pen +and lead in the rock for ever." + +"GOD _willing, I hope he will be a credit to the town._" + +"GOD _willing, he will be a credit to his country._" + +"_He shall have a liberal education, and will be a_ GREAT +MAN." + +Friedrich tried to stand on his feet and thank the Burgomaster; who, +on any other occasion, might have been tempted to suppose him an +idiot, so white and distorted was the child's face, struggling through +tears and smiles. He could not utter a word; a mist began to come +before his eyes, through which the Burgomaster's head seemed to bob up +and down, and then his father's, and his mother's, and Marie's, with a +look of pity on her face. He tried to tell _her_ that he was now a +great man and felt quite happy; but, unfortunately, was only able to +burst into tears, and then to burst out laughing, and then a sharp +pain shot through his head, and he remembered no more. + + * * * * * + +Friedrich had a dim consciousness of coming round after this, and +being put to bed; then he fell asleep, and slept heavily. When he woke +Marie was sitting by his side, and it was dark. The mother had gone +downstairs, she said, and she had taken her place. Friedrich lay +silent for a bit; at last he said, + +"I am very happy, Marie." + +"I am very glad, dearest." + +"Dost thou think father will let the Burgomaster give me a good +education, Marie?" + +"Yes, dear, I am sure he will." + +"It is very kind," said Friedrich, thoughtfully; "for I know he wants +me for the business. But I will help him some day. And, Marie, I will +be a good man, and when I am very rich I will give great alms to the +poor." + +"Thou wilt be a good man before thou art a rich one, I trust," said +his dogmatic sister. "We are accepted in that we have, and not in that +we have not. Thou hast great talent, and wilt give it to the Lord, +whether He make thee rich or no. Wilt thou not, dearest?" + +"What dost thou mean, Marie? Am I never to write anything but hymns?" + +"No, no, I do not mean that," she said. "I am very ignorant and cannot +rightly explain it to thee, little brother. But genius is a great and +perilous gift; and, oh, Friedrich! Friedrich! promise me just +this:--that thou wilt never, never write anything against the faith or +the teaching of the Saviour, and that thou wilt never use the graces +of poetry to cover the hideousness of any of those sins which it is +the work of a lifetime to see justly, and to fight against manfully. +Promise me just this." + +"Oh, Marie! to think that I could be so wicked!" + +"No! no!" she said, covering him with kisses. "I know thou wilt be +good and great, and we shall all be proud of our little brother. +GOD give thee the pen of a ready writer, and grace to use it +to His glory!" + +"I will," he said, "GOD help me! and I will write beautiful +hymns for thee, Marie, that when I am dead shall be sung in the +churches. They shall be like that Evening Hymn we sing so often. Sing +it now, my sister!" + +Marie cleared her throat, and in a low voice, that steadied and grew +louder and sweeter till it filled the house and died away among the +rafters, sang the beautiful hymn that begins-- + + "Herr, Dein Auge geht nicht unter, wenn es bei uns Abend wird;" + (Lord! Thine eye does not go down, when it is evening with us.) + +The boy lay drinking it in with that full enjoyment of simple vocal +music which is so innate in the German character; and as he lay, he +hummed his accustomed part in it, and the mother at work below caught +up the song involuntarily, and sang at her work; and Marie's clear +voice breaking through the wooden walls of the house, was heard by a +passer in the street, who struck in with the bass of the familiar +hymn, and went his way. Before it was ended, Friedrich was sleeping +peacefully once more. + +But Marie sat by the stove till the watchman in the quaint old street +told the hour of midnight, when (with the childish custom taught her +by the old schoolmaster long ago) she folded her hands, and murmured, + + "Nisi Dominus urbem custodiat, frustra vigilat custos." + (Except the Lord keep the city, the watchman waketh but + in vain.) + +And then she slept also. + +The snow fell softly on the roof, and on the walls of the old church +outside, and on the pavement of the street of the poet's native town, +and the night passed and the day came. + +There is little more to tell, for that night was the last night of his +sorrowful humble childhood, and that day was the first day of his +fame. + + * * * * * + +The Duke of ---- was an enlightened and generous man, and a munificent +patron of the Arts and Sciences, and of literary and scientific men. +He was not exactly a genius, but he was highly accomplished. He wrote +a little, and played a little, and drew a little; and with fortune to +befriend him, as a natural consequence he published a little, and +composed a little, and framed his pictures. + +But what was better and more remarkable than this, was the generous +spirit in which he loved and admired those who did great things in the +particular directions in which he did a little. He bought good +pictures while he painted bad ones; and those writers, musicians, and +artists who could say but little for his performances, had every +reason to talk loudly of his liberality. He was the special admirer of +talent born in obscurity; and at the time of which we are writing +(many years after the events related above), the favourite "lion" in +the literary clique he had gathered round him in his palace, was a +certain poet--the son of a small tradesman in a small town, who had +been educated by the kindness of the Burgomaster (long dead), and who +now had made Germany to ring with his fame; who had visited the Courts +of Europe, and received compliments from Royalty, whose plays were +acted in the theatres, whose poems stood on the shelves of the +booksellers, who was a great man--Friedrich! + +It was a lovely evening, and the Duke, leaning on the arm of his +favourite, walked up and down a terrace. The Duke was (as usual) in +the best possible humour. The poet (as was not uncommon) was just in +the slightest degree inclined to be in a bad one. They had been +reading a critique on his poems. It was praise, it is true, but the +praise was not judiciously administered, and the poet was aggrieved. +He rather felt (as authors are not unapt to feel) that a poet who +could write such poems should have critics created with express +capabilities for understanding him. But the good Duke was in his most +cheery and amiable mood, and quite bent upon smoothing his ruffled +lion into the same condition. + +"What impossible creatures you geniuses are to please!" he said. "Tell +me, my friend, has there ever been, since you first began your career, +a bit of homage or approbation that has really pleased you?" + +"Oh, yes!" said the poet, in a tone that sounded like Oh, no! + +"I don't believe it," said the Duke. "Come, now, could you, if you +were asked, describe the happiest and proudest hour of your life?" + +A new expression came into the poet's eyes, and lighted up his gaunt +intellectual face. Some old memories awoke within him, and it is +doubtful if he saw the landscape at which he was gazing. But the Duke +was not quick, though kind; he thought that Friedrich had not heard +him, and repeated the question. + +"Yes," said the poet. "Yes, indeed I could." + +"Well, then, let me guess," said the Duke, facetiously. (He fancied +that he was bringing his crusty genius into capital condition.) "Was +it when your great tragedy of 'Boadicea' was first performed in +Berlin, and the theatre rose like one man to offer homage, and the +gods sent thunder? I wish they had ever treated my humble efforts with +as much favour. Was it then?" + +"No!" + +"Was it when his Imperial Majesty the Emperor of ---- was pleased to +present you with a gold snuff-box set with diamonds, and to express +his opinion that your historical plays were incomparably among the +finest productions of poetic genius?" + +"His Imperial Majesty," said Friedrich, "is a brave soldier; but, +a--hem!--an indifferent critic. I do not take snuff, and his Imperial +Majesty does not read poetry. The interview was gratifying, but that +was not the occasion. No!" + +"Was it when you were staying with Dr. Kranz at G----, and the +students made that great supper for you, and escorted your carriage +both ways with a procession of torches?" + +"Poor boys!" said the poet, laughing; "it was very kind, and they +could ill afford it. But they would have drunk quite as much wine for +any one who would have taken the inside out of the University clock, +or burnt the Principal's wig, as they did for me. It was a very +unsteady procession that brought me home, I assure you. The way they +poked the torches in each other's faces left one student, as I heard, +with no less than eight duels on his hands. And, oh! the manner in +which they howled my most pathetic love songs! No! no!" + +The Duke laughed heartily. + +"Is it any of the various occasions on which the fair ladies of +Germany have testified their admiration by offerings of sympathy and +handiwork?" + +"No!" roared the poet. + +"Are you quite sure?" said the Duke, slyly. "I have heard of +comforters, and slippers, and bouquets, and locks of hair, besides a +dozen of warm stockings knit by the fair hands of ----" + +"Spare me!" groaned Friedrich, in mock indignation. "Am I a pet +preacher, that I should be smothered in female absurdities? I have +hair that would stuff a sofa, comforters that would protect a regiment +in Siberia, slippers, stockings ----. I shall sell them, I shall burn +them. I would send them back, but the ladies send nothing but their +Christian names, and to identify Luise, and Gretchen, and Catherine, +and Bettina, is beyond my powers. No!" + +When they had ceased laughing the Duke continued his catechism. + +"Was it when the great poet G---- (your only rival) paid that handsome +compliment to your verses on ----" + +"No!" interrupted the poet. "A thousand times no! The great poet +praised the verses you allude to simply to cover his depreciation of +my 'Captive Queen,' which is among my best efforts, but too much in +his own style. How Germany can worship his bombastic ---- but that's +nothing! No." + +"Was it when you passed accidentally through the streets of Dresden, +and the crowd discovered you, and carried you to the hotel on its +shoulders?" + +The momentary frown passed from Friedrich's face, and he laughed +again. + +"And when the men who carried me twisted my leg so that I couldn't +walk for a fortnight, to say nothing of the headache I endured from +bowing to the populace like a Chinese mandarin? No!" + +"Is it any triumph you have enjoyed in any other country in Europe?" + +"No!" + +"My dear genius, I can guess no more; what, in the name of Fortune, +was this happy occasion--this life triumph?" + +"It is a long story, your highness, and entertaining to no one but +myself." + +"You do me injustice," said the Duke. "A long story from you is too +good to be lost. Sit down, and favour me." + +A patron's wishes are not to be neglected; and somewhat unwillingly +the poet at last sat down, and told the story of his Ballad and of St. +Nicholas's Day, as it has been told here. The fountain of tears is +drier in middle age than in childhood, but he was not unmoved as he +concluded. + +"Every circumstance of that evening," he said, "is as fresh in my +remembrance now as it was then, and will be till I die. It is a joy, a +triumph, and a satisfaction that will never fade. The words that +roused me from despair, that promised knowledge to my ignorance and +fame to my humble condition, have power now to make my heart beat, and +to bring hopeful tears into eyes that should have dried with age-- + + "GOD _willing, he will be a credit to the town._" + + "GOD _willing, he will be a credit to his country._" + + "_He shall have a liberal education, and will be + a great man._" + +"It is as good as a poem," said the delighted Duke. "I shall tell the +company to-night that I am the most fortunate man in Germany. I have +heard your unpublished poem. By the bye, Poet, is that ballad +published?" + +"No, and never will be. It shall never know less kindly criticism than +it received then." + +"And are you really in earnest? Was this indeed the happiest triumph +your talents have ever earned?" + +"It was," said Friedrich. "The first blast on the trumpet of Fame is +the sweetest. Afterwards, we find it out of tune." + +"Your parents are dead, I think?" + +"They are, and so is my youngest sister." + +"And what of Marie?" + +"She married--a man who, I think, is in no way worthy of her. Not a +bad, but a stupid man, with strong Bible convictions on the subject of +marital authority. She is such an angel in his house as he can never +understand in this world." + +"Do you ever see her?" + +"Sometimes, when I want a rest. I went to see her not long ago, and +found her just the same as ever. I sat at her feet, and laid my head +in her lap, and tried to be a child again. I bade her tell me the +history of Bluebeard, and strove to forget that I had ever lost the +childish simplicity which she has kept so well;--and I almost +succeeded. I had forgotten that the great poet was jealous of my +'Captive Queen,' and told myself it would be a grand thing to be like +him. I thought I should like to see a live Emperor. But just when the +delusion was perfect, there was a row in the street. The people had +found me out, and I must show myself at the window. The spell was +broken. I have not tried it again." + +They were on the steps of the palace. + +"Your story has entertained and touched me beyond measure," said the +Duke. "But something is wanting. It does not (as they say) 'end +well.' I fear you are not happy." + +"I am content," said Friedrich. "Yes, I am happy. I never could be a +child again, even if it pleased GOD to restore to me the +circumstances of my childhood. It is best as it is, but I have learnt +the truth of what Marie told me. It is the good, and not the great +things of my life that bring me peace; or rather, neither one nor the +other, but the undeserved mercies of my GOD!" + + * * * * * + +For those who desire to know more of the poet's life than has been +told, this is added. He did not live to be very old. A painful disease +(the result of mental toil), borne through many years, ended his life +almost in its prime. He retained his faculties till the last, and bore +protracted suffering with a heroism and endurance which he had not +always displayed in smaller trials. The medical men pronounced, on the +authority of a _post-mortem_ examination, that he must for years have +suffered a silent martyrdom. Truly, his bodily sufferings (when known +at last) might well excuse many weaknesses and much moody, irritable +impatience; especially when it is remembered that the mental +sufferings of intellectual men are generally great in proportion to +their gifts, and (when clogged with nerves and body that are ever +urged beyond their strength) that they often mock the pride of +humanity by leaving but little space between the genius and the +madman. + +Another fact was not known till he had died--his charity. Then it was +discovered how much kindness he had exercised in secret, and that +three poor widows had been fed daily from his table during all the +best years of his prosperity. Before his death he arranged all his +affairs, even to the disposal of his worn-out body. + +"My country has been gracious to me," he said, "and, if it cares, may +dispose of my carcase as it will. But I desire that after my death my +heart may be taken from my body and buried at the feet of my father +and my mother in the churchyard of my native town. At their feet," he +added, with some of the old imperiousness--"strong in death." "At +their feet, remember!" + +In one of the largest cities of Germany, a huge marble monument is +erected to the memory of the Great Man. On three sides of the pedestal +are bas-relief designs illustrating some of his works, whereby three +fellow-countrymen added to their fame; and on the fourth is a fine +inscription in Latin, setting forth his talents, and his virtues, and +the honours conferred on him, and stating in conclusion (on the +authority of his eulogizer) that his works have gained for him +immortality. + +In a quiet green churchyard, near a quiet little town, under the +shadow of the quaint old church, a little cross marks the graves of a +tradesman and of his wife who lived and laboured in their generation, +and are at rest. Near them, daisies grow above the dust of the +"Fräulein," which awaits the resurrection from the dead. And at the +feet of that simple couple lies the heart of their great son--a heart +which the sickness of earthly hope and the fever of earthly ambition +shall disturb no more. + +By the Poet's own desire, "the rude memorial" that marks the spot +contains no more than his initials, and a few words in his native +tongue to mark the foundation of the only ambition that he could feel +in death-- + + "Ich verlasse mich auf Gottes Güte immer und ewiglich." + + --_My trust is in the tender mercy of_ GOD _for + ever and ever._ + + + + +A BIT OF GREEN. + + "Thou oughtest, therefore, to call to mind the more heavy + sufferings of others, that so thou mayest the easier bear + thy own very small troubles."--THE IMITATION OF + CHRIST. + + +Children who live always with grass and flowers at their feet, and a +clear sky overhead, can have no real idea of the charm that country +sights and sounds have for those whose home is in a dirty, busy, +manufacturing town--just such a town, in fact, as I lived in when I +was a boy, which is more than twenty years ago. + +My father was a doctor, with a very large, if not what is called a +"genteel," practice, and we lived in a comfortable house in a broad +street. I was born and bred there; and, ever since I could remember, +the last sound that soothed my ears at night, and the first to which I +awoke in the morning, was the eternal rumbling and rattling of the +carts and carriages as they passed over the rough stones. I never +noticed if I heard them in the day-time, but at night my chief +amusement, as I lay in bed, was to guess by the sound of the wheels +what sort of vehicle was passing. + +"That light sharp rattle is a cab," I thought. "What a noise it makes, +and gone in a moment! One gentleman inside, I should think. There's an +omnibus; and there, jolty-jolt, goes a light cart; that's a carriage, +by the way the horses step; and now, rumbling heavily in the distance, +and coming slowly nearer, and heavier, and louder, this can be nothing +but a brewer's dray!" And the dray came so slowly that I was asleep +before it had got safely out of hearing. + +Ours was a very noisy street, but the noise made the night cheerful; +and so did the church clock near, which struck the quarters; and so +did the light of the street lamps, which came through the blind and +fell upon my little bed. We had very little light, except gaslight and +daylight, in our street; the sunshine seldom found its way to us, and, +when it did, people were so little used to it that they pulled down +the blinds for fear it should hurt the carpets. In the room my sister +and I called our nursery, however, we always welcomed it with blinds +rolled up to the very top; and, as we had no carpet, no damage was +done. + +But sunshine outside will not always make sunshine shine within, and +I remember one day when, though our nursery was unusually cheerful, +and though the windows were reflected in square patches of sunlight on +the floor, I stood in the very midst of the brightness, grumbling and +kicking at my sister's chair with a face as black as a thunder-cloud. +The reason of my ill-temper was this: Ever since I could remember, my +father had been accustomed, once a year, to take us all into the +country for change of air. Once he had taken us to the sea, but +generally we went to an old farmhouse in the middle of the beautiful +moors which lay not many miles from our dirty black town. But this +year, on this very sunshiny morning, he had announced at breakfast +that he could not let us go to what we called our moor-home. He had +even added insult to injury by expressing his thankfulness that we +were all in good health, so that the change was not a matter of +necessity. I was too indignant to speak, and rushed upstairs into the +nursery, where my little sister had also taken refuge. She was always +very gentle and obedient (provokingly so, I thought), and now she sat +rocking her doll on her knee in silent sorrow, whilst I stood kicking +her chair and grumbling in a tone which it was well the doll could not +hear, or rocking would have been of little use. I took pleasure in +trying to make her as angry as myself. I reminded her how lovely the +purple moors were looking at that moment, how sweet heather smelt, +and how good bilberries tasted. I said I thought it was "very hard." +It wasn't as if we were always paying visits, as many children did, to +their country relations; we had only one treat in the year, and father +wanted to take that away. Not a soul in the town, I said, would be as +unfortunate as we were. The children next door would go somewhere, of +course. So would the little Smiths, and the Browns, and _everybody_. +Everybody else went to the sea in the autumn; we were contented with +the moors, and he wouldn't even let us go there. And, at the end of +every burst of complaint, I discharged a volley of kicks at the leg of +the chair, and wound up with "I can't think why he can't!" + +"I don't know," said my sister, timidly, "but he said something about +not affording it, and spending money, and about trade being bad, and +he was afraid there would be great distress in the town." + +Oh, these illogical women! I was furious. "What on earth has that to +do with us?" I shouted at her. "Father's a doctor; trade won't hurt +him. But you are so silly, Minnie, I can't talk to you. I only know +it's very hard. Fancy staying a whole year boxed up in this beastly +town!" And I had so worked myself up that I fully believed in the +truth of the sentence with which I concluded-- + +"_There never_ WAS _anything so miserable!_" + +Minnie said nothing, for my feelings just then were something like +those of the dogs who (Dr. Watts tells us) + + "delight + To bark and bite;" + +and perhaps she was afraid of being bitten. At any rate, she held her +tongue; and just then my father came into the room. + +The door was open, and he must have heard my last speech as he came +along the passage; but he made no remark on it, and only said, "Would +any young man here like to go with me to see a patient?" + +I went willingly, for I was both tired and half-ashamed of teasing +Minnie, and we were soon in the street. It was a broad and cheerful +one, as I said; but before long we left it for a narrower, and then +turned off from that into a side street, where the foot-path would +only allow us to walk in single file--a dirty, dark lane, where surely +the sun never did shine. + +"What a horrid place!" I said. "I never was here before. Why don't +they pull such a street down?" + +"What is to become of the people who live in it?" said my father. + +"Let them live in one of the bigger streets," I said; "it would be +much more comfortable." + +"Very likely," he said; "but they would have to pay much more for +their houses; and if they haven't the money to pay with, what's to be +done?" + +I could not say, for, like older social reformers than myself, I felt +more sure that the reform was needed, than of how to accomplish it. +But before I could decide upon what to do with the dirty little +street, we had come to a place so very much worse that it put the +other quite out of my head. There is a mournful fatality about the +pretty names which are given, as if in mockery, to the most wretched +of the bye-streets in large towns. The street we had left was called +Rosemary Street, and this was Primrose Place. + +Primrose Place was more like a yard than a street; the houses were all +irregular and of different ages. On one side was a gap with palings +round it, where building was going on, and beyond rose a huge black +factory. But the condition of Primrose Place was beyond description. I +had never seen anything like it before, and kept as close to my father +as was consistent with boyish, dignity. The pathway was broken up, +children squalled at the doors and quarrelled in the street, which +was strewn with rags, and bones, and bits of old iron, and shoes, and +the tops of turnips. I do not think there was a whole unbroken window +in all the row of tall miserable houses, and the wet clothes hanging +out on lines stretched across the street, flapped above our heads. I +counted three cripples as we went up Primrose Place. My father stopped +to speak to several people, and I heard many complaints of the bad +state of trade to which my sister had alluded. He gave some money to +one woman, and spoke kindly to all; but he hurried me on as fast as he +could, and we turned at last into one of the houses. + +My ill-humour had by this time almost worked itself off in the fresh +air, and the novel scenes through which we had come; and, for the +present, the morning's disappointment was forgotten as I followed my +father through the crowded miserable rooms, and clambered up staircase +after staircase, till we reached the top of the house, and stumbled +through a latched door into the garret. After so much groping in the +dark, the light dazzled me, and I thought at first that the room was +empty. But at last a faint "Good day" from the corner near the window +drew my eyes that way; and there, stretched on a sort of bed, and +supported by a chair at his back, lay the patient we had come to see. + +He was a young man about twenty-six years old, in the last stage of +that terrible disease so fatally common in our country--he was dying +of consumption. There was no mistaking the flushed cheek, the +painfully laborious breathing, and the incessant cough; while two old +crutches in the corner spoke of another affliction--he was a cripple. +His gaunt face lighted up with a glow of pleasure when my father came +in, who seated himself at once on the end of the bed, and began to +talk to him, whilst I looked round the room. There was absolutely +nothing in it, except the bed on which the sick man lay, the chair +that supported him, and a small three-legged table. The low roof was +terribly out of repair, and the window was patched with newspaper; but +through the glass panes that were left, in full glory streamed the +sun, and in the midst of the blaze stood a pot of musk in full bloom. +The soft yellow flowers looked so grand, and smelled so sweet, that I +was lost in admiration, till I found the sick man's black eyes fixed +on mine. + +"You are looking at my bit of green, master?" he said, in a gratified +tone. + +"Do you like flowers?" I inquired, coming shyly up to the bed. + +"Do I like 'em?" he exclaimed in a low voice. "Ay, I love 'em well +enough--well enough," and he looked fondly at the plant, "though it's +long since I saw any but these." + +"You have not been in the country for a long time?" I inquired, +compassionately. I felt sad to think that he had perhaps lain there +for months, without a taste of fresh air or a run in the fields; but I +was _not_ prepared for his answer. + +"_I never was in the country, young gentleman._" + +I looked at my father. + +"Yes," he said, in answer to my glance, "it is quite true. William was +born here. He got hurt when a boy, and has been lame ever since. For +some years he has been entirely confined to the house. He was never +out of town, and never saw a green field." + +Never out of the town! confined to the house for years! and what a +house! The tears rushed to my eyes, and I felt that angry heart-ache +which the sight of suffering produces in those who are too young to be +insensible to it, and too ignorant of GOD's Providence to +submit with "quietness and confidence" to His will. + +"My son can hardly believe it, William." + +"It is such a shame," I said; "it is horrible. I am very sorry for +you." + +The black eyes turned kindly upon me, and the sick man said, "Thank +you heartily, Sir. You mean very kindly. I used to say the same sort +of things myself, when I was younger, and knew no better. I used to +think it was very hard, and that no one was so miserable as I was. But +I know now how much better off I am than most folks, and how many +things I have to be thankful for." + +I looked round the room, and began involuntarily to count the +furniture--one, two, three. The "many things" were certainly not +chairs and tables. + +But he was gazing before him, and went on: "I often think how thankful +I ought to be to die in peace, and have a quiet room to myself. There +was a girl in a consumption on the floor below me; and she used to sit +and cough, while her father and mother quarrelled so that I could hear +them through the floor. I used to send her half of anything nice I +had, but I found they took it. I did wish then," he added, with a +sudden flush, "that I had been a strong man!" + +"How shocking!" I said. + +"Yes," he answered; "it was that first set me thinking how many +mercies I had. And then there came such a good parson to St. John's, +and he taught me many things; and then I knew your father; and the +neighbours have been very kind. And while I could work I got good +wage, and laid by a bit; and I've sold a few things, and there'll be +these to sell when I'm gone; and so I've got what will keep me while +I do live, and pay for my coffin. What can a man want more?" + +What, indeed! Unsatisfied heart, make answer! + +A fit of coughing that shook the crazy room interrupted him here. When +he had recovered himself, he turned to my father. + +"Ay, ay, I have many mercies, as you know, Sir. Who would have thought +I could have kept a bit of green like that plant of mine in a place +like this? But, you see, they pulled down those old houses opposite +just before I got it, and now the sun couldn't come into a king's room +better than it comes into mine. I was always afraid, year after year, +that they would build it up, and my bit of green would die; and they +are building now, but it will last my time. Indeed, indeed, I've had +much to be thankful for. Not," he added, in a low, reverential tone, +"not to mention greater blessings. The presence of the LORD! +the presence of the LORD!" + +I was awed, almost frightened, by the tone in which he spoke, and by +the look of his face, on which the shadow of death was falling fast. +He lay in a sort of stupor, gazing with his black eyes at the broken +roof, as if through it he saw something invisible to us. + +It was some time before he seemed to recollect that we were there, and +before I ventured to ask him. "Where did you get your plant?" + +He smiled. "That's a long story, master; but it was this way. You see, +my father died quite young in a decline, and left my mother to +struggle on with eight of us as she could. She buried six, one after +another; and then she died herself, and brother Ben and I were left +alone. But we were mighty fond of one another, and got on very well. I +got plenty of employment, weaving mats and baskets for a shop in the +town, and Ben worked at the factory. One Saturday night he came home +all in a state, and said there was going to be a cheap trip on the +Monday into the country. It was the first there had been from these +parts, though there have been many since, I believe. Neither he nor I +had ever been out of the town, and he was full of it that we must go. +He had brought his Saturday wage with him, and we would work hard +afterwards. Well, you see, the landlord had been that day, and had +said he must have the rent by Tuesday, or he'd turn us out. I'd got +some of it laid by, and was looking to Ben's wages to make it up. But +I couldn't bear to see his face pining for a bit of fresh air, and so +I thought I could stay at home and work on Monday for what would make +up the rent, and he need never know. So I pretended that I didn't +want to go, and couldn't be bothered with the fuss; and at last I set +him off on Monday without me. It was late at night when he came back +like one wild. He'd got flowers in his hat, and flowers in all his +button-holes; he'd got his handkerchief filled with hay, and was +carrying something under his coat. He began laughing and crying, and +'Eh, Bill!' he said, 'thou hast been a fool. Thou hast missed summat. +But I've brought thee a bit of green, lad, I've brought thee a bit of +green.' And then he lifted up his coat, and there was the plant, which +some woman had given him. We didn't sleep much that night. He spread +the hay over the bed, for me to lay my face on, and see how the fields +smelt, and then he began and told me all about it; and after that, +when I was tired with work, or on a Sunday afternoon, I used to say, +'Now, Ben, tell us a bit about the country.' And he liked nothing +better. He used to say that I should go, if he carried me on his back; +but the LORD did not see fit. He took cold at work, and went +off three months afterwards. It was singular, the morning he died he +called me to him, and said, 'Bill, I've been a dreaming about that +trip that thou didst want to go after all. I dreamt--' and then he +stopped, and said no more; but, after a bit, he opened his eyes wide, +and pulled me to him, and he said, 'Bill, my lad, there's such +flowers in heaven, such flowers!' And so the LORD took him. +But I kept the bit of green for his sake." + +Here followed another fit of coughing, which brought my father from +the end of the bed to forbid his talking any more. + +"I have got to see another patient in the yard," he said, "and I will +leave my son here. He shall read you a chapter or two till I come +back; he is a good reader for his age." + +And so my father went. I was, as he said, a good reader for my age; +but I felt very nervous when the sick man drew a Bible from his side, +and put it in my hands. I wondered what I should read; but it was soon +settled by his asking for certain Psalms, which I read as clearly and +distinctly as I could. At first I was rather disturbed by his +occasional remarks, and a few murmured Amens; but I soon got used to +it. He joined devoutly in the "Glory be to the Father"--with which I +concluded--and then asked for a chapter from the Revelation of St. +John. I was more at ease now, and read my best, with a happy sense of +being useful; whilst he lay in the sunshine, folding the sheet with +his bony fingers, with his eyes fixed on the beloved "bit of green," +and drinking in the Words of Life with dying ears. + +"_Blessed are they that dwell in the heavenly Jerusalem, where there +is no need of the sun, neither of the moon, to shine in it; for the +glory of_ GOD _does lighten it, and the Lamb is the light +thereof._" + +By the time that my father returned, the sick man and I were fast +friends; and I left him with his blessing on my head. As we went home, +my good kind father told me that I was nearly old enough now to take +an interest in his concerns, and began to talk of his patients, and of +the poverty and destitution of some parts of the town. Then he spoke +of the bad state of trade--that it was expected to be worse, and that +the want of work and consequent misery this year would probably be +very great. Finally he added, that when so many were likely to be +starving, he had thought it right that we should deny ourselves our +little annual treat, and so save the money to enable us to take our +part in relieving the distressed. + +"Don't you think so, my boy?" he concluded, as we reached the door of +our comfortable (how comfortable!) home. + +My whole heart was in my "Yes." + +It is a happy moment for a son when his father first confides in him. +It is a happy moment for a father when his son first learns to +appreciate some of the labour of his life, and henceforth to obey his +commands, not only with a blind obedience, but in the sympathizing +spirit of the "perfect love" which "casts out fear." My heart was too +full to thank him then for his wise forbearance and wiser confidence; +but when after some months my sister's health made change of air to +the house of a country relative necessary, great was my pride and +thankfulness that I was well enough to remain at the post of duty by +my father's side. + +One day, not long after our visit to William, he went again to see +him; and when he came back I saw by the musk-plant in his hand the +news he brought. Its flowers were lovelier than ever, but its master +was transplanted into a heavenly garden, and he had left it to me. + +Mortal man does not learn any virtue in one lesson; and I have only +too often in my life been ungrateful both to GOD and man. But +the memory of lame William has often come across me when I have been +tempted to grumble about small troubles; and has given me a little +help (not to be despised) in striving after the grace of Thankfulness, +even for a "bit of green." + + + + +MONSIEUR THE +VISCOUNT'S FRIEND. + +A TALE IN THREE CHAPTERS. + + "Sweet are the vses of aduersitie + Which like the toad, ougly and venemous, + Weares yet a precious lewell in his head." + AS YOU LIKE IT: A.D. 1623. + + + + +CHAPTER I. + + +It was the year of grace 1779. In one of the most beautiful corners of +beautiful France stood a grand old château. It was a fine old +building, with countless windows large and small, with high-pitched +roofs and pointed towers, which in good taste or bad, did its best to +be everywhere ornamental, from the gorgon heads which frowned from its +turrets to the long row of stables and the fantastic dovecotes. It +stood (as became such a castle) upon an eminence, and looked down. +Very beautiful indeed was what it looked upon. Terrace below terrace +glowed with the most brilliant flowers, and broad flights of steps led +from one garden to the other. On the last terrace of all, fountains +and jets of water poured into one large basin, in which were gold and +silver fish. Beyond this were shady walks, which led to a lake on +which floated water-lilies and swans. From the top of the topmost +flight of steps you could see the blazing gardens one below the other, +the fountains and the basin, the walks and the lake, and beyond these +the trees, and the smiling country, and the blue sky of France. + +Within the castle, as without, beauty reigned supreme. The sunlight, +subdued by blinds and curtains, stole into rooms furnished with every +grace and luxury that could be procured in a country that then +accounted itself the most highly-civilized in the world. It fell upon +beautiful flowers and beautiful china, upon beautiful tapestry and +pictures; and it fell upon Madame the Viscountess, sitting at her +embroidery. Madame the Viscountess was not young, but she was not the +least beautiful object in those stately rooms. She had married into a +race of nobles who (themselves famed for personal beauty) had been +scrupulous in the choice of lovely wives. The late Viscount (for +Madame was a widow) had been one of the handsomest of the gay +courtiers of his day; and Madame had not been unworthy of him. Even +now, though the roses on her cheeks were more entirely artificial than +they had been in the days of her youth, she was like some exquisite +piece of porcelain. Standing by the embroidery frame was Madame's only +child, a boy who, in spite of his youth, was already Monsieur the +Viscount. He also was beautiful. His exquisitely-cut mouth had a curl +which was the inheritance of scornful generations, but which was +redeemed by his soft violet eyes and by an under-lying expression of +natural amiability. His hair was cut square across the forehead, and +fell in natural curls behind. His childish figure had already been +trained in the fencing school, and had gathered dignity from +perpetually treading upon shallow steps and in lofty rooms. From the +rosettes on his little shoes to his _chapeau à plumes_, he also was +like some porcelain figure. Surely, such beings could not exist except +in such a château as this, where the very air (unlike that breathed by +common mortals) had in the ante-rooms a faint aristocratic odour, and +was for yards round Madame the Viscountess dimly suggestive of +frangipani! + +Monsieur the Viscount did not stay long by the embroidery frame; he +was entertaining to-day a party of children from the estate, and had +come for the key of an old cabinet of which he wished to display the +treasures. When tired of this, they went out on to the terrace, and +one of the children who had not been there before exclaimed at the +beauty of the view. + +"It is true," said the little Viscount, carelessly, "and all, as far +as you can see, is the estate." + +"I will throw a stone to the end of your property, Monsieur," said one +of the boys, laughing; and he picked one off the walk, and stepping +back, flung it with all his little strength. The stone fell before it +had passed the fountains, and the failure was received with shouts of +laughter. + +"Let us see who can beat that," they cried; and there was a general +search for pebbles, which were flung at random among the flower beds. + +"One may easily throw such as those," said the Viscount, who was +poking under the wall of the first terrace; "but here is a stone that +one may call a stone. Who will send this into the fish-pond? It will +make a fountain of itself." + +The children drew round him as, with ruffles turned back, he tugged +and pulled at a large dirty looking stone, which was half-buried in +the earth by the wall. "Up it comes!" said the Viscount, at length; +and sure enough, up it came; but underneath it, his bright eyes +shining out of his dirty wrinkled body--horror of horrors!--there lay +a toad. Now, even in England, toads are not looked upon with much +favour, and a party of English children would have been startled by +such a discovery. But with French people, the dread of toads is +ludicrous in its intensity. In France toads are believed to have +teeth, to bite, and to spit poison; so my hero and his young guests +must be excused for taking flight at once with a cry of dismay. On the +next terrace, however, they paused, and seeing no signs of the enemy, +crept slowly back again. The little Viscount (be it said) began to +feel ashamed of himself, and led the way, with his hand upon the +miniature sword which hung at his side. All eyes were fixed upon the +fatal stone, when from behind it was seen slowly to push forth, first +a dirty wrinkled leg, then half a dirty wrinkled head, with one +gleaming eye. It was too much; with cries of, "It is he! he comes! he +spits! he pursues us!" the young guests of the château fled in good +earnest, and never stopped until they reached the fountain and the +fish-pond. + +But Monsieur the Viscount stood his ground. At the sudden apparition +the blood rushed to his heart, and made him very white, then it +flooded back again and made him very red, and then he fairly drew his +sword, and shouting, "_Vive la France!_" rushed upon the enemy. The +sword if small was sharp, and stabbed the poor toad would most +undoubtedly have been, but for a sudden check received by the valiant +little nobleman. It came in the shape of a large heavy hand that +seized Monsieur the Viscount with the grasp of a giant, while a voice +which could only have belonged to the owner of such a hand said in +slow deep tones, + +"_Que faites-vous?_" ("What are you doing?") + +It was the tutor, who had been pacing up and down the terrace with a +book, and who now stood holding the book in his right hand, and our +hero in his left. + +Monsieur the Viscount's tutor was a remarkable man. If he had not been +so, he would hardly have been tolerated at the château, since he was +not particularly beautiful, and not especially refined. He was in holy +orders, as his tonsured head and clerical costume bore witness--a +costume which, from its tightness and simplicity, only served to +exaggerate the unusual proportions of his person. Monsieur the +Preceptor had English blood in his veins, and his northern origin +betrayed itself in his towering height and corresponding breadth, as +well as by his fair hair and light blue eyes. But the most remarkable +parts of his outward man were his hands, which were of immense size, +especially about the thumbs. Monsieur the Preceptor was not exactly in +keeping with his present abode. It was not only that he was wanting in +the grace and beauty that reigned around him, but that his presence +made those very graces and beauties to look small. He seemed to have a +gift the reverse of that bestowed upon King Midas--the gold on which +his heavy hand was laid seemed to become rubbish. In the presence of +the late Viscount, and in that of Madame his widow, you would have +felt fully the deep importance of your dress being _à la mode_, and +your complexion _à la_ strawberries and cream (such influences still +exist); but let the burly tutor appear upon the scene, and all the +magic died at once out of brocaded silks and pearl-coloured stockings, +and dress and complexion became subjects almost of insignificance. +Monsieur the Preceptor was certainly a singular man to have been +chosen as an inmate of such a household; but, though young, he had +unusual talents, and added to them the not more usual accompaniments +of modesty and trustworthiness. To crown all, he was rigidly pious in +times when piety was not fashionable, and an obedient son of the +church of which he was a minister. Moreover, a family that fashion +does not permit to be demonstratively religious, may gain a reflected +credit from an austere chaplain; and so Monsieur the Preceptor +remained in the château and went his own way. It was this man who now +laid hands on the Viscount, and, in a voice that sounded like amiable +thunder, made the inquiry, "_Que faites-vous?_" + +"I am going to kill this animal--this hideous horrible animal," said +Monsieur the Viscount, struggling vainly under the grasp of the tutors +finger and thumb. + +"It is only a toad," said Monsieur the Preceptor, in his laconic +tones. + +"_Only_ a toad, do you say, Monsieur?" said the Viscount. "That is +enough, I think. It will bite--it will spit--it will poison: it is +like that dragon you tell me of, that devastated Rhodes--I am the good +knight that shall kill it." + +Monsieur the Preceptor laughed heartily. "You are misled by a vulgar +error. Toads do not bite--they have no teeth; neither do they spit +poison." + +"You are wrong, Monsieur," said the Viscount; "I have seen their teeth +myself. Claude Mignon, at the lodge, has two terrible ones, which he +keeps in his pocket as a charm." + +"I have seen them," said the tutor, "in Monsieur Claude's pocket. When +he can show me similar ones in a toad's head I will believe. +Meanwhile, I must beg of you, Monsieur, to put up your sword. You must +not kill this poor animal, which is quite harmless, and very useful in +a garden--it feeds upon many insects and reptiles which injure the +plants." + +"It shall not be useful, in this garden," said the little Viscount, +fretfully. "There are plenty of gardeners to destroy the insects, and, +if needful, we can have more. But the toad shall not remain. My +mother would faint if she saw so hideous a beast among her beautiful +flowers." + +"Jacques!" roared the tutor to a gardener who was at some distance. +Jacques started as if a clap of thunder had sounded in his ear, and +approached with low bows. "Take that toad, Jacques, and carry it to +the _potager_. It will keep the slugs from your cabbages." + +Jacques bowed low and lower, and scratched his head, and then did +reverence again with Asiatic humility, but at the same time moved +gradually backwards, and never even looked at the toad. + +"You also have seen the contents of Monsieur Claude's pocket?" said +the tutor, significantly, and quitting his hold of the Viscount, he +stooped down, seized the toad in his huge finger and thumb, and strode +off in the direction of the _potager_, followed at a respectful +distance by Jacques, who vented his awe and astonishment in alternate +bows and exclamations at the astounding conduct of the incomprehensible +Preceptor. + +"What is the use of such ugly beasts?" said the Viscount to his tutor, +on his return from the _potager_. "Birds and butterflies are pretty, +but what can such villains as these toads have been made for?" + +"You should study natural history, Monsieur--" began the priest, who +was himself a naturalist. + +"That is what you always say," interrupted the Viscount, with the +perverse folly of ignorance; "but if I knew as much as you do, it +would not make me understand why such ugly creatures need have been +made." + +"Nor," said the priest, firmly, "is it necessary that you should +understand it, particularly if you do not care to inquire. It is +enough for you and me if we remember Who made them, some six thousand +years before either of us was born." + +With which Monsieur the Preceptor (who had all this time kept his +place in the little book with his big thumb) returned to the terrace, +and resumed his devotions at the point where they had been interrupted +which exercise he continued till he was joined by the Curé of the +village, and the two priests relaxed in the political and religious +gossip of the day. + +Monsieur the Viscount rejoined his young guests, and they fed the gold +fish and the swans, and played _Colin Maillard_ in the shady walks, +and made a beautiful bouquet for Madame, and then fled indoors at the +first approach of evening chill, and found that the Viscountess had +prepared a feast of fruit and flowers for them in the great hall. +Here, at the head of the table, with Madame at his right hand, his +guests around, and the liveried lacqueys waiting his commands, +Monsieur the Viscount forgot that anything had ever been made which +could mar beauty and enjoyment; while the two priests outside stalked +up and down under the falling twilight, and talked ugly talk of crime +and poverty that were _somewhere_ now, and of troubles to come +hereafter. + +And so night fell over the beautiful sky, the beautiful château, and +the beautiful gardens; and upon the secure slumbers of beautiful +Madame and her beautiful son, and beautiful, beautiful France. + + * * * * * + + + + +CHAPTER II. + + +It was the year of grace 1792, thirteen years after the events related +in the last chapter. It was the 2nd of September, and Sunday, a day of +rest and peace in all Christian countries, and even more in gay, +beautiful France--a day of festivity and merriment. This Sunday, +however, seemed rather an exception to the general rule. There were no +gay groups or bannered processions; the typical incense and the public +devotion of which it is the symbol were alike wanting; the streets in +some places seemed deserted, and in others there was an ominous crowd, +and the dreary silence was now and then broken by a distant sound of +yells and cries, that struck terror into the hearts of the Parisians. + +It was a deserted bye-street, overlooked by some shut-up warehouses, +and from the cellar of one of these a young man crept up on to the +pathway. His dress had once been beautiful, but it was torn and +soiled; his face was beautiful still, but it was marred by the hideous +eagerness of a face on which famine has laid her hand--he was +starving. As this man came out from the warehouse, another man came +down the street. His dress was not beautiful, neither was he. There +was a red look about him--he wore a red flannel cap, tricolour +ribbons, and had something red upon his hands, which was neither +ribbon nor flannel. He also looked hungry; but it was not for food. +The other stopped when he saw him, and pulled something from his +pocket. It was a watch, a repeater, in a gold filigree case of +exquisite workmanship, with raised figures depicting the loves of an +Arcadian shepherd and shepherdess; and, as it lay on the white hand of +its owner, it bore an evanescent fragrance that seemed to recall +scenes as beautiful and as completely past as the days of pastoral +perfection, when + + "All the world and love were young + And truth in every shepherd's tongue." + +The young man held it to the other and spoke. "It was my mother's," he +said, with an appealing glance of violet eyes; "I would not part with +it but that I am starving. Will you get me food?" + +"You are hiding?" said he of the red cap. + +"Is that a crime in these days?" said the other, with a smile that +would in other days have been irresistible. + +The man took the watch, shaded the donor's beautiful face with a rough +red cap and tricolour ribbon, and bade him follow him. He, who had but +lately come to Paris, dragged his exhausted body after his conductor, +hardly noticed the crowds in the streets, the signs by which the man +got free passage for them both, or their entrance by a little +side-door into a large dark building, and never knew till he was +delivered to one of the gaolers that he had been led into the prison +of the Abbaye. Then the wretch tore the cap of Liberty from his +victim's head, and pointed to him with a fierce laugh. + +"He wants food, this aristocrat. He shall not wait long--there is a +feast in the court below, which he shall join presently. See to it, +Antoine! And you, _Monsieur_, _Mons-ieur_! listen to the banqueters." + +He ceased, and in the silence yells and cries from a court below came +up like some horrid answer to imprecation. + +The man continued-- + +"He has paid for his admission, this Monsieur. It belonged to Madame +his mother. Behold!" + +He held the watch above his head, and dashed it with insane fury on +the ground, and, bidding the gaoler see to his prisoner, rushed away +to the court below. + +The prisoner needed some attention. Weakness, and fasting, and horror +had overpowered a delicate body and a sensitive mind, and he lay +senseless by the shattered relic of happier times. Antoine, the gaoler +(a weak-minded man whom circumstances had made cruel), looked at him +with indifference while the Jacobin remained in the place, and with +half-suppressed pity when he had gone. The place where he lay was a +hall or passage in the prison, into which several cells opened, and a +number of the prisoners were gathered together at one end of it. One +of them had watched the proceedings of the Jacobin and his victim with +profound interest, and now advanced to where the poor youth lay. He +was a priest, and though thirteen years had passed over his head since +we saw him in the château, and though toil and suffering and anxiety +had added the traces of as many more, yet it would not have been +difficult to recognize the towering height, the candid face, and, +finally, the large thumb in the little book of ----, Monsieur the +Preceptor, who had years ago exchanged his old position for a +parochial cure. He strode up to the gaoler (whose head came a little +above the priest's elbow), and, drawing him aside, asked, with his old +abruptness, "Who is this?" + +"It is the Vicomte de B----. I know his face. He has escaped the +commissaires for some days." + +"I thought so. Is his name on the registers?" + +"No. He escaped arrest, and has just been brought in, as you saw." + +"Antoine," said the priest, in a low voice, and with a gaze that +seemed to pierce the soul of the weak little gaoler; "Antoine, when +you were a shoemaker in the Rue de la Croix, in two or three hard +winters I think you found me a friend." + +"Oh! Monsieur le Curé," said Antoine, writhing; "if Monsieur le Curé +would believe that if I could save his life! But--" + +"Pshaw!" said the priest, "it is not for myself, but for this boy. You +must save him, Antoine. Hear me, you _must_. Take him now to one of +the lower cells and hide him. You risk nothing. His name is not on the +prison register. He will not be called, he will not be missed; that +fanatic will think that he has perished with the rest of us (Antoine +shuddered, though the priest did not move a muscle) and when this mad +fever has subsided and order is restored, he will reward you. And +Antoine--" + +Here the priest pocketed his book, and somewhat awkwardly with his +huge hands unfastened the left side of his cassock, and tore the silk +from the lining. Monsieur le Curé's cassock seemed a cabinet of +oddities. First he pulled from this ingenious hiding-place a crucifix, +which he replaced; then a knot of white ribbon, which he also +restored; and, finally, a tiny pocket or bag of what had been +cream-coloured satin, embroidered with small bunches of heartsease, +and which was aromatic with otto of roses. Awkwardly, and somewhat +slowly, he drew out of this a small locket, in the centre of which was +some unreadable legend in cabalistic-looking character, and which +blazed with the finest diamonds. Heaven alone knows the secret of that +gem, or the struggle with which the priest yielded it. He put it into +Antoine's hand, talking as he did so partly to himself and partly to +the gaoler. + +"We brought nothing into this world, and it is certain we can carry +nothing out. The diamonds are of the finest, Antoine, and will sell +for much. The blessing of a dying priest upon you if you do kindly, +and his curse if you do ill to this poor child, whose home was my home +in better days. And for the locket--it is but a remembrance, and to +remember is not difficult!" + +As the last observation was not addressed to Antoine, so also he did +not hear it. He was discontentedly watching the body of the Viscount, +whom he consented to help, but with genuine weak-mindedness consented +ungraciously. + +"How am I to get him there? Monsieur le Curé sees that he cannot stand +upon his feet." + +Monsieur le Curé smiled, and stooping, picked his old pupil up in his +arms as if he had been a baby, and bore him to one of the doors. + +"You must come no further," said Antoine, hastily. + +"Ingrate!" muttered the priest in momentary anger, and then, ashamed, +he crossed himself, and pressing the young nobleman to his bosom with +the last gush of earthly affection that he was to feel, he kissed his +senseless face, spoke a benediction to ears that could not hear it, +and laid his burden down. + +"GOD the Father, the Son, and the Holy Ghost, be with thee +now and in the dread hour of death. Adieu! we shall meet hereafter." + +The look of pity, the yearning of rekindled love, the struggle of +silenced memories passed from his face and left a shining +calm--foretaste of the perpetual Light and the eternal Rest. + +Before he reached the other prisoners, the large thumb had found its +old place in the little book, the lips formed the old old words; but +it might almost have been said of him already, that "his spirit was +with the GOD who gave it." + +As for Monsieur the Viscount, it was perhaps well that he was not too +sensible of his position, for Antoine got him down the flight of stone +steps that led to the cell by the simple process of dragging him by +the heels. After a similar fashion he crossed the floor, and was +deposited on a pallet; the gaoler then emptied a broken pitcher of +water over his face, and locking the door securely, hurried back to +his charge. + +When Monsieur the Viscount came to his senses he raised himself and +looked round his new abode. It was a small stone cell; it was +underground, with a little grated window at the top that seemed to be +level with the court; there was a pallet--painfully pressed and +worn--a chair, a stone on which stood a plate and broken pitcher, and +in one corner a huge bundle of firewood which mocked a place where +there was no fire. Stones lay scattered about, the walls were black, +and in the far dark corners the wet oozed out and trickled slowly +down, and lizards and other reptiles crawled up. + +I suppose that the first object that attracts the hopes of a new +prisoner is the window of his cell, and to this, despite his weakness, +Monsieur the Viscount crept. It afforded him little satisfaction. It +was too high in the cell for him to reach it, too low in the prison to +command any view, and was securely grated with iron. Then he examined +the walls, but not a stone was loose. As he did so, his eye fell upon +the floor, and he noticed that two of the stones that lay about had +been raised up by some one and a third laid upon the top. It looked +like child's play, and Monsieur the Viscount kicked it down, and then +he saw that underneath it there was a pellet of paper roughly rolled +together. Evidently it was something left by the former occupant of +the cell for his successor. Perhaps he had begun some plan for getting +away which he had not had time to perfect on his own account, +Perhaps--but by this time the paper was spread out, and Monsieur the +Viscount read the writing. The paper was old and yellow. It was the +fly-leaf torn out of a little book, and on it was written in black +chalk, the words-- + + "_Souvenez-vous du Sauveur._" (Remember the Saviour.) + +He turned it over, he turned it back again; there was no other mark; +there was nothing more; and Monsieur the Viscount did not conceal from +himself that he was disappointed. How could it be otherwise? He had +been bred in ease and luxury, and surrounded with everything that +could make life beautiful; while ugliness, and want, and sickness, and +all that make life miserable, had been kept, as far as they can be +kept, from the precincts of the beautiful château which was his home. +What were the _consolations_ of religion to him? They are offered to +those (and to those only) who need them. They were to Monsieur the +Viscount what the Crucified Christ was to the Greeks of +old--foolishness. + +He put the paper in his pocket and lay down again, feeling it the +crowning disappointment of what he had lately suffered. Presently, +Antoine came with some food; it was not dainty, but Monsieur the +Viscount devoured it like a famished hound, and then made inquiries as +to how he came and how long he had been there. When the gaoler began +to describe him, whom he called the Curé, Monsieur the Viscount's +attention quickened into eagerness, an eagerness deepened by the +tender interest that always hangs round the names of those whom we +have known in happier and younger days. The happy memories recalled by +hearing of his old tutor seemed to blot out his present misfortunes. +With French excitability, he laughed and wept alternately. + +"As burly as ever, you say? The little book? I remember it, it was +his breviary. Ah! it is he. It is Monsieur the Preceptor, whom I have +not seen for years. Take me to him, bring him here, let me see him!" + +But Monsieur the Preceptor was in Paradise. + +That first night of Monsieur the Viscount's imprisonment was a +terrible one. The bitter chill of a Parisian autumn, the gnawings of +half-satisfied hunger, the thick walls that shut out all hope of +escape but did not exclude those fearful cries that lasted with few +intervals throughout the night, made it like some hideous dream. At +last the morning broke; at half-past two o'clock, some members of the +_commune_ presented themselves in the hall of the National Assembly +with the significant announcement:--"The prisons are empty!" and +Antoine, who had been quaking for hours, took courage, and went with +half a loaf of bread and a pitcher of water to the cell that was not +"empty." He found his prisoner struggling with a knot of white ribbon, +which he was trying to fasten in his hair. One glance at his face told +all. + +"It is the fever," said Antoine; and he put down the bread and water +and fetched an old blanket and a pillow; and that day and for many +days, the gaoler hung above his prisoner's pallet with the tenderness +of a woman. Was he haunted by the vision of a burly figure that had +bent over his own sick bed in the Rue de la Croix? Did the voice +(once so familiar in counsel and benediction!) echo still in his ears? + +"_The blessing of a dying priest upon you if you do well, and his +curse if you do ill to this poor child, whose home was my home in +better days._" + +Be this as it may, Antoine tended his patient with all the constancy +compatible with keeping his presence in the prison a secret; and it +was not till the crisis was safely past, that he began to visit the +cell less frequently, and reassumed the harsh manners which he held to +befit his office. + +Monsieur the Viscount's mind rambled much in his illness. He called +for his mother, who had long been dead. He fancied himself in his own +château. He thought that all his servants stood in a body before him, +but that not one would move to wait on him. He thought that he had +abundance of the most tempting food and cooling drinks, but placed +just beyond his reach. He thought that he saw two lights like stars +near together, which were close to the ground, and kept appearing and +then vanishing away. In time he became more sensible; the château +melted into the stern reality of his prison walls; the delicate food +became bread and water; the servants disappeared like spectres; but in +the empty cell, in the dark corners near the floor, he still fancied +that he saw two sparks of light coming and going, appearing and then +vanishing away. He watched them till his giddy head would bear it no +longer, and he closed his eyes and slept. When he awoke he was much +better, but when he raised himself and turned towards the +stone--there, by the bread and the broken pitcher, sat a dirty, ugly, +wrinkled toad, gazing at him, Monsieur the Viscount, with eyes of +yellow fire. + +Monsieur the Viscount had long ago forgotten the toad which had +alarmed his childhood; but his national dislike to that animal had not +been lessened by years, and the toad of the prison seemed likely to +fare no better than the toad of the château. He dragged himself from +his pallet, and took up one of the large damp stones which lay about +the floor of the cell, to throw at the intruder. He expected that when +he approached it, the toad would crawl away, and that he could throw +the stone after it; but to his surprise, the beast sat quite unmoved, +looking at him with calm shining eyes, and, somehow or other, Monsieur +the Viscount lacked strength or heart to kill it. He stood doubtful +for a moment, and then a sudden feeling of weakness obliged him to +drop the stone, and sit down, while tears sprang to his eyes with the +sense of his helplessness. + +"Why should I kill it?" he said, bitterly. "The beast will live and +grow fat upon this damp and loathsomeness, long after they have put +an end to my feeble life. It shall remain. The cell is not big, but it +is big enough for us both. However large be the rooms a man builds +himself to live in, it needs but little space in which to die!" + +So Monsieur the Viscount dragged his pallet away from the toad, placed +another stone by it, and removed the pitcher; and then, wearied with +his efforts, lay down and slept heavily. + +When he awoke, on the new stone by the pitcher was the toad, staring +full at him with topaz eyes. He lay still this time and did not move, +for the animal showed no intention of spitting, and he was puzzled by +its tameness. + +"It seems to like the sight of a man," he thought. "Is it possible +that any former inmate of this wretched prison can have amused his +solitude by making a pet of such a creature? and if there were such a +man, where is he now?" + +Henceforward, sleeping or waking, whenever Monsieur the Viscount lay +down upon his pallet, the toad crawled up on to the stone, and kept +watch over him with shining lustrous eyes; but whenever there was a +sound of the key grating in the lock, and the gaoler coming his +rounds, away crept the toad, and was quickly lost in the dark corners +of the room. When the man was gone, it returned to its place, and +Monsieur the Viscount would talk to it, as he lay on his pallet. + +"Ah! Monsieur Crapaud," he would say, with mournful pleasantry, +"without doubt you have had a master and a kind one; but, tell me, who +was he, and where is he now? Was he old or young, and was it in the +last stage of maddening loneliness that he made friends with such a +creature as you?" + +Monsieur Crapaud looked very intelligent, but he made no reply, and +Monsieur the Viscount had recourse to Antoine. + +"Who was in this cell before me?" he asked at the gaoler's next visit. + +Antoine's face clouded. "Monsieur le Curé had this room. My orders +were that he was to be imprisoned in secret.'" + +Monsieur le Curé had this room. There was a revelation in those words. +It was all explained now. The priest had always had a love for animals +(and for ugly, common animals), which his pupil had by no means +shared. His room at the château had been little less than a menagerie. +He had even kept a glass beehive there, which communicated with a hole +in the window through which the bees flew in and out, and he would +stand for hours with his thumb in the breviary, watching the labours +of his pets. And this also had been his room! This dark, damp cell. +Here, breviary in hand, he had stood, and lain, and knelt. Here, in +this miserable prison, he had found something to love, and on which to +expend the rare intelligence and benevolence of his nature. Here, +finally, in the last hours of his life, he had written on the fly-leaf +of his prayer-book something to comfort his successor, and, "being +dead, yet spoke" the words of consolation which he had administered in +his lifetime. Monsieur the Viscount read that paper now with different +feelings. + +There is, perhaps, no argument so strong, and no virtue that so +commands the respect of young men, as consistency. Monsieur the +Preceptor's lifelong counsel and example would have done less for his +pupil than was effected by the knowledge of his consistent career, now +that it was past. It was not the nobility of the priest's principles +that awoke in Monsieur the Viscount a desire to imitate his religious +example, but the fact that he had applied them to his own life, not +only in the time of wealth, but in the time of tribulation and in the +hour of death. All that high-strung piety--that life of prayer--those +unswerving admonitions to consider the vanity of earthly treasures, +and to prepare for death--which had sounded so unreal amidst the +perfumed elegances of the château, came back now with a reality gained +from experiment. The daily life of self-denial, the conversation +garnished from Scripture and from the Fathers, had not, after all, +been mere priestly affectations. In no symbolic manner, but literally, +he had "watched for the coming of his Lord," and "taken up the cross +daily;" and so, when the cross was laid on him, and when the voice +spoke which must speak to all, "The Master is come, and calleth for +thee," he bore the burden and obeyed the summons unmoved. + +_Unmoved_!--this was the fact that struck deep into the heart of +Monsieur the Viscount, as he listened to Antoine's account of the +Curé's imprisonment. What had astonished and overpowered his own +undisciplined nature had not disturbed Monsieur the Preceptor. He had +prayed in the château--he prayed in the prison. He had often spoken in +the château of the softening and comforting influences of communion +with the lower animals and with nature, and in the uncertainty of +imprisonment he had tamed a toad. "None of these things had moved +him," and, in a storm of grief and admiration, Monsieur the Viscount +bewailed the memory of his tutor. + +"If he had only lived to teach me!" + +But he was dead, and there was nothing for Monsieur the Viscount but +to make the most of his example. This was not so easy to follow as he +imagined. Things seemed to be different with him to what they had +been with Monsieur the Preceptor. He had no lofty meditations, no +ardent prayers, and calm and peace seemed more distant than ever. +Monsieur the Viscount met, in short, with all those difficulties that +the soul must meet with, which, in a moment of enthusiasm, has +resolved upon a higher and a better way of life, and in moments of +depression is perpetually tempted to forego that resolution. His +prison life was, however, a pretty severe discipline, and he held on +with struggles and prayers; and so, little by little, and day by day, +as the time of his imprisonment went by, the consolations of religion +became a daily strength against the fretfulness of imperious temper, +the sickness of hope deferred, and the dark suggestions of despair. + +The term of his imprisonment was a long one. Many prisoners came and +went within the walls of the Abbaye, but Monsieur the Viscount still +remained in his cell; indeed, he would have gained little by leaving +it if he could have done so, as he would almost certainly have been +retaken. As it was, Antoine on more than one occasion concealed him +behind the bundles of firewood, and once or twice he narrowly escaped +detection by less friendly officials. There were times when the +guillotine seemed to him almost better than this long suspense: but +while other heads passed to the block, his remained on his shoulders; +and so weeks and even months went by. And during all this time, +sleeping or waking, whenever he lay down upon his pallet, the toad +crept up on to the stone, and kept watch over him with lustrous eyes. + +Monsieur the Viscount hardly acknowledged to himself the affection +with which he came to regard this ugly and despicable animal. The +greater part of his regard for it he believed to be due to its +connection with his tutor, and the rest he set down to the score of +his own humanity, and took credit to himself accordingly: whereas in +truth Monsieur Crapaud was of incalculable service to his master, who +would lie and chatter to him for hours, and almost forget his present +discomfort in recalling past happiness, as he described the château, +the gardens, the burly tutor, and beautiful Madame, or laughed over +his childish remembrances of the toad's teeth in Claude Mignon's +pocket; whilst Monsieur Crapaud sat well-bred and silent, with a world +of comprehension in his fiery eyes. Whoever thinks this puerile must +remember that my hero was a Frenchman, and a young Frenchman, with a +prescriptive right to chatter for chattering's sake, and also that he +had not a very highly cultivated mind of his own to converse with, +even if the most highly cultivated intellect is ever a reliable +resource against the terrors of solitary confinement. + +Foolish or wise, however, Monsieur the Viscount's attachment +strengthened daily; and one day something happened which showed his +pet in a new light, and afforded him fresh amusement. + +The prison was much infested with certain large black spiders, which +crawled about the floor and walls; and, as Monsieur the Viscount was +lying on his pallet, he saw one of these scramble up and over the +stone on which sat Monsieur Crapaud. That good gentleman, whose eyes, +till then, had been fixed as usual on his master, now turned his +attention to the intruder. The spider, as if conscious of danger, had +suddenly stopped still. Monsieur Crapaud gazed at it intently with his +beautiful eyes, and bent himself slightly forward. So they remained +for some seconds, then the spider turned round, and began suddenly to +scramble away. At this instant Monsieur the Viscount saw his friend's +eyes gleam with an intenser fire, his head was jerked forwards; it +almost seemed as if something had been projected from his mouth, and +drawn back again with the rapidity of lightning. Then Monsieur Crapaud +resumed his position, drew in his head, and gazed mildly and sedately +before him; _but the spider was nowhere to be seen_. + +Monsieur the Viscount burst into a loud laugh. + +"Eh, well! Monsieur," said he, "but this is not well-bred on your +part. Who gave you leave to eat my spiders? and to bolt them in such +an unmannerly way, moreover." + +In spite of this reproof Monsieur Crapaud looked in no way ashamed of +himself, and I regret to state that henceforward (with the partial +humaneness of mankind in general), Monsieur the Viscount amused +himself by catching the insects (which were only too plentiful) in an +old oyster-shell, and then setting them at liberty on the stone for +the benefit of his friend. As for him, all appeared to be fish that +came to his net--spiders and beetles, slugs and snails from the damp +corners, flies, and wood-lice found on turning up the large stone, +disappeared one after the other. The wood-lice were an especial +amusement: when Monsieur the Viscount touched them, they shut up into +tight little balls, and in this condition he removed them to the +stone, and placed them like marbles in a row, Monsieur Crapaud +watching the proceeding with rapt attention. After awhile the balls +would slowly open and begin to crawl away; but he was a very active +wood-louse indeed who escaped the suction of Monsieur Crapaud's +tongue, as, his eyes glowing with eager enjoyment, he bolted one after +another, and Monsieur the Viscount clapped his hands and applauded. + +The grated window was a very fine field for spiders and other insects, +and by piling up stones on the floor, Monsieur the Viscount contrived +to scramble up to it, and fill his friend's oyster-shell with the +prey. + +One day, about a year and nine months after his first arrival at the +prison, he climbed to the embrasure of the window, as usual, +oyster-shell in hand. He always chose a time for this when he knew +that the court would most probably be deserted, to avoid the danger of +being recognized through the grating. He was, therefore, not a little +startled at being disturbed in his capture of a fat black spider by a +sound of something bumping against the iron bars. On looking up, he +saw that a string was dangling before the window with something +attached to the end of it. He drew it in, and, as he did so, he +fancied that he heard a distant sound of voices and clapped hands, as +if from some window above. He proceeded to examine his prize, and +found that it was a little round pincushion of sand, such as women use +to polish their needles with, and that, apparently, it was used as a +make-weight to ensure the steady descent of a neat little letter that +was tied beside it, in company with a small lead pencil. The letter +was directed to "_The prisoner who finds this._" Monsieur the Viscount +opened it at once. This was the letter-- + +"_In prison, 24th Prairial, year 2_. + +"_Fellow-sufferer, who are you? how long have you been imprisoned? Be +good enough to answer_." + +Monsieur the Viscount hesitated for a moment, and then determined to +risk all. He tore off a bit of the paper, and with the little pencil +hurriedly wrote this reply:-- + +"_In secret, June 12, 1794_. + +"_Louis Archambaud Jean-Marie Arnaud, Vicomte de B., supposed to have +perished in the massacres of September_, 1792. _Keep my secret. I have +been imprisoned a year and nine months. Who are_ you? _how long have_ +you _been here_?" + +The letter was drawn up, and he watched anxiously for the reply. It +came, and with it some sheets of blank paper. + +"_Monsieur_,--_We have the honour to reply to your inquiries, and +thank you for your frankness. Henri Edouard Clermont, Baron de St. +Claire. Valerie de St. Claire. We have been here but two days. Accept +our sympathy for your misfortunes_." + +Four words in this note seized at once upon Monsieur the Viscount's +interest--_Valerie de St. Claire_;--and for some reasons, which I do +not pretend to explain, he decided that it was she who was the author +of these epistles, and the demon of curiosity forthwith took +possession of his mind. Who was she? was she old or young? And in +which relation did she stand to Monsieur le Baron--that of wife, of +sister, or of daughter? And from some equally inexplicable cause +Monsieur the Viscount determined in his own mind that it was the +latter. To make assurance doubly sure, however, he laid a trap to +discover the real state of the case. He wrote a letter of thanks and +sympathy, expressed with all the delicate chivalrous politeness of a +nobleman of the old _régime_, and addressed it to _Madame la Baronne_. +The plan succeeded. The next note he received contained these +sentences:--"_I am not the Baroness. Madame my mother is, alas! dead. +I and my father are alone. He is ill, but thanks you, Monsieur, for +your letters, which relieve the_ ennui _of imprisonment. Are you +alone?_" + +Monsieur the Viscount, as in duty bound, relieved the _ennui_ of the +Baron's captivity by another epistle. Before answering the last +question, he turned round involuntarily, and looked to where Monsieur +Crapaud sat by the broken pitcher. The beautiful eyes were turned +towards him, and Monsieur the Viscount took up his pencil, and wrote +hastily, "_I am not alone--I have a friend._" + +Henceforward the oyster-shell took a long time to fill, and patience +seemed a harder virtue than ever. Perhaps the last fact had something +to do with the rapid decline of Monsieur the Viscount's health. He +became paler and weaker, and more fretful. His prayers were +accompanied by greater mental struggles, and watered with more tears. +He was, however, most positive in his assurances to Monsieur Crapaud +that he knew the exact nature and cause of the malady that was +consuming him. It resulted, he said, from the noxious and unwholesome +condition of his cell; and he would entreat Antoine to have it swept +out. After some difficulty the gaoler consented. + +It was nearly a month since Monsieur the Viscount had first been +startled by the appearance of the little pincushion. The stock of +paper had long been exhausted. He had torn up his cambric ruffles to +write upon, and Mademoiselle de St. Claire had made havoc of her +pocket-handkerchiefs for the same purpose. The Viscount was feebler +than ever, and Antoine became alarmed. The cell should be swept out +the next morning. He would come himself, he said, and bring another +man out of the town with him to help him, for the work was heavy, and +he had a touch of rheumatism. The man was a stupid fellow from the +country, who had only been a week in Paris; he had never heard of the +Viscount, and Antoine would tell him that the prisoner was a certain +young lawyer who had really died of fever in prison the day before. +Monsieur the Viscount thanked him; and it was not till the next +morning arrived, and he was expecting them every moment, that Monsieur +the Viscount remembered the toad, and that he would without doubt be +swept away with the rest in the general clearance. At first he thought +that he would beg them to leave it, but some knowledge of the petty +insults which that class of men heaped upon their prisoners made him +feel that this would probably be only an additional reason for their +taking the animal away. There was no place to hide it in, for they +would go all round the room; unless--unless Monsieur the Viscount took +it up in his hand. And this was just what he objected to do. All his +old feelings of repugnance came back; he had not even got gloves on; +his long white hands were bare, he could not touch a toad. It was true +that the beast had amused him, and that he had chatted to it; but, +after all, this was a piece of childish folly--an unmanly way, to say +the least, of relieving the tedium of captivity. What was Monsieur +Crapaud but a very ugly (and most people said a venomous) reptile? To +what a folly he had been condescending! With these thoughts, Monsieur +the Viscount steeled himself against the glances of his topaz-eyed +friend, and when the steps of the men were heard upon the stairs, he +did not move from the window where he had placed himself, with his +back to the stone. + +The steps came nearer and nearer, Monsieur the Viscount began to +whistle--the key was rattled in the lock, and Monsieur the Viscount +heard a bit of bread fall, as the toad hastily descended to hide +itself as usual in the corners. In a moment his resolution was gone; +another second, and it would be too late. He dashed after the +creature, picked it up, and when the men came in he was standing with +his hands behind him, in which Monsieur Crapaud was quietly and safely +seated. + +The room was swept, and Antoine was preparing to go, when the other, +who had been eyeing the prisoner suspiciously, stopped and said with a +sharp sneer, "Does the citizen always preserve that position?" + +"Not he," said the gaoler, good-naturedly. "He spends most of his time +in bed, which saves his legs. Come along, François." + +"I shall not come," said the other, obstinately. "Let the citizen show +me his hands." + +"Plague take you!" said Antoine, in a whisper. "What sulky fit +possesses you, my comrade? Let the poor wretch alone. What wouldst +thou with his hands? Wait a little, and thou shall have his head." + +"We should have few heads or prisoners either, if thou hadst the care +of them," said François, sharply. "I say that the prisoner secretes +something, and that I will see it. Show your hands, dog of an +aristocrat!" + +Monsieur the Viscount set his teeth to keep himself from speaking, and +held out his hands in silence, toad and all. + +Both the men started back with an exclamation, and François got behind +his comrade, and swore over his shoulder. + +Monsieur the Viscount stood upright and still, with a smile on his +white face. "Behold, citizen, what I secrete, and what I desire to +keep. Behold all that I have left to secrete or to desire! There is +nothing more." + +"Throw it down!" screamed François; "many a witch has been burnt for +less--throw it down." + +The colour began to flood over Monsieur the Viscount's face; but still +he spoke gently, and with bated breath. "If you wish me to suffer, +citizen, let this be my witness that I have suffered. I must be very +friendless to desire such a friend. I must be brought very low to ask +such a favour. Let the Republic give me this." + +"The Republic has one safe rule for aristocrats," said the other; "she +gives them nothing but their keep till she pays for their +shaving--once for all. She gave one of these dogs a few rags to dress +a wound on his back with, and he made a rope of his dressings, and let +himself down from the window. We will have no more such games. You may +be training the beast to spit poison at good citizens. Throw it down +and kill it." + +Monsieur the Viscount made no reply. His hands had moved towards his +breast, against which he was holding his golden-eyed friend. There are +times in life when the brute creation contrasts favourably with the +lords thereof, and this was one of them. It was hard to part just now. + +Antoine, who had been internally cursing his own folly in bringing +such a companion into the cell, now interfered. "If you are going to +stay here to be bitten or spit at, François, my friend," said he, "I +am not. Thou art zealous, my comrade, but dull as an owl. The Republic +is far-sighted in her wisdom beyond thy coarse ideas, and has more +ways of taking their heads from these aristocrats than one. Dost thou +not see?" And he tapped his forehead significantly, and looked at the +prisoner; and so, between talking and pushing, got his sulky companion +out of the cell, and locked the door after them. + +"And so, my friend--my friend!" said Monsieur the Viscount, tenderly, +"we are safe once more; but it will not be for long, my Crapaud. +Something tells me that I cannot much longer be overlooked. A little +while, and I shall be gone; and thou wilt have, perchance, another +master, when I am summoned before mine." + +Monsieur the Viscount's misgivings were just. François, on whose +stupidity Antoine had relied, was (as is not uncommon with people +stupid in other respects) just clever enough to be mischievous. +Antoine's evident alarm made him suspicious, and he began to talk +about the too-elegant-looking young lawyer who was imprisoned "in +secret," and permitted by the gaoler to keep venomous beasts. Antoine +was examined and committed to one of his own cells, and Monsieur the +Viscount was summoned before the revolutionary tribunal. + +There was little need even for the scanty inquiry that in those days +preceded sentence. In every line of his beautiful face, marred as it +was by sickness and suffering--in the unconquerable dignity, which +dirt and raggedness were powerless to hide, the fatal nobility of his +birth and breeding were betrayed. When he returned to the ante-room, +he did not positively know his fate; but in his mind there was a moral +certainty that left him no hope. + +The room was filled with other prisoners awaiting trial; and, as he +entered, his eyes wandered round it to see if there were any familiar +faces. They fell upon two figures standing with their backs to him--a +tall, fierce-looking man, who, despite his height and fierceness, had +a restless, nervous despondency expressed in all his movements; and a +young girl who leant on his arm as if for support, but whose steady +quietude gave her more the air of a supporter. Without seeing their +faces, and for no reasonable reason, Monsieur the Viscount decided +with himself that they were the Baron and his daughter, and he begged +the man who was conducting him for a moment's delay. The man +consented. France was becoming sick of unmitigated carnage, and even +the executioners sometimes indulged in pity by way of a change. + +As Monsieur the Viscount approached the two they turned round, and he +saw her face--a very fair and very resolute one, with ashen hair and +large eyes. In common with almost all the faces in that room, it was +blanched with suffering; and, it is fair to say, in common with many +of them, it was pervaded by a lofty calm. Monsieur the Viscount never +for an instant doubted his own conviction; he drew near and said in a +low voice, "Mademoiselle de St. Claire!" + +The Baron looked first fierce, and then alarmed. His daughter's face +illumined; she turned her large eyes on the speaker, and said simply, +"Monsieur le Vicomte?" + +The Baron apologized, commiserated, and sat down on a seat near, with +a look of fretful despair; and his daughter and Monsieur the Viscount +were left standing together. Monsieur the Viscount desired to say a +great deal, and could say very little. The moments went by, and hardly +a word had been spoken. + +Valerie asked if he knew his fate. + +"I have not heard it," he said; "but I am morally certain. There can +be but one end in these days." + +She sighed. "It is the same with us. And if you must suffer, Monsieur, +I wish that we may suffer together. It would comfort my father--and +me." + +Her composure vexed him. Just, too, when he was sensible that the +desire of life was making a few fierce struggles in his own breast. + +"You seem to look forward to death with great cheerfulness, +Mademoiselle." + +The large eyes were raised to him with a look of surprise at the +irritation of his tone. + +"I think," she said, gently, "that one does not look forward _to_, but +_beyond_ it." She stopped and hesitated, still watching his face, and +then spoke hurriedly and diffidently:-- + +"Monsieur, it seems impertinent to make such suggestions to you, who +have doubtless a full fund of consolation; but I remember, when a +child, going to hear the preaching of a monk who was famous for his +eloquence. He said that his text was from the Scriptures--it has been +in my mind all to-day--'_There the wicked cease from troubling, and +there the weary be at rest._' The man is becoming impatient. Adieu! +Monsieur. A thousand thanks and a thousand blessings." + +She offered her cheek, on which there was not a ray of increased +colour, and Monsieur the Viscount stooped and kissed it, with a thick +mist gathering in his eyes, through which he could not see her face. + +"Adieu! Valerie!" + +"Adieu! Louis!" + +So they met, and so they parted; and as Monsieur the Viscount went +back to his prison, he flattered himself that the last link was broken +for him in the chain of earthly interests. + +When he reached the cell he was tired, and lay down, and in a few +seconds a soft scrambling over the floor announced the return of +Monsieur Crapaud from his hiding-place. With one wrinkled leg after +another he clambered on to the stone, and Monsieur the Viscount +started when he saw him. + +"Friend Crapaud! I had actually forgotten thee. I fancied I had said +adieu for the last time;" and he gave a choked sigh, which Monsieur +Crapaud could not be expected to understand. In about five minutes he +sprang up suddenly. "Monsieur Crapaud, I have not long to live, and no +time must be lost in making my will." Monsieur Crapaud was too wise to +express any astonishment; and his master began to hunt for a +tidy-looking stone (paper and cambric were both at an end). They were +all rough and dirty; but necessity had made the Viscount inventive, +and he took a couple and rubbed them together till he had polished +both. Then he pulled out the little pencil, and for the next half hour +composed and wrote busily. When it was done he lay down, and read it +to his friend. This was Monsieur the Viscount's last will and +Testament:-- + +"_To my successor in this cell._ + +"To you whom Providence has chosen to be the inheritor of my sorrows +and my captivity, I desire to make another bequest. There is in this +prison a toad. He was tamed by a man (peace to his memory!) who +tenanted this cell before me. He has been my friend and companion for +nearly two years of sad imprisonment. He has sat by my bedside, fed +from my hand, and shared all my confidence. He is ugly, but he has +beautiful eyes; he is silent, but he is attentive; he is a brute, but +I wish the men of France were in this respect more his superiors! He +is very faithful. May you never have a worse friend! He feeds upon +insects, which I have been accustomed to procure for him. Be kind to +him; he will repay it. Like other men, I bequeath what I would take +with me if I could. + +"Fellow-sufferer, adieu! GOD comfort you as He has comforted +me! The sorrows of this life are sharp but short; the joys of the next +life are eternal. Think sometimes on him who commends his friend to +your pity, and himself to your prayers. + +"This is the last will and testament of Louis Archambaud Jean-Marie +Arnaud, Vicomte de B----." + +Monsieur the Viscount's last will and testament was with difficulty +squeezed into the surface of the larger of the stones. Then he hid it +where the priest had hidden _his_ bequest long ago, and then lay down +to dream of Monsieur the Preceptor, and that they had met at last. + +The next day was one of anxious suspense. In the evening, as usual, a +list of those who were to be guillotined next morning, was brought +into the prison; and Monsieur the Viscount begged for a sight of it. +It was brought to him. First on the list was Antoine! Halfway down was +his own name, "Louis de B----," and a little lower his fascinated +gaze fell upon names that stirred his heart with such a passion of +regret as he had fancied it would never feel again, "Henri de St. +Claire, Valerie de St. Claire." + +Her eyes seemed to shine on him from the gathering twilight, and her +calm voice to echo in his ears. "_It has been in my mind all to-day. +There the wicked cease from troubling, and there the weary be at +rest._" + +_There_! He buried his face and prayed. + +He was disturbed by the unlocking of the door, and the new gaoler +appeared with Antoine! The poor wretch seemed overpowered by terror. +He had begged to be imprisoned for this last night with Monsieur the +Viscount. It was only a matter of a few hours, as they were to die at +daybreak, and his request was granted. + +Antoine's entrance turned the current of Monsieur the Viscount's +thoughts. No more selfish reflections now. He must comfort this poor +creature, of whose death he was to be the unintentional cause. +Antoine's first anxiety was that Monsieur the Viscount should bear +witness that the gaoler had treated him kindly, and so earned the +blessing and not the curse of Monsieur le Curé, whose powerful +presence seemed to haunt him still. On this score he was soon set at +rest, and then came the old, old story. He had been but a bad man. If +his life were to come over again, he would do differently. Did +Monsieur the Viscount think that there was any hope? + +Would Monsieur the Viscount have recognized himself, could he, two +years ago, have seen himself as he was now? Kneeling by that rough, +uncultivated figure, and pleading with all the eloquence that he could +master to that rough uncultivated heart, the great Truths of +Christianity--so great and few and simple in their application to our +needs! The violet eyes had never appealed more tenderly, the soft +voice had never been softer than now, as he strove to explain to this +ignorant soul, the cardinal doctrines of Faith and Repentance, and +Charity, with an earnestness that was perhaps more effectual than his +preaching. + +Monsieur the Viscount was quite as much astonished as flattered by the +success of his instructions. The faith on which he had laid hold with +such mortal struggles, seemed almost to "come natural" (as people say) +to Antoine. With abundant tears he professed the deepest penitence for +his past life, at the same time that he accepted the doctrine of the +Atonement as a natural remedy, and never seemed to have a doubt in the +Infinite Mercy that should cover his infinite guilt. + +It was all so orthodox that even if he had doubted (which he did not) +the sincerity of the gaoler's contrition and belief, Monsieur the +Viscount could have done nothing but envy the easy nature of Antoine's +convictions. He forgot the difference of their respective +capabilities! + +When the night was far advanced the men rose from their knees, and +Monsieur the Viscount persuaded Antoine to lie down on his pallet, and +when the gaoler's heavy breathing told that he was asleep, Monsieur +the Viscount felt relieved to be alone once more--alone, except for +Monsieur Crapaud, whose round fiery eyes were open as usual. + +The simplicity with which he had been obliged to explain the truths of +Divine Love to Antoine, was of signal service to Monsieur the Viscount +himself. It left him no excuse for those intricacies of doubt, with +which refined minds too often torture themselves; and as he paced +feebly up and down the cell, all the long-withheld peace for which he +had striven since his imprisonment seemed to flood into his soul. How +blessed--how undeservedly blessed--was his fate! Who or what was he +that after such short, such mitigated sufferings, the crown of victory +should be so near? The way had seemed long to come, it was short to +look back upon, and now the golden gates were almost reached, the +everlasting doors were open. A few more hours, and then--! and as +Monsieur the Viscount buried his worn face in his hands, the tears +that trickled from his fingers were literally tears of joy. + +He groped his way to the stone, pushed some straw close to it, and lay +down on the ground to rest, watched by Monsieur's Crapaud's fiery +eyes. And as he lay, faces seemed to him to rise out of the darkness, +to take the form and features of the face of the priest, and to gaze +at him with unutterable benediction. And in his mind, like some +familiar piece of music, awoke the words that had been written on the +fly-leaf of the little book; coming back, sleepily and dreamily, over +and over again-- + +"_Souvenez-vous du Sauveur! Souvenez-vous du Sauveur_!" + +(Remember the Saviour!) + +In that remembrance he fell asleep. + +Monsieur the Viscount's sleep for some hours was without a dream. Then +it began to be disturbed by that uneasy consciousness of sleeping too +long, which enables some people to awake at whatever hour they have +resolved upon. At last it became intolerable, and wearied as he was, +he awoke. It was broad daylight, and Antoine was snoring beside him. +Surely the cart would come soon, the executions were generally at an +early hour. But time went on, and no one came, and Antoine awoke. The +hours of suspense passed heavily, but at last there were steps and a +key rattled into the lock. The door opened, and the gaoler appeared +with a jug of milk and a loaf. With a strange smile he set them down. + +"A good appetite to you, citizens." + +Antoine flew on him. "Comrade! we used to be friends. Tell me, what is +it? Is the execution deferred?" + +"The execution has taken place at last," said the other, +significantly; "_Robespierre is dead!_" and he vanished. + +Antoine uttered a shriek of joy. He wept, he laughed, he cut capers, +and flinging himself at Monsieur the Viscount's feet, he kissed them +rapturously. When he raised his eyes to Monsieur the Viscount's face, +his transports moderated. The last shock had been too much, he seemed +almost in a stupor. Antoine got him on to the pallet, dragged the +blanket over him, broke the bread into the milk, and played the nurse +once more. + +On that day thousands of prisoners in the city of Paris alone awoke +from the shadow of death to the hope of life. The Reign of Terror was +ended! + + + + +CHAPTER III. + + +It was a year of Grace early in the present century. + +We are again in the beautiful country of beautiful France. It is the +château once more. It is the same, but changed. The unapproachable +elegance, the inviolable security, have witnessed invasion. The right +wing of the château is in ruins, with traces of fire upon the +blackened walls; while here and there, a broken statue or a roofless +temple are sad memorials of the Revolution. Within the restored part +of the château, however, all looks well. Monsieur the Viscount has +been fortunate, and if not so rich a man as his father, has yet +regained enough of his property to live with comfort, and, as he +thinks, luxury. The long rooms are little less elegant than in former +days, and Madame the present Viscountess's boudoir is a model of +taste. Not far from it is another room, to which it forms a singular +contrast. This room belongs to Monsieur the Viscount. It is small, +with one window. The floor and walls are bare, and it contains no +furniture; but on the floor is a worn-out pallet, by which lies a +stone, and on that a broken pitcher, and in a little frame against the +wall is preserved a crumpled bit of paper like the fly-leaf of some +little book, on which is a half-effaced inscription, which can be +deciphered by Monsieur the Viscount if by no one else. Above the +window is written in large letters, a date and the word REMEMBER. +Monsieur the Viscount is not likely to forget, but he is afraid of +himself and of prosperity lest it should spoil him. + +It is evening, and Monsieur the Viscount is strolling along the +terrace with Madame on his arm. He has only one to offer her, for +where the other should be an empty sleeve is pinned to his breast, on +which a bit of ribbon is stirred by the breeze. Monsieur the Viscount +has not been idle since we saw him last; the faith that taught him to +die, has taught him also how to live--an honourable, useful life. + +It is evening, and the air comes up perfumed from a bed of violets by +which Monsieur the Viscount is kneeling. Madame (who has a fair face +and ashen hair) stands by him with her little hand on his shoulder, +and her large eyes upon the violets. + +"My friend! my friend! my friend!" It is Monsieur the Viscount's +voice, and at the sound of it, there is a rustle among the violets +that sends the perfume high into the air. Then from the parted leaves +come forth first a dirty wrinkled leg, then a dirty wrinkled head with +gleaming eyes, and Monsieur Crapaud crawls with self-satisfied dignity +on to Monsieur the Viscount's outstretched hand. + +So they stay laughing and chatting, and then Monsieur the Viscount +bids his friend good-night, and holds him towards Madame that she may +do the same. But Madame (who did not enjoy Monsieur Crapaud's society +in prison) cannot be induced to do more than scratch his head +delicately with the tip of her white finger. But she respects him +greatly, at a distance, she says. Then they go back along the terrace, +and are met by a man-servant in Monsieur the Viscount's livery. Is it +possible that this is Antoine, with his shock head covered with +powder? + +Yes; that grating voice, which no mental change avails to subdue, is +his, and he announces that Monsieur le Curé has arrived. It is the old +Curé of the village (who has survived the troubles of the Revolution), +and many are the evenings he spends at the château, and many the times +in which the closing acts of a noble life are recounted to him, the +life of his old friend whom he hopes ere long to see--of Monsieur the +Preceptor. He is kindly welcomed by Monsieur and by Madame, and they +pass on together into the château. And when Monsieur the Viscount's +steps have ceased to echo from the terrace, Monsieur Crapaud buries +himself once more among the violets. + + * * * * * + +Monsieur the Viscount is dead, and Madame sleeps also at his side; +and their possessions have descended to their son. + +Not the least valued among them is a case with a glass front and +sides, in which, seated upon a stone is the body of a toad stuffed +with exquisite skill, from whose head gleam eyes of genuine topaz. +Above it in letters of gold is a date, and this inscription:-- + + "MONSIEUR THE VISCOUNT'S FRIEND." + + ADIEU! + + + + +THE YEW-LANE GHOSTS + +CHAPTER I. + + "Cowards are cruel." OLD PROVERB. + + +This story begins on a fine autumn afternoon when, at the end of a +field over which the shadows of a few wayside trees were stalking like +long thin giants, a man and a boy sat side by side upon a stile. They +were not a happy-looking pair. The boy looked uncomfortable, because +he wanted to get away and dared not go. The man looked uncomfortable +also; but then no one had ever seen him look otherwise, which was the +more strange as he never professed to have any object in life but his +own pleasure and gratification. Not troubling himself with any +consideration of law or principle--of his own duty or other people's +comfort--he had consistently spent his whole time and energies in +trying to be jolly; and though now a grown-up young man, had so far +had every appearance of failing in the attempt. From this it will be +seen that he was not the most estimable of characters, and we shall +have no more to do with him than we can help; but as he must appear in +the story, he may as well be described. + +If constant self-indulgence had answered as well as it should have +done, he would have been a fine-looking young man; as it was, the +habits of his life were fast destroying his appearance. His hair would +have been golden if it had been kept clean. His figure was tall and +strong; but the custom of slinking about places where he had no +business to be, and lounging in corners where he had nothing to do, +had given it such a hopeless slouch that for the matter of beauty he +might almost as well have been knock-kneed. His eyes would have been +handsome if the lids had been less red; and if he had ever looked you +in the face, you would have seen that they were blue. His complexion +was fair by nature and discoloured by drink. His manner was something +between a sneak and a swagger, and he generally wore his cap +a-one-side, carried his hands in his pockets and a short stick under +his arm, and whistled when any one passed him. His chief +characteristic, perhaps, was the habit he had of kicking. Indoors he +kicked the furniture, in the road he kicked the stones, if he lounged +against a wall he kicked it; he kicked all animals and such human +beings as he felt sure would not kick him again. + +It should be said here that he had once announced his intention of +"turning steady, and settling, and getting wed." The object of his +choice was the prettiest girl in the village, and was as good as she +was pretty. To say the truth, the time had been when Bessy had not +felt unkindly towards the yellow-haired lad; but his conduct had long +put a gulf between them, which only the conceit of a scamp would have +attempted to pass. However, he flattered himself that he "knew what +the lasses meant when they said no;" and on the strength of this +knowledge he presumed far enough to elicit a rebuff so hearty and +unmistakable that for a week he was the laughing stock of the village. +There was no mistake this time as to what "no" meant; his admiration +turned to a hatred almost as intense, and he went faster "to the bad" +than ever. + +It was Bessy's little brother who sat by him on the stile; "Beauty +Bill," as he was called, from the large share he possessed of the +family good looks. The lad was one of those people who seem born to be +favourites. He was handsome, and merry, and intelligent; and, being +well brought up, was well-conducted and amiable--the pride and pet of +the village. Why did Mother Muggins of the shop let the goody side of +her scales of justice drop the lower by one lollipop for Bill than for +any other lad, and exempt him by unwonted smiles from her general +anathema on the urchin race? There were other honest boys in the +parish, who paid for their treacle-sticks in sterling copper of the +realm! The very roughs of the village were proud of him, and would +have showed their good nature in ways little to his benefit had not +his father kept a somewhat severe watch upon his habits and conduct. +Indeed, good parents and a strict home counterbalanced the evils of +popularity with Beauty Bill, and, on the whole, he was little spoilt, +and well deserved the favour he met with. It was under cover of +friendly patronage that his companion was now detaining him; but, all +the circumstances considered, Bill felt more suspicious than +gratified, and wished Bully Tom anywhere but where he was. + +The man threw out one leg before him like the pendulum of a clock. + +"Night school's opened, eh?" he inquired; and back swung the pendulum +against Bill's shins. + +"Yes;" and the boy screwed his legs on one side. + +"You don't go, do you?" + +"Yes, I do," said Bill, trying not to feel ashamed of the fact, +"Father can't spare me to the day-school now, so our Bessy persuaded +him to let me go at nights." + +Bully Tom's face looked a shade darker, and the pendulum took a swing +which it was fortunate the lad avoided; but the conversation continued +with every appearance of civility. + +"You come back by Yew-lane, I suppose?" + +"Yes." + +"Why, there's no one lives your way but old Johnson; you must come +back alone?" + +"Of course, I do," said Bill, beginning to feel vaguely uncomfortable. + +"It must be dark now before school looses?" was the next inquiry; and +the boy's discomfort increased, he hardly knew why, as he answered-- + +"There's a moon." + +"So there is," said Bully Tom, in a tone of polite assent; "and +there's a weathercock on the church-steeple but I never heard of +either of 'em coming down to help a body, whatever happened." + +Bill's discomfort had become alarm. + +"Why, what could happen?" he asked. "I don't understand you." + +His companion whistled, looked up in the air, and kicked vigorously, +but said nothing. Bill was not extraordinarily brave, but he had a +fair amount both of spirit and sense; and having a shrewd suspicion +that Bully Tom was trying to frighten him, he almost made up his mind +to run off then and there. Curiosity, however, and a vague alarm which +he could not throw off, made him stay for a little more information. + +"I wish you'd out with it!" he exclaimed, impatiently. "What could +happen? No one ever comes along Yew-lane; and if they did they +wouldn't hurt me." + +"I know no one ever comes near it when they can help it," was the +reply; "so, to be sure, you couldn't get set upon. And a pious lad of +your sort wouldn't mind no other kind. Not like ghosts, or anything of +that." + +And Bully Tom looked round at his companion; a fact disagreeable from +its rarity. + +"I don't believe in ghosts," said Bill, stoutly. + +"Of course you don't," sneered his tormentor; "you're too well +educated. Some people does, though. I suppose them that has seen them +does. Some people thinks that murdered men walk. P'raps some people +thinks the man as was murdered in Yew-lane walks." + +"What man?" gasped Bill, feeling very chilly down the spine. + +"Him that was riding by the cross-roads and dragged into Yew-lane, and +his head cut off and never found, and his body buried in the +churchyard," said Bully Tom, with a rush of superior information; +"and all I know is, if I thought he walked in Yew-lane, or any other +lane, I wouldn't go within five mile of it after dusk--that's all. But +then I'm not book-larned." + +The two last statements were true if nothing else was that the man had +said; and after holding up his feet and examining his boots with his +head a-one-side, as if considering their probable efficiency against +flesh and blood, he slid from his perch, and "loafed" slowly up the +street, whistling and kicking the stones as he went along. As to +Beauty Bill, he fled home as fast as his legs would carry him. By the +door stood Bessy, washing some clothes; who turned her pretty face as +he came up. + +"You're late, Bill," she said. "Go in and get your tea, it's set out. +It's night-school night, thou knows, and Master Arthur always likes +his class to time." He lingered, and she continued--"John Gardener was +down this afternoon about some potatoes, and he says Master Arthur is +expecting a friend." + +Bill did not heed this piece of news, any more than the slight flush +on his sister's face as she delivered it; he was wondering whether +what Bully Tom said was mere invention to frighten him, or whether +there was any truth in it. + +"Bessy!" he said, "was there a man ever murdered in Yew-lane?" + +Bessy was occupied with her own thoughts, and did not notice the +anxiety of the question. + +"I believe there was," she answered carelessly, "somewhere about +there. It's a hundred years ago or more. There's an old gravestone +over him in the churchyard by the wall, with an odd verse on it. They +say the parish clerk wrote it. But get your tea, or you'll be late, +and father'll be angry;" and Bessy took up her tub and departed. + +Poor Bill! Then it was too true. He began to pull up his trousers and +look at his grazed legs; and the thoughts of his aching shins, Bully +Tom's cruelty, the unavoidable night-school, and the possible ghost, +were too much for him, and he burst into tears. + + + + +CHAPTER II. + + "There are birds out on the bushes, + In the meadows lies the lamb, + How I wonder if they're ever + Half as frightened as I am?" + +C.F. ALEXANDER. + + +The night-school was drawing to a close. The attendance had been good, +and the room looked cheerful. In one corner the Rector was teaching a +group of grown-up men, who (better late than never) were zealously +learning to read; in another the schoolmaster was flourishing his +stick before a map as he concluded his lesson in geography. By the +fire sat Master Arthur, the Rector's son, surrounded by his class, and +in front of him stood Beauty Bill. Master Arthur was very popular with +the people, especially with his pupils. The boys were anxious to get +into his class, and loath to leave it. They admired his great height, +his merry laugh, the variety of walking-sticks he brought with him, +and his very funny way of explaining pictures. He was not a very +methodical teacher, and was rather apt to give unexpected lessons on +subjects in which he happened just then to be interested himself; but +he had a clear simple way of explaining anything, which impressed it +on the memory, and he took a great deal of pains in his own way. Bill +was especially devoted to him. He often wished that Master Arthur +could get very rich, and take him for his man-servant; he thought he +should like to brush his clothes and take care of his sticks. He had a +great interest in the growth of his moustache and whiskers. For some +time past Master Arthur had had a trick of pulling at his upper lip +whilst he was teaching; which occasionally provoked a whisper of +"Moostarch, guvernor!" between two unruly members of his class; but +never till to-night had Bill seen anything in that line which +answered his expectations. Now, however, as he stood before the young +gentleman, the fire-light fell on such a distinct growth of hair, that +Bill's interest became absorbed to the exclusion of all but the most +perfunctory attention to the lesson on hand. Would Master Arthur grow +a beard? Would his moustache be short like the pictures of Prince +Albert, or long and pointed like that of some other great man whose +portrait he had seen in the papers? He was calculating on the probable +effect of either style, when the order was given to put away books, +and then the thought which had been for a time diverted came back +again--his walk home. + +Poor Bill! his fears returned with double force from having been for +awhile forgotten. He dawdled over the books, he hunted in wrong places +for his cap and comforter, he lingered till the last boy had clattered +through the doorway, and left him with a group of elders who closed +the proceedings and locked up the school. But after this further delay +was impossible. The whole party moved out into the moonlight, and the +Rector and his son, the schoolmaster and the teachers, commenced, a +sedate parish gossip, whilst Bill trotted behind, wondering whether +any possible or impossible business would take one of them his way. +But when the turning point was reached, the Rector destroyed all his +hopes. + +"None of us go your way, I think," said he, as lightly as if there +were no grievance in the case; "however, it's not far. Good-night, my +boy!" + +And so with a volley of good-nights, the cheerful voices passed on up +the village. Bill stood till they had quite died away, and then when +all was silent, he turned into the lane. + +The cold night-wind crept into his ears, and made uncomfortable noises +among the trees, and blew clouds over the face of the moon. He almost +wished that there were no moon. The shifting shadows under his feet, +and the sudden patches of light on unexpected objects, startled him, +and he thought he should have felt less frightened if it had been +quite dark. Once he ran for a bit, then he resolved to be brave, then +to be reasonable; he repeated scraps of lessons, hymns, and last +Sunday's Collect, to divert and compose his mind; and as this plan +seemed to answer, he determined to go through the Catechism, both +question and answer, which he hoped might carry him to the end of his +unpleasant journey. He had just asked himself a question with +considerable dignity, and was about to reply, when a sudden gleam of +moonlight lit up a round object in the ditch. Bill's heart seemed to +grow cold, and he thought his senses would have forsaken him. Could +this be the head of ----? No! on nearer inspection it proved to be +only a turnip; and when one came to think of it, that would have been +rather a conspicuous place for the murdered man's skull to have been +lost in for so many years. + +My hero must not be ridiculed too much for his fears. The terrors that +visit childhood are not the less real and overpowering from being +unreasonable; and to excite them is wanton cruelty. Moreover, he was +but a little lad, and had been up and down Yew-lane both in daylight +and dark without any fears, till Bully Tom's tormenting suggestions +had alarmed him. Even now, as he reached the avenue of yews from which +the lane took its name, and passed into their gloomy shade, he tried +to be brave. He tried to think of the good GOD Who takes care of His +children, and to Whom the darkness and the light are both alike. He +thought of all he had been taught about angels, and wondered if one +were near him now, and wished that he could see him, as Abraham and +other good people had seen angels. In short, the poor lad did his best +to apply what he had been taught to the present emergency, and very +likely had he not done so he would have been worse; but as it was, he +was not a little frightened, as we shall see. + +Yew-lane--cool and dark when the hottest sunshine lay beyond it--a +loitering place for lovers--the dearly-loved play-place of +generations of children on sultry summer days--looked very grim and +vault-like, with narrow streaks of moonlight peeping in at rare +intervals to make the darkness to be felt! Moreover, it was really +damp and cold, which is not favourable to courage. At a certain point +Yew-lane skirted a corner of the churchyard, and was itself crossed by +another road, thus forming a "four-want-way," where suicides were +buried in times past. This road was the old high-road, where the mail +coach ran, and along which, on such a night as this, a hundred years +ago, a horseman rode his last ride. As he passed the church on his +fatal journey did anything warn him how soon his headless body would +be buried beneath its shadow? Bill wondered. He wondered if he were +old or young--what sort of a horse he rode--whose cruel hands dragged +him into the shadow of the yews and slew him, and where his head was +hidden, and why. Did the church look just the same, and the moon shine +just as brightly, that night a century ago? Bully Tom was right. The +weathercock and moon sit still, whatever happens. The boy watched the +gleaming high road as it lay beyond the dark aisle of trees, till he +fancied he could hear the footfalls of the solitary horse--and yet, +no! The sound was not upon the hard road, but nearer; it was not the +clatter of hoofs, but something--and a rustle--and then Bill's blood +seemed to freeze in his veins, as he saw a white figure, wrapped in +what seemed to be a shroud, glide out of the shadow of the yews and +move slowly down the lane. When it reached the road it paused, raised +a long arm warningly towards him for a moment, and then vanished in +the direction of the churchyard. + +What would have been the consequence of the intense fright the poor +lad experienced is more than anyone can say, if at that moment the +church clock had not begun to strike nine. The familiar sound, close +in his ears, roused him from the first shock, and before it had ceased +he contrived to make a desperate rally of his courage, flew over the +road, and crossed the two fields that now lay between him and home +without looking behind him. + + + + +CHAPTER III. + + "It was to her a real _grief of heart_, acute, as children's + sorrows often are. + + "We beheld this from the opposite windows--and, seen thus + from a little distance, how many of our own and of other + people's sorrows might not seem equally trivial, and equally + deserving of ridicule!" + +HANS CHRISTIAN ANDERSEN. + + +When Bill got home he found the household busy with a much more +practical subject than that of ghosts and haunted yew-trees. Bessy +was ill. She had felt a pain in her side all the day, which towards +night had become so violent that the doctor was sent for, who had +pronounced it pleurisy, and had sent her to bed. He was just coming +downstairs as Bill burst into the house. The mother was too much +occupied about her daughter to notice the lad's condition; but the +doctor's sharp eyes saw that something was amiss, and he at once +inquired what it was. Bill hammered and stammered, and stopped short. +The doctor was such a tall, stout, comfortable-looking man, he looked +as if he couldn't believe in ghosts. A slight frown, however, had come +over his comfortable face, and he laid two fingers on Bill's wrist as +he repeated his question. + +"Please, sir," said Bill, "I've seen--" + +"A mad dog?" suggested the doctor. + +"No, sir." + +"A mad bull?" + +"No, sir," said Bill, desperately, "I've seen a ghost." + +The doctor exploded into a fit of laughter, and looked more +comfortable than ever. + +"And _where_ did we see the ghost?" he inquired, in a professional +voice, as he took up his coat-tails and warmed himself at the fire. + +"In Yew-lane, sir; and I'm sure I did see it," said Bill, half +crying; "it was all in white, and beckoned me." + +"That's to say you saw a white gravestone, or a tree in the moonlight, +or one of your classmates dressed up in a table-cloth. It was all +moonshine, depend upon it," said the doctor, with a chuckle at his own +joke; "take my advice, my boy, and don't give way to foolish fancies." + +At this point the mother spoke-- + +"If his father knew, sir, as he'd got any such fads in his head, he'd +soon flog 'em out of him." + +"His father is a very good one," said the doctor; "a little too fond +of the stick, perhaps. There," he added, good-naturedly, slipping +sixpence into Bill's hand, "get a new knife, my boy, and cut a good +thick stick, and the next ghost you meet, lay hold of him and let him +taste it." + +Bill tried to thank him, but somehow his voice was choked, and the +doctor turned to his mother. + +"The boy has been frightened," he said, "and is upset. Give him some +supper, and put him to bed." And the good gentleman departed. + +Bill was duly feasted and sent to rest. His mother did not mention the +matter to her husband, as she knew he would be angry; and occupied +with real anxiety for her daughter, she soon forgot it herself. +Consequently, the next night-school night she sent Bill to "clean +himself," hurried on his tea, and packed him off, just as if nothing +had happened. + +The boy's feelings since the night of the apparition had not been +enviable. He could neither eat nor sleep. As he lay in bed at night, +he kept his face covered with the clothes, dreading that if he peeped +out into the room the phantom of the murdered horseman would beckon to +him from the dark corners. Lying so till the dawn broke and the cocks +began to crow, he would then look cautiously forth, and seeing by the +grey light that the corners were empty, and that the figure by the +door was not the Yew-lane Ghost, but his mother's faded print dress +hanging on a nail, would drop his head and fall wearily asleep. The +day was no better, for each hour brought him nearer to the next night +school; and Bessy's illness made his mother so busy, that he never +could find the right moment to ask her sympathy for his fears, and +still less could he feel himself able to overcome them. And so the +night-school came round again, and there he sat, gulping down a few +mouthfuls of food, and wondering how he should begin to tell his +mother that he neither dare, could, nor would, go down Yew-lane again +at night. He had just opened his lips when the father came in, and +asked in a loud voice "Why Bill was not off." This effectually put a +stop to any confidences, and the boy ran out of the house. Not, +however, to school. He made one or two desperate efforts at +determination, and then gave up altogether. He _could_ not go! + +He was wondering what he should do with himself, when it struck him +that he would go whilst it was daylight and look for the grave with +the odd verse of which Bessy had spoken. He had no difficulty in +finding it. It was marked by a large ugly stone, on which the +inscription was green and in some places almost effaced. + + SACRED TO THE MEMORY + + OF + + EPHRAIM GARNETT-- + +He had read so far when a voice close by him said-- + +"You'll be late for school, young chap." + +Bill looked up, and to his horror beheld Bully Tom standing in the +road and kicking the churchyard wall. + +"Aren't you going?" he asked, as Bill did not speak. + +"Not to-night," said Bill, with crimson cheeks. + +"Larking, eh?" said Bully Tom. "My eyes, won't your father give it +you!" and he began to move off. + +"Stop!" shouted Bill in an agony; "don't tell him, Tom. That would be +a dirty trick. I'll go next time, I will indeed; I can't go to-night. +I'm not larking, I'm scared. You won't tell?" + +"Not this time, maybe," was the reply; "but I wouldn't be in your +shoes if you play this game next night;" and off he went. + +Bill thought it well to quit the churchyard at once for some place +where he was not likely to be seen; he had never played truant before, +and for the next hour or two was thoroughly miserable as he slunk +about the premises of a neighbouring farm, and finally took refuge in +a shed, and began to consider his position. He would remain hidden +till nine o'clock, and then go home. If nothing were said, well and +good; unless some accident should afterwards betray him. But if his +mother asked any questions about the school? He dared not, and he +would not, tell a lie; and yet what would be the result of the truth +coming out? There could be no doubt that his father would beat him. +Bill thought again, and decided that he could bear a thrashing, but +not the sight of the Yew-lane Ghost; so he remained where he was, +wondering how it would be, and how he should get over the next +school-night when it came. The prospect was so hopeless, and the poor +lad so wearied with anxiety and wakeful nights, that he was almost +asleep when he was startled by the church clock striking nine; and, +jumping up, he ran home. His heart beat heavily as he crossed the +threshold; but his mother was still absorbed by thoughts of Bessy, and +he went to bed unquestioned. The next day too passed over without any +awkward remarks, which was very satisfactory; but then night-school +day came again, and Bill felt that he was in a worse position than +ever. He had played truant once with success; but he was aware that it +would not do a second time. Bully Tom was spiteful, and Master Arthur +might come to "look up" his recreant pupil, and then Bill's father +would know all. + +On the morning of the much-dreaded day, his mother sent him up to the +Rectory to fetch some little delicacy that had been promised for +Bessy's dinner. He generally found it rather amusing to go there. He +liked to peep at the pretty garden, to look out for Master Arthur, and +to sit in the kitchen and watch the cook, and wonder what she did with +all the dishes and bright things that decorated the walls. To-day all +was quite different. He avoided the gardens, he was afraid of being +seen by his teacher, and though cook had an unusual display of pots +and pans in operation, he sat in the corner of the kitchen indifferent +to everything but the thought of the Yew-lane Ghost. The dinner for +Bessy was put between two saucers, and as cook gave it into his hands +she asked kindly after his sister, and added-- + +"You don't look over-well yourself, lad! What's amiss?" + +Bill answered that he was quite well, and hurried out of the house to +avoid further inquiries. He was becoming afraid of everyone! As he +passed the garden he thought of the gardener, and wondered if he would +help him. He was very young and very good-natured; he had taken of +late to coming to see Bessy, and Bill had his own ideas upon that +point; finally, he had a small class at the night-school. Bill +wondered whether if he screwed up his courage to-night to go, John +Gardener would walk back with him for the pleasure of hearing the +latest accounts of Bessy. But all hopes of this sort were cut off by +Master Arthur's voice shouting to him from the garden-- + +"Hi, there! I want you, Willie! Come here, I say." + +Bill ran through the evergreens, and there among the flower-beds in +the sunshine he saw--first, John Gardener driving a mowing-machine +over the velvety grass under Master Arthur's very nose, so there was +no getting a private interview with him. Secondly, Master Arthur +himself, sitting on the ground with his terrier in his lap, directing +the proceedings by means of a donkey-headed stick with elaborately +carved ears; and thirdly, Master Arthur's friend. + +Now little bits of gossip will fly; and it had been heard in the +dining-room, and conveyed by the parlour-maid to the kitchen, and +passed from the kitchen into the village, that Master Arthur's friend +was a very clever young gentleman; consequently Beauty Bill had been +very anxious to see him. As, however, the clever young gentleman was +lying on his back on the grass, with his hat flattened over his face +to keep out the sun, and an open book lying on its face upon his +waistcoat to keep the place, and otherwise quite immovable, and very +like other young gentlemen, Bill did not feel much the wiser for +looking at him. He had a better view of him soon, however, for Master +Arthur began to poke his friend's legs with the donkey-headed stick, +and to exhort him to get up. + +"Hi! Bartram, get up! Here's my prime pupil. See what we can turn out. +You may examine him if you like. Willie: this gentleman is a very +clever gentleman, so you must keep your wits about you. _He'll_ put +questions to you, I can tell you! There's as much difference between +his head and mine, as between mine and the head of this stick." And +Master Arthur flourished his "one-legged donkey," as he called it, in +the air, and added, "Bartram! you lazy lout! _will_ you get up and +take an interest in my humble efforts for the good of my +fellow-creatures?" + +Thus adjured, Mr. Bartram sat up with a jerk which threw his book on +to his boots, and his hat after it, and looked at Bill. Now Bill and +the gardener had both been grinning, as they always did at Master +Arthur's funny speeches, but when Bill found the clever gentleman +looking at him, he straightened his face very quickly. The gentleman +was not at all like his friend ("nothing near so handsome," Bill +reported at home), and he had such a large prominent forehead that he +looked as if he were bald. When he sat up, he suddenly screwed up his +eyes in a very peculiar way, pulled out a double gold eye-glass, fixed +it on his nose, and stared through it for a second; after which his +eyes unexpectedly opened to their full extent (they were not small +ones), and took a sharp survey of Bill over the top of his spectacles; +and this ended, he lay back on his elbow without speaking. Bill then +and there decided that Mr. Bartram was very proud, rather mad, and the +most disagreeable gentleman he ever saw; and he felt sure could see as +well as he (Bill) could, and only wore spectacles out of a peculiar +kind of pride and vain-glory which he could not exactly specify. +Master Arthur seemed to think, at any rate, that he was not very +civil, and began at once to talk to the boy himself. + +"Why were you not at school last time, Willie? couldn't your mother +spare you?" + +"Yes, Sir." + +"Then why didn't you come?" said Master Arthur, in evident +astonishment. + +Poor Bill! He stammered as he had stammered before the doctor, and +finally gasped-- + +"Please, Sir, I was scared." + +"Scared? What of?" + +"Ghosts," murmured Bill in a very ghostly whisper. Mr. Bartram raised +himself a little. Master Arthur seemed confounded. + +"Why, you little goose! How is it you never were afraid before?" + +"Please, Sir, I saw one the other night." + +Mr. Bartram took another look over the top of his eye-glass and sat +bolt upright, and John Gardener stayed his machine and listened, while +poor Bill told the whole story of the Yew-lane Ghost. + +When it was finished, the gardener, who was behind Master Arthur, +said-- + +"I've heard something of this, Sir, in the village," and then added +more which Bill could not hear. + +"Eh, what?" said Master Arthur. "Willie, take the machine and drive +about the garden a-bit wherever you like. Now, John." + +Willie did not at all like being sent away at this interesting point. +Another time he would have enjoyed driving over the short grass, and +seeing it jump up like a little green fountain in front of him; but +now his whole mind was absorbed by the few words he caught at +intervals of the conversation going on between John and the young +gentlemen. What could it mean? Mr. Bartram seemed to have awakened to +extraordinary energy, and was talking rapidly. Bill heard the words +"lime-light" and "large sheet," and thought they must be planning a +magic-lantern exhibition, but was puzzled by catching the word +"turnip." At last, as he was rounding the corner of a bed of +geraniums, he distinctly heard Mr. Bartram ask-- + +"They cut the man's head off, didn't they?" + +Then they were talking about the ghost, after all! Bill gave the +machine a jerk, and to his dismay sliced a branch off one of the +geraniums. What was to be done? He must tell Master Arthur, but he +could not interrupt him just now; so on he drove, feeling very much +dispirited, and by no means cheered by hearing shouts of laughter from +the party on the grass. When one is puzzled and out of spirits, it is +no consolation to hear other people laughing over a private joke; +moreover, Bill felt that if they were still on the subject of the +murdered man and his ghost, their merriment was very unsuitable. +Whatever was going on, it was quite evident that Mr. Bartram was the +leading spirit of it, for Bill could see Master Arthur waving the one +legged donkey in an ecstasy, as he clapped his friend on the back till +the eye-glass danced upon his nose. At last Mr. Bartram threw himself +back as if closing a discussion, and said loud enough for Bill to +hear-- + +"You never heard of a bully who wasn't a coward." + +Bill thought of Bully Tom, and how he had said he dared not risk the +chance of meeting with a ghost, and began to think that this was a +clever young gentleman, after all. Just then Master Arthur called to +him; and he took the bit of broken geranium and went. + +"Oh, Willie!" said Master Arthur, "we've been talking over your +misfortunes--geranium? fiddle-sticks! put it in your button-hole--your +misfortunes, I say, and for to-night at any rate we intend to help you +out of them. John--ahem!--will be--ahem!--engaged to-night, and unable +to take his class as usual; but this gentleman has kindly consented to +fill his place ("Hear, hear," said the gentleman alluded to), and if +you'll come to-night, like a good lad, he and I will walk back with +you; so if you do see the ghost, it will be in good company. But, +mind, this is on one condition. You must not say anything about +it--about our walking back with you, I mean--to anybody. Say nothing; +but get ready and come to school as usual. You understand?" + +"Yes, Sir," said Bill; "and I'm very much obliged to you, Sir, and the +other gentleman as well." + +Nothing more was said, so Bill made his best bow and retired. As he +went he heard Master Arthur say to the gardener-- + +"Then you'll go to the town at once, John. We shall want the things as +soon as possible. You'd better take the pony, and we'll have the list +ready for you." + +Bill heard no more words; but as he left the grounds the laughter of +the young gentlemen rang out into the road. + +What did it all mean? + + + + +CHAPTER IV + + "The night was now pitmirk; the wind soughed amid the + headstones and railings of the gentry (for we all must die), + and the black corbies in the steeple-holes cackled and + crawed in a fearsome manner." + + MANSIE WAUGH. + + +Bill was early at the night-school. No other of his class had arrived, +so he took the corner by the fire sacred to first-comers, and watched +the gradual gathering of the school. Presently Master Arthur appeared, +and close behind him came his friend. Mr. Bartram Lindsay looked more +attractive now than he had done in the garden. When standing, he was +an elegant though plain-looking young man, neat in his dress, and with +an admirable figure. He was apt to stand very still and silent for a +length of time, and had a habit of holding his chin up in the air, +which led some people to say that he "held himself very high." This +was the opinion that Bill had formed, and he was rather alarmed by +hearing Master Arthur pressing his friend to take his class instead of +the more backward one, over which the gardener usually presided; and +he was proportionably relieved when Mr. Bartram steadily declined. + +"To say the truth, Bartram," said the young gentleman, "I am much +obliged to you, for I am used to my own boys, and prefer them." + +Then up came the schoolmaster. + +"Mr. Lindsay going to take John's class? Thank you, Sir. I've put out +the books; if you want anything else, Sir, p'raps you'll mention it. +When they have done reading, perhaps, Sir, you will kindly draft them +off for writing, and take the upper classes in arithmetic, if you +don't object, Sir." + +Mr. Lindsay did not object. + +"If you have a picture or two," he said. "Thank you. Know their +letters? All right. Different stages of progression. Very good. I've +no doubt we shall get on together." + +"Between ourselves, Bartram," whispered Master Arthur into his +friend's ear, "the class is composed of boys who ought to have been to +school, and haven't; or who have been, and are none the better for it. +Some of them can what they call 'read in the Testament,' and all of +them confound b and d when they meet with them. They are at one point +of general information--namely, they all know what you have just told +them, and will none of them know it by next time. I call it the +rag-tag and bob-tail class. John says they are like forced tulips. +They won't blossom simultaneously. He can't get them all to one +standard of reading." + +Mr. Lindsay laughed and said-- + +"He had better read less, and try a little general oral instruction. +Perhaps they don't remember because they can't understand;"--and the +Rector coming in at that moment, the business of the evening +commenced. + +Having afterwards to cross the school for something, Bill passed the +new teacher and his class, and came to the conclusion that they did +"get on together," and very well too. The rag-tag and bob-tail shone +that night, and afterwards were loud in praises of the lesson. "It was +so clear," and "He was so patient." Indeed, patience was one great +secret of Mr. Lindsay's teaching; he waited so long for an answer that +he generally got it. His pupils were obliged to exert themselves when +there was no hope of being passed over, and everybody was waiting. +Finally, Bill's share of the arithmetic lesson converted him to Master +Arthur's friend. He _was_ a clever young gentleman, and a kind one +too. + +The lesson had been so interesting--the clever young gentleman, +standing (without his eye-glass) by the blackboard, had been so strict +and yet so entertaining, was so obviously competent, and so pleasantly +kind, that Bill, who liked arithmetic, and (like all intelligent +children) appreciated good teaching, had had no time to think of the +Yew-lane Ghost till the lesson was ended. It was not till the hymn +began (they always ended the night-school with singing), then he +remembered it. Then, while he was shouting with all his might Bishop +Ken's glorious old lines-- + + "Keep me, oh keep me, King of kings," + +he caught Mr. Lindsay's eyes fixed on him, and back came the thoughts +of his terrible fright, with a little shame too at his own timidity. +Which of us trusts as we should do in the "defence of the Most High?" + +Bill lingered as he had done the last time, and went out with the +"grown-ups." It had been raining, and the ground was wet and sludgy, +though it was fair overhead. The wind was cold, too, and Mr. Lindsay +began to cough so violently, that Bill felt rather ashamed of taking +him so far out of his way, through the damp chilly lane, and began to +wonder whether he could not summon up courage to go alone. The result +was, that with some effort he said-- + +"Please, Mr. Lindsay, Sir, I think you won't like to come so far this +cold night. I'll try and manage, if you like." + +Mr. Lindsay laid one hand on Bill's shoulder, and said quietly-- + +"No, thank you, my boy, we'll come with you, Thank you, all the same." + +"Nevertheless, Bartram," said Master Arthur, "I wish you could keep +that cough of yours quiet--it will spoil everything. A boy was eating +peppermints in the shade of his copy-book this very night. I did box +his ears; but I wish I had seized the goodies, they might have kept +you quiet." + +"Thank you," was the reply, "I abhor peppermint; but I have got some +lozenges, if that will satisfy you. And when I smell ghosts, I can +smother myself in my pocket-handkerchief." + +Master Arthur laughed boisterously. + +"We shall smell one if brimstone will do it. I hope he won't set +himself on fire, or the scenic effect will be stronger than we +bargained for." + +This was the beginning of a desultory conversation carried on at +intervals between the two young gentlemen, of which, though Bill heard +every sentence, he couldn't understand one. He made one effort to +discover what Master Arthur was alluding to, but with no satisfactory +result, as we shall see. + +"Please, Master Arthur," he said desperately, "you don't think +there'll be two ghosts, do you, Sir?" + +"I should say," said Master Arthur, so slowly and with such gravity +that Bill felt sure he was making fun of him, "I should say, Bill, +that if a place is haunted at all there is no limit to the number of +ghosts--fifty quite as likely as one. What do you say, Bartram?" + +"Quite so," said Bartram. + +Bill made no further attempts to understand the mystery. He listened, +but only grew more and more bewildered at the dark hints he heard, and +never understood what it all meant until the end came; when (as is not +uncommon) he wondered how he could have been so stupid, and why he had +not seen it all from the very first. + +They had now reached the turning-point, and as they passed into the +dark lane, where the wind was shuddering and shivering among the +trees, Bill shuddered and shivered too, and felt very glad that the +young gentlemen were with him, after all. + +Mr. Lindsay pulled out his watch. + +"Well?" said his friend. + +"Ten minutes to nine." + +Then they walked on in silence, Master Arthur with one arm through his +friend's, and the one-legged donkey under the other; and Mr. Lindsay +with his hand on Bill's shoulder. + +"I _should_ like a pipe!" said Master Arthur presently; "it's so +abominably damp." + +"What a fellow you are," said Mr. Lindsay. "Out of the question! With +the wind setting down the lane too! you talk of my cough--which is +better, by-the-bye." + +"What a fellow _you_ are!" retorted the other. "Bartram, you are the +oddest creature I know. What ever you take up, you do drive at so. Now +I have hardly got a lark afloat before I'm sick of it. I wish you'd +tell me two things--first, why are you so grave to-night? and, +secondly, what made you take up our young friend's cause so warmly?" + +"One answer will serve both questions," said Mr. Lindsay. "The truth +is, old fellow, our young friend--[and Bill felt certain that the +'young friend' was himself]--has a look of a little chap I was chum +with at school--Regy Gordon. I don't talk about it often, for I can't +very well; but he was killed--think of it, man!--_killed_ by such a +piece of bullying as this! When they found him, he was quite stiff and +speechless; he lived a few hours, but he only said two words--my name, +and amen." + +"Amen?" said Master Arthur, inquiringly. + +"Well, you see when the surgeon said it was no go, they telegraphed +for his friends; but they were a long way off, and he was sinking +rapidly; and the old Doctor was in the room, half heart-broken, and he +saw Gordon move his hands together, and he said, 'If any boy knows +what prayers Gordon minor has been used to say, let him come and say +them by him;' and I did. So I knelt by his bed and said them, the old +Doctor kneeling too and sobbing like a child; and when I had done, +Regy moved his lips and said 'Amen;' and then he said 'Lindsay!' and +smiled, and then--" + +Master Arthur squeezed his friend's arm tightly, but said nothing, and +both the young men were silent; but Bill could not restrain his tears. +It seemed the saddest story he had ever heard, and Mr. Lindsay's hand +upon his shoulder shook so intolerably whilst he was speaking, that he +had taken it away, which made Bill worse, and he fairly sobbed. + +"What are you blubbering about, young 'un?" said Mr. Lindsay. "He is +better off than any of us, and if you are a good boy you will see him +some day;" and the young gentleman put his hand back again, which was +steady now. + +"What became of the other fellow?" said Master Arthur. + +"He was taken away, of course. Sent abroad, I believe. It was hushed +up. And now you know," added Mr. Lindsay, "why my native indolence has +roused itself to get this cad taught a lesson, which many a time I +wished to GOD when wishes were too late, that that other bully had +been taught _in time_. But no one could thrash him; and no one durst +complain. However, let's change the subject, old fellow! I've got over +it long since: though sometimes I think the wish to see Regy again +helps to keep me a decent sort of fellow. But when I saw the likeness +this morning, it startled me; and then to hear the story, it seemed +like a dream--the Gordon affair over again. I suppose rustic nerves +are tougher; however, your village blackguard shan't have the chance +of committing murder if we can cure him!" + +"I believe you half wanted to undertake the cure yourself," said +Master Arthur. + +Mr. Lindsay laughed. + +"I did for a minute. Fancy your father's feelings if I had come home +with a black eye from an encounter with a pot-house bully! You know I +put my foot into a tender secret of your man's, by offering to be the +performer!" + +"How?" + +Mr. Lindsay lowered his voice, but not so that Bill could not hear +what he said, and recognize the imitation of John Gardener. + +"He said, 'I'd rather do it, if _you_ please, Sir. The fact is, I'm +partial to the young woman myself!' After that, I could but leave John +to defend his young woman's belongings." + +"Gently!" exclaimed Master Arthur. "There is the Yew Walk." + +From this moment the conversation was carried on in whispers, to +Bill's further mystification. The young gentlemen recovered their +spirits, and kept exploding in smothered chuckles of laughter. + +"Cold work for him if he's been waiting long!" whispered one. + +"Don't know. His head's under cover, remember!" said the other: and +they laughed. + +"Bet you sixpence he's been smearing his hand with brimstone for the +last half hour." + +"Don't smell him yet, though." + +"He'll be a patent aphis-destroyer in the rose-garden for months to +come." + +"Sharp work for the eyelids if it gets under the sheet." + +They were now close by the Yews, out of which the wind came with a +peculiar chill, as if it had been passing through a vault. Mr. Bartram +Lindsay stooped down, and whispered in Bill's ear. "Listen, my lad. We +can't go down the lane with you, for we want to see the ghost, but we +don't want the ghost to see us. Don't be frightened, but go just as +usual. And mind--when you see the white figure, point with your own +arm _towards the Church_, and scream as loud as you like. Can you do +this?" + +"Yes, Sir," whispered Bill. + +"Then off with you. We shall creep quietly on behind the trees; and +you shan't be hurt, I promise you." + +Bill summoned his courage, and plunged into the shadows. What could be +the meaning of Mr. Lindsay's strange orders? Should he ever have +courage to lift his arm towards the church in the face of that awful +apparition of the murdered man? And if he did, would the unquiet +spirit take the hint, and go back into the grave, which Bill knew was +at that very corner to which he must point? Left alone, his terrors +began to return; and he listened eagerly to see if, amid the +ceaseless soughing of the wind among the long yew branches, he could +hear the rustle of the young men's footsteps as they crept behind. But +he could distinguish nothing. The hish-wishing of the thin leaves was +so incessant, the wind was so dexterous and tormenting in the tricks +it played and the sounds it produced, that the whole place seemed +alive with phantom rustlings and footsteps; and Bill felt as if Master +Arthur was right, and that there was "no limit" to the number of +ghosts! + +At last he could see the end of the avenue. There among the few last +trees was the place where the ghost had appeared. There beyond lay the +white road, the churchyard corner, and the tall grey tomb-stone +glimmering in the moonlight. A few steps more, and slowly from among +the yews came the ghost as before, and raised its long white arm. Bill +determined that, if he died for it, he would do as he had been told; +and lifting his own hand he pointed towards the tomb-stone, and gave a +shout. As he pointed, the ghost turned round, and then--rising from +behind the tomb-stone, and gliding slowly to the edge of the wall, +which separated the churchyard from the lower level of the road--there +appeared a sight so awful, that Bill's shout merged into a prolonged +scream of terror. + +Truly Master Arthur's anticipations of a "scenic effect" were amply +realized. The walls and buttresses of the old Church stood out dark +against the sky; the white clouds sailed slowly by the moon, which +reflected itself on the damp grass, and shone upon the flat wet +tomb-stones till they looked like pieces of water. It was not less +bright upon the upright ones, upon quaint crosses, short headstones, +and upon the huge ungainly memorial of the murdered Ephraim Garnett. +But _the_ sight on which it shone that night was the figure now +standing by Ephraim Garnett's grave, and looking over the wall. An +awful figure, of gigantic height, with ghostly white garments clinging +round its headless body, and carrying under its left arm the head that +should have been upon its shoulders. On this there was neither flesh +nor hair. It seemed to be a bare skull, with fire gleaming through the +hollow eye-sockets and the grinning teeth. The right hand of the +figure was outstretched as if in warning; and from the palms to the +tips of the fingers was a mass of lambent flame. When Bill saw this +fearful apparition he screamed with hearty good will; but the noise he +made was nothing to the yell of terror that came from beneath the +shroud of the Yew-lane Ghost, who, on catching sight of the rival +spectre, fled wildly up the lane, kicking the white sheet off as he +went, and finally displaying, to Bill's amazement, the form and +features of Bully Tom. But this was not all. No sooner had the first +ghost started, than the second (not to be behind-hand) jumped nimbly +over the wall, and gave chase. But fear had put wings on to Bully +Tom's feet; and the second ghost being somewhat encumbered by his +costume, judged it wisdom to stop; and then taking the fiery skull in +its flaming hands, shied it with such dexterity, that it hit Bully Tom +in the middle of his back, and falling on to the wet ground, went out +with a hiss. This blow was an unexpected shock to the Bully, who +thought the ghost must have come up to him with supernatural rapidity, +and falling on his knees in the mud, began to roar most lustily: + +"Lord, have mercy upon me! I'll never do it no more!" + +Mr. Lindsay was not likely to alter his opinion on the subject of +bullies. This one, like others, was a mortal coward. Like other men, +who have no fear of GOD before their eyes, he made up for it by having +a very hearty fear of sickness, death, departed souls, and one or two +other things, which the most self-willed sinner knows well enough to +be in the hands of a Power which he cannot see, and does not wish to +believe in. Bully Tom had spoken the truth when he said that if he +thought there was a ghost in Yew-lane he wouldn't go near it. If he +had believed the stories with which he had alarmed poor Bill, the +lad's evening walk would never have been disturbed, as far as he was +concerned. Nothing but his spite against Bessy would have made him +take so much trouble to vex the peace, and stop the schooling, of her +pet brother; and as it was, the standing alone by the churchyard at +night was a position so little to his taste, that he had drunk pretty +heavily in the public-house for half an hour beforehand, to keep up +his spirits. And now he had been paid back in his own coin, and lay +grovelling in the mud, and calling profanely on the Lord, Whose mercy +such men always cry for in their trouble, if they never ask it for +their sins. He was so confused and blinded by drink and fright, that +he did not see the second ghost divest himself of his encumbrances, or +know that it was John Gardener, till that rosy-cheeked worthy, his +clenched hands still flaming with brimstone, danced round him, and +shouted scornfully, and with that vehemence of aspiration, in which he +was apt to indulge when excited: + +"Get hup, yer great cowardly booby, will yer? So you thought you was +coming hout to frighten a little lad, did ye? And you met with one of +your hown size, did ye? Now _will_ ye get hup and take it like a man, +or shall I give it you as ye lie there?" + +Bully Tom chose the least of two evils, and staggering to his feet +with an oath, rushed upon John. But in his present condition he was no +match for the active little gardener, inspired with just wrath, and +thoughts of Bessy; and he then and there received such a sound +thrashing as he had not known since he first arrogated the character +of village bully. He was roaring loudly for mercy, and John Gardener +was giving him a harmless roll in the mud by way of conclusion, when +he caught sight of the two young gentlemen in the lane--Master Arthur +in fits of laughter at the absurd position of the ex-Yew-lane Ghost +and Mr. Lindsay standing still and silent, with folded arms, set lips, +and the gold eye-glass on his nose. As soon as he saw them, he began +to shout, "Murder! help!" at the top of his voice. + +"I see myself," said Master Arthur, driving his hands contemptuously +into his pockets--"I see myself helping a great lout who came out to +frighten a child, and can neither defend his own eyes and nose, nor +take a licking with a good grace when he deserves it!" + +Bully Tom appealed to Mr. Lindsay. + +"Yah! yah!" he howled: "will you see a man killed for want of help?" + +But the clever young gentleman seemed even less inclined to give his +assistance. + +"Killed!" he said contemptuously; "I _have_ seen a lad killed on such +a night as this, by such a piece of bullying! Be thankful you have +been stopped in time! I wouldn't raise my little finger to save you +from twice such a thrashing. It has been fairly earned! Give the ghost +his shroud, Gardener, and let him go; and recommend him not to haunt +Yew-lane in future." + +John did so, with a few words of parting advice on his own account. + +"Be hoff with you," he said. "Master Lindsay, he speaks like a book. +You're a disgrace to your hage and sect, you are! I'd as soon fight +with an old charwoman. Though, bless you, young gentlemen," he added, +as Bully Tom slunk off muttering, "he _is_ the biggest blackguard in +the place; and what the Rector'll say, when he comes to know as you've +been mingled up with him, passes me." + +"He'll forgive us, I dare say," said Master Arthur. "I only wish he +could have seen you emerge from behind that stone! It was a sight for +a century! I wonder what the youngster thought of it! Hi, Willie, +here, Sir! What did you think of the second ghost?" + +Bill had some doubts as to the light in which he ought to regard that +apparition; but he decided on the simple truth. + +"I thought it looked very horrid, Sir." + +"I should hope it did! The afternoon's work of three able-bodied men +has been marvellously wasted if it didn't. However, I must say you +halloed out loud enough!" + +Bill coloured, the more so as Mr. Lindsay was looking hard at him over +the top of his spectacles. + +"Don't you feel rather ashamed of all your fright, now you've seen the +ghosts without their sheets?" inquired the clever young gentleman. + +"Yes, Sir," said Bill, hanging his head. "I shall never believe in +ghosts again, Sir, though." + +Mr. Bartram Lindsay took off his glasses, and twiddled them in his +fingers. + +"Well, well," he said in a low hurried voice; "I'm not the parson, and +I don't pretend to say what you should believe and what you shouldn't. +We know precious little as to how much the spirits of the dead see and +know of what they have left behind. But I think you may venture to +assure yourself that when a poor soul has passed the waves of this +troublesome world, by whatever means, it doesn't come back kicking +about under a white sheet in dark lanes, to frighten little boys from +going to school." + +"And that's very true, Sir," said John Gardener, admiringly. + +"So it is," said Master Arthur. "I couldn't have explained that +myself, Willie; but those are my sentiments and I beg you'll attend to +what Mr. Lindsay has told you." + +"Yes, Sir," said Bill. + +Mr. Lindsay laughed, though not quite merrily, and said-- + +"I could tell him something more, Arthur, though he's too young to +understand it: namely, that if he lives, the day will come, when he +would be only too happy if the dead might come back and hold out their +hands to us, anywhere, and for however short a time." + +The young gentleman stopped abruptly; and the gardener heaved a +sympathetic sigh. + +"I tell you what it is, Bartram," muttered Master Arthur, "I suppose +I'm too young, too, for I've had quite enough of the melancholies for +one night. As to you, you're as old as the hills; but it's time you +came home; and if I'd known before what you told me to night, old +fellow, you shouldn't have come out on this expedition. Now, for you, +Willie," added the young gentleman, whirling sharply round, "if you're +not a pattern Solomon henceforth, it won't be the fault of your +friends. And if wisdom doesn't bring you to school after this, I shall +try the argument of the one-legged donkey." + +"I don't think I shall miss next time, Sir." + +"I hope you won't. Now, John, as you've come so far, you may as well +see the lad safe home; but don't shake hands with the family in the +present state of your fists, or you might throw somebody into a fit. +Good-night!" + +Yew-lane echoed a round of "Good-nights;" and Bill and the gardener +went off in high spirits. As they crossed the road, Bill looked round, +and under the trees saw the young gentlemen strolling back to the +Rectory, arm in arm. Mr. Bartram Lindsay with his chin high in the +air, and Master Arthur vehemently exhorting him on some topic, of +which he was pointing the moral with flourishes of the one-legged +donkey. + + * * * * * + +For those who like to know "what became of" everybody, these facts are +added: + +The young gentlemen got safely home; and Master Arthur gave such a +comical account of their adventure, that the Rector laughed too much +to scold them, even if he had wished. + +Beauty Bill went up and down Yew-lane on many a moonlight night after +this one, but he never saw another ghost, or felt any more fears in +connection with Ephraim Garnett. To make matters more entirely +comfortable, however, John kindly took to the custom of walking home +with the lad after night-school was ended. In return for this +attention, Bill's family were apt to ask him in for an hour; and by +their fire-side he told the story of the two ghosts so often--from the +manufacture in the Rectory barn to the final apparition at the +cross-roads--that the whole family declare they feel just as if they +had seen it. + +Bessy, under the hands of the cheerful doctor, got quite well, and +eventually married. As her cottage boasts the finest window plants in +the village, it is shrewdly surmised that her husband is a gardener. + +Bully Tom talked very loudly for some time of "having the law of" the +rival ghost; but finding, perhaps, that the story did not redound to +his credit, was unwilling to give it further publicity, and changed +his mind. + +Winter and summer, day and night, sunshine and moonlight, have passed +over the lane and the churchyard, and the wind has had many a ghostly +howl among the yews, since poor Bill learnt the story of the murder; +but he knows now that the true Ephraim Garnett has never been seen on +the cross-roads since a hundred years ago, and will not be till the +Great Day. + +In the ditch by the side of Yew-lane shortly after the events I have +been describing, a little lad found a large turnip, in which someone +had cut eyes, nose, and mouth, and put bits of stick for teeth. The +turnip was hollow, and inside it was fixed a bit of wax candle. He +lighted it up, and the effect was so splendid, that he made a show of +it to his companions at the price of a marble each, who were well +satisfied. And this was the last of the Yew-lane Ghosts. + + + + +A BAD HABIT. + +CHAPTER I. + + "Oh, how much more doth beauty beauteous seem + By that sweet ornament which truth doth give! + The rose looks fair, but fairer we it deem + For that sweet odour which doth in it live." + + SHAKESPEARE. + + +My godmother, Lady Elizabeth, used to say, "Most things are matters of +habit. Good habits and bad habits." And she generally added, "_Your_ +bad habit, Selina, is a habit of grumbling." + +I was always accustomed to seeing great respect paid to anything my +godmother said or did. In the first place, she was what Mrs. Arthur +James Johnson called "a fine lady," and what the maids called "a real +lady." She was an old friend and, I think, a relative of my father, +who had married a little below his own rank--my mother being the +daughter of a rich manufacturer. My father had died before I can +remember things, and Joseph and I lived with our mother and her +friends. At least, we were with our mother when she could bear the +noise; and for the rest of our time, when we were tired of playing +games together, we sat with the maids. + +"That is where you learned your little _toss_ and your trick of +grumbling, my dear," my godmother said, planting her gold eye-glasses +on her high nose; "and that is why your mouth is growing out of shape, +and your forehead getting puckered, and your chin poked, and--and your +boots bulged crooked." + +"_My boots_, godmother?" + +"Your boots, my dear. No boots will keep in shape if you shake your +hips and kick with your heels like a servant out Sunday walking. When +little girls flounce on the high road, it only looks ridiculous; but +when you grow up, you'll never have a clean petticoat, or be known for +a well-bred woman behind your back, unless you learn to walk as if +your legs and your feelings were under your own control. That is why +the sergeant is coming to-morrow and every week-day morning to drill +you and Joseph from ten to eleven whilst you remain here." + +And my godmother pressed the leaves of the journal on her lap, and cut +them quite straight and very decisively with a heavy ivory +paper-knife. + +I had never been taught that it is bad manners to mutter--nurse +always talked to herself when she was "put out"--and, as I stood in +much awe of Lady Elizabeth, I did not like to complain aloud of her +arrangements. So I turned my doll with a sharp flounce in my arms, and +muttered behind her tarlatan skirts that "I did think we were to have +had whole holidays out visiting." + +I believe my godmother heard me; but she only looked at me for a +moment over the top of her gold eye-glasses, and then went on reading +the paper through them. + +After a few moments, she laid it down on her lap with her left hand, +and with her right hand took off her eye-glasses and held them between +her fingers. + +"I shall be sorry if you don't grow up nice-looking, Selina," she +said. "It's a great advantage to a woman--indeed, to anyone--to be +good-looking. Your mother was a pretty woman, too; and your father--" + +Lady Elizabeth stopped, and then, seeming suddenly to see that I was +watching her and waiting, put her glasses before her eyes again, and +continued-- + +"Your father was a very good-looking gentleman, with a fine face and a +fine figure, beautiful eyes and mouth, very attractive hands, and most +fascinating manners. It will be a pity if you don't grow up +nice-looking." + +I grew crimson, partly with mortification and partly with +astonishment. I had a strong natural desire to be pretty, but I felt +sure I had been taught somehow that it was much more meritorious not +to care about it. It certainly did not please me when (if I had +offended them) the maids said I should never be as pretty as Maud Mary +Ibbetson, my bosom friend; but when nurse took the good looking-glass +out of the nursery, and hung up the wavy one which used to be in her +room instead, to keep me from growing vain, I did not dispute her +statement that "the less little girls looked in the glass the better." +And when I went to see Maud Mary (who was the only child of rich +parents, and had a cheval-glass in her own bed-room), it was a just +satisfaction to me to feel that if she was prettier, and could see +herself full length, she was probably vainer than I. + +It was very mortifying, therefore, to find that my godmother not only +thought me plain, but gave me no credit for not minding it. I grew +redder and redder, and my eyes filled with tears. + +Lady Elizabeth was very nice in one way--she treated us with as much +courtesy and consideration as if we were grown up. People do not think +about being polite to children, but my godmother was very polite. + +"My dear child," she said, holding out her hand, "I am very sorry if I +have hurt your feelings. I beg your pardon." + +I put my hot and rather dirty little paw among her cool fingers and +diamond rings. I could not mutter to her face, but I said rather under +my sobs that "it seemed such a thing" to be blamed for not being +pretty. + +"My dear Selina, I never said anything about your being pretty. I said +I should be sorry if you did not grow up nice-looking, which is quite +another thing. It will depend on yourself whether you are nice-looking +or not." + +I began to feel comforted, but I bridled my chin in an aggrieved +manner, which I know I had caught from Mrs. Marsden, the charwoman, +when she took tea in the nursery and told long tales to nurse; and I +said I "was sure it wasn't for want of speaking to" nurse that my hair +did not wave like Maud Mary's, but that when I asked her to crimp it, +she only said, "Handsome is that handsome does, and that ought to be +enough for you, Miss Selina, without _my_ slaving to damp-plait your +hair every night." + +I repeated nurse's speech pretty volubly, and with her sharp accent +and accompanying toss. My godmother heard me out, and then she said-- + +"Nurse quoted a very good proverb, which is even truer than it is +allowed to be. Those who do well grow to look well. My little +goddaughter, that soft child's face of yours can be pinched and pulled +into a nice shape or an ugly shape, very much as you pull and pinch +that gutta-percha head I gave you, and, one way or another, it is +being shaped all along." + +"But people can't give themselves beautiful figures, and eyes, and +mouths, and hands, as you said papa had, unless they are born so," I +objected. + +"Your father's figure, my dear," said Lady Elizabeth, "was beautiful +with the grace and power which comes of training. He was a military +man, and you have only to look at a dozen common men in a marching +regiment and compare them with a dozen of the same class of men who go +on plodding to work and loafing at play in their native villages, to +see what people can do for their own figures. His eyes, Selina, were +bright with intelligence and trained powers of observation; and they +were beautiful with kindliness, and with the well-bred habit of giving +complete attention to other people and their affairs when he talked +with them. He had a rare smile, which you may not inherit, but the +real beauty of such mouths as his comes from the lips being restrained +into firm and sensitive lines, through years of self-control and fine +sympathies." + +I do not quite understand. "Do you mean that I can practise my mouth +into a nice shape?" I asked. + +"Certainly not, my dear, any more than you can pinch your nose into +shape with your finger and thumb; but your lips, and all the lines of +your face, will take shape of themselves, according to your temper and +habits. + +"There are two things," my godmother continued, after turning round to +look at me for a minute, "there are two things, Selina, against your +growing up good-looking. One is that you have caught so many little +vulgarisms from the servants; and the other is your little bad habit +of grumbling, which, for that matter, is a very ill-bred habit as +well, and would spoil the prettiest eyes, nose, mouth, and chin that +ever were inherited. Under-bred and ill-educated women are, as a +general rule, much less good-looking than well-bred and +highly-educated ones, especially in middle life; not because good +features and pretty complexions belong to one class more than to +another, but because nicer personal habits and stricter discipline of +the mind do. A girl who was never taught to brush her teeth, to +breathe through the nostrils instead of the lips, and to chew with the +back teeth instead of the front, has a very poor chance of growing up +with a pretty mouth, as anyone may see who has observed a middle-aged +woman of that class munching a meat pie at a railway-station. And if, +into the bargain, she has nothing to talk about but her own and her +neighbour's everyday affairs, and nothing to think about to keep her +from continually talking, life, my dear child, is so full of little +rubs, that constant chatter of this kind must almost certainly be +constant grumbling. And constant grumbling, Selina, makes an ugly +under-lip, a forehead wrinkled with frowning, and dull eyes that see +nothing but grievances. There is a book in the library with some +pictures of faces that I must show you. Do you draw at all, my dear?" + +"Mamma gave me a drawing-slate on my birthday," I replied, "but Joseph +bothered me to lend it to him, and now he's broken the glass. It _is_ +so tiresome! But it's always the way if you lend things." + +"What makes you think that it is always the way if you lend things?" +my godmother gently inquired. + +"It seems as if it was, I'm sure," was my answer. "It was just the +same with the fish-kettle when cook lent it to the Browns. They kept +it a fortnight, and let it rust, and the first time cook put a drop of +water into it it leaked; and she said it always _was_ the way; you +might lend everything you had, and people had no conscience, but if +it came to borrowing a pepperpot--" + +My godmother put up both her long hands with an impatient gesture. + +"That will do, my dear. I don't care to hear all that your mother's +cook said about the fish-kettle." + +I felt uncomfortable, and was glad that Lady Elizabeth went on +talking. + +"Have you and Joseph any collections? When I was your age, I remember +I made a nice collection of wafers. They were quite as pretty as +modern monograms." + +"Joseph collected feathers out of the pillows once," I said, laughing. +"He got a great many different sorts, but nurse burned them, and he +cried." + +"I'm sorry nurse burned them. I daresay they made him very happy. I +advise you to begin a collection, Selina. It is a capital cure for +discontent. Anything will do. A collection of buttons, for instance. +There are a great many kinds; and if ever some travelled friend crowns +your collection with a mandarin's button, for one day at least you +won't feel a grievance worth speaking of." + +I was feeling very much aggrieved as Lady Elizabeth spoke, and +thinking to myself that "it seemed so hard to be scolded out visiting, +and when one had not got into any scrape." But I only said that +"nobody at home ever said that I grumbled so much;" and that I "didn't +know that our servants complained more than other people's." + +"I do not suppose they do," said my godmother. "I have told you +already that I consider it a foible of ill-educated people, whose +interests are very limited, and whose feelings are not disciplined. +You know James, the butler, Selina, do you not?" + +"Oh, yes, godmamma!" + +I knew James well. He was very kind to me, and always liberal when, by +Lady Elizabeth's orders, he helped me to almonds and raisins at +dessert. + +"My mother died young," said Lady Elizabeth, "and at sixteen I was +head of my father's household. I had been well trained, and I tried to +do my duty. Amid all the details of providing for and entertaining +many people, my duty was to think of everything, and never to seem as +if I had anything on my mind. I should have been fairly trained _for a +kitchen-maid_, Selina, if I had done what I was told when it was +bawled at me, and had talked and seemed more overwhelmed with work +than the Prime Minister. Well, most of our servants had known me from +babyhood, and it was not a light matter to have the needful authority +over them without hurting the feelings of such old and faithful +friends. But, on the whole, they respected my efforts, and were proud +of my self-possession. I had more trouble with the younger ones, who +were too young to help me, and whom I was too young to overawe. I was +busy one morning writing necessary letters, when James--who was then +seventeen, and the under-footman--came to the drawing room and wished +to speak to me. When he had wasted a good deal of my time in +describing his unwillingness to disturb me, and the years his father +had lived in my father's service, I said, 'James, I have important +letters to write, and very little time to spare. If you have any +complaint to make, will you kindly put it as shortly as you can?' 'I'm +sure, my lady, I have no wish to complain,' was James's reply; and +thereon his complaints poured forth in a continuous stream. I took out +my watch (unseen by James, for I never insult people), and gave him +five minutes for his grievances. He got on pretty fast with them. He +had mentioned the stone floor of his bed-room, a draught in the pantry, +the overbearingness of the butler, the potatoes for the servants' hall +being under-boiled when the cook was out of temper, the inferior +quality of the new plate-powder, the insinuations against his father's +honesty by servants who were upstarts by comparison, his hat having +been spoilt by the rain, and that he never was so miserable in his +life--when the five minutes expired, and I said 'Then, James, you want +to go?' He coloured, and I really think tears stood in his eyes. He +was a good-hearted lad. + +"When he began to say that he could never regard any other place as he +looked on this, and that he felt towards his lordship and me as he +could feel towards no other master and mistress, I gave him another +five minutes for what he was pleased with. To do him justice, the list +was quite as long as that of his grievances. No people were like us, +and he had never been so happy in his life. So I said, 'Then, James, +you want to stay?' + +"James began a fresh statement, in which his grievances and his +satisfactions came alternately, and I cut this short by saying, 'Well, +James, the difficulty seems to be that you have not made up your mind +what you do want. I have no time to balance matters for you, so you +had better go downstairs and think it well over, and let me know what +you decide.' + +"He went accordingly, and when he was driven to think for himself by +being stopped from talking to me, I suppose he was wise enough to +perceive that it is easier to find crosses in one's lot than to feel +quite sure that one could change it for a better. I have no doubt that +he had _not_ got all he might lawfully have wished for, but, different +as our positions were, no more had I, and we both had to do our duty +and make the best of life as we found it. It's a very good thing, dear +child, to get into the habit of saying to oneself, 'One can't have +everything.' I suppose James learned to say it, for he has lived with +me ever since." + +At this moment Joseph called to me through the open window which led +into the garden-- + +"Oh, Selina! I am so sorry; but when I got to the shop I couldn't +remember whether it was a quarter of a yard of ribbon or +three-quarters that you wanted for the doll's hat." + +Joseph was always doing stupid things like this. It vexed me very +much, and I jumped up and hastily seized my doll to go out and speak +to him, saying, as I did so, that "boys were enough to drive one wild, +and one might as well ask the poodle to do anything as Joseph." And it +was not till I had flounced out of the drawing-room that I felt rather +hot and uncomfortable to remember that I had tossed my head, and +knitted my brows, and jerked my chin, and pouted my lips, and shaken +my skirts, and kicked up my heels, as I did so, and that my godmother +had probably been observing me through her gold eye-glasses. + + + + +CHAPTER II. + +"It is easier to prevent ill habits than to break them."--OLD +PROVERB. + + +I must say that Joseph _was_ rather a stupid boy. He was only a year +younger than me, but I never could make him understand exactly what I +wanted him to do when we played together; and he was always saying, +"Oh, I say, look here, Selina!" and proposing some silly plan of his +own. But he was very good-natured, and when we were alone I let him be +uncle to the dolls. When we spent the day with Maud Mary, however, we +never let him play with the baby-house; but we allowed him to be the +postman and the baker, and people of that sort, who knock and ring, +and we sent him messages. + +During the first week of our visit to Lady Elizabeth, the weather was +so fine that Joseph and I played all day long in the garden. Then it +became rainy, and we quarrelled over the old swing and the imperfect +backgammon board in the lumber-room, where we were allowed to amuse +ourselves. But one morning when we went to our play-room, after +drilling with Sergeant Walker, Joseph found a model fortress and +wooden soldiers and cannon in one corner of the room; and I found a +Dutch market, with all kinds of wooden booths, and little tables to +have tea at in another. They were presents from my godmother; and +they were far the best kind of toys we had ever had, you could do so +many things with them. + +Joseph was so happy with his soldiers that he never came near the +Dutch fair; and at other times he was always bothering to be allowed +to play with the dolls. At first I was very glad, for I was afraid he +would be coming and saying, "Oh, I say, Selina," and suggesting +things; and I wanted to arrange the shops my own way. But when they +were done, and I was taking the dolls from one booth to another to +shop, I did think it seemed very odd that Joseph should not even want +to walk through the fair. And when I gave him leave to be a +shopkeeper, and to stand in front of each booth in turn, he did not +seem at all anxious to come; and he would bring a cannon with him, and +hide it behind his back when I came to buy vegetables for the dolls' +dinners. + +We quarrelled about the cannon. I said no one ever heard of a +greengrocer with a cannon in his shop; and Joseph said it couldn't +matter if the greengrocer stood in front of the cannon so as to hide +it. So I said I wouldn't have a cannon in my fair at all; and Joseph +said he didn't want to come to my fair, for he liked his fortress much +better, and he rattled out, dragging his cannon behind him, and +knocked down Adelaide Augusta, the gutta-percha doll, who was leaning +against the fishmonger's slab, with her chin on the salmon. + +It was very hard, and I said so; and then Joseph said there were +plenty of times when I wouldn't let him play with the dolls; and I +said that was just it--when I didn't want him to he wanted, and when I +wanted him to he wouldn't, and that he was very selfish. + +So at last he put away his cannon, and came and played at shops; but +he was very stupid, and would look over his shoulder at the fortress +when he ought to have been pretending to sell; and once, when I had +left the fair, he got his cannon back and shot peas out of it, so that +all the fowls fell off the real hooks in the poulterer's shop, and +said he was bombarding the city. + +I was very angry, and said, "I shall go straight down, and complain to +godmamma," and I went. + +The worst of it was that only that very morning Lady Elizabeth had +said to me, "Remember one thing, my dear. I will listen to no +complaints whatever. No grumbles either from you or from Joseph. If +you want anything that you have not got, and will ask for it, I will +do my best for you, as my little guests; and if it is right and +reasonable, and fair to both, you shall have what you want. But you +must know your own mind when you ask, and make the best of what I can +do for you. I will hear no general complaints whatever." + +Remembering this, I felt a little nervous when I was fairly in the +drawing-room, and Lady Elizabeth had laid down her glasses to hear +what I had to say. + +"Do you want anything, my dear?" said she. + +I began to complain--that Joseph was so stupid; that it seemed so +provoking; that I did think it was very unkind of him, etc.; but Lady +Elizabeth put up her hand. + +"My dear Selina, you have forgotten what I told you. If there is +anything that an old woman like me can do to make your father's child +happy, do not be afraid to ask for it, but I will not have grumbling +in the drawing-room. By all means make up your mind as to what you +want, and don't be afraid to ask your old godmother. But if she thinks +it right to refuse, or you do not think it right to ask, you must make +the best of matters as they stand, and keep your good humour and your +good manners like a lady." + +I felt puzzled. When I complained to nurse that Joseph "was so +tiresome," she grumbled back again that "she never knew such +children," and so forth. It is always easy to meet grievance with +grievance, but I found that it was not so easy to make up my mind and +pluck up my courage to ask in so many words for what I wanted. + +"Shall I ask Joseph to put away his cannon and come and play at your +game for an hour now, my dear? I will certainly forbid him to fire +into your shop." + +This did not quite satisfy me. As a matter of fact, Joseph had left +his fortress to play with me; and I did not really think he would +discharge his cannon at the poulterer's again. But I thought myself +hardly used, and I wanted my godmother to think so too, and to scold +Joseph. What else I wanted, I did not feel quite sure. + +"I wish you would speak to Joseph," I said. "He would attend to you if +you told him how selfish and stupid he is." + +"My dear, I never offered to complain to Joseph, but I will order him +not to molest you, and I will ask him to play with you." + +"I'm sure I don't want him to play with me, unless he can play nicely, +and invent things for the dolls to say, as Maud Mary would," was my +reply; for I was getting thoroughly vexed. + +"Then I will tell him that unless he can play your game as you wish +it, he had better amuse himself with his own toys. Is there anything +else that you want, my dear?" + +I could not speak, for I was crying, but I sobbed out that "I missed +Maud Mary so." + +"Who is Maud Mary, Selina?" + +"Maud Mary Ibbetson, my particular friend--my _very_ particular +friend," I explained. + +I spoke warmly, for at that moment the memory of Maud Mary seemed +adorable, and I longed to pour my complaints into her sympathetic ear. +Besides, I had another reason for regretting that she was not with me. +When we were together, it was she, as a rule, who had new and handsome +toys to exhibit, whilst I played the humbler part of admirer. But if +she had been with me, then, what would not have been my triumph in +displaying the Dutch fair! The longer I thought of her the faster my +tears fell, but they did not help me to think of anything definite to +ask for; and when Lady Elizabeth said, "would you like to go home, my +dear? or do you want me to ask your friend to stay with you?" I had +the grace to feel ashamed of my peevishness, and to thank my godmother +for her kindness, and to protest against wanting anything more. I only +added, amid my subsiding sobs, that "it did seem such a thing," when I +had got a Dutch fair to play at dolls in, that Joseph should be so +stupid, and that dear Maud Mary, who would have enjoyed it so much, +should not be able to see it. + + + + +CHAPTER III. + + "Nous aurons aussi la fête dans notre rue."--RUSSIAN + PROVERB. + + +Next day, when our drill in the long corridor was over, Lady Elizabeth +told Joseph to bring his fortress, guns, and soldiers into the +library, and to play at the Thirty Years' War in the bay-window from a +large book with pictures of sieges and battles, which she lent him. + +To me my godmother turned very kindly and said, "I have invited your +little friend Maud to come and stay here for a week. I hope she will +arrive to-day, so you had better prepare your dolls and your shops for +company." + +Maud Mary coming! I danced for joy, and kissed my godmother, and +expressed my delight again and again. I should have liked to talk +about it to Joseph, but he had plunged into the Thirty Years' War, and +had no attention to give me. + +It was a custom in the neighbourhood where my mother lived to call +people by double Christian names, John Thomas, William Edward, and so +forth; but my godmother never called Maud Mary anything but Maud. + +It was possible that my darling friend might arrive by the twelve +o'clock train, and the carriage was sent to meet her, whilst I danced +up and down the big hall with impatience. When it came back without +her my disappointment knew no bounds. I felt sure that the Ibbetsons' +coachman had been unpunctual, or dear Maud Mary's nurse had been +cross, as usual, and had not tried to get her things packed. I rushed +into the library full of my forebodings, but my godmother only said, +"No grumbling, my dear!" and Joseph called out, "Oh, I say, Selina, I +wish you wouldn't swing the doors so: you've knocked down Wallenstein, +and he's fallen on the top of Gustavus Adolphus;" and I had to compose +myself as best I could till the five o'clock train. + +Then she came. Darling Maud Mary! + +Perhaps it was because I crushed her new feather in kissing her (and +Maud Mary was very particular about her clothes); perhaps it was +because she was tired with travelling, which I forgot; or perhaps it +was because she would rather have had tea first, that Maud Mary was +not quite so nice about the Dutch fair as I should have liked her to +be. + +She said she rather wondered that Lady Elizabeth had not given me a +big dolls' house like hers instead; that she had come away in such a +hurry that she forgot to lock hers up, and she should not be the least +surprised if the kitten got into it and broke something, but "it did +seem rather odd" to be invited in such a very hurried way; that just +when she _was_ going to a big house to pay a grand visit, of course +the dressmaker "disappointed" Mrs. Ibbetson, but "that was the way +things always did happen;" that the last time Mr. Ibbetson was in +Paris he offered to bring her a dolls' railway train, with real +first-class carriages really stuffed, but she said she would rather +have a locket, and that was the very one which was hanging round her +neck, and which was much handsomer than Lucy Jane Smith's, which cost +five pounds in London. + +Maud Mary's inattention to the fair and the dolls was so obvious that +I followed my godmother's advice, and "made the best of it" by saying, +"I'm afraid you're very much tired, darling?" + +Maud Mary tossed her chin and frowned. + +It was "enough to tire anybody," she said, to travel on that +particular line. The railway of which her papa was a director was very +differently managed. + +I think my godmother's courtesy to us, and her thoughtful kindness, +had fixed her repeated hints about self-control and good manners +rather firmly in my head. I distinctly remember making an effort to +forget my toys and think of Maud Mary's comfort. + +I said, "Will you come and take off your things, darling?" and she +said, "Yes, darling;" and then we had tea. + +But next day, when she was quite rested, and had really nothing to +complain of, I did think she might have praised the Dutch fair. + +She said it "seemed such a funny thing" to have to play in an old +garret; but she need not have wanted to alter the arrangement of all +the shops, and have everything her own way, as she always had at home, +because, if her dolls' house was hers, my Dutch fair was mine. I did +think, for a moment, of getting my godmother to speak to her, but I +knew it would be of no use to complain unless I had something to ask +for. When I came to think of it, I found that what I wanted was that +Maud Mary should let me manage my own toys and direct the game, and I +resolved to ask her myself. + +"Look here, darling," said I, "when I come and play with you, I always +play dolls as you like, because the dolls' house is yours; I wish you +would play my game to-day, as the Dutch fair is mine." + +Maud Mary flounced to her feet, and bridled with her wavy head, and +said she was sure she did not want to play if I didn't like her way of +playing; and as to my Dutch fair, her papa could buy her one any day +for her very own. + +I was nettled, for Maud Mary was a little apt to flourish Mr. +Ibbetson's money in my face; but if her father was rich, my godmother +was a lady of rank, and I said that "my godmother, Lady Elizabeth, +said it was very vulgar to flounce and toss one's head if one was put +out." + +Maud Mary crimsoned, and, exclaiming that she did not care what Lady +Elizabeth or Lady Anybody Else said, she whisked over three shops with +the ends of her sash, and kicked the wax off Josephine Esmeralda's +nose with the heel of her Balmoral boot. + +I don't like confessing it, but I did push Maud Mary, and Maud Mary +slapped me. + +And when we both looked up, my godmother was standing before us, with +her gold spectacles on her nose. + + * * * * * + +Lady Elizabeth was very kind, and even then I knew that she was very +right. + +When she said, "I have asked your friend for a week, and for that +week, my dear, she is your guest, and you must try to please, and +_make the best of it_," I not only did not dispute it; I felt a spirit +of self-suppression and hospitable pride awake within me to do as she +had said. + +I think the hardest part of it was that, whatever I did and whatever I +gave up, Maud Mary recognized no effort on my part. What she got she +took as her due, and what she did not get she grumbled about. + +I sometimes think that it was partly because, in all that long week, +she never ceased grumbling, that I did; I hope for life. + +Only once I said, "O godmamma! how glad I shall be when I am alone +with Joseph again!" And with sudden remorse, I added, "But I beg your +pardon, that's grumbling; and you _have_ been so kind!" + +Lady Elizabeth took off her eye-glasses, and held out her hands for +mine. + +"Is it grumbling, little woman?" she said. "Well, I'm not sure." + +"_I'm_ not sure," I said, smiling; "for you know I only said I should +be so _glad_ to be alone with Joseph, and to try to be good to him; +for he is a very kind boy, and if he is a little awkward with the +dolls, I mean to make the best of it. _One can't have everything_," I +added, laughing. + +Lady Elizabeth drew my head towards her, and stroked and kissed it. + +"GOD bless you, child," she said. "You _have_ inherited your +father's smile." + + * * * * * + +"But, I say, Selina," whispered Joseph, when I went to look at his +fortress in the bay-window. "Do you suppose it's because he's dead +that she cried behind her spectacles when she said you had got his +smile?" + + + + +A HAPPY FAMILY. + +CHAPTER I. + + "If solid happiness we prize, + Within our breast this jewel lies. + + * * * * * + + From our own selves our joys must flow, + And peace begins at home." + + COTTON. + + +The family--our family, not the Happy Family--consisted of me and my +brothers and sisters. I have a father and mother, of course. + +I am the eldest, as I remind my brothers; and of the more worthy +gender, which my sisters sometimes forget. Though we live in the +village, my father is a gentleman, as I shall be when I am grown up. I +have told the village boys so more than once. One feels mean in +boasting that one is better born than they are; but if I did not tell +them, I am not sure that they would always know. + +Our house is old, and we have a ghost--the ghost of my +great-great-great-great-great-aunt. + +She "crossed her father's will," nurse says, and he threatened to flog +her with his dog-whip, and she ran away, and was never heard of more. +He would not let the pond be dragged, but he never went near it again; +and the villagers do not like to go near it now. They say you may meet +her there, after sunset, flying along the path among the trees, with +her hair half down, and a knot of ribbon fluttering from it, and +parted lips, and terror in her eyes. + +The men of our family (my father's family, my mother is Irish) have +always had strong wills. I have a strong will myself. + +People say I am like the picture of my great-grandfather (the +great-great-great-nephew of the ghost). He must have been a wonderful +old gentleman by all accounts. Sometimes nurse says to us, "Have your +own way, and you'll live the longer," and it always makes me think of +great-grandfather, who had so much of his own way, and lived to be +nearly a hundred. + +I remember my father telling us how his sisters had to visit their old +granny for months at a time, and how he shut the shutters at three +o'clock on summer afternoons, and made them play dummy whist by candle +light. + +"Didn't you and your brothers go?" asked Uncle Patrick, across the +dinner-table. My father laughed. + +"Not we! My mother got us there once--but never again." + +"And did your sisters like it?" + +"Like it? They used to cry their hearts out. I really believe it +killed poor Jane. She was consumptive and chilly, but always craving +for fresh air; and granny never would have open windows, for fear of +draughts on his bald head; and yet the girls had no fires in their +room, because young people shouldn't be pampered." + +"And ye never-r offer-r-ed--neither of ye--to go in the stead of +them?" + +When Uncle Patrick rolls his R's in a discussion, my mother becomes +nervous. + +"One can't expect boys to consider things," she said. "Boys will be +boys, you know." + +"And what would you have 'em be?" said my father. Uncle Patrick turned +to my mother. + +"Too true, Geraldine. Ye don't expect it. Worse luck! I assure ye, I'd +be aghast at the brutes we men can be, if I wasn't more amazed that +we're as good as we are, when the best and gentlest of your sex--the +moulders of our childhood, the desire of our manhood--demand so little +for all that you alone can give. There were conceivable uses in women +preferring the biggest brutes of barbarous times, but it's not so now; +and boys will be civilised boys, and men will be civilised men, sweet +sister, when you _do_ expect it, and when your grace and favours are +the rewards of nobleness, and not the easy prize of selfishness and +savagery." + +My father spoke fairly. + +"There's some truth in what you say, Pat." + +"And small grace in my saying it. Forgive me, John." + +That's the way Uncle Patrick flares up and cools down, like a straw +bonfire. But my father makes allowances for him; first, because he is +an Irishman, and, secondly, because he's a cripple. + + * * * * * + +I love my mother dearly, and I can do anything I like with her. I +always could. When I was a baby, I would not go to sleep unless she +walked about with me, so (though walking was bad for her) I got my own +way, and had it afterwards. + +With one exception. She would never tell me about my godfather. I +asked once, and she was so distressed that I was glad to promise never +to speak of him again. But I only thought of him the more, though all +I knew about him was his portrait--such a fine fellow--and that he +had the same swaggering, ridiculous name as mine. + +How my father allowed me to be christened Bayard I cannot imagine. But +I was rather proud of it at one time--in the days when I wore long +curls, and was so accustomed to hearing myself called "a perfect +picture," and to having my little sayings quoted by my mother and her +friends, that it made me miserable if grown-up people took the liberty +of attending to anything but me. I remember wriggling myself off my +mother's knee when I wanted change, and how she gave me her watch to +keep me quiet, and stroked my curls, and called me her fair-haired +knight, and her little Bayard; though, remembering also, how +lingeringly I used just not to do her bidding, ate the sugar when she +wasn't looking, tried to bawl myself into fits, kicked the +nurse-girl's shins, and dared not go upstairs by myself after dark--I +must confess that a young chimpanzee would have as good claims as I +had to represent that model of self-conquest and true chivalry, "the +Knight without fear and without reproach." + +However, the vanity of it did not last long. I wonder if that +grand-faced godfather of mine suffered as I suffered when he went to +school and said his name was Bayard? I owe a day in harvest to the +young wag who turned it into Backyard. I gave in my name as Backyard +to every subsequent inquirer, and Backyard I modestly remained. + + + + +CHAPTER II. + + "The lady with the gay macaw." + +LONGFELLOW. + + +My sisters are much like other fellows' sisters, excepting Lettice. +That child is like no one but herself. + +I used to tease the other girls for fun, but I teased Lettice on +principle--to knock the nonsense out of her. She was only eight, and +very small, but, from the top row of her tight little curls to the +rosettes on her best shoes, she seemed to me a mass of affectation. + +Strangers always liked Lettice. I believe she was born with a company +voice in her mouth; and she would flit like a butterfly from one +grown-up person to another, chit-chattering, whilst some of us stood +pounding our knuckles in our pockets, and tying our legs into knots, +as we wished the drawing-room carpet would open and let us through +into the cellar to play at catacombs. + +That was how Cocky came. Lettice's airs and graces bewitched the old +lady who called in the yellow chariot, and was so like a cockatoo +herself--a cockatoo in a citron velvet bonnet, with a bird of Paradise +feather. When that old lady put up her eye-glass, she would have +frightened a yard-dog; but Lettice stood on tip-toes and stroked the +feather, saying, "What a love-e-ly bird!" And next day came +Cocky--perch and all complete--_for the little girl who loves birds_. +Lettice was proud of Cocky, but Edward really loved him, and took +trouble with him. + +Edward is a good boy. My mother called him after the Black Prince. + +He and I disgraced ourselves in the eyes of the Cockatoo lady, and it +cost the family thirty thousand pounds, which we can ill afford to +lose. It was unlucky that she came to luncheon the very day that +Edward and I had settled to dress up as Early Britons, in blue woad, +and dine off earth-nuts in the shrubbery. As we slipped out at the +side door, the yellow chariot drove up to the front. We had doormats +on, as well as powder-blue, but the old lady was terribly shocked, and +drove straight away, and did not return. Nurse says she is my father's +godmother, and has thirty thousand pounds, which she would have +bequeathed to us if we had not offended her. I take the blame +entirely, because I always made the others play as I pleased. + +We used to play at all kinds of things--concerts, circuses, +theatricals, and sometimes conjuring. Uncle Patrick had not been to +see us for a long time, when one day we heard that he was coming, and +I made up my mind at once that I would have a perfectly new +entertainment for him. + +We like having entertainments for Uncle Patrick, because he is such a +very good audience. He laughs, and cries, and claps, and thumps with +his crutch, and if things go badly, he amuses the rest. + +Ever since I can remember anything, I remember an old print, called +"The Happy Family," over our nursery fire-place, and how I used to +wonder at that immovable cat, with sparrows on her back, sitting +between an owl and a magpie. And it was when I saw Edward sitting with +Benjamin the cat, and two sparrows he had brought up by hand, +struggling and laughing because Cocky would push itself, crest first, +under his waistcoat, and come out at the top to kiss him--that an idea +struck me; and I resolved to have a Happy Family for Uncle Patrick, +and to act Showman myself. + +Edward can do anything with beasts. He was absolutely necessary as +confederate, but it was possible Lettice might want to show off with +Cocky, and I did not want a girl on the stage, so I said very little +to her. But I told Edward to have in the yard-dog, and practise him in +being happy with the rest of the family pets. Fred, the farm-boy, +promised to look out for an owl. Benjamin, the cat, could have got +mice enough; but he would have eaten them before Edward had had time +to teach him better, so I set a trap. I knew a village-boy with a +magpie, ready tamed. + +Bernard, the yard-dog, is a lumbering old fellow, with no tricks. We +have tried. We took him out once, into a snow-drift, with a lantern +round his neck, but he rescued nothing, and lost the lantern--and then +he lost himself, for it was dark. + +But he is very handsome and good, and I knew, if I put him in the +middle, he would let anything sit upon him. He would not feel it, or +mind if he did. He takes no notice of Cocky. + +Benjamin never quarrels with Cocky, but he dare not forget that Cocky +is there. And Cocky sometimes looks at Benjamin's yellow eyes as if it +were thinking how very easily they would come out. But they are quite +sufficiently happy together for a Happy Family. + +The mice gave more trouble than all the rest, so I settled that +Lettice should wind up the mechanical mouse, and run that on as the +curtain rose. + + + + +CHAPTER III. + + "Memor esto majorum." + +OLD MOTTO. + + " . . . . + + All my fears are laid aside, + If I but remember only + Such as these have lived and died!" + +LONGFELLOW. + + +Do you wish to avoid vexations? Then never have a Happy Family! Mine +were countless. + +Fred could not get me an owl. Lettice _did_ want to show off with +Cocky. I had my own way, but she looked sulky and spiteful. I got Tom +Smith's magpie; but I had to have him, too. However, my costume as +Showman was gorgeous, and Edward kept our Happy Family well together. +We arranged that Tom should put Mag on at the left wing, and then run +round behind, and call Mag softly from the right. Then she would hop +across the stage to him, and show off well. Lettice was to let mother +know when the spectators might take their places, and to tell the +gardener when to raise the curtain. + +I really think one magpie must be "a sign of sorrow," as nurse says; +but what made Bernard take it into his beautiful foolish head to give +trouble I cannot imagine. He wouldn't lie down, and when he did, it +was with a _grump_ of protest that seemed to forbode failure. However, +he let Cocky scold him and pull his hair, which was a safety-valve for +Cocky. Benjamin dozed with dignity. He knew Cocky wasn't watching for +his yellow eyes. + +I don't think Lettice meant mischief when she summoned the spectators, +for time was up. But her warning the curtain to rise when it did was +simple malice and revenge. + +I never can forget the catastrophe, but I do not clearly remember how +Tom Smith and I _began_ to quarrel. He was excessively impudent, and +seemed to think we couldn't have had a Happy Family without him and +his chattering senseless magpie. + +When I told him to remember he was speaking to a gentleman, he grinned +at me. + +"A gentleman? Nay, my sakes! Ye're not civil enough by half. More like +a new policeman, if ye weren't such a Guy Fawkes in that finery." + +"Be off," said I, "and take your bird with you." + +"What if I won't go?" + +"I'll make you!" + +"Ye darsen't touch me." + +"Daren't I?" + +"Ye darsen't." + +"I dare." + +"Try." + +"_Are_ you going?" + +"Noa." + +I only pushed him. He struck first. He's bigger than me, but he's a +bigger coward, and I'd got him down in the middle of the stage, and +had given him something to bawl about, before I became conscious that +the curtain was up. I only realised it then, because civil, stupid +Fred, arrived at the left wing, panting and gasping-- + +"Measter Bayard! Here's a young wood-owl for ye." + +As he spoke, it escaped him, fluff and feathers flying in the effort, +and squawking, plunging, and fluttering, made wildly for the darkest +corner of the stage, just as Lettice ran on the mechanical mouse in +front. + +Bernard rose, and shook off everything, and Cocky went into screaming +hysterics; above which I now heard the thud of Uncle Patrick's crutch, +and the peals upon peals of laughter with which our audience greeted +my long-planned spectacle of a Happy Family! + + * * * * * + +Our Irish uncle is not always nice. He teases and mocks, and has an +uncertain temper. But one goes to him in trouble. I went next morning +to pour out my woes, and defend myself, and complain of the others. + +I spoke seriously about Lettice. It is not pleasant for a fellow to +have a sister who grows up peculiar, as I believe Lettice will. Only +the Sunday before, I told her she would be just the sort of woman men +hate, and she said she didn't care; and I said she ought to, for women +were made for men, and the Bible says so; and she said grandmamma said +that every soul was made for GOD and its own final good. She +was in a high-falutin mood, and said she wished she had been +christened Joan instead of Lettice, and that I would be a true Bayard; +and that we could ride about the world together, dressed in armour, +and fighting for the right. And she would say all through the list of +her favourite heroines, and asked me if I minded _their_ being +peculiar, and I said of course not, why should you mind what women do +who don't belong to you? So she said she could not see that; and I +said that was because girls can't see reason; and so we quarrelled, +and I gave her a regular lecture, which I repeated to Uncle Patrick. + +He listened quite quietly till my mother came in, and got fidgetty, +and told me not to argue with my uncle. Then he said-- + +"Ah! let the boy talk, Geraldine, and let me hear what he has to say +for himself. There's a sublime audacity about his notions, I tell ye. +Upon me conscience, I believe he thinks his grandmother was created +for his particular convenience." + +That's how he mocks, and I suppose he meant my Irish grandmother. He +thinks there's nobody like her in the wide world, and my father says +she is the handsomest and wittiest old lady in the British Isles. But +I did not mind. I said, + +"Well, Uncle Patrick, you're a man, and I believe you agree with me, +though you mock me." + +"Agree with ye?" He started up, and pegged about the room. "Faith! if +the life we live is like the globe we inhabit--if it revolves on its +own axis, _and you're that axis_--there's not a flaw in your +philosophy; but IF--Now perish my impetuosity! I've frightened your +dear mother away. May I ask, by the bye, if _she_ has the good fortune +to please ye, since the Maker of all souls made her, for all eternity, +with the particular object of mothering you in this brief patch of +time?" + +He had stopped under the portrait--my godfather's portrait. All his +Irish rhodomontade went straight out of my head, and I ran to him. + +"Uncle, you know I adore her! But there's one thing she won't do, and, +oh, I wish you would! It's years since she told me never to ask, and +I've been on honour, and I've never even asked nurse; but I don't +think it's wrong to ask you. Who is that man behind you, who looks +such a wonderfully fine fellow? My Godfather Bayard." + +I had experienced a shock the night before, but nothing to the shock +of seeing Uncle Patrick's face then, and hearing him sob out his +words, instead of their flowing like a stream. + +"Is it possible? Ye don't know? She can't speak of him yet? Poor +Geraldine!" + +He controlled himself, and turned to the picture, leaning on his +crutch. I stood by him and gazed too, and I do not think, to save my +life, I could have helped asking-- + +"Who is he?" + +"Your uncle. Our only brother. Oh, Bayard, Bayard!" + +"Is he dead?" + +He nodded, speechless; but somehow I could not forbear. + +"What did he die of?" + +"Of unselfishness. He died--for others." + +"Then he _was_ a hero? That's what he looks like. I am glad he is my +godfather. Dear Uncle Pat, do tell me all about it." + +"Not now--hereafter. Nephew, any man--with the heart of man and not +of a mouse--is more likely than not to behave well at a pinch; but no +man who is habitually selfish can be _sure_ that he will, when the +choice comes sharp between his own life and the lives of others. The +impulse of a supreme moment only focusses the habits and customs of a +man's soul. The supreme moment may never come, but habits and customs +mould us from the cradle to the grave. His were early disciplined by +our dear mother, and he bettered her teaching. Strong for the weak, +wise for the foolish--tender for the hard--gracious for the +surly--good for the evil. Oh, my brother, without fear and without +reproach! Speak across the grave, and tell your sister's son that vice +and cowardice become alike impossible to a man who has never--cradled +in selfishness, and made callous by custom--learned to pamper himself +at the expense of others!" + +I waited a little before I asked-- + +"Were you with him when he died?" + +"I was." + +"Poor Uncle Patrick! What _did_ you do?" + +He pegged away to the sofa, and threw himself on it. + +"Played the fool. Broke an arm and a thigh, and damaged my spine, +and--_lived_. Here rest the mortal remains." + +And for the next ten minutes, he mocked himself, as he only can. + + * * * * * + +One does not like to be outdone by an uncle, even by such an uncle; +but it is not very easy to learn to live like Godfather Bayard. + +Sometimes I wish my grandmother had not brought up her sons to such a +very high pitch, and sometimes I wish my mother had let that unlucky +name become extinct in the family, or that I might adopt my nickname. +One could live up to _Backyard_ easily enough. It seems to suit being +grumpy and tyrannical, and seeing no further than one's own nose, so +well. + +But I do try to learn unselfishness; though I sometimes think it would +be quite as easy for the owl to learn to respect the independence of a +mouse, or a cat to be forbearing with a sparrow! + +I certainly get on better with the others than I used to do; and I +have some hopes that even my father's godmother is not finally +estranged through my fault. + +Uncle Patrick went to call on her whilst he was with us. She is very +fond of "that amusing Irishman with the crutch," as she calls him; and +my father says he'll swear Uncle Patrick entertained her mightily +with my unlucky entertainment, and that she was as pleased as Punch +that her cockatoo was in the thick of it. + +I am afraid it is too true; and the idea made me so hot, that if I had +known she was really coming to call on us again, I should certainly +have kept out of the way. But when Uncle Patrick said, "If the yellow +chariot rolls this way again, Bayard, ye need not be pursuing these +archæological revivals of yours in a too early English costume," I +thought it was only his chaff. But she did come. + +I was pegging out the new gardens for the little ones. We were all +there, and when she turned her eye over us (just like a cockatoo), and +said, in a company voice-- + + "What a happy little family!" + +I could hardly keep my countenance, and I heard Edward choking in +Benjamin's fur, where he had hidden his face. + +But Lettice never moved a muscle. She clasped her hands, and put her +head on one side, and said--in _her_ company voice--"But you know +brother Bayard _is_ so good to us now, and _that_ is why we are such A +HAPPY FAMILY." + + * * * * * + + +_The present Series of Mrs. Ewing's Works is the only authorized, +complete, and uniform Edition published._ + +_It will consist of 18 volumes, Small Crown 8vo, at 2s. 6d. per vol., +issued, as far as possible, in chronological order, and these will +appear at the rate of two volumes every two months, so that the Series +will be completed within 18 months. The device of the cover was +specially designed by a Friend of Mrs. Ewing._ + +_The following is a list of the books included in the Series--_ + + +1. MELCHIOR'S DREAM, AND OTHER TALES. + +2. MRS. OVERTHEWAY'S REMEMBRANCES. + +3. OLD-FASHIONED FAIRY-TALES. + +4. A FLAT-IRON FOR A FARTHING. + +5. THE BROWNIES, AND OTHER TALES. + +6. SIX TO SIXTEEN. + +7. LOB-LIE-BY-THE-FIRE, AND OTHER TALES. + +8. JAN OF THE WINDMILL. + +9. VERSES FOR CHILDREN, AND SONGS. + +10. THE PEACE EGG--A CHRISTMAS MUMMING PLAY--HINTS FOR PRIVATE +THEATRICALS, &c. + +11. A GREAT EMERGENCY, AND OTHER TALES. + +12. BROTHERS OF PITY, AND OTHER TALES OF BEASTS AND MEN. + +13. WE AND THE WORLD, Part I + +14. WE AND THE WORLD, Part II. + +15. JACKANAPES--DADDY DARWIN'S DOVECOTE--THE STORY OF A SHORT LIFE. + +16. MARY'S MEADOW, AND OTHER TALES OF FIELDS AND FLOWERS. + +17. MISCELLANEA, including The Mystery of the Bloody Hand--Wonder +Stories--Tales of the Khoja, and other translations. + +18. JULIANA HORATIA EWING AND HER BOOKS, with a selection from Mrs. +Ewing's Letters. + + * * * * * + +S.P.C.K., NORTHUMBERLAND AVENUE, LONDON, W.C. + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Melchior's Dream and Other Tales +by Juliana Horatia Ewing + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK MELCHIOR'S DREAM AND OTHER TALES *** + +***** This file should be named 16540-8.txt or 16540-8.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + https://www.gutenberg.org/1/6/5/4/16540/ + +Produced by Juliet Sutherland, Sankar Viswanathan and the +Online Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: Melchior's Dream and Other Tales + +Author: Juliana Horatia Ewing + +Release Date: August 17, 2005 [EBook #16540] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK MELCHIOR'S DREAM AND OTHER TALES *** + + + + +Produced by Juliet Sutherland, Sankar Viswanathan and the +Online Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net + + + + + + +</pre> + + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_3" id="Page_3"></a>[1]</span></p> + +<h1> MELCHIOR'S DREAM</h1> + + <h2>AND OTHER TALES.</h2> + + + + + <h3> </h3> + <h3> </h3> + <h3>BY</h3> + <h2>JULIANA HORATIA EWING.</h2> + + + + + + <h3> </h3> + <h3> </h3> + <h3> </h3> + <h3> </h3> + <h3>LONDON: + <br /> + SOCIETY FOR PROMOTING CHRISTIAN KNOWLEDGE,<br /> + <span class="smcap">Northumberland Avenue</span>, W.C. + <br /> + NEW YORK: E. & J.B. YOUNG & CO.</h3> + + + + <h4>[Published under the direction of the General Literature + Committee.]</h4> + <p> </p> + <p> </p> + <p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_5" id="Page_5"></a>[5]</span> +</p> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p class="center"><b>Dedicated</b></p> + +<p class="center">TO</p> + +<p class="center">FOUR BROTHERS AND FOUR SISTERS.</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_6" id="Page_6"></a>[6]</span></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CONTENTS" id="CONTENTS"></a>CONTENTS.</h2> +<table> + <tr> + <td> </td> + <td class="tocpg">PAGE<br /></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td><span class="smcap"><a href="#MELCHIORS_DREAM">Melchior's Dream</a></span></td> + <td class="tocpg"><a href="#Page_9">9</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td><span class="smcap"><a href="#THE_BLACKBIRDS_NEST">The Blackbird's Nest</a></span></td> + <td class="tocpg"><a href="#Page_51">51</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td><span class="smcap"><a href="#FRIEDRICHS_BALLAD">Friedrich's Ballad</a></span></td> + <td class="tocpg"><a href="#Page_66">66</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td><span class="smcap"><a href="#A_BIT_OF_GREEN">A Bit of Green</a></span></td> + <td class="tocpg"><a href="#Page_118">118</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td><span class="smcap"><a href="#MONSIEUR_THE_VISCOUNTS_FRIEND">Monsieur the Viscount's Friend</a></span></td> + <td class="tocpg"><a href="#Page_134">134</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td><span class="smcap"><a href="#THE_YEW-LANE_GHOSTS">The Yew-lane Ghosts</a></span></td> + <td class="tocpg"><a href="#Page_188">188</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td><span class="smcap"><a href="#A_BAD_HABIT">A Bad Habit</a></span></td> + <td class="tocpg"><a href="#Page_236">236</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td><span class="smcap"><a href="#A_HAPPY_FAMILY">A Happy Family</a></span></td> + <td class="tocpg"><a href="#Page_261">261</a></td> + </tr> +</table> +<p> </p> + + + + + + + + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_7" id="Page_7"></a>[7]</span></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2>EDITOR'S PREFACE.</h2> + + +<p>It is always a memorable era in a mother's life when she first +introduces a daughter into society. Many things contribute to make it +so; among which is the fact of the personal blessing to herself, in +having been permitted to see the day—to have been spared, that is, to +watch over her child in infancy, and now to see her entering life upon +her own account.</p> + +<p>But a more uncommon privilege is the one granted to me on the present +occasion, of introducing a daughter into the literary world; and the +feelings of pride and pleasure it calls forth, are certainly not less +powerful than those created by the commoner occurrence. It is my +comfort also to add that these are not overclouded by any painful +anxiety or misgiving. There may be differences of opinion as to the +precise amount of literary merit in these tales; but viewed as the +first productions of a young author, they are surely full of promise; +while their whole tone and aim is so unmistakably high, that even +those who criticize the style will be apt to respect the writer.</p> + +<p>I ought here to express a hope that it will not be thought +presumptuous on my part, to undertake the office of introduction. I<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_8" id="Page_8"></a>[8]</span> +beg it to be understood that I address myself especially to those +readers who have (I speak it with deep gratitude and pleasure) +listened kindly and favourably to me for several years past, and who +will, I trust, be no less well disposed towards my daughter's +writings.</p> + +<p>To them also it may be interesting to know, that in the "J.H.G." of +"Melchior's Dream," etc., they will find the original of my own +portrait of "Aunt Judy."</p> + +<p>But I have still something more to say: another little bit of +gratification to express. What one sister has written, another has +illustrated by her pencil; a cause of double thankfulness in my heart +to Him from whom all good gifts come.</p> + +<p> +<span class="sig">Margaret Gatty.</span><br /> +</p> + + +<p><span class="smcap">Note</span>.—<i>The foregoing Preface was written for the first +edition of "Melchior's Dream, and other Tales." This was published in +1862 under Mrs. Ewing's maiden initials, "J.H.G." It contained the +first five stories in the present volume, and these were illustrated +by the writer's eldest sister, "M.S.G."</i></p> + + + + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_9" id="Page_9"></a>[9]</span></p> +<h2><a name="MELCHIORS_DREAM" id="MELCHIORS_DREAM"></a>MELCHIOR'S DREAM.</h2> + +<h2>AN ALLEGORY.</h2> + +<div class="blockquot">"Thou that hast given so much to me, <br /> + Give one thing more—a +grateful heart."<br /> + +<span class="sig1">George Herbert.</span></div> + + +<p><br /> + "Well, father, I don't believe the Browns are a bit better off than we +are; and yet when I spent the day with young Brown, we cooked all +sorts of messes in the afternoon; and he wasted twice as much rum and +brandy and lemons in his trash, as I should want to make good punch +of. He was quite surprised, too, when I told him that our mince-pies +were kept shut up in the larder, and only brought out at meal-times, +and then just one apiece; he said they had mince-pies always going, +and he got one whenever he liked. Old Brown never blows up about that +sort of thing; he likes Adolphus to enjoy himself in the holidays, +particularly at Christmas."</p> + +<p>The speaker was a boy—if I may be allowed to use the word in speaking +of an individual whose <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_10" id="Page_10"></a>[10]</span>jackets had for some time past been resigned +to a younger member of his family, and who daily, in the privacy of +his own apartment, examined his soft cheeks by the aid of his sisters' +"back-hair glass." He was a handsome boy too; tall, and like +David—"ruddy, and of a fair countenance;" and his face, though +clouded then, bore the expression of general amiability. He was the +eldest son in a large young family, and was being educated at one of +the best public schools. He did not, it must be confessed, think +either small beer or small beans of himself; and as to the beer and +beans that his family thought of him, I think it was pale ale and +kidney-beans at least.</p> + +<p>Young Hopeful had, however, his weak points like the rest of us; and +perhaps one of the weakest was the difficulty he found in amusing +himself without <i>bothering</i> other people. He had quite a monomania for +proposing the most troublesome "larks" at the most inconvenient +moments; and if his plans were thwarted, an Æolian harp is cheerful +compared to the tone in which, arguing and lamenting, he</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>"Fought his battles o'er again,"</p></div> + +<p>to the distraction of every occupied member of the household.</p> + +<p>When the lords of the creation of all ages can <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_11" id="Page_11"></a>[11]</span>find nothing else to +do, they generally take to eating and drinking; and so it came to pass +that our hero had set his mind upon brewing a jorum of punch, and +sipping it with an accompaniment of mince-pies; and Paterfamilias had +not been quietly settled to his writing for half-an-hour, when he was +disturbed by an application for the necessary ingredients. These he +had refused, quietly explaining that he could not afford to waste his +French brandy, etc., in school-boy cookery, and ending with, "You see +the reason, my dear boy?"</p> + +<p>To which the dear boy replied as above, and concluded with the +disrespectful (not to say ungrateful) hint, "Old Brown never blows up +about that sort of thing; he likes Adolphus to enjoy himself in the +holidays."</p> + +<p>Whereupon Paterfamilias made answer, in the mildly deprecating tone in +which the elder sometimes do answer the younger in these topsy-turvy +days:—</p> + +<p>"That's quite a different case. Don't you see, my boy, that Adolphus +Brown is an only son, and you have nine brothers and sisters? If you +have punch and mince-meat to play with, there is no reason why Tom +should not have it, and James, and Edward, and William, and Benjamin, +and Jack. And then there are your sisters. Twice the amount of <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_12" id="Page_12"></a>[12]</span>the +Browns' mince-meat would not serve you. I like you to enjoy yourself +in the holidays as much as young Brown or anybody; but you must +remember that I send you boys to good schools, and give you all the +substantial comforts and advantages in my power; and the Christmas +bills are very heavy, and I have a great many calls on my purse; and +you must be reasonable. Don't you see?"</p> + +<p>"Well, father—" began the boy; but his father interrupted him. He +knew the unvarying beginning of a long grumble, and dreading the +argument, cut it short.</p> + +<p>"I have decided. You must amuse yourself some other way. And just +remember that young Brown's is quite another case. He is an only son."</p> + +<p>Whereupon Paterfamilias went off to his study and his sermon; and his +son, like the Princess in Andersen's story of the Swineherd, was left +outside to sing,</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"O dearest Augustine,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">All's clean gone away!"<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>Not that he did say that—that was the princess' song—what he said +was,</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>"<i>I wish I were an only son!</i>"</p></div> + +<p>This was rather a vain wish, for round the dining-room fire (where he +soon joined them) were gathered his nine brothers and sisters, who, to +say the truth, <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_13" id="Page_13"></a>[13]</span>were not looking much more lively and cheerful than +he. And yet (of all days in the year on which to be doleful and +dissatisfied!) this was Christmas Eve.</p> + +<p>Now I know that the idea of dulness or discomfort at Christmas is a +very improper one, particularly in a story. We all know how every +little boy in a story-book spends the Christmas holidays.</p> + +<p>First, there is the large hamper of good things sent by grandpapa, +which is as inexhaustible as Fortunatus's purse, and contains +everything, from a Norfolk turkey to grapes from the grandpaternal +vinery.</p> + +<p>There is the friend who gives a guinea to each member of the family, +and sees who will spend it best.</p> + +<p>There are the godpapas and godmammas, who might almost be fairy +sponsors from the number of expensive gifts that they bring upon the +scene. The uncles and aunts are also liberal.</p> + +<p>One night is devoted to a magic-lantern (which has a perfect focus), +another to the pantomime, a third to a celebrated conjuror, a fourth +to a Christmas tree and juvenile ball.</p> + +<p>The happy youth makes himself sufficiently ill with plum-pudding, to +testify to the reader how good it was, and how much there was of it; +but recovers in time to fall a victim to the negus and trifle at +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_14" id="Page_14"></a>[14]</span>supper for the same reason. He is neither fatigued with late hours +nor surfeited with sweets; or if he is, we do not hear of it.</p> + +<p>But as this is a strictly candid history, I will at once confess the +truth, on behalf of my hero and his brothers and sisters. They had +spent the morning in decorating the old church, in pricking holly +about the house, and in making a mistletoe bush. Then in the afternoon +they had tasted the Christmas soup and seen it given out; they had put +a finishing touch to the snow man by crowning him with holly, and had +dragged the yule-logs home from the carpenter's. And now, the early +tea being over, Paterfamilias had gone to finish his sermon for +to-morrow; his friend was shut up in his room; and Materfamilias was +in hers, with one of those painful headaches which even Christmas will +not always keep away. So the ten children were left to amuse +themselves, and they found it rather a difficult matter.</p> + +<p>"Here's a nice Christmas!" said our hero. He had turned his youngest +brother out of the arm-chair, and was now lying in it with his legs +over the side. "Here's a nice Christmas! A fellow might just as well +be at school. I wonder what Adolphus Brown would think of being cooped +up with a lot of children like this! It's his party to-night, and he's +to have champagne and ices. I wish I were an only son."</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_15" id="Page_15"></a>[15]</span></p> + +<p>"Thank you," said a chorus of voices from the floor. They were all +sprawling about on the hearth-rug, pushing and struggling like so many +kittens in a sack, and every now and then with a grumbled +remonstrance:—</p> + +<p>"Don't, Jack! you're treading on me."</p> + +<p>"You needn't take all the fire, Tom."</p> + +<p>"Keep your legs to yourself, Benjamin."</p> + +<p>"It wasn't I," etc., with occasionally the feebler cry of a small +sister—</p> + +<p>"Oh! you boys are so rough."</p> + +<p>"And what are you girls, I wonder?" inquired the proprietor of the +arm-chair with cutting irony. "Whiney piney, whiney piney. I wish +there were no such things as brothers and sisters!"</p> + +<p>"<i>You wish</i> WHAT?" said a voice from the shadow by the door, as deep +and impressive as that of the ghost in Hamlet.</p> + +<p>The ten sprang up; but when the figure came into the fire-light, they +saw that it was no ghost, but Paterfamilias's old college friend, who +spent most of his time abroad, and who, having no home or relatives of +his own, had come to spend Christmas at his friend's vicarage. "You +wish <i>what</i>?" he repeated.</p> + +<p>"Well, brothers and sisters are a bore," was the reply. "One or two +would be all very well; but just look, here are ten of us; and it just +spoils everything. <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_16" id="Page_16"></a>[16]</span> If a fellow wants to go anywhere, it's somebody +else's <i>turn</i>. If old Brown sends a basket of grapes, it's share and +share alike; all the ten must taste, and then there's about a grape +and a half for each. If anybody calls or comes to luncheon, there are +a whole lot of brats swarming about, looking as if we kept a school. +Whatever one does, the rest must do; whatever there is, the rest must +share; whereas, if a fellow was an only son, he would have the +whole—and by all the rules of arithmetic, one is better than a +tenth."</p> + +<p>"And by the same rules ten is better than one," said the friend.</p> + +<p>"Sold again," sang out Master Jack from the floor, and went head over +heels against the fender.</p> + +<p>His brother boxed his ears with great promptitude, and went on, "Well, +I don't care; confess, sir, isn't it rather a nuisance?"</p> + +<p>Paterfamilias's friend looked very grave, and said, quietly, "I don't +think I am able to judge. I never had brother or sister but one, and +he was drowned at sea. Whatever I have had, I have had the whole of, +and would have given it away willingly for some one to give it to. If +any one sent me grapes, I ate them alone. If I made anything, there +was no one to show it to. If I wanted to act, I must act all the +characters, and be my own audience. I remember that I got a lot of +sticks at last, and cut heads and <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_17" id="Page_17"></a>[17]</span>faces to all of them, and carved +names on their sides, and called them my brothers and sisters. If you +want to know what I thought a nice number for a fellow to have, I can +only say that I remember carving twenty-five. I used to stick them in +the ground and talk to them. I have been only, and lonely, and alone, +all my life, and have never felt the nuisance you speak of."</p> + +<p>This was a funny account; but the speaker looked so far from funny +that one of the sisters, who was very tender-hearted, crept up to him, +and said, gently—</p> + +<p>"Richard is only joking; he doesn't really want to get rid of us. The +other day the curate said he wished he had a sister, and Richard +offered to sell us all for ninepence; but he is only in fun. Only it +is rather slow just now, and the boys get rather cross; at least, we +all of us do."</p> + +<p>"It's a dreadful state of things," said the friend, smiling through +his black beard and moustachios. "What is to be done?"</p> + +<p>"I know what would be very nice," insinuated the young lady.</p> + +<p>"What?"</p> + +<p>"If you wouldn't mind telling us a very short story till supper-time. +The boys like stories."</p> + +<p>"That's a good idea," said Benjamin. "As if the girls didn't!"</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_18" id="Page_18"></a>[18]</span></p> + +<p>But the friend proclaimed order, and seated himself with the girl in +question on his knee. "Well, what sort of a story is it to be?"</p> + +<p>"Any sort," said Richard; "only not too true, if you please. I don't +like stories like tracts. There was an usher at a school I was at, and +he used to read tracts about good boys and bad boys to the fellows on +Sunday afternoon. He always took out the real names, and put in the +names of the fellows instead. Those who had done well in the week he +put in as good ones, and those who hadn't as the bad. He didn't like +me, and I was always put in as a bad boy, and I came to so many +untimely ends I got sick of it. I was hanged twice, and transported +once for sheep-stealing; I committed suicide one week, and broke into +the bank the next; I ruined three families, became a hopeless +drunkard, and broke the hearts of my twelve distinct parents. I used +to beg him to let me be reformed next week; but he said he never would +till I did my Cæsar better. So, if you please, we'll have a story that +can't be true."</p> + +<p>"Very well," said the friend, laughing; "but if it isn't true, may I +put you in? All the best writers, you know, draw their characters from +their friends now-a-days. May I put you in?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, certainly!" said Richard, placing himself <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_19" id="Page_19"></a>[19]</span>in front of the fire, +putting his feet on the hob, and stroking his curls with an air which +seemed to imply that whatever he was put into would be highly +favoured.</p> + +<p>The rest struggled, and pushed, and squeezed themselves into more +modest but equally comfortable quarters; and after a few moments of +thought, Paterfamilias's friend commenced the story of</p> + +<h3>MELCHIOR'S DREAM.</h3> + + +<p>"Melchior is my hero. He was—well, he considered himself a young man, +so we will consider him so too. He was not perfect; but in these days +the taste in heroes is for a good deal of imperfection, not to say +wickedness. He was not an only son. On the contrary, he had a great +many brothers and sisters, and found them quite as objectionable as my +friend Richard does."</p> + +<p>"I smell a moral," murmured the said Richard.</p> + +<p>"Your scent must be keen," said the story-teller, "for it is a long +way off. Well, he had never felt them so objectionable as on one +particular night, when, the house being full of company, it was +decided that the boys should sleep in 'barracks,' as they called it; +that is, all in one large room."</p> + +<p>"Thank goodness, we have not come to that!" <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_20" id="Page_20"></a>[20]</span> said the incorrigible +Richard; but he was reduced to order by threats of being turned out, +and contented himself with burning the soles of his boots against the +bars of the grate in silence: and the friend continued:—</p> + +<p>"But this was not the worst. Not only was he, Melchior, to sleep in +the same room with his brothers, but his bed being the longest and +largest, his youngest brother was to sleep at the other end of +it—foot to foot. True, by this means he got another pillow, for, of +course, that little Hop-o'-my-Thumb could do without one, and so he +took his; but, in spite of this, he determined that, sooner than +submit to such an indignity, he would sit up all night. Accordingly, +when all the rest were fast asleep, Melchior, with his boots off and +his waistcoat easily unbuttoned, sat over the fire in the long +lumber-room which served that night as 'barracks.' He had refused to +eat any supper downstairs to mark his displeasure, and now repaid +himself by a stolen meal according to his own taste. He had got a +pork-pie, a little bread and cheese, some large onions to roast, a +couple of raw apples, an orange, and papers of soda and tartaric acid +to compound effervescing draughts. When these dainties were finished, +he proceeded to warm some beer in a pan, with ginger, spice, and +sugar, and then lay back in his <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_21" id="Page_21"></a>[21]</span>chair and sipped it slowly, gazing +before him, and thinking over his misfortunes.</p> + +<p>"The night wore on, the fire got lower and lower, and still Melchior +sat, with his eyes fixed on a dirty old print that had hung above the +mantelpiece for years, sipping his 'brew,' which was fast getting +cold. The print represented an old man in a light costume, with a +scythe in one hand and an hour-glass in the other; and underneath the +picture in flourishing capitals was the word TIME.</p> + +<p>"'You're a nice old beggar,' said Melchior, dreamily. 'You look like +an old hay-maker who has come to work in his shirt-sleeves, and +forgotten the rest of his clothes. Time! time you went to the +tailor's, I think.'</p> + +<p>"This was very irreverent; but Melchior was not in a respectful mood; +and as for the old man, he was as calm as any philosopher.</p> + +<p>"The night wore on, and the fire got lower and lower, and at last went +out altogether.</p> + +<p>"'How stupid of me not to have mended it!' said Melchior; but he had +not mended it, and so there was nothing for it but to go to bed; and +to bed he went accordingly.</p> + +<p>"'But I won't go to sleep,' he said; 'no, no; I shall keep awake, and +to-morrow they shall know that I have had a bad night.'</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_22" id="Page_22"></a>[22]</span></p> + +<p>"So he lay in bed with his eyes wide open, and staring still at the +old print, which he could see from his bed by the light of the candle, +which he had left alight on the mantelpiece to keep him awake. The +flame waved up and down, for the room was draughty; and as the lights +and shadows passed over the old man's face, Melchior almost fancied +that it nodded to him, so he nodded back again; and as that tired him +he shut his eyes for a few seconds. When he opened them again, there +was no longer any doubt—the old man's head was moving; and not only +his head, but his legs, and his whole body. Finally, he put his feet +out of the frame, and prepared to step right over the mantelpiece, +candle, and all.</p> + +<p>"'Take care,' Melchior tried to say, 'you'll set fire to your shirt.' +But he could not utter a sound; and the old man arrived safely on the +floor, where he seemed to grow larger and larger, till he was fully +the size of a man, but still with the same scythe and hour-glass, and +the same airy costume. Then he came across the room, and sat down by +Melchior's bedside.</p> + +<p>"'Who are you?' said Melchior, feeling rather creepy.</p> + +<p>"'<span class="smcap">Time</span>,' said his visitor in a deep voice, which sounded as +if it came from a distance.</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_23" id="Page_23"></a>[23]</span></p> + +<p>"'Oh, to be sure, yes! In copper-plate capitals.'</p> + +<p>"'What's in copper-plate capitals?' inquired Time.</p> + +<p>"'Your name, under the print.'</p> + +<p>"'Very likely,' said Time.</p> + +<p>"Melchior felt more and more uneasy. 'You must be very cold,' he said. +'Perhaps you would feel warmer if you went back into the picture.'</p> + +<p>"'Not at all,' said Time; 'I have come on purpose to see you.'</p> + +<p>"'I have not the pleasure of knowing you,' said Melchior, trying to +keep his teeth from chattering.</p> + +<p>"'There are not many people who have a personal acquaintance with me,' +said his visitor. 'You have an advantage—I am your godfather.'</p> + +<p>"'Indeed,' said Melchior; 'I never heard of it.'</p> + +<p>"'Yes,' said his visitor; 'and you will find it a great advantage.'</p> + +<p>"'Would you like to put on my coat?' said Melchior, trying to be +civil.</p> + +<p>"'No, thank you,' was the answer. 'You will want it yourself. We must +be driving soon.'</p> + +<p>"'Driving!' said Melchior.</p> + +<p>"'Yes,' was the answer; 'all the world is driving; and you must drive; +and here come your brothers and sisters.'</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_24" id="Page_24"></a>[24]</span></p> + +<p>"Melchior sat up; and there they were, sure enough, all dressed, and +climbing one after the other on to the bed—<i>his</i> bed!</p> + +<p>"There was that little minx of a sister with her curls (he always +called them carrot shavings), who was so conceited (girls always are!) +and always trying to attract notice, in spite of Melchior's incessant +snubbings. There was that clever brother, with his untidy hair and +bent shoulders, who was just as bad the other way; who always ran out +of the back door when visitors called, and was for ever moping and +reading: and this, in spite of Melchior's hiding his books, and +continually telling him that he was a disgrace to the family, a +perfect bear, not fit to be seen, etc.—all with the laudable desire +of his improvement. There was that little Hop-o'-my-Thumb, as lively +as any of them, a young monkey, the worst of all; who was always in +mischief, and consorting with the low boys in the village; though +Melchior did not fail to tell him that he was not fit company for +gentlemen's sons, that he was certain to be cut when he went to +school, and that he would probably end his days by being transported, +if not hanged. There was the second brother, who was Melchior's chief +companion, and against whom he had no particular quarrel. And there +was the little pale lame sister, whom he dearly loved; but whom, odd +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_25" id="Page_25"></a>[25]</span>to say, he never tried to improve at all; his remedy for her failings +was generally, 'Let her do as she likes, will you?' There were others +who were all tiresome in their respective ways; and one after the +other they climbed up.</p> + +<p>"'What are you doing, getting on to my bed!' inquired the indignant +brother, as soon as he could speak.</p> + +<p>"'Don't you know the difference between a bed and a coach, godson?' +said Time, sharply.</p> + +<p>"Melchior was about to retort, but on looking round, he saw that they +were really in a large sort of coach with very wide windows. 'I +thought I was in bed,' he muttered. 'What can I have been dreaming +of?'</p> + +<p>"'What, indeed!' said the godfather. 'But, be quick, and sit close, +for you have all to get in; you are all brothers and sisters.'</p> + +<p>"'Must families be together?' inquired Melchior, dolefully.</p> + +<p>"'Yes, at first,' was the answer; 'they get separated in time. In +fact, everyone has to cease driving sooner or later. I drop them on +the road at different stages, according to my orders,' and he showed a +bundle of papers in his hands; 'but, as I favour you, I will tell you +in confidence that I have to drop all your brothers and sisters before +you. <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_26" id="Page_26"></a>[26]</span> There, you four oldest sit on this side, you five others there, +and the little one must stand or be nursed.'</p> + +<p>"'Ugh!' said Melchior, 'the coach would be well enough if one was +alone; but what a squeeze with all these brats! I say, go pretty +quick, will you?'</p> + +<p>"'I will,' said Time, 'if you wish it. But, beware that you cannot +change your mind. If I go quicker for your sake, I shall never go slow +again; if slower, I shall not again go quick; and I only favour you so +far, because you are my godson. Here, take the check-string; when you +want me, pull it, and speak through the tube. Now we're off.'</p> + +<p>"Whereupon the old man mounted the box, and took the reins. He had no +whip; but when he wanted to start, he shook the hour-glass, and off +they went. Then Melchior saw that the road where they were driving was +very broad, and so filled with vehicles of all kinds that he could not +see the hedges. The noise and crowd and dust were very great; and to +Melchior all seemed delightfully exciting. There was every sort of +conveyance, from the grandest coach to the humblest donkey-cart; and +they seemed to have enough to do to escape being run over. Among all +the gay people there were many whom he knew; and a very nice thing it +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_27" id="Page_27"></a>[27]</span>seemed to be to drive among all the grandees, and to show his +handsome face at the window, and bow and smile to his acquaintance. +Then it appeared to be the fashion to wrap oneself in a tiger-skin +rug, and to look at life through an opera-glass, and old Time had +kindly put one of each into the coach.</p> + +<p>"But here again Melchior was much troubled by his brothers and +sisters. Just at the moment when he was wishing to look most +fashionable and elegant, one or other of them would pull away the rug, +or drop the glass, or quarrel, or romp, or do something that spoilt +the effect. In fact, one and all, they 'just spoilt everything;' and +the more he scolded, the worse they became. The 'minx' shook her +curls, and flirted through the window with a handsome but ill-tempered +looking man on a fine horse, who praised her 'golden locks,' as he +called them; and, oddly enough, when Melchior said the man was a lout, +and that the locks in question were corkscrewy carrot shavings, she +only seemed to like the man and his compliments the more. Meanwhile, +the untidy brother pored over his book, or if he came to the window, +it was only to ridicule the fine ladies and gentlemen, so Melchior +sent him to Coventry. Then Hop-o'-my-Thumb had taken to make signs and +exchange jokes with some disreputable-looking youths <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_28" id="Page_28"></a>[28]</span>in a dog-cart; +and when his brother would have put him to 'sit still like a +gentleman' at the bottom of the coach, he seemed positively to prefer +his low companions; and the rest were little better.</p> + +<p>"Poor Melchior! Surely there never was a clearer case of a young +gentleman's comfort destroyed, solely by other people's perverse +determination to be happy in their own way instead of in his. Surely, +no young gentleman ever knew better that if his brothers and sisters +would yield to his wishes, they would not quarrel; or ever more +completely overlooked the fact, that if he had yielded more to theirs +the same happy result might have been attained. At last he lost +patience, and pulling the check-string, bade Godfather Time drive as +fast as he could.</p> + +<p>"'For,' said he, 'there will never be any peace while there are so +many of us in the coach; if a fellow had the rug and glass, and, +indeed, the coach to himself, he might drive and bow and talk with the +best of them; but as it is, one might as well go about in a wild-beast +caravan.'</p> + +<p>"Godfather Time frowned, but shook his glass all the same, and away +they went at a famous pace. All at once they came to a stop.</p> + +<p>"'Now for it,' says Melchior; 'here goes one at any rate.'</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_29" id="Page_29"></a>[29]</span></p> + +<p>"Time called out the name of the second brother over his shoulder; and +the boy stood up, and bade his brothers and sisters good-bye.</p> + +<p>"'It is time that I began to push my way in the world,' said he, and +passed out of the coach, and in among the crowd.</p> + +<p>"'You have taken the only quiet boy,' said Melchior to the godfather +angrily. 'Drive fast now, for pity's sake; and let us get rid of the +tiresome ones.'</p> + +<p>"And fast enough they drove, and dropped first one and then the other; +but the sisters, and the reading boy, and the youngest still remained.</p> + +<p>"'What are you looking at?' said Melchior to the lame sister.</p> + +<p>"'At a strange figure in the crowd,' she answered.</p> + +<p>"'I see nothing,' said Melchior. But on looking again after a while, +he did see a figure wrapped in a cloak, gliding in and out among the +people, unnoticed, if not unseen.</p> + +<p>"'Who is it?' Melchior asked of the godfather.</p> + +<p>"'A friend of mine,' Time answered. 'His name is Death.'</p> + +<p>"Melchior shuddered, more especially as the figure had now come up to +the coach, and put its hand in through the window, on which, to his +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_30" id="Page_30"></a>[30]</span>horror, the lame sister laid hers and smiled. At this moment the +coach stopped.</p> + +<p>"'What are you doing?' shrieked Melchior, 'Drive on! drive on!'</p> + +<p>"But even while he sprang up to seize the check-string the door had +opened, the pale sister's face (a little paler now) had dropped upon +the shoulder of the figure in the cloak, and he had carried her away; +and Melchior stormed and raved in vain.</p> + +<p>"'To take her, and to leave the rest! Cruel! cruel!'</p> + +<p>"In his rage and grief, he hardly knew it when the untidy brother was +called, and putting his book under his arm, slipped out of the coach +without looking to the right or left. Presently the coach stopped +again; and when Melchior looked up the door was open, and at it was +the fine man on the fine horse, who was lifting the sister on to the +saddle before him. 'What fool's game are you playing?' said Melchior, +angrily. 'I know that man. He is both ill-tempered and a bad +character.'</p> + +<p>"'You never told her so before,' muttered young Hop-o'-my-Thumb.</p> + +<p>"'Hold your tongue,' said Melchior. 'I forbade her to talk to him, +which was enough.'</p> + +<p>"'I don't want to leave you; but he cares for <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_31" id="Page_31"></a>[31]</span>me, and you don't,' +sobbed the sister; and she was carried away.</p> + +<p>"When she had gone, the youngest brother slid down from his corner and +came up to Melchior.</p> + +<p>"'We are alone now, Brother,' he said; 'let us be good friends. May I +sit on the front seat with you, and have half the rug? I will be very +good and polite, and will have nothing more to do with those fellows, +if you will talk to me.'</p> + +<p>"Now Melchior really rather liked the idea, but as his brother seemed +to be in a submissive mood, he thought he would take the opportunity +of giving him a good lecture, and would then graciously relent and +forgive. So he began by asking him if he thought that he was fit +company for him (Melchior), what he thought that gentlefolks would say +to a boy who had been playing with such youths as young +Hop-o'-my-Thumb had, and whether the said youths were not scoundrels? +And when the boy refused to say that they were (for they had been kind +to him), Melchior said that his tastes were evidently as bad as ever, +and even hinted at the old transportation threat. This was too much; +the boy went angrily back to his window corner, and Melchior—like too +many of us!—lost the opportunity of making peace for the sake of +wagging his own tongue.</p> + +<p>"'But he will come round in a few minutes,' <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_32" id="Page_32"></a>[32]</span> he thought A few minutes +passed, however, and there was no sign. A few minutes more, and there +was a noise, a shout; Melchior looked up, and saw that the boy had +jumped through the open window into the road, and had been picked up +by the men in the dog-cart, and was gone.</p> + +<p>"And so at last my hero was alone. At first he enjoyed it very much. +He shook out his hair, wrapped himself in the rug, stared through the +opera-glass, and did the fine gentleman very well indeed. But though +everyone allowed him to be the finest young fellow on the road, yet +nobody seemed to care for the fact as much as he did; they talked, and +complimented, and stared at him, but he got tired of it. For he could +not arrange his hair any better; he could not dispose the rug more +gracefully, or stare more perseveringly through the glass; and if he +could, his friends could do nothing more than they had done. In fact, +he got tired of the crowd, and found himself gazing through the +window, not to see his fine friends, but to try and catch sight of his +brothers and sisters. Sometimes he saw the youngest brother, looking +each time more wild and reckless; and sometimes the sister, looking +more and more miserable; but he saw no one else.</p> + +<p>"At last there was a stir among the people, and <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_33" id="Page_33"></a>[33]</span>all heads were turned +towards the distance, as if looking for something. Melchior asked what +it was, and was told that the people were looking for a man, the hero +of many battles, who had won honour for himself and for his country in +foreign lands, and who was coming home. Everybody stood up and gazed, +Melchior with them. Then the crowd parted, and the hero came on. No +one asked whether he were handsome or genteel, whether he kept good +company, or wore a tiger-skin rug, or looked through an opera-glass? +They knew what he had <i>done</i>, and it was enough.</p> + +<p>"He was a bronzed hairy man, with one sleeve empty, and a breast +covered with stars; but in his face, brown with sun and wind, +overgrown with hair and scarred with wounds, Melchior saw his second +brother! There was no doubt of it. And the brother himself, though he +bowed kindly in answer to the greetings showered on him, was gazing +anxiously for the old coach, where he used to ride and be so +uncomfortable, in that time to which he now looked back as the +happiest of his life.</p> + +<p>"'I thank you, gentlemen. I am indebted to you, gentlemen. I have been +away long. I am going home.'</p> + +<p>"'Of course he is!' shouted Melchior, waving his arms widely with +pride and joy. 'He is coming <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_34" id="Page_34"></a>[34]</span>home; to this coach, where he was—oh, +it seems but an hour ago! Time goes so fast. We were great friends +when we were young together. My brother and I, ladies and gentlemen, +the hero and I—my brother—the hero with the stars upon his +breast—he is coming home!'</p> + +<p>"Alas! what avail stars and ribbons on a breast where the life-blood +is trickling slowly from a little wound? The crowd looked anxious; the +hero came on, but more slowly, with his dim eyes straining for the old +coach; and Melchior stood with his arms held out in silent agony. But +just when he was beginning to hope, and the brothers seemed about to +meet, a figure passed between—a figure in a cloak.</p> + +<p>"'I have seen you many times, Friend, face to face,' said the hero; +'but now I would fain have waited for a little while.'</p> + +<p>"'To enjoy his well-earned honours,' murmured the crowd.</p> + +<p>"'Nay,' he said, 'not that; but to see my home, and my brothers and +sisters. But if it may not be, friend Death, I am ready, and tired +too.' With that he held out his hand, and Death lifted up the hero of +many battles like a child, and carried him away, stars and ribbons and +all.</p> + +<p>"'Cruel Death!' cried Melchior; 'was there no <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_35" id="Page_35"></a>[35]</span>one else in all this +crowd, that you must take him?'</p> + +<p>"His friends condoled with him; but they soon went on their own ways; +and the hero seemed to be forgotten; and Melchior, who had lost all +pleasure in the old bowings and chattings, sat sadly gazing out of the +window, to see if he could see any one for whom he cared. At last, in +a grave dark man, who was sitting on a horse, and making a speech to +the crowd, he recognized his clever untidy brother.</p> + +<p>"'What is that man talking about?' he asked of some one near him.</p> + +<p>"'That man!' was the answer. 'Don't you know? He is <i>the</i> man of the +time. He is a philosopher. Everybody goes to hear him. He has found +out that—well—that everything is a mistake.'</p> + +<p>"'Has he corrected it?' said Melchior.</p> + +<p>"'You had better hear for yourself,' said the man. 'Listen.'</p> + +<p>"Melchior listened, and a cold clear voice rang upon his ear, +saying:—</p> + +<p>"'The world of fools will go on as they have ever done; but to the +wise few, to whom I address myself, I would say—Shake off at once and +for ever the fancies and feelings, the creeds and customs that shackle +you, and be true. We have come to a <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_36" id="Page_36"></a>[36]</span>time when wise men will not be +led blindfold in the footsteps of their predecessors, but will tear +away the bandage and see for themselves. I have torn away mine, and +looked. There is no Faith—it is shaken to its rotten foundation; +there is no Hope—it is disappointed every day; there is no Love at +all. There is nothing for any man or for each, but his fate; and he is +happiest and wisest who can meet it most unmoved.'</p> + +<p>"'It is a lie!' shouted Melchior. 'I feel it to be so in my heart. A +wicked foolish lie! Oh! was it to teach such evil folly as this that +you left home and us, my brother? Oh, come back! come back!'</p> + +<p>"The philosopher turned his head coldly, and smiled. 'I thank the +gentleman who spoke,' he said, still in the same cold voice, 'for his +bad opinion, and for his good wishes. I think the gentleman spoke of +home and kindred. My experience of life has led me to find that home +is most valued when it is left, and kindred most dear when they are +parted. I have happily freed myself from such inconsistencies. I am +glad to know that fate can tear me from no place that I care for more +than the next where it shall deposit me, nor take away any friends +that I value more than those it leaves. I recommend a similar +self-emancipation to <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_37" id="Page_37"></a>[37]</span>the gentleman who did me the honour of +speaking.'</p> + +<p>"With this the philosopher went his way, and the crowd followed him.</p> + +<p>"'There is a separation more bitter than death,' said Melchior.</p> + +<p>"At last he pulled the check-string, and called to Godfather Time in +an humble entreating voice.</p> + +<p>"'It is not your fault,' he began; 'it is not your fault, Godfather; +but this drive has been altogether wrong. Let us turn back and begin +again. Let us all get in afresh and begin again.'</p> + +<p>"'But what a squeeze with all the brats!' said Godfather Time, +ironically.</p> + +<p>"'We should be so happy,' murmured Melchior, humbly; 'and it is very +cold and chilly; we should keep each other warm.'</p> + +<p>"'You have the tiger-skin rug and the opera-glass, you know,' said +Time.</p> + +<p>"'Ah, do not speak of me!' cried Melchior, earnestly. 'I am thinking +of them. There is plenty of room; the little one can sit on my knee; +and we shall be so happy. The truth is, Godfather, that I have been +wrong. I have gone the wrong way to work. A little more love, and +kindness, and forbearance, might have kept my sisters with us, might +have led the little one to better tastes <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_38" id="Page_38"></a>[38]</span>and pleasures, and have +taught the other by experience the truth of the faith and hope and +love which he now reviles. Oh, I have sinned! I have sinned! Let us +turn back, Godfather Time, and begin again. And oh! drive very slowly, +for partings come only too soon.'</p> + +<p>"'I am sorry,' said the old man in the same bitter tone as before, 'to +disappoint your rather unreasonable wishes. What you say is admirably +true, with this misfortune, that your good intentions are too late. +Like the rest of the world you are ready to seize the opportunity when +it is past. You should have been kind <i>then</i>. You should have advised +<i>then</i>. You should have yielded <i>then</i>. You should have loved your +brothers and sisters while you had them. It is too late now.'</p> + +<p>"With this he drove on, and spoke no more, and poor Melchior stared +sadly out of the window. As he was gazing at the crowd, he suddenly +saw the dog-cart, in which were his brother and his wretched +companions. Oh, how old and worn he looked! and how ragged his clothes +were! The men seemed to be trying to persuade him to do something that +he did not like, and they began to quarrel; but in the midst of the +dispute he turned his head and caught sight of the old coach; and +Melchior seeing this, waved his hands, and beckoned with all <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_39" id="Page_39"></a>[39]</span> his +might. The brother seemed doubtful; but Melchior waved harder, and +(was it fancy?) Time seemed to go slower. The brother made up his +mind; he turned and jumped from the dog-cart as he had jumped from the +old coach long ago, and ducking in and out among the horses and +carriages, ran for his life. The men came after him; but he ran like +the wind—pant, pant, nearer, nearer; at last the coach was reached, +and Melchior seized the prodigal by his rags and dragged him in.</p> + +<p>"'Oh, thank <span class="smcap">God</span>, I have got you safe, my brother!'</p> + +<p>"But what a brother! with wasted body and sunken eyes; with the old +curly hair turned to matted locks, that clung faster to his face than +the rags did to his trembling limbs; what a sight for the +opera-glasses of the crowd! What a subject for the tongues that were +ever wagging, and complimenting, and backbiting, and lying, all in a +breath, and without sense or scruple! What a sight and a subject for +the fine friends, for whose good opinion Melchior had been so anxious? +Do you think he was as anxious now? Do you think he was troubled by +what they either saw or said; or was ashamed of the wretched prodigal +lying among the cushions? I think not. I think that for the most +foolish of us there are moments in life (of real joy or real sorrow) +when we <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_40" id="Page_40"></a>[40]</span>judge things by a higher standard, and care vastly little for +what 'people say'. The only shame that Melchior felt was that his +brother should have fared so hardly in the trials and temptations of +the world outside, while he had sat at ease among the cushions of the +old coach, that had been the home of both alike. Thank <span class="smcap">God</span>, +it was the home of both now! And poor Hop-o'-my-Thumb was on the front +seat at last, with Melchior kneeling at his feet, and fondly stroking +the head that rested against him.</p> + +<p>"'Has powder come into fashion, brother?' he said. 'Your hair is +streaked with white.'</p> + +<p>"'If it has,' said the other, laughing, 'your barber is better than +mine, Melchior, for your head is as white as snow.'</p> + +<p>"'Is it possible? are we so old? has Time gone so very fast? But what +are you staring at through the window? I shall be jealous of that +crowd, brother.'</p> + +<p>"'I am not looking at the crowd,' said the prodigal in a low voice; +'but I see—'</p> + +<p>"'You see what?' said Melchior.</p> + +<p>"'A figure in a cloak, gliding in and out—'</p> + +<p>"Melchior sprang up in horror. 'No! no!' he cried, hoarsely. 'No! +surely no!'</p> + +<p>"Surely yes! Too surely the well-known figure came on; and the +prodigal's sunken eyes looked more <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_41" id="Page_41"></a>[41]</span>sunken still as he gazed. As for +Melchior, he neither spoke nor moved, but stood in a silent agony, +terrible to see. All at once a thought seemed to strike him; he seized +his brother, and pushed him to the furthest corner of the seat, and +then planted himself firmly at the door just as Death came up and put +his hand into the coach. Then he spoke in a low steady voice, more +piteous than cries or tears.</p> + +<p>"'I humbly beseech you, good Death, if you must take one of us, to +take me. I have had a long drive, and many comforts and blessings, and +am willing if unworthy to go. He has suffered much, and had no +pleasure; leave him for a little to enjoy the drive in peace, just for +a very little; he has suffered so much, and I have been so much to +blame; let me go instead of him.'</p> + +<p>"Alas for Melchior! It is decreed in the Providence of <span class="smcap">God</span>, +that, although the opportunities for doing good, which are in the +power of every man, are beyond count or knowledge, yet, the +opportunity once neglected, no man by any self-sacrifice can atone for +those who have fallen or suffered by his negligence. Poor Melchior! An +unalterable law made him the powerless spectator of the consequences +of his neglected opportunities. 'No man may deliver his brother, or +make agreement unto <span class="smcap">God</span> for him, for it cost more to redeem +their souls, so that he must let <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_42" id="Page_42"></a>[42]</span>that alone for ever.' And is it ever +so bitter to 'let alone,' as in a case where we might have acted and +did not?</p> + +<p>"Poor Melchior! In vain he laid both his hands in Death's outstretched +palm; they fell to him again as if they had passed through air; he was +pushed aside—Death passed into the coach—'one was taken and the +other left.'</p> + +<p>"As the cloaked figure glided in and out among the crowd, many turned +to look at his sad burden, though few heeded him. Much was said; but +the general voice of the crowd was this: 'Ah! he is gone, is he? Well! +a born rascal! It must be a great relief to his brother!' A conclusion +which was about as wise, and about as near the truth, as the world's +conclusions generally are. As for Melchior, he neither saw the figure +nor heard the crowd, for he had fallen senseless among the cushions.</p> + +<p>"When he came to his senses, he found himself lying still upon his +face; and so bitter was his loneliness and grief, that he lay still +and did not move. He was astonished, however, by the (as it seemed to +him) unusual silence. The noise of the carriages had been deafening, +and now there was not a sound. Was he deaf? or had the crowd gone? He +opened his eyes. Was he blind? or had the night come? He sat right up, +and shook himself, and looked again. The crowd <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_43" id="Page_43"></a>[43]</span><i>was</i> gone; so, for +matter of that, was the coach; and so was Godfather Time. He had not +been lying among cushions, but among pillows; he was not in any +vehicle of any kind, but in bed. The room was dark, and very still; +but through the 'barracks' window, which had no blind, he saw the +winter sun pushing through the mist, like a red hot cannon-ball +hanging in the frosty trees; and in the yard outside, the cocks were +crowing.</p> + +<p>"There was no longer any doubt that he was safe in his old home; but +where were his brothers and sisters? With a beating heart he crept to +the other end of the bed; and there lay the prodigal, but with no +haggard cheeks or sunken eyes, no grey locks or miserable rags, but a +rosy yellow-haired urchin fast asleep, with his head upon his arm. 'I +took his pillow,' muttered Melchior, self-reproachfully.</p> + +<p>"A few minutes later, young Hop-o'-my-Thumb (whom Melchior dared not +lose sight of for fear he should melt away) seated comfortably on his +brother's back, and wrapped up in a blanket, was making a tour of the +'barracks.'</p> + +<p>"'It's an awful lark,' said he, shivering with a mixture of cold and +delight.</p> + +<p>"If not exactly a <i>lark</i>, it was a very happy tour to Melchior, as, +hope gradually changing into certainty, he recognized his brothers in +one shapeless <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_44" id="Page_44"></a>[44]</span>lump after the other in the little beds. There they all +were, sleeping peacefully in a happy home, from the embryo hero to the +embryo philosopher, who lay with the invariable book upon his pillow, +and his hair looking (as it always did) as if he lived in a high wind.</p> + +<p>"'I say,' whispered Melchior, pointing to him, 'what did he say the +other day about being a parson?'</p> + +<p>"'He said he should like to be one,' returned Hop-o'-my-Thumb; 'but +you said he would frighten away the congregation with his looks. And +then, you know, he got very angry, and said he didn't know priests +need be dandies, and that everybody was humbuggy alike, and thought of +nothing but looks; but that he would be a philosopher like Diogenes, +who cared for nobody, and was as ugly as an ape, and lived in a tub.'</p> + +<p>"'He will make a capital parson,' said Melchior, hastily, 'and I shall +tell him so to-morrow. And when I'm squire here, he shall be vicar, +and I'll subscribe to all his dodges without a grumble. I'm the eldest +son. And, I say, don't you think we could brush his hair for him in a +morning, till he learns to do it himself?'</p> + +<p>"'Oh, I will!' was the lively answer; 'I'm an awful dab at brushing. +Look how I brush your best hat!'</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_45" id="Page_45"></a>[45]</span></p> + +<p>"'True,' said Melchior. 'Where are the girls to-night?'</p> + +<p>"'In the little room at the end of the long passage,' said +Hop-o'-my-Thumb, trembling with increased chilliness and enjoyment. +'But you're never going there! we shall wake the company, and they +will all come out to see what's the matter.'</p> + +<p>"'I shouldn't care if they did,' said Melchior, 'it would make it feel +more real.'</p> + +<p>"As he did not understand this sentiment, Hop-o'-my-Thumb said +nothing, but held on very tightly; and they crept softly down the cold +grey passage in the dawn. The girls' door was open; for the girls were +afraid of robbers, and left their bed-room door wide open at night, as +a natural and obvious means of self-defence. The girls slept together; +and the frill of the pale sister's prim little night-cap was buried in +the other one's uncovered curls.</p> + +<p>"'How you do tremble!' whispered Hop-o'-my-Thumb; 'are you cold?' This +inquiry received no answer; and after some minutes he spoke again. 'I +say, how very pretty they look! don't they?'</p> + +<p>"But for some reason or other, Melchior seemed to have lost his voice; +but he stooped down and kissed both the girls very gently, and then +the two brothers crept back along the passage to the 'barracks.'</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_46" id="Page_46"></a>[46]</span></p> + +<p>"'One thing more,' said Melchior; and they went up to the mantelpiece. +'I will lend you my bow and arrows to-morrow, on one condition—'</p> + +<p>"'Anything!' was the reply, in an enthusiastic whisper.</p> + +<p>"'That you take that old picture for a target, and never let me see it +again.'</p> + +<p>"It was very ungrateful! but perfection is not in man; and there was +something in Melchior's muttered excuse—</p> + +<p>"'I couldn't stand another night of it.'</p> + +<p>"Hop-o'-my-Thumb was speedily put to bed again, to get warm, this time +with both the pillows; but Melchior was too restless to sleep, so he +resolved to have a shower-bath, and to dress. After which, he knelt +down by the window, and covered his face with his hands.</p> + +<p>"'He's saying very long prayers,' thought Hop-o'-my-Thumb, glancing at +him from his warm nest; 'and what a jolly humour he is in this +morning!'</p> + +<p>"Still the young head was bent, and the handsome face hidden; and +Melchior was finding his life every moment more real and more happy. +For there was hardly a thing, from the well-filled 'barracks' to the +brother bedfellow, that had been a hardship last night, which this +morning did not seem a blessing. He rose at last, and stood in the +sunshine, which <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_47" id="Page_47"></a>[47]</span>was now pouring in; a smile was on his lips, and on +his face were two drops, which, if they were water, had not come from +the shower-bath, or from any bath at all."</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>"Is that the end?" inquired the young lady on his knee, as the story +teller paused here.</p> + +<p>"Yes, that is the end."</p> + +<p>"It's a beautiful story," she murmured, thoughtfully; "but what an +extraordinary one! I don't think I could have dreamt such a wonderful +dream."</p> + +<p>"Do you think you could have eaten such a wonderful supper?" said the +friend, twisting his moustachios.</p> + +<p>After this point, the evening's amusements were thoroughly successful. +Richard took his smoking boots from the fire-place, and was called upon +for various entertainments for which he was famous: such as the +accurate imitation of a train just starting, in which two pieces of +bone were used with considerable effect; as also of a bumble-bee, who +(very much out of season) went buzzing about, and was always being +caught with a heavy bang on the heads and shoulders of those who least +expected it; all which specimens of his talents were received with due +applause by his admiring brothers and sisters.</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_48" id="Page_48"></a>[48]</span></p> + +<p>The bumble-bee had just been caught (for the twenty-first time) with a +loud smack on brother Benjamin's ear, when the door opened, and +Paterfamilias entered with Materfamilias (whose headache was better), +and followed by the candles. A fresh log was then thrown upon the +fire, the yule cakes and furmety were put upon the table, and +everybody drew round to supper; and Paterfamilias announced that +although he could not give the materials to play with, he had no +objection now to a bowl of moderate punch for all, and that Richard +might compound it. This was delightful; and as he sat by his father, +ladling away to the rest, Adolphus Brown could hardly have felt more +jovial, even with the champagne and ices.</p> + +<p>The rest sat with radiant faces and shining heads in goodly order; and +at the bottom of the table, by Materfamilias, was the friend, as happy +in his unselfish sympathy as if his twenty-five sticks had come to +life, and were supping with him. As happy—nearly—as if a certain +woman's grave had never been dug under the southern sun that could not +save her, and as if the children gathered round him were those of +whose faces he had often dreamt, but might never see.</p> + +<p>His health had been drunk, and everybody else's too, when, just as +supper was coming to a close, <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_49" id="Page_49"></a>[49]</span> Richard (who had been sitting in +thoughtful silence for some minutes) got up with sudden resolution, +and said,</p> + +<p>"I want to propose Mr. What's-his-name's health on my own account. I +want to thank him for his story, which had only one mistake in it. +Melchior should have kept the effervescing papers to put into the +beer; it's a splendid drink! Otherwise it was first-rate; though it +hit me rather hard. I want to say that though I didn't mean all I said +about being an only son (when a fellow gets put out he doesn't know +what he means), yet I know I was quite wrong, and the story is quite +right. I want particularly to say that I'm very glad there are so many +of us, for the more, you know, the merrier. I wouldn't change father +or mother, brothers or sisters, with any one in the world. It couldn't +be better, we couldn't be happier. We are all together, and to-morrow +is Christmas Day. Thank <span class="smcap">God</span>."</p> + +<p>It was very well said. It was a very good speech. It was very well and +very good that while the blessings were with him, he could feel it to +be so, and be grateful.</p> + +<p>It was very well, and good also, that the friend, who had neither home +nor kindred to be grateful for, had something else for which he could +thank <span class="smcap">God</span> as heartily. The thought of that something <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_50" id="Page_50"></a>[50]</span>came to +him then as he sat at his friend's table, filling his eyes with tears. +It came to him next day as he knelt before <span class="smcap">God's</span> altar, +remembering in blessed fellowship that deed of love which is the +foundation of all our hope and joy. It came to him when he went back +to his lonely wandering life, and thought with tender interest of that +boyish speech. It came—a whisper of consolation to silence envy and +regret for ever.</p> + +<p>"There <i>is</i> something far better. There <i>is</i> something far happier. +There is a better Home than any earthly one, and a Family that shall +never be divided."</p> + + + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_51" id="Page_51"></a>[51]</span> +</p> +<h2><a name="THE_BLACKBIRDS_NEST" id="THE_BLACKBIRDS_NEST"></a>THE BLACKBIRD'S NEST.</h2> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"Let me not think an action mine own way,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But as Thy love shall sway,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Resigning up the rudder to Thy skill."<br /></span> + +<span class="sig1">George Herbert.</span> +<br /> +</div></div> + + + +<p><br /> + + One day, when I was a very little girl (which is a long time ago), I +made a discovery. The place where I made it was not very remote, being +a holly-bush at the bottom of our garden; and the discovery was not a +great one in itself, though I thought it very grand. I had found a +blackbird's nest, with three young ones in it.</p> + +<p>The discovery was made on this wise. I was sitting one morning on a +log of wood opposite this holly-bush, reading the story of Goody +Twoshoes, and thinking to myself how much I should like to be like +her, and to go about in the village with a raven, a pigeon, and a lark +on my shoulders, admired and talked about by everybody. All sorts of +nonsense passed through my head as I sat, with the <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_52" id="Page_52"></a>[52]</span>book on my lap, +staring straight before me; and I was just fancying the kind +condescension with which I would behave to everybody when I became a +Goody Twoshoes, when I saw a bird come out of the holly-bush and fly +away. It was a blackbird: there was no doubt of it; and it must have a +nest in the tree, or why had it been there so long? Down went my book, +and I flew to make my discovery. A blackbird's nest, with three young +ones! I stood still at first in pure pleasure at the sight; and then, +little by little, grand ideas came into my head.</p> + +<p>I would be very kind to these little blackbirds, I thought; I would +take them home out of this cold tree, and make a large nest of cotton +wool (which would be much softer and better for them than to be where +they were), and feed them, and keep them; and then, when they were +full-grown, they would, of course, love me better than any one, and be +very tame and grateful; and I should walk about with them on my +shoulders, like Goody Twoshoes, and be admired by everybody; for, I am +ashamed to say, most of my day dreams ended with this, <i>to be admired +by everybody</i>. I was so wrapped up in these thoughts that I did not +know, till his hands were laid upon my shoulders, that my friend, the +curate of the village, had come up behind me. He lived next <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_53" id="Page_53"></a>[53]</span>door to +us, and often climbed over the wall that divided our garden to bring +me flowers for my little bed. He was a tall, dark, not very young man; +and the best hand at making fire-balloons, mending toys, and making a +broken wax doll as good as new with a hot knitting needle, that you +can imagine. I had heard grown-up people call him grave and silent, +but he always laughed and talked to me.</p> + +<p>"What are you doing, little woman?" he said.</p> + +<p>"I have got a nest of poor little birds," I answered; "I am so sorry +for them here in the cold; but they will be all right when I have got +them indoors. I shall make them a beautiful nest of cotton wool, and +feed them. Won't it be nice?"</p> + +<p>I spoke confidently; for I had really so worked up my fancy that I +felt quite a contemptuous pity for all the wretched little birds who +were hatched every year without me to rear them. At the same time, I +had a general idea that grown-up people always <i>did</i> throw cold water +on splendid plans like mine; so I was more indignant than surprised +when my friend the curate tried to show me that it was quite +impossible to do as I wished. The end of all his arguments was that I +must leave the nest in its place. But I had a great turn for +disputing, and was not at all inclined to give up my point. "You told +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_54" id="Page_54"></a>[54]</span>me on Sunday," I said, pertly, "that we were never too little to do +kind things; let me do this."</p> + +<p>"If I could be sure," he said, looking at me, "that you only wish to +do a kind thing."</p> + +<p>I got more angry and rude.</p> + +<p>"Perhaps you think I want to kill them," I said.</p> + +<p>He did not answer, but taking both my hands in his, said, gravely, +"Tell me, my child, which do you wish most—to be kind to these poor +little birds? or to have the honour and glory of having them, and +bringing them up?"</p> + +<p>"To be kind to them," said I, getting very red. "I don't want any +honour and glory," and I felt ready to cry.</p> + +<p>"Well, well," he said, smiling; "then I know you will believe me when +I tell you that the kindest thing you can do for these little birds is +to leave them where they are. And if you like, you can come and sit +here every day till they are able to fly, and keep watch over the +nest, that no naughty boy may come near it—the curate, for instance!" +and he pulled a funny face. "That will be very kind."</p> + +<p>"But they will never know, and I want them to like me," said I.</p> + +<p>"I thought you only wanted to be kind," he answered. And then he began +to talk very gently about different sorts of kindness, and that if I +wished <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_55" id="Page_55"></a>[55]</span>to be kind like a Christian, I must be kind without hoping for +any reward, whether gratitude or anything else. He told me that the +best followers of Jesus in all times had tried hard to do everything, +however small, simply for <span class="smcap">God's</span> sake, and to put themselves +away. That they often began even their letters, etc., with such words, +as, "Glory to <span class="smcap">God</span>," to remind themselves that everything they +did, to be perfect, must be done to <span class="smcap">God</span>, and <span class="smcap">God</span> +alone. And that in doing good kind things even, they were afraid lest, +though the thing was right, the wish to do it might have come from +conceit or presumption.</p> + +<p>"This self-devotion," he added, "is the very highest Christian life, +and seems, I dare say, very hard for you even to understand, and much +more so to put in practice. But we must all try for it in the best way +we can, little woman; and for those who by <span class="smcap">God's</span> grace really +practised it, it was almost as impossible to be downcast or +disappointed as if they were already in Heaven. They wished for +nothing to happen to themselves but <span class="smcap">God's</span> will; they did +nothing but for <span class="smcap">God's</span> glory. And so a very good bishop says, +'I have my end, whether I succeed or am disappointed.' So you will +have your end, my child, in being kind to these little birds in the +right way, and denying yourself, whether they know you or not."</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_56" id="Page_56"></a>[56]</span></p> + +<p>I could not have understood all he said; but I am afraid I did not try +to understand what I might have done; however, I said no more, and +stood silent, while he comforted me with the promise of a new flower +for my garden, called "hen and chickens," which he said I was to take +care of instead of the little blackbirds.</p> + +<p>When he was gone I went back to the holly-bush, and stood gazing at +the nest, and nursing angry thoughts in my heart. "What a <i>preach</i>," I +thought, "about nothing! as if there could be any conceit and +presumption in taking care of three poor little birds! The curate must +forget that I was growing into a big girl; and as to not knowing how +to feed them, I knew as well as he did that birds lived upon worms, +and liked bread-crumbs." And so <i>thinking wrong</i> ended (as it almost +always does) in <i>doing wrong</i>: and I took the three little blackbirds +out of the nest, popped them into my pocket-handkerchief, and ran +home. And I took some trouble to keep them out of everyone's +sight—even out of my mother's; for I did not want to hear any more +"grown-up" opinions on the matter.</p> + +<p>I filled a basket with cotton wool, and put the birds inside, and took +them into a little room downstairs, where they would be warm. Before I +went to bed I put two or three worms, and a large supply of <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_57" id="Page_57"></a>[57]</span>soaked +bread-crumbs, in the nest, close to their little beaks. "What can they +want more?" thought I in my folly; but conscience is apt to be +restless when one is young, and I could not feel quite comfortable in +bed, though I got to sleep at last, trying to fancy myself Goody +Twoshoes, with three sleek full-fledged blackbirds on my shoulders.</p> + +<p>In the morning, as soon as I could slip away, I went to my pets. Any +one may guess what I found; but I believe no one can understand the +shock of agony and remorse that I felt. There lay the worms that I had +dug up with reckless cruelty; there was the wasted bread; and there, +above all, lay the three little blackbirds, cold and dead!</p> + +<p>I do not know how long I stood looking at the victims of my +presumptuous wilfulness; but at last I heard a footstep in the +passage, and fearing to be caught, I tore out of the house, and down +to my old seat near the holly-bush, where I flung myself on the +ground, and "wept bitterly." At last I heard the well-known sound of +some one climbing over the wall; and then the curate stood before me, +with the plant of "hen and chickens" in his hands. I jumped up, and +shrank away from him.</p> + +<p>"Don't come near me," I cried; "the blackbirds are dead;" and I threw +myself down again.</p> + +<p>I knew from experience that few things roused <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_58" id="Page_58"></a>[58]</span>the anger of my friend +so strongly as to see or hear of animals being ill-treated. I had +never forgotten, one day when I was out with him, his wrath over a boy +who was cruelly beating a donkey; and now I felt, though I could not +see, the expression of his face, as he looked at the holly-bush and at +me, and exclaimed, "You took them!" And then added, in the low tone in +which he always spoke when angry, "And the mother-bird has been +wandering all night round this tree, seeking her little ones in vain, +not to be comforted, because they are not! Child, child! has +<span class="smcap">God</span> the Father given life to His creatures for you to destroy +it in this reckless manner?"</p> + +<p>His words cut my heart like a knife; but I was too utterly wretched +already to be much more miserable; I only lay still and moaned. At +last he took pity, and lifting me up on to his knee, endeavoured to +comfort me.</p> + +<p>This was not, however, an easy matter. I knew much better than he did +how very naughty I had been; and I felt that I had murdered the poor +tender little birds.</p> + +<p>"I can never, never, forgive myself!" I sobbed.</p> + +<p>"But you must be reasonable," he said. "You gave way to your vanity +and wilfulness, and persuaded yourself that you only wished to be kind +to <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_59" id="Page_59"></a>[59]</span>the blackbirds; and you have been punished. Is it not so?"</p> + +<p>"O yes!" I cried; "I am so wicked! I wish I were as good as you are!"</p> + +<p>"As I am!"—he began.</p> + +<p>I was too young then to understand the sharp tone of self-reproach in +which he spoke. In my eyes he was perfection; only perhaps a little +<i>too</i> good. But he went on:—</p> + +<p>"Do you know, this fault of yours reminds me of a time when I was just +as wilful and conceited, just as much bent upon doing the great duty +of helping others in my own grand fashion, rather than in the humble +way which <span class="smcap">God's</span> Providence pointed out, only it was in a much +more serious matter; I was older, too, and so had less excuse. I am +almost tempted to tell you about it; not that our cases are really +quite alike, but that the punishment which met my sin was so +unspeakably bitter in comparison with yours, that you may be thankful +to have learnt a lesson of humility at smaller cost."</p> + +<p>I did not understand him—in fact, I did not understand many things +that he said, for he had a habit of talking to me as if he were +speaking to himself; but I had a general idea of his meaning, and said +(very truly), "I cannot fancy you doing wrong."</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_60" id="Page_60"></a>[60]</span></p> + +<p>I was puzzled again by the curious expression of his face; but he only +said, "Shall I tell you a story?"</p> + +<p>I knew his stories of old, and gave an eager "Yes."</p> + +<p>"It is a sad one," he said.</p> + +<p>"I do not think I should like a very funny one just now," I replied. +"Is it true?"</p> + +<p>"Quite," he answered. "It is about myself." He was silent for a few +moments, as if making up his mind to speak; and then, laying his head, +as he sometimes did, on my shoulder, so that I could not see his face, +he began.</p> + +<p>"When I was a boy (older than you, so I ought to have been better), I +might have been described in the words of Scripture—I was 'the only +son of my mother, and she was a widow.' We were badly off, and she was +very delicate, nay, ill—more ill, <span class="smcap">God</span> knows, than I had any +idea of. I had long been used to the sight of the doctor once or twice +a week, and to her being sometimes better and sometimes worse; and +when our old servant lectured me for making a noise, or the doctor +begged that she might not be excited or worried, I fancied that +doctors and nurses always did say things of that sort, and that there +was no particular need to attend to them.</p> + +<p>"Not that I was unfeeling to my dear mother, <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_61" id="Page_61"></a>[61]</span>for I loved her +devotedly in my wilful worldly way. It was for her sake that I had +been so vexed by the poverty into which my father's death had plunged +us. For her sake I worried her, by grumbling before her at our narrow +lodgings and lost comforts. For her sake, child, in my madness, I +wasted the hours in which I might have soothed, and comforted, and +waited on her, in dreaming of wild schemes for making myself famous +and rich, and giving her back all and more than she had lost. For her +sake I fancied myself pouring money at her feet, and loading her with +luxuries, while she was praying for me to our common Father, and +laying up treasure for herself in Heaven.</p> + +<p>"One day I remember, when she was remonstrating with me over a bad +report which the schoolmaster had given of me (he said I could work, +but wouldn't), my vanity overcame my prudence, and I told her that I +thought some fellows were made to 'fag,' and some not; that I had been +writing a poem in my dictionary the day that I had done so badly, and +that I hoped to be a poet long before my master had composed a +grammar. I can see now her sorrowful face as, with tears in her eyes, +she told me that all 'fellows' alike were made to do their duty +'before <span class="smcap">God</span>, and Angels, and Men.' That it was by improving +the little events <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_62" id="Page_62"></a>[62]</span>and opportunities of every day that men became +great, and not by neglecting them for their own presumptuous fancies. +And she entreated me to strive to do my duty, and to leave the rest +with <span class="smcap">God</span>. I listened, however, impatiently to what I called a +'jaw' or a 'scold,' and then (knowing the tender interest she took in +all I did) I tried to coax her by offering to read my poem. But she +answered with just severity, that what she wished was to see me a good +man, not a great one; and that she would rather see my exercises duly +written than fifty poems composed at the expense of my neglected duty. +Then she warned me tenderly of the misery which my conceit would bring +upon me, and bade me, when I said my evening prayers, to add that +prayer of King David, 'Keep Thy servant from presumptuous sins, lest +they get the dominion over me.'</p> + +<p>"Alas! they had got the dominion over me already, too strongly for her +words to take any hold. 'She won't even look at my poem,' I thought, +and hurried proudly from the room, banging one door and leaving +another open. And I silenced my uneasy conscience by fresh dreams of +making my fortune and hers. But the punishment came at last. One day +the doctor took me into a room alone, and told me as gently as he +could what everyone <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_63" id="Page_63"></a>[63]</span>but myself knew already—my mother was dying. I +cannot tell you, child, how the blow fell upon me—how, at first, I +utterly disbelieved its truth! It seemed <i>impossible</i> that the only +hope of my life, the object of all my schemes and fancies, was to be +taken away. But I was awakened at last, and resolved that, +<span class="smcap">God</span> helping me, while she did live, I would be a better son. +I can now look back with thankfulness on the few days we were +together. I never left her. She took her food and medicine from my +hand; and I received my First Communion with her on the day she died. +The day before, kneeling by her bed, I had confessed all the sin and +vanity of my heart and those miserable dreams; had destroyed with my +own hand all my papers, and had resolved that I would apply to my +studies, and endeavour to obtain a scholarship and the necessary +preparation for Holy Orders. It was a just ambition, little woman, +undertaken humbly, in the fear of <span class="smcap">God</span>, and in the path of +duty; and I accomplished it years after, when I had nothing left of my +mother but her memory."</p> + +<p>The curate was silent, and I felt, rather than saw, that the tears +which were wetting my frock had not come from my own eyes, though I +was crying bitterly. I flung my arms round his neck, and hugged him +tight.</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_64" id="Page_64"></a>[64]</span></p> + +<p>"Oh, I am so sorry!" I sobbed; "so very, very sorry!"</p> + +<p>We became quieter after a bit; and he lifted up his head and smiled, +and called himself a fool for making me sad, and told me not to tell +any one what he had told me, and what babies we had been, except my +mother.</p> + +<p>"Tell her <i>everything</i> always," he said.</p> + +<p>I soon cheered up, particularly as he took me over the wall, and into +his workshop, and made a coffin for the poor little blackbirds, which +we lined with cotton-wool and scented with musk, as a mark of respect. +Then he dug a deep hole in the garden and we buried them, and made a +fine high mound of earth, and put the "hen and chicken" plants all +round. And that night, sitting on my mother's knee, I told her +"everything," and shed a few more tears of sorrow and repentance in +her arms.</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>Many years have passed since then, and many showers of rain have +helped to lay the mound flat with the earth, so that the "hen and +chickens" have run all over it, and made a fine plot. The curate and +his mother have met at last; and I have transplanted many flowers that +he gave me to his grave. I sometimes wonder if, in his perfect +happiness, he <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_65" id="Page_65"></a>[65]</span>knows, or cares to know, how often the remembrance of +his story has stopped the current of conceited day-dreams, and brought +me back to practical duty with the humble prayer, "Keep Thy servant +also from presumptuous sins."</p> + + + + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_66" id="Page_66"></a>[66]</span></p> +<h2><a name="FRIEDRICHS_BALLAD" id="FRIEDRICHS_BALLAD"></a>FRIEDRICH'S BALLAD.</h2> + +<p>A TALE OF THE FEAST OF ST. NICHOLAS.</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"Nè pinger nè scolpir fia più che queti,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">L'anima volta a quell' Amor divino<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Ch'asserse a prender noi in Croce le braccia."<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"Painting and Sculpture's aid in vain I crave,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">My one sole refuge is that Love divine<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Which from the Cross stretched forth its arms to save."<br /> +</span> + + +<i> Written by</i><span class="smcap"> Michael Angelo</span><i> at the age of 83.</i><br /> +</div></div> + + +<p>"So be it," said one of the council, as he rose and addressed the +others. "It is now finally decided. The Story Woman is to be walled +up."</p> + +<p>The council was not an ecclesiastical one, and the woman condemned to +the barbarous and bygone punishment of being "walled up" was not an +offending nun. In fact the Story Woman (or <i>Märchen-Frau</i> as she is +called in Germany) may be taken to represent the imaginary personage +who is known in England by the name of Mother Bunch, or Mother Goose; +and it was in this instance the name given <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_67" id="Page_67"></a>[67]</span>by a certain family of +children to an old book of ballads and poems, which they were +accustomed to read in turn with special solemnities, on one particular +night in the year; the reader for the time being having a peculiar +costume, and the title of "Märchen-Frau," or Mother Bunch, a name +which had in time been familiarly adopted for the ballad-book itself.</p> + +<p>This book was not bound in a fashionable colour, nor illustrated by a +fashionable artist; the Chiswick Press had not set up a type for it, +and Hayday's morocco was a thing unknown. It had not, in short, one of +those attractions with which in these days books are surrounded, whose +insides do not always fulfil the promise of the binding. If, however, +it was on these points inferior to modern volumes, it had on others +the advantage. It did not share a precarious favour with a dozen +rivals in mauve, to be supplanted ere the year was out by twelve new +ones in magenta. It was never thrown aside with the contemptuous +remark,—"I've read that!" On the contrary, it always had been to its +possessors, what (from the best Book downwards) a good book always +should be, a friend, and not an acquaintance—not to be too readily +criticized, but to be loved and trusted. The pages were yellow and +worn, not with profane ill-usage, but with honourable <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_68" id="Page_68"></a>[68]</span>wear and tear; +and the mottled binding presented much such an appearance as might be +expected from a book that had been pressed under the pillow of one +reader, and in the pocket of another; that had been wept over and +laughed over, and warmed by winter fires, and damped in the summer +grass, and had in general seen as much of life as the venerable book +in question. It was not the property of one member of the family, but +the joint possession of all. It was not <i>mine</i>, but <i>ours</i>, as the +inscription, "For the Children," written on the blank leaf testified; +which inscription was hereafter to be a pathetic memorial to aged eyes +of days when "the children" were not yet separated, and took their +pleasures, like their meals, together.</p> + +<p>And after all this, with the full consent of a council of the owners, +the <i>Märchen-Frau</i> was to be "walled up."</p> + +<p>But before I attempt to explain, or in any way excuse this seemingly +ungracious act, it may be well to give some account of the doers +thereof. Well, then:—</p> + +<p>Providence had blessed a certain respectable tradesman, in a certain +town in Germany, with a large and promising family of children. He had +married very early the beloved of his boyhood, and had been left a +widower with one motherless baby <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_69" id="Page_69"></a>[69]</span>almost before he was a man. A +neighbour, with womanly compassion, took pity upon this desolate +father, and more desolate child; and it was not until she had nursed +the babe in her own house through a dangerous sickness, and had for +long been chief adviser to the parent, that he awoke to the fact that +she had become necessary to him, and they were married.</p> + +<p>Of this union came a family of eight, the two eldest of whom were laid +in turn in the quiet grave. The others survived, and, with the first +wife's daughter, made a goodly family party, which sometimes sorely +taxed the resources of the tradesman to provide for, though his +business was good and his wife careful. They scrambled up, however, as +children are wont to do in such circumstances; and at the time our +story opens the youngest had turned his back upon babyhood, and Marie, +the eldest, had reached that pinnacle of childish ambition—she was +"grown up."</p> + +<p>A very good Marie she was, and always had been; from the days when she +ran to school with a little knapsack on her back, and her fair hair +hanging down in two long plaits, to the present time, when she +tenderly fastened that same knapsack on to the shoulders of a younger +sister; and when the plaits had for long been reclaimed from their +vagrant freedom, and coiled close to her head.</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_70" id="Page_70"></a>[70]</span></p> + +<p>"Our Marie is not clever," said one of the children, who flattered +himself that <i>he was</i> a bit of a genius; "our Marie is not clever, but +also she is never wrong."</p> + +<p>It is with this same genius that our story has chiefly to do.</p> + +<p>Friedrich was a child of unusual talent; a fact which, happily for +himself, was not discovered till he was more than twelve years old. He +learnt to read very quickly; and when he was once able, read every +book on which he could lay his hands, and in his father's house the +number was not great. When Marie was a child, the school was kept by a +certain old man, very gentle and learned in his quiet way. He had been +fond of his fair-haired pupil, and when she was no longer a scholar, +had passed many an odd hour in imparting to her a slight knowledge of +Latin, and of the great Linnæus' system of botany. He was now dead, +and his place filled by a less sympathizing pedagogue; and Friedrich +listened with envious ears to his more fortunate sister's stories of +her friend and master.</p> + +<p>"So he taught you Latin—that great language! And botany—which is a +science!" the child would exclaim with envious admiration, when he had +heard for the thousandth time every particular of the old +schoolmaster's kindness.</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_71" id="Page_71"></a>[71]</span></p> + +<p>And Marie would answer calmly, as she "refooted" one of the father's +stockings, "We did a good deal of the grammar, which I fear I have +forgotten, and I learnt by heart a few of the Psalms in Latin, which I +remember well. Also we commenced the system of Mr. Linnæus, but I was +very stupid, and ever preferred those plates which pictured the flower +itself to those which gave the torn pieces, and which he thought most +valuable. But, above all, he taught me to be good; and though I have +forgotten many of his lessons, there are words and advice of his which +I heeded little then, but which come back and teach me now. Father +once heard the Burgomaster say he was a genius, but I know that he was +good, and that is best of all;" with which, having turned the heel of +her stocking, Marie would put it out of reach of the kitten, and lay +the table for dinner.</p> + +<p>And Friedrich—poor Friedrich!—groaning inwardly at his sister's +indifference to her great opportunities for learning, would speculate +to himself on the probable fate of each volume in the old +schoolmaster's library, which had been sold when he, Friedrich, was +but three years old. Thus, in these circumstances, the boy expressed +his feelings with moderation when he said, "Our Marie is not clever, +but also she is never wrong."</p> + +<p>If the schoolmaster was dead, however, Friedrich <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_72" id="Page_72"></a>[72]</span>was not, +nevertheless, friendless. There was a certain bookseller in his native +town, for whom in his spare time he ran messages, and who in return +was glad to let him spend his playhours and half-holidays among the +books in his shop. There, perched at the top of the shelves on a +ladder, or crouched upon his toes at the bottom, he devoured some +volumes and dipped into others; but what he liked best was poetry, and +this not uncommon taste with many young readers was with this one a +mania. Wherever the sight of verses met his eye, there he fastened and +read greedily.</p> + +<p>One day, a short time before my story opens, he found, in his +wanderings from shelf to shelf, some nicely-bound volumes, one of +which he opened, and straightway verses of the most attractive-looking +metre met his eye, not, however, in German, but in a fair round Roman +text, and, alas! in a language which he did not understand. There were +customers in the shop, so he stood still in the corner with his nose +almost resting on the bookshelf, staring fiercely at the page, as if +he would force the meaning out of those fair clear-looking verses. +When the last beard had vanished through the doorway, Friedrich came +up to the counter, book in hand.</p> + +<p>"Well, now?" said the comfortable bookseller, with a round German +smile.</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_73" id="Page_73"></a>[73]</span></p> + +<p>"This book," said the boy; "in what language is it?"</p> + +<p>The man stuck his spectacles on his nose, and smiled again.</p> + +<p>"It is Italian, and these are the sonnets of Petrarch, my child. The +edition is a fine one, so be careful." Friedrich went back to his +place, sighing heavily. After a while he came out again.</p> + +<p>"Well now, what is it?" said the bookseller, cheerfully.</p> + +<p>"Have you an Italian grammar?"</p> + +<p>"Only this," said the other, as he picked a book from the shelf and +laid it on the counter with a twinkle in his eye. The boy opened it +and looked up disappointed.</p> + +<p>"It is all Italian," said he.</p> + +<p>"No, no," was the answer; "it is in French and Italian, and was +printed at Paris. But what wouldst thou with a grammar, my child?"</p> + +<p>The boy blushed as if he had been caught stealing, and said hastily—</p> + +<p>"I <i>must</i> read those poems, and I cannot if I do not learn the +language."</p> + +<p>"And thou wouldst read Petrarch with a grammar," shouted the +bookseller; "ho! ho! ho!"</p> + +<p>"And a dictionary," said Friedrich; "why not?"</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_74" id="Page_74"></a>[74]</span></p> + +<p>"Why not?" repeated the other, with renewed laughter. "Why not? +Because to learn a language, my Friedrich, one must have a master, and +exercises, and a phrase-book, and progressive reading-lessons with +vocabulary; and, in short, one must learn a language in the way +everybody else learns it; that is why not, my Friedrich."</p> + +<p>"Everybody is nobody," said Friedrich, hotly; "at least nobody worth +caring for. If I had a grammar and a dictionary, I would read those +beautiful poems."</p> + +<p>"Hear him!" said the cheerful little bookseller. "He will read +Petrarch. He! If my volumes stop in the shelves till thou canst read +them, my child—ho! ho! ho!" and he rubbed his brushy little beard +with glee.</p> + +<p>Friedrich's temper was not by nature of the calmest, and this +conversation rubbed its tenderest points. He answered almost +fiercely—</p> + +<p>"Take care of your volumes. If I live, and they <i>do</i> stop in the +shelves, I will buy them of you some day. Remember!" and he turned +sharply round to hide the tears which had begun to fall.</p> + +<p>For a moment the good shopkeeper's little mouth became as round as his +round little eyes and his round little face; then he laid his hands on +the counter, and jumping neatly over flung his <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_75" id="Page_75"></a>[75]</span>dead weight on to +Friedrich, and embraced him heartily.</p> + +<p>"My poor child! (a kiss)—would that it had pleased Heaven to make +thee the son of a nobleman—(another kiss). But hear me. A man in +Berlin is now compiling an Italian grammar. It is to be out in a month +or two. I shall have a copy, and thou shalt see it; and if ever thou +canst read Petrarch I will give thee my volumes—(a volley of kisses). +And now, as thou hast stayed so long, come into the little room and +dine with me." With which invitation the kind-hearted German released +his young friend and led him into the back room, where they buried the +memory of Petrarch in a mess of vegetables and melted butter.</p> + +<p>It may be added here, that the Petrarchs remained on the shelf, and +that years afterwards the round-faced little bookseller redeemed his +promise with pride.</p> + +<p>Of these visits the father was to all intents and purposes ignorant. +He knew that Friedrich went to see the bookseller, and that the +bookseller was good-natured to him; but he never dreamt that his son +read the books with which his neighbour's shop was lined, and he knew +nothing of the wild visions which that same shop bred and nourished in +the mind of his boy, and which made the life outside its door<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_76" id="Page_76"></a>[76]</span>step +seem a dream. The father and son saw that life from different points +of view. The boy felt that he was more talented than other boys, and +designed himself for a poet; the tradesman saw that the boy was more +talented than other boys, and designed him for the business; and the +opposite nature of these determinations was the one great misery of +Friedrich's life.</p> + +<p>If, however, this source of the child's sorrows was a secret one, and +not spoken of to his brothers and sisters, or even to his friend the +bookseller, equally secret also were the sources of his happiness. No +eye but his own ever beheld those scraps of paper which he begged from +the bookseller, and covered with childish efforts at verse-making. No +one shared the happiness of those hours, of which perhaps a quarter +was spent in working at the poem, and three-fourths were given to the +day-dreams of the poet; or knew that the wild fancies of his brain +made Friedrich's nights more happy than his days. By day he was a +child (his family, with some reason, said a tiresome one), by night he +was a man, and a great man. He visited the courts of Europe, and +received compliments from Royalty; <i>his</i> plays were acted in the +theatres; <i>his</i> poems stood on the shelves of the booksellers; he made +his family rich (the boy was too young to wish for money for +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_77" id="Page_77"></a>[77]</span>himself); he made everybody happy, and himself famous.</p> + +<p>Fame! that was the word that rang in his ears and danced before his +eyes as the hours of the night wore on, and he lived through a +glorious lifetime. And so, when the mother, candle in hand, came round +like a guardian angel among the sleeping children, to see that "all +was right," he—poor child!—must feign to be sleeping on his face, to +hide the traces of the tears which he had wept as he composed the +epitaph which was to grace the monument of the famous Friedrich ——, +poet, philosopher, etc. Whoever doubts the possibility of such +exaggerated folly, has never known an imaginative childhood, or wept +over those unreal griefs, which are not the less bitter at the time +from being remembered afterwards with a mixture of shame and +amusement. Happy or unhappy, however, in his dreams the boy was great, +and this was enough; for Friedrich was vain, as everyone is tempted to +be who feels himself in any way singular and unlike those about him. +He revelled in the honours which he showered upon himself, and so—the +night was happy; and so—the day was unwelcome when he was smartly bid +to get up and put on his stockings, and found Fame gone and himself a +child again, without honour, in his own country, and in his father's +house.</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_78" id="Page_78"></a>[78]</span></p> + +<p>These sad dreams (sad in their uselessness) were destined, however, to +do him some good at last; and, oddly enough, the childish council that +condemned the ballad-book decided his fate also. This was how it +happened.</p> + +<p>The children were accustomed, as we have said, to celebrate the Feast +of St. Nicholas by readings from their beloved book. St. Nicholas's +Day (the 6th of December) has for years been a favourite festival with +the children in many parts of the Continent. In France, the children +are diligently taught that St. Nicholas comes in the night down the +chimney, and fills the little shoes (which are ranged there for the +purpose) with sweetmeats or rods, according to his opinion of their +owner's conduct during the past year. The Saint is supposed to travel +through the air, and to be followed by an ass laden with two panniers, +one of which contains the good things, and the other the birch, and he +leaves his ass at the top of the chimney and comes down alone. The +same belief is entertained in Holland; and in some parts of Germany he +is even believed to carry off bad boys and girls in his sack, +answering in this respect to our English Bogy.</p> + +<p>The day, as may be supposed, is looked forward to with no small amount +of anxiety; very clean and tidy are the little shoes placed by the +young <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_79" id="Page_79"></a>[79]</span> expectants; and their parents—who have threatened and promised +in St. Nicholas's name for a year past—take care that, with one sort +of present or the other, the shoes are well filled. The great +question—rods or sweetmeats—is, however, finally settled for each +individual before breakfast-time on the great day; and before dinner, +despite maternal warnings, most of the said sweetmeats have been +consumed. And so it came to pass that Friedrich and his brothers and +sisters had hit upon a plan for ending the day, with the same spirit +and enjoyment with which it opened.</p> + +<p>The mother, by a little kind manœuvring, generally induced the +father to sup and take his evening pipe with a neighbour, for the +tradesman was one of those whose presence is rather a "wet blanket" +upon all innocent folly and fun. Then she good-naturedly took herself +off to household matters, and the children were left in undisturbed +possession of the stove, round which they gathered with the book, and +the game commenced. Each in turn read whichever poem he preferred; and +the reader for the time being, was wrapt in a huge hood and cloak, +kept for the purpose, and was called the "Märchen-Frau," or Story +Woman. Sometimes the song had a chorus, which all the children sang to +whichever suited best of the thousand airs that are always <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_80" id="Page_80"></a>[80]</span>floating +in German brains. Sometimes, if the ballad was a favourite one, the +others would take part in any verses that contained a dialogue. This +was generally the case with some verses in the pet ballad of +Bluebeard, at that exciting point where Sister Anne is looking from +the castle window. First the Märchen-Frau read in a sonorous voice—</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"Schwester Aennchen, siehst du nichts?"<br /></span> +<span class="i0">(Sister Anne, do you see nothing?)<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>Then the others replied for Anne—</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"Stäubchen fliegen, Gräschen wehen."<br /></span> +<span class="i0">(A little dust flies, a little grass waves.)<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>Again the Märchen-Frau—</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"Aennchen, lässt sich sonst nichts sehen?"<br /></span> +<span class="i0">(Little Anne, is there nothing else to be seen?)<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>And the unsatisfactory reply—</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"Schwesterchen, sonst seh' ich nichts!"<br /></span> +<span class="i0">(Little sister, I see nothing else!)<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>After this the Märchen-Frau finished the ballad alone, and the +conclusion was received with shouts of applause and laughter, that +would have considerably astonished the good father, could he have +heard them, and that did sometimes oblige the mother to call order +from the loft above, just for propriety's <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_81" id="Page_81"></a>[81]</span>sake; for, in truth, the +good woman loved to hear them, and often hummed in with a chorus to +herself as she turned over the clothes among which she was busy.</p> + +<p>At last, however, after having been for years the crowning enjoyment +of St. Nicholas's Day, the credit of the Märchen-Frau was doomed to +fade. The last reading had been rather a failure, not because the old +ballad-book was supplanted by a new one, or because the children had +outgrown its histories; perhaps—though they did not acknowledge +it—Friedrich was in some degree to blame.</p> + +<p>His increasing knowledge, the long readings in the bookseller's shop, +which his brothers and sisters neither shared nor knew of, had given +him a feeling of contempt for the one book on which they feasted from +year to year; and his part, as Märchen-Frau, had been on this occasion +more remarkable for yawns than for anything else. The effect of this +failure was not confined to that day. Whenever the book was brought +out, there was the same feeling that the magic of it was gone, and +very greatly were the poor children disquieted by the fact.</p> + +<p>At last, one summer's day, in the year of which we are writing, one of +the boys was struck, as he fancied, by a brilliant idea; and as +brilliant ideas on any subject are precious, he lost no time in<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_82" id="Page_82"></a>[82]</span> +summoning a council of his brothers and sisters in the garden. It was +a half-holiday, and they soon came trooping round the great linden +tree—where the bees were already in full possession—and the youngest +girl, who was but six years old, bore the book hugged fast in her two +arms.</p> + +<p>The boy opened the case—as lawyers say—by describing the loss of +interest in their book since the last Feast of St. Nicholas. "This did +not," he said, "arise from any want of love to the stories themselves, +but from the fact of their knowing them so well. Whatever ballad the +Märchen-Frau chose, every line of it was so familiar to each one of +them that it seemed folly to repeat it. In these circumstances it was +evident that the greatest compliment they could pay the stories was to +forget them, and he had a plan for attaining this desirable end. Let +them deny themselves now for their future pleasure; let them put away +the Märchen-Frau till next St. Nicholas's Day, and, in the meantime, +let each of them do his best to forget as much of it as he possibly +could." The speaker ceased, and in the silence the bees above droned +as if in answer, and then the children below shouted applause until +the garden rang.</p> + +<p>But now came the question, where was the Märchen-Frau to be put? and +for this the suggestive <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_83" id="Page_83"></a>[83]</span>brother had also an idea. He had found +certain bricks in the thick old garden wall which were loose, and when +taken out there was a hole which was quite the thing for their +purpose. Let them wrap the book carefully up, put it in the hole, and +replace the bricks. This was his proposal, and he sat down. The bees +droned above, the children shouted below, and the proposal was carried +amid general satisfaction. "So be it," said the suggestor, in +conclusion. "It is now finally decided. The Märchen-Frau is to be +walled up."</p> + +<p>And walled up she was forthwith, but not without a parting embrace +from each of her judges, and possibly some slight latent faith in the +suggestion of one of the party that perhaps St. Nicholas would put a +new inside and new stories into her before next December.</p> + +<p>"I don't think I should like a new inside, though," doubted the child +before mentioned, with a shake of her tiny plaits, "or new stories +either."</p> + +<p>As this quaint little Fräulein went into the house she met Friedrich, +who came from the bookseller's.</p> + +<p>"Friedrich," said she, in a solemn voice, "we have walled up the +'Märchen-Frau.'"</p> + +<p>"Have you, <i>Schwesterchen</i>?"</p> + +<p>This was Friedrich's answer; but it may safely be stated that, if any +one had asked him what it was <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_84" id="Page_84"></a>[84]</span>his sister had told him, he would have +been utterly unable to reply.</p> + +<p>He had been to the bookseller's!</p> + +<p>The summer passed, and the children kept faithfully to their resolve. +The little sister sometimes sat by the wall and comforted the +Märchen-Frau inside, with promises of coming out soon; but not a brick +was touched. There was something pathetic in the children's voluntary +renouncement of their one toy. The father was too absent and the +mother too busy, to notice its loss; Marie missed it and made +inquiries of the children, but she was implored to be silent, and +discreetly held her tongue. Winter drew on, and for some time a change +was visible in the manners of one of the children; he seemed restless +and uncomfortable, as if something preyed upon his mind. At last he +was induced to unburden himself to the others, when it was discovered +that he couldn't forget the poems in "Märchen-Frau." This was the +grievance.</p> + +<p>"It seems as if I did it on purpose," groaned he in self-indignation. +"The nearer the time comes, and the more I try to forget, the clearer +I remember them everyone. You know my pet is Bluebeard; well, I +thought I would forget that altogether, every word: and then when my +turn came to be Märchen-Frau I would take it for my piece. And now, of +all the rest, <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_85" id="Page_85"></a>[85]</span>this is just the one that runs in my head. It is quite +as if I did it on purpose."</p> + +<p>Involuntarily the company—who appeared to have forgotten it as little +as he—struck up in a merry tune—</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"Blaubart war ein reicher Mann," etc.<a name="FNanchor_A_1" id="FNanchor_A_1"></a><a href="#Footnote_A_1" class="fnanchor">A</a><br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>"Oh, don't!" groaned the victim. "That's just how it goes in my head +all along, especially the verse—</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"Stark war seines Körpers Ban,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Feurig waren seine Blicke,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Aber ach!—ein Missgeschicke!—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Aber ach! sein Bart war blau."<a name="FNanchor_B_2" id="FNanchor_B_2"></a><a href="#Footnote_B_2" class="fnanchor">B</a><br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>"On Sunday, when the preacher gave out the text, I was looking at him, +and it came so strongly into my head that I nearly said it out +loud—'But ah! his beard was blue!' To-day the schoolmaster asked me a +question about Solomon. I could remember nothing but 'Ah! his beard +was blue!' I have tried this week with all my might; and the harder I +try, the better I remember every word. It is dreadful."</p> + +<div class="footnote"><a name="Footnote_A_1" id="Footnote_A_1"></a><a href="#FNanchor_A_1"><span class="label">[A]</span></a> + +"Bluebeard was a rich man."<br /> +</div> + + + +<div class="footnote"><a name="Footnote_B_2" id="Footnote_B_2"></a><a href="#FNanchor_B_2"><span class="label">[B]</span></a> + + +"Strong was the build of his body,<br /> +<span style="margin-left:2em;" >"Fiery were his glances,<br /></span> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">But ah!—disaster!—<br /></span> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">But ah! his beard was blue."<br /></span> +</div> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_86" id="Page_86"></a>[86]</span></p> + +<p>It was dreadful; but he was somewhat comforted to learn that the +memories of his brothers and sisters were as perverse as his own. +Those ballads were not to be easily forgotten. They refused to give up +their hold on the minds they had nourished and amused so long.</p> + +<p>One and all the children were really distressed, with the exception of +Friedrich, who had, as usual, given about half his attention to the +subject in hand; and who now sat absently humming to himself the +account of Bluebeard's position and character, as set forth in +Gotter's ballad.</p> + +<p>The others came to the conclusion that there was but one hope +left—that St. Nicholas might have put some new ballads into the old +book—and one and all they made for the hiding-place, followed at a +feebler pace by the little Fräulein, who ran with her lips tightly +shut, her hands clenched, and her eyes wide open with a mixture of +fear and expectation. The bricks were removed, the book unwrapped, but +alas! everything was the same, even to the rough woodcut of Bluebeard +himself, in the act of sharpening his scimitar. There was no change, +except that the volume was rather the worse for damp. It was thrown +down with a murmur of disappointment, but seized immediately by the +little Fräulein, who flung herself upon it in a passion of tears and +embraces.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_87" id="Page_87"></a>[87]</span> Hers was the only faithful affection; the charm of the +Märchen-Frau was gone.</p> + +<p>They were all out of humour with this, and naturally looked about for +some one to find fault with. Friedrich was at hand, and so they fell +upon him and reproached him for his want of sympathy with their +vexation. The boy awoke from a brown study, and began to defend +himself:—"He was very sorry," he said; "but he couldn't see the use +of making such a great fuss about a few old ballads, that after all +were nothing so very wonderful."</p> + +<p>This was flat heresy, and he was indignantly desired to say where any +were to be got like them—where even <i>one</i> might be found, when St. +Nicholas could not provide them? Friedrich was even less respectful to +the idea of St. Nicholas, and said something which, translated into +English, would look very like the word <i>humbug</i>. This was no answer to +the question "where were they to get a ballad?" and a fresh storm came +upon his head; whereupon being much goaded, and in a mixture of vanity +and vexation of spirit, he let out the fact that "he thought he could +write one almost as good himself."</p> + +<p>This turned the current of affairs. The children had an instinctive +belief in Friedrich's talents, to which their elders had not attained. +The faith of childhood is great; and they saw no reason why he <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_88" id="Page_88"></a>[88]</span>should +not be able to do as he said, and so forthwith began to pet and coax +him as unmercifully as they had scolded five minutes before.</p> + +<p>"Beloved Friedrich; dear little brother! <i>Do</i> write one for us. We +know thou canst!"</p> + +<p>"I cannot," said Friedrich. "It is all nonsense. I was only joking."</p> + +<p>"It is not nonsense; we know thou canst! Dear Fritz—just to please +us!"</p> + +<p>"Do!" said another. "It was only yesterday the mother was saying, +'Friedrich can do nothing useful!' But when thou hast written a poem +thou wilt have done more than any one in the house—ay, or in the +town. And when thou hast written one poem thou wilt write more, and be +like Hans Sachs, and the Twelve Wise Masters thou hast told us of so +often."</p> + +<p>Friedrich had read many of the verses of the Cobbler Poet, but the +name of Hans Sachs awakened no thought in his mind. He had heard +nothing of that speech but one sentence, and it decided him.</p> + +<p><i>Friedrich can do nothing useful.</i> "I will see what I can do," he +said, and walked hastily away. Down the garden, out into the road, +away to the mill, where he could stand by the roaring water and talk +aloud without being heard.</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_89" id="Page_89"></a>[89]</span></p> + +<p>"Friedrich can do nothing useful. Yes, I will write a ballad."</p> + +<p>He went home, got together some scraps of paper, and commenced.</p> + +<p>In half-a-dozen days he began as many ballads, and tore them up one +and all. He beat his brains for plots, and was satisfied with none. He +had a fair maiden, a cruel father, a wicked sister, a handsome knight, +and a castle on the Rhine; and so plunged into a love story with a +moonlight meeting, an escape on horseback, pursuit, capture, despair, +suicide, and a ghostly apparition that floated over the river, and +wrung her hands under the castle window. It seems impossible for an +author to do more for his heroine than take her out of the world, and +bring her back again; but our poet was not content. He had not come +himself to the sentiment of life, and felt a rough boyish disgust at +the maundering griefs of his hero and heroine, who, moreover, were +unpleasantly like every other hero and heroine that he had ever read +of under similar circumstances; and if there was one thing more than +another that Friedrich was determined to be, it was to be original.</p> + +<p>He had no half hopes. With the dauntlessness of young ambition, he +determined to do his very best, and that that best should be better +than anything that ever had been done by any one.</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_90" id="Page_90"></a>[90]</span></p> + +<p>Having failed with the sentimental, he tried to write something funny. +Surely such child's tales as Bluebeard, Cinderella, etc., were easy +enough to write. He would make a <i>Kindeslied</i>—a child's song. But he +was mistaken; to write a new nursery ballad was the hardest task of +all. Time after time he struggled; and, at last, one day when he had +written and destroyed a longer effort than usual, he went to bed in +hopeless despair.</p> + +<p>His disappointment mingled with his dreams. He dreamt that he was in +the bookseller's shop hunting among the shelves for some scraps of +paper on which he had written. He could not find them, he thought, but +came across the Petrarch volumes in their beautiful binding. He opened +one and saw—not a word of that fair-looking Italian, but—his own +ballad that he could not write, written and printed in good German +character with his name on the title-page. He took it in his hands and +went out of the shop, and as he did so it seemed to him, in his dream, +that he had become a man. He dreamt that as he came down the steps, +the people in the street gathered round him and cheered and shouted. +The women held up their children to look at him; he was a Great Man! +He thought that he turned back into the shop and went up to the +counter. There sat the smiling little bookseller as natural as life, +who smiled <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_91" id="Page_91"></a>[91]</span>and bowed to him, as Friedrich had a hundred times seen +him bow and smile to the bearded men who came in to purchase.</p> + +<p>"How many have you sold of this?" said Friedrich, in his dream.</p> + +<p>"Forty thousand!" with another smile and bow.</p> + +<p>Forty thousand! It seemed to him that all the world must have read it. +This was Fame.</p> + +<p>He went out of the shop, through the shouting market-place, and home, +where his father led him in and offered pipes and a mug of ale, as if +he were the Burgomaster. He sat down, and when his mother came in, +rose to embrace her, and, doing so, knocked down the mug. Crash! it +went on the floor with a loud noise, which woke him up; and then he +found himself in bed, and that he had thrown over the mug of water +which he had put by his bedside to drink during the thirsty feverish +hours that he lay awake.</p> + +<p>He was not a great man, but a child.</p> + +<p>He had not written a ballad, but broken a mug.</p> + +<p>"Friedrich can do nothing useful."</p> + +<p>He buried his face, and wept bitterly.</p> + +<p>In time, his tears were dried, and as it was very early he lay awake +and beat his brains. He had added nothing to his former character but +the breaking of a piece of crockery. Something must be <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_92" id="Page_92"></a>[92]</span>done. No more +funny ballads now. He would write something terrible—miserable; +something that should make other people weep as he had wept. He was in +a very tragic humour indeed. He would have a hero who should go into +the world to seek his fortune, and come back to find his lady-love in +a nunnery; but that was an old story. Well, he would turn it the other +way, and put the hero into a monastery; but that wasn't new. Then he +would shut both of them up, and not let them meet again till one was a +monk and the other a nun, which would be grievous enough in all +reason; but this was the oldest of all. Friedrich gave up love stories +on the spot. It was clearly not his <i>forte</i>.</p> + +<p>Then he thought he would have a large family of brothers and sisters, +and kill them all by a plague. But, besides the want of further +incident, this idea did not seem to him sufficiently sad. Either from +its unreality, or from their better faith, the idea of death does not +possess the same gloom for the young that it does for those older +minds that have a juster sense of the value of human life, and are, +perhaps, more heavily bound in the chains of human interests.</p> + +<p>No; the plague story might be pathetic, but it was not miserable—not +miserable enough at any rate for Friedrich.</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_93" id="Page_93"></a>[93]</span></p> + +<p>In truth, he felt at last that every misfortune that he could invent +was lost in the depths of the real sorrow which oppressed his own +life, and out of this knowledge came an idea for his ballad. What a +fool never to have thought of it before!</p> + +<p>He would write the history—the miserable bitter history—of a great +man born to a small way of life, whose merits should raise him from +his low estate to a deserved and glorious fame; who should toil, and +strive, and struggle, and when his hopes and prayers seemed to be at +last fulfilled, and the reward of his labours at hand, should awake +and find that it was a dream; that he was no nearer to Fame than ever, +and that he might never reach it. Here was enough sorrow for a +tragedy. The ballad should be written now.</p> + +<p>The next day. Friedrich plunged into the bookseller's shop.</p> + +<p>"Well, now, what is it?" smiled the comfortable little bookseller.</p> + +<p>"I want some paper, please," gasped Friedrich; "a good big bit if I +may have it, and, if you please, I must go now. I will come and clean +out the shop for you at the end of the week, but I am very busy +to-day."</p> + +<p>"The condition of the shop," said the little bookseller, +grandiloquently, with a wave of his hand,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_94" id="Page_94"></a>[94]</span> "yields to more important +matters; namely, to thy condition, my child, which is not of the best. +Thou art as white as this sheet of paper, to which thou art heartily +welcome. I am silent, but not ignorant. Thou wouldst be a writer, but +art not yet a philosopher, my Friedrich. Thou art not fast-set on thy +philosophic equilibrium. Thou hast knocked down three books and a +stool since thou hast come in the shop. Be calm, my child: consider +that even if truly also the fast-bound-eternally-immutable-condition +of everlastingly-varying-circumstance—"</p> + +<p>But by this time Friedrich was at home.</p> + +<p>How he got through the next three days he never knew. He stumbled in +and out of the house with the awkwardness of an idiot, and was so +stupid in school that nothing but his previous good character saved +him from a flogging. The day before the Feast of St. Nicholas (which +was a holiday) the schoolmaster dismissed him with the severe inquiry, +if he meant to be a dunce all his life? and Friedrich went home with +two sentences ringing in his head—</p> + +<p>"Do I mean to be a dunce all my life?"</p> + +<p>"Friedrich can do nothing useful."</p> + +<p>To-night the ballad must be finished.</p> + +<p>He contrived to sit up beyond his usual hour, and escaped notice by +crouching behind a large linen chest, and there wrote and wrote till +his heart beat <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_95" id="Page_95"></a>[95]</span>and his head felt as if it would split in pieces. At +last, the careful mother discovered that Friedrich had not bid her +good-night, and he was brought out of his hiding-place and sent to +bed.</p> + +<p>He took a light and went softly up the ladder into the loft, and, to +his great satisfaction, found the others asleep. He said his prayers, +and got into bed, but he did not put out the light; he put a box +behind it to prevent its being seen, and drew out his paper and wrote. +The ballad was done, but he must make a fair copy for the +Märchen-Frau; and very hard work it was, in his feverish excited +state, to write out a thing that was finished. He worked resolutely, +however, and at last completed it with trembling hands, and pushed it +under his pillow.</p> + +<p>Then he sat up in bed, and looked round him.</p> + +<p>Time passed, and still he sat shivering and clasping his knees, and +the reason he sat so was—because he dared not lie down.</p> + +<p>The work was done, and the overstrained mind, no longer occupied, +filled with ghastly fears and fancies. He did not dare to put out the +light, and yet its faint glimmer only made the darkness more horrible. +He did not dare to look behind him, though he knew that there was +nothing there. He trembled at the scratching sound in the wainscot, +though he knew that it was only mice. A sudden <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_96" id="Page_96"></a>[96]</span>light on the window, +and a distant chorus, did not make his heart beat less wildly from +being nothing more alarming than two or three noisy students going +home with torches. Then his light took the matter into its own hands, +and first flared up with a suddenness that almost made Friedrich jump +out of his skin, and then left him in total darkness. He could endure +no longer, and, scrambling out of bed, crossed the floor to where the +warm light came up the steps of the ladder from the room beneath. +There our hero crouched without daring to move, and comforted himself +with the sounds of life below. But it was very wearying, and yet he +dared not go back. A neighbour had "dropped in," and he could see +figures passing to and fro across the kitchen.</p> + +<p>At last his sister passed, with the light shining on her golden +plaits, and he risked a low murmur of "Marie! Marie!"</p> + +<p>She stopped an instant, and then passed on; but after a few minutes, +she returned, and came up the ladder with her finger on her lips to +enjoin silence. He needed no caution, being instinctively aware that +if one parental duty could be more obvious than another to the +tradesman, it would be that of crushing such folly as Friedrich was +displaying by timely severity. The boy crept back to bed, and Marie +came after him.</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_97" id="Page_97"></a>[97]</span></p> + +<p>There are unheroic moments in the lives of the greatest of men, and +though when the head is strong and clear, and there is plenty of light +and good company, it is highly satisfactory and proper to smile +condescension upon female inanity, there are times when it is not +unpleasant to be at the mercy of kind arms that pity without asking a +reason, and in whose presence one may be foolish without shame. And it +is not ill, perhaps, for some of us, whose acutely strung minds go up +with every discovery, and down with every doubt, if we have some +humble comforter (whether woman or man) on whose face a faithful +spirit has set the seal of peace—a face which in its very +steadfastness is "as the face of an angel."</p> + +<p>Such a face looked down upon Friedrich, before which fancied horrors +fled; and he wound his arms round Marie's neck, and laid down his +head, and was comfortable, if not sublime.</p> + +<p>After a dozen or so of purposeless kisses, she spoke—</p> + +<p>"What is it, my beloved?"</p> + +<p>"I—I don't think I can get to sleep," said the poet.</p> + +<p>Marie abstained from commenting on this remark, and Friedrich was +silent and comfortable. So comfortable that, though he despised her +opinion on such matters he asked it in a low whisper—"Marie, dost +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_98" id="Page_98"></a>[98]</span>thou not think it would be the very best thing in the world to be a +great man? To labour and labour for it, and be a great man at last?"</p> + +<p>Marie's answer was as low, but quite decided—</p> + +<p>"No."</p> + +<p>"Why not, Marie?"</p> + +<p>"It is very nice to be great, and I should love to see thee a great +man, Friedrich, very well indeed, but the very best thing of all is to +be good. Great men are not always happy ones, though when they are +good also it is very glorious, and makes one think of the words of the +poor heathen in Lycaonia—'The gods have come down to us in the +likeness of men.' But if ever thou art a great man, little brother, it +will be the good and not the great things of thy life that will bring +thee peace. Nay, rather, neither thy goodness nor thy greatness, but +the mercy of <span class="smcap">God</span>!"</p> + +<p>And in this opinion Marie was obstinately fixed, and Friedrich argued +no more.</p> + +<p>"I think I shall do now," said the hero at last; "I thank thee very +much, Marie."</p> + +<p>She kissed him anew, and bade <span class="smcap">God</span> bless him, and wished him +good-night, and went down the ladder till her golden plaits caught +again the glow of the warm kitchen, and Friedrich lost sight <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_99" id="Page_99"></a>[99]</span>of her +tall figure and fair face, and was alone once more.</p> + +<p>He was better, but still he could not sleep. Wearied and vexed, he lay +staring into the darkness till he heard steps upon the ladder, and +became the involuntary witness of—the true St. Nicholas.</p> + +<p>It was the mother, with a basket in her hand, and Friedrich watched +her as she approached the place where all the shoes were laid out, his +among them.</p> + +<p>The children were by no means immaculate or in any way greatly +superior to other families, but the mother was tender-hearted, and had +a poor memory for sins that were past, and Friedrich saw her fill one +shoe after another with cakes and sweetmeats. At last she came to his, +and then she stopped. He lifted up his head, and an indefinable fury +surged in his heart. He had been very tiresome since the ballad was +begun; was she going to put rods into his shoes only? <i>His</i>! He could +have borne anything but this. Meanwhile, she was fumbling in the +basket; and, at last, pulled out—not a rod, but—a paper of cakes of +another kind, to which Friedrich was particularly attached, and with +these she lined the shoes thickly, and filled them up with sweetmeats, +and passed on.</p> + +<p>"Oh, mother! mother! Far, far too kind!"<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_100" id="Page_100"></a>[100]</span> The awkwardness and +stupidity of yesterday, and of many yesterdays, smote him to the +heart, and roused once more the only too ready tears. But he did not +cry long, he had a happy feeling of community with his brothers and +sisters in getting more than they any of them deserved; to have seen +the St. Nicholas's proceedings had diverted his mind from gloomy +fancies, and altogether, with a comfortable sensation of cakes and +kindness, he fell asleep smiling, and slept soundly and well.</p> + +<p>The next day he threw his arms round his mother, and said that the +cakes were "so nice."</p> + +<p>"But I don't deserve them," he added.</p> + +<p>"Thou'lt mend," said she kindly. "And no doubt the Saint knew that +thou hadst eaten but half a dinner for a week past, and brought those +cakes to tempt thee; so eat them all, my child; for, doubtless, there +are plenty more where they come from."</p> + +<p>"I am very much obliged to whoever did think of it," said Friedrich.</p> + +<p>"And plenty more there are," said the good woman to Marie afterwards, +as they were dishing the dinner. "Luise Jansen's shop is full of them. +But, bless the boy! he's too clever for anything. There's no playing +St. Nicholas with him."</p> + +<p>The day went by at last, and the evening came on. The tradesman went +off of himself to see if <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_101" id="Page_101"></a>[101]</span>he could meet with the Burgomaster, and the +children became rabid in their impatience for Friedrich's ballad.</p> + +<p>He would not read it himself, so Marie was pressed into the service, +and crowned with the hood and cloak, and elected Märchen-Frau.</p> + +<p>The author himself sat in an arm-chair, with a face as white and +miserable as if he were ordered for execution. He formed a painful +contrast to his ruddy brothers and sisters; and it would seem as if he +had begun already to experience the truth of Marie's assertion, that +"great men are not always happy ones."</p> + +<p>The ballad was put into the Märchen-Frau's hands, and she was told +that Friedrich had written it. She gave a quick glance at it, and +asked if he had really invented it all. The children repeated the +fact, which was a pleasant but not a surprising one to them, and Marie +began.</p> + +<p>The young poet had evidently a good ear, for the verses were easy and +musical, and the metre more than tolerably correct; and as the hero of +the ballad worked harder and harder, and got higher and higher, the +children clapped their hands, and discovered that it was "quite like +Friedrich."</p> + +<p>Why, when that hero was almost at the height of fortune, and the +others gloried in his success, did <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_102" id="Page_102"></a>[102]</span>the foolish author bury his face +upon his arms, and sob silently but bitterly in sympathy?—moreover, +with such a heavy and absorbing grief that he did not hear it, when +Marie stopped for an instant and then went on again, or know that +steps had come behind his chair, and that his father and the +Burgomaster were in the room.</p> + +<p>The Märchen-Frau went on; the hero awoke from his unreal happiness to +his real fate, and bewailed in verse after verse the heavy weights of +birth, and poverty, and circumstance, that kept him from the heights +of fame. The ballad was ended.</p> + +<p>Then a voice fell on Friedrich's ear, which nearly took away his +breath. It was his father's asking sternly, "What is all this?"</p> + +<p>And then he knew that Marie was standing up, with a strange emotion on +her face, and he heard her say—</p> + +<p>"It is a poem that Friedrich has written. He has written it all +himself. Every word. And he is but twelve years old!" She was pointing +to him, or, perhaps, the Burgomaster might not have recognized in that +huddled miserable figure the genius of the family.</p> + +<p>His was the next voice, and what he said Friedrich could hardly +remember; the last sentences only he clearly understood.</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_103" id="Page_103"></a>[103]</span></p> + +<p>"<span class="smcap">God</span> has not blessed me with children, neighbour. My wife, as +well as I, would be ashamed if such genius were lost for want of a +little money. Give the child to me. He shall have a liberal education, +and will be a great man."</p> + +<p>"I shall not," said the tradesman, "stand in the way of his interests +or your commands. I cannot tell what to say to your kindness, +Burgomaster. <span class="smcap">God</span> willing, I hope he will be a credit to the +town."</p> + +<p>"<span class="smcap">God</span> willing, he will be a credit to his country," said the +Burgomaster.</p> + +<p>The words rang in Friedrich's ears over and over again, like the +changes of bells. They danced before his eyes as if he saw them in a +book. They were written in his heart as if "graven with an iron pen +and lead in the rock for ever."</p> + +<p>"<span class="smcap">God</span> <i>willing, I hope he will be a credit to the town.</i>"</p> + +<p>"<span class="smcap">God</span> <i>willing, he will be a credit to his country.</i>"</p> + +<p>"<i>He shall have a liberal education, and will be a</i> <span class="smcap">Great +Man</span>."</p> + +<p>Friedrich tried to stand on his feet and thank the Burgomaster; who, +on any other occasion, might have been tempted to suppose him an +idiot, so white and distorted was the child's face, struggling through +tears and smiles. He could not utter a word; a mist <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_104" id="Page_104"></a>[104]</span>began to come +before his eyes, through which the Burgomaster's head seemed to bob up +and down, and then his father's, and his mother's, and Marie's, with a +look of pity on her face. He tried to tell <i>her</i> that he was now a +great man and felt quite happy; but, unfortunately, was only able to +burst into tears, and then to burst out laughing, and then a sharp +pain shot through his head, and he remembered no more.</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>Friedrich had a dim consciousness of coming round after this, and +being put to bed; then he fell asleep, and slept heavily. When he woke +Marie was sitting by his side, and it was dark. The mother had gone +downstairs, she said, and she had taken her place. Friedrich lay +silent for a bit; at last he said,</p> + +<p>"I am very happy, Marie."</p> + +<p>"I am very glad, dearest."</p> + +<p>"Dost thou think father will let the Burgomaster give me a good +education, Marie?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, dear, I am sure he will."</p> + +<p>"It is very kind," said Friedrich, thoughtfully; "for I know he wants +me for the business. But I will help him some day. And, Marie, I will +be a good man, and when I am very rich I will give great alms to the +poor."</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_105" id="Page_105"></a>[105]</span></p> + +<p>"Thou wilt be a good man before thou art a rich one, I trust," said +his dogmatic sister. "We are accepted in that we have, and not in that +we have not. Thou hast great talent, and wilt give it to the Lord, +whether He make thee rich or no. Wilt thou not, dearest?"</p> + +<p>"What dost thou mean, Marie? Am I never to write anything but hymns?"</p> + +<p>"No, no, I do not mean that," she said. "I am very ignorant and cannot +rightly explain it to thee, little brother. But genius is a great and +perilous gift; and, oh, Friedrich! Friedrich! promise me just +this:—that thou wilt never, never write anything against the faith or +the teaching of the Saviour, and that thou wilt never use the graces +of poetry to cover the hideousness of any of those sins which it is +the work of a lifetime to see justly, and to fight against manfully. +Promise me just this."</p> + +<p>"Oh, Marie! to think that I could be so wicked!"</p> + +<p>"No! no!" she said, covering him with kisses. "I know thou wilt be +good and great, and we shall all be proud of our little brother. +<span class="smcap">God</span> give thee the pen of a ready writer, and grace to use it +to His glory!"</p> + +<p>"I will," he said, "<span class="smcap">God</span> help me! and I will write beautiful +hymns for thee, Marie, that when I <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_106" id="Page_106"></a>[106]</span>am dead shall be sung in the +churches. They shall be like that Evening Hymn we sing so often. Sing +it now, my sister!"</p> + +<p>Marie cleared her throat, and in a low voice, that steadied and grew +louder and sweeter till it filled the house and died away among the +rafters, sang the beautiful hymn that begins—</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"Herr, Dein Auge geht nicht unter, wenn es bei uns Abend wird;"<br /></span> +<span class="i0">(Lord! Thine eye does not go down, when it is evening with us.)<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>The boy lay drinking it in with that full enjoyment of simple vocal +music which is so innate in the German character; and as he lay, he +hummed his accustomed part in it, and the mother at work below caught +up the song involuntarily, and sang at her work; and Marie's clear +voice breaking through the wooden walls of the house, was heard by a +passer in the street, who struck in with the bass of the familiar +hymn, and went his way. Before it was ended, Friedrich was sleeping +peacefully once more.</p> + +<p>But Marie sat by the stove till the watchman in the quaint old street +told the hour of midnight, when (with the childish custom taught her +by the old schoolmaster long ago) she folded her hands, and murmured,</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_107" id="Page_107"></a>[107]</span></p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"Nisi Dominus urbem custodiat, frustra vigilat custos."<br /></span> +<span class="i0">(Except the Lord keep the city, the watchman waketh but<br /></span> +<span class="i0">in vain.)<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>And then she slept also.</p> + +<p>The snow fell softly on the roof, and on the walls of the old church +outside, and on the pavement of the street of the poet's native town, +and the night passed and the day came.</p> + +<p>There is little more to tell, for that night was the last night of his +sorrowful humble childhood, and that day was the first day of his +fame.</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>The Duke of —— was an enlightened and generous man, and a munificent +patron of the Arts and Sciences, and of literary and scientific men. +He was not exactly a genius, but he was highly accomplished. He wrote +a little, and played a little, and drew a little; and with fortune to +befriend him, as a natural consequence he published a little, and +composed a little, and framed his pictures.</p> + +<p>But what was better and more remarkable than this, was the generous +spirit in which he loved and admired those who did great things in the +particular directions in which he did a little. He bought good +pictures while he painted bad ones; and those writers, musicians, and +artists who could say but <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_108" id="Page_108"></a>[108]</span>little for his performances, had every +reason to talk loudly of his liberality. He was the special admirer of +talent born in obscurity; and at the time of which we are writing +(many years after the events related above), the favourite "lion" in +the literary clique he had gathered round him in his palace, was a +certain poet—the son of a small tradesman in a small town, who had +been educated by the kindness of the Burgomaster (long dead), and who +now had made Germany to ring with his fame; who had visited the Courts +of Europe, and received compliments from Royalty, whose plays were +acted in the theatres, whose poems stood on the shelves of the +booksellers, who was a great man—Friedrich!</p> + +<p>It was a lovely evening, and the Duke, leaning on the arm of his +favourite, walked up and down a terrace. The Duke was (as usual) in +the best possible humour. The poet (as was not uncommon) was just in +the slightest degree inclined to be in a bad one. They had been +reading a critique on his poems. It was praise, it is true, but the +praise was not judiciously administered, and the poet was aggrieved. +He rather felt (as authors are not unapt to feel) that a poet who +could write such poems should have critics created with express +capabilities for understanding him. But the good Duke was in his most +cheery and amiable mood, and quite bent <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_109" id="Page_109"></a>[109]</span>upon smoothing his ruffled +lion into the same condition.</p> + +<p>"What impossible creatures you geniuses are to please!" he said. "Tell +me, my friend, has there ever been, since you first began your career, +a bit of homage or approbation that has really pleased you?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, yes!" said the poet, in a tone that sounded like Oh, no!</p> + +<p>"I don't believe it," said the Duke. "Come, now, could you, if you +were asked, describe the happiest and proudest hour of your life?"</p> + +<p>A new expression came into the poet's eyes, and lighted up his gaunt +intellectual face. Some old memories awoke within him, and it is +doubtful if he saw the landscape at which he was gazing. But the Duke +was not quick, though kind; he thought that Friedrich had not heard +him, and repeated the question.</p> + +<p>"Yes," said the poet. "Yes, indeed I could."</p> + +<p>"Well, then, let me guess," said the Duke, facetiously. (He fancied +that he was bringing his crusty genius into capital condition.) "Was +it when your great tragedy of 'Boadicea' was first performed in +Berlin, and the theatre rose like one man to offer homage, and the +gods sent thunder? I wish they had ever treated my humble efforts with +as much favour. Was it then?"</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_110" id="Page_110"></a>[110]</span></p> + +<p>"No!"</p> + +<p>"Was it when his Imperial Majesty the Emperor of —— was pleased to +present you with a gold snuff-box set with diamonds, and to express +his opinion that your historical plays were incomparably among the +finest productions of poetic genius?"</p> + +<p>"His Imperial Majesty," said Friedrich, "is a brave soldier; but, +a—hem!—an indifferent critic. I do not take snuff, and his Imperial +Majesty does not read poetry. The interview was gratifying, but that +was not the occasion. No!"</p> + +<p>"Was it when you were staying with Dr. Kranz at G——, and the +students made that great supper for you, and escorted your carriage +both ways with a procession of torches?"</p> + +<p>"Poor boys!" said the poet, laughing; "it was very kind, and they +could ill afford it. But they would have drunk quite as much wine for +any one who would have taken the inside out of the University clock, +or burnt the Principal's wig, as they did for me. It was a very +unsteady procession that brought me home, I assure you. The way they +poked the torches in each other's faces left one student, as I heard, +with no less than eight duels on his hands. And, oh! the manner in +which they howled my most pathetic love songs! No! no!"</p> + +<p>The Duke laughed heartily.</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_111" id="Page_111"></a>[111]</span></p> + +<p>"Is it any of the various occasions on which the fair ladies of +Germany have testified their admiration by offerings of sympathy and +handiwork?"</p> + +<p>"No!" roared the poet.</p> + +<p>"Are you quite sure?" said the Duke, slyly. "I have heard of +comforters, and slippers, and bouquets, and locks of hair, besides a +dozen of warm stockings knit by the fair hands of ——"</p> + +<p>"Spare me!" groaned Friedrich, in mock indignation. "Am I a pet +preacher, that I should be smothered in female absurdities? I have +hair that would stuff a sofa, comforters that would protect a regiment +in Siberia, slippers, stockings ——. I shall sell them, I shall burn +them. I would send them back, but the ladies send nothing but their +Christian names, and to identify Luise, and Gretchen, and Catherine, +and Bettina, is beyond my powers. No!"</p> + +<p>When they had ceased laughing the Duke continued his catechism.</p> + +<p>"Was it when the great poet G—— (your only rival) paid that handsome +compliment to your verses on ——"</p> + +<p>"No!" interrupted the poet. "A thousand times no! The great poet +praised the verses you allude to simply to cover his depreciation of +my 'Captive Queen,' which is among my best efforts, but <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_112" id="Page_112"></a>[112]</span>too much in +his own style. How Germany can worship his bombastic —— but that's +nothing! No."</p> + +<p>"Was it when you passed accidentally through the streets of Dresden, +and the crowd discovered you, and carried you to the hotel on its +shoulders?"</p> + +<p>The momentary frown passed from Friedrich's face, and he laughed +again.</p> + +<p>"And when the men who carried me twisted my leg so that I couldn't +walk for a fortnight, to say nothing of the headache I endured from +bowing to the populace like a Chinese mandarin? No!"</p> + +<p>"Is it any triumph you have enjoyed in any other country in Europe?"</p> + +<p>"No!"</p> + +<p>"My dear genius, I can guess no more; what, in the name of Fortune, +was this happy occasion—this life triumph?"</p> + +<p>"It is a long story, your highness, and entertaining to no one but +myself."</p> + +<p>"You do me injustice," said the Duke. "A long story from you is too +good to be lost. Sit down, and favour me."</p> + +<p>A patron's wishes are not to be neglected; and somewhat unwillingly +the poet at last sat down, and told the story of his Ballad and of St. +Nicholas's Day, as it has been told here. The fountain of tears <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_113" id="Page_113"></a>[113]</span>is +drier in middle age than in childhood, but he was not unmoved as he +concluded.</p> + +<p>"Every circumstance of that evening," he said, "is as fresh in my +remembrance now as it was then, and will be till I die. It is a joy, a +triumph, and a satisfaction that will never fade. The words that +roused me from despair, that promised knowledge to my ignorance and +fame to my humble condition, have power now to make my heart beat, and +to bring hopeful tears into eyes that should have dried with age—</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>"<span class="smcap">God</span> <i>willing, he will be a credit to the town.</i>"</p> + <p> "<span class="smcap">God</span> <i>willing, he will be a credit to his + country.</i>" </p> + <p> "<i>He shall have a liberal education, and will be + a great man.</i>"</p> +</div> + +<p>"It is as good as a poem," said the delighted Duke. "I shall tell the +company to-night that I am the most fortunate man in Germany. I have +heard your unpublished poem. By the bye, Poet, is that ballad +published?"</p> + +<p>"No, and never will be. It shall never know less kindly criticism than +it received then."</p> + +<p>"And are you really in earnest? Was this indeed the happiest triumph +your talents have ever earned?"</p> + +<p>"It was," said Friedrich. "The first blast on the trumpet of Fame is +the sweetest. Afterwards, we find it out of tune."</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_114" id="Page_114"></a>[114]</span></p> + +<p>"Your parents are dead, I think?"</p> + +<p>"They are, and so is my youngest sister."</p> + +<p>"And what of Marie?"</p> + +<p>"She married—a man who, I think, is in no way worthy of her. Not a +bad, but a stupid man, with strong Bible convictions on the subject of +marital authority. She is such an angel in his house as he can never +understand in this world."</p> + +<p>"Do you ever see her?"</p> + +<p>"Sometimes, when I want a rest. I went to see her not long ago, and +found her just the same as ever. I sat at her feet, and laid my head +in her lap, and tried to be a child again. I bade her tell me the +history of Bluebeard, and strove to forget that I had ever lost the +childish simplicity which she has kept so well;—and I almost +succeeded. I had forgotten that the great poet was jealous of my +'Captive Queen,' and told myself it would be a grand thing to be like +him. I thought I should like to see a live Emperor. But just when the +delusion was perfect, there was a row in the street. The people had +found me out, and I must show myself at the window. The spell was +broken. I have not tried it again."</p> + +<p>They were on the steps of the palace.</p> + +<p>"Your story has entertained and touched me beyond measure," said the +Duke. "But something is <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_115" id="Page_115"></a>[115]</span>wanting. It does not (as they say) 'end +well.' I fear you are not happy."</p> + +<p>"I am content," said Friedrich. "Yes, I am happy. I never could be a +child again, even if it pleased <span class="smcap">God</span> to restore to me the +circumstances of my childhood. It is best as it is, but I have learnt +the truth of what Marie told me. It is the good, and not the great +things of my life that bring me peace; or rather, neither one nor the +other, but the undeserved mercies of my <span class="smcap">God</span>!"</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>For those who desire to know more of the poet's life than has been +told, this is added. He did not live to be very old. A painful disease +(the result of mental toil), borne through many years, ended his life +almost in its prime. He retained his faculties till the last, and bore +protracted suffering with a heroism and endurance which he had not +always displayed in smaller trials. The medical men pronounced, on the +authority of a <i>post-mortem</i> examination, that he must for years have +suffered a silent martyrdom. Truly, his bodily sufferings (when known +at last) might well excuse many weaknesses and much moody, irritable +impatience; especially when it is remembered that the mental +sufferings of intellectual men are generally great in proportion to +their gifts, and (when clogged <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_116" id="Page_116"></a>[116]</span>with nerves and body that are ever +urged beyond their strength) that they often mock the pride of +humanity by leaving but little space between the genius and the +madman.</p> + +<p>Another fact was not known till he had died—his charity. Then it was +discovered how much kindness he had exercised in secret, and that +three poor widows had been fed daily from his table during all the +best years of his prosperity. Before his death he arranged all his +affairs, even to the disposal of his worn-out body.</p> + +<p>"My country has been gracious to me," he said, "and, if it cares, may +dispose of my carcase as it will. But I desire that after my death my +heart may be taken from my body and buried at the feet of my father +and my mother in the churchyard of my native town. At their feet," he +added, with some of the old imperiousness—"strong in death." "At +their feet, remember!"</p> + +<p>In one of the largest cities of Germany, a huge marble monument is +erected to the memory of the Great Man. On three sides of the pedestal +are bas-relief designs illustrating some of his works, whereby three +fellow-countrymen added to their fame; and on the fourth is a fine +inscription in Latin, setting forth his talents, and his virtues, and +the honours conferred on him, and stating in conclusion (on the +authority <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_117" id="Page_117"></a>[117]</span>of his eulogizer) that his works have gained for him +immortality.</p> + +<p>In a quiet green churchyard, near a quiet little town, under the +shadow of the quaint old church, a little cross marks the graves of a +tradesman and of his wife who lived and laboured in their generation, +and are at rest. Near them, daisies grow above the dust of the +"Fräulein," which awaits the resurrection from the dead. And at the +feet of that simple couple lies the heart of their great son—a heart +which the sickness of earthly hope and the fever of earthly ambition +shall disturb no more.</p> + +<p>By the Poet's own desire, "the rude memorial" that marks the spot +contains no more than his initials, and a few words in his native +tongue to mark the foundation of the only ambition that he could feel +in death—</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>"Ich verlasse mich auf Gottes Güte immer und ewiglich."</p> + +<p>—<i>My trust is in the tender mercy of</i> <span class="smcap">God</span> <i>for +ever and ever.</i></p></div> + + + + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_118" id="Page_118"></a>[118]</span></p> +<h2><a name="A_BIT_OF_GREEN" id="A_BIT_OF_GREEN"></a>A BIT OF GREEN.</h2> + +<div class="blockquot">"Thou oughtest, therefore, to call to mind the more heavy + <br /> + sufferings of others, that so thou mayest the easier bear +thy own <br /> +very small troubles."—<span class="smcap">The Imitation of +Christ</span>.</div> + + +<p>Children who live always with grass and flowers at their feet, and a +clear sky overhead, can have no real idea of the charm that country +sights and sounds have for those whose home is in a dirty, busy, +manufacturing town—just such a town, in fact, as I lived in when I +was a boy, which is more than twenty years ago.</p> + +<p>My father was a doctor, with a very large, if not what is called a +"genteel," practice, and we lived in a comfortable house in a broad +street. I was born and bred there; and, ever since I could remember, +the last sound that soothed my ears at night, and the first to which I +awoke in the morning, was the eternal rumbling and rattling of the +carts and carriages as they passed over the rough stones. I never +noticed if I heard them in the day-time, but at night my <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_119" id="Page_119"></a>[119]</span>chief +amusement, as I lay in bed, was to guess by the sound of the wheels +what sort of vehicle was passing.</p> + +<p>"That light sharp rattle is a cab," I thought. "What a noise it makes, +and gone in a moment! One gentleman inside, I should think. There's an +omnibus; and there, jolty-jolt, goes a light cart; that's a carriage, +by the way the horses step; and now, rumbling heavily in the distance, +and coming slowly nearer, and heavier, and louder, this can be nothing +but a brewer's dray!" And the dray came so slowly that I was asleep +before it had got safely out of hearing.</p> + +<p>Ours was a very noisy street, but the noise made the night cheerful; +and so did the church clock near, which struck the quarters; and so +did the light of the street lamps, which came through the blind and +fell upon my little bed. We had very little light, except gaslight and +daylight, in our street; the sunshine seldom found its way to us, and, +when it did, people were so little used to it that they pulled down +the blinds for fear it should hurt the carpets. In the room my sister +and I called our nursery, however, we always welcomed it with blinds +rolled up to the very top; and, as we had no carpet, no damage was +done.</p> + +<p>But sunshine outside will not always make sunshine s<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_120" id="Page_120"></a>[120]</span>hine within, and +I remember one day when, though our nursery was unusually cheerful, +and though the windows were reflected in square patches of sunlight on +the floor, I stood in the very midst of the brightness, grumbling and +kicking at my sister's chair with a face as black as a thunder-cloud. +The reason of my ill-temper was this: Ever since I could remember, my +father had been accustomed, once a year, to take us all into the +country for change of air. Once he had taken us to the sea, but +generally we went to an old farmhouse in the middle of the beautiful +moors which lay not many miles from our dirty black town. But this +year, on this very sunshiny morning, he had announced at breakfast +that he could not let us go to what we called our moor-home. He had +even added insult to injury by expressing his thankfulness that we +were all in good health, so that the change was not a matter of +necessity. I was too indignant to speak, and rushed upstairs into the +nursery, where my little sister had also taken refuge. She was always +very gentle and obedient (provokingly so, I thought), and now she sat +rocking her doll on her knee in silent sorrow, whilst I stood kicking +her chair and grumbling in a tone which it was well the doll could not +hear, or rocking would have been of little use. I took pleasure in +trying to make her as angry as myself. I reminded her how lovely the +purple moors <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_121" id="Page_121"></a>[121]</span>were looking at that moment, how sweet heather smelt, +and how good bilberries tasted. I said I thought it was "very hard." +It wasn't as if we were always paying visits, as many children did, to +their country relations; we had only one treat in the year, and father +wanted to take that away. Not a soul in the town, I said, would be as +unfortunate as we were. The children next door would go somewhere, of +course. So would the little Smiths, and the Browns, and <i>everybody</i>. +Everybody else went to the sea in the autumn; we were contented with +the moors, and he wouldn't even let us go there. And, at the end of +every burst of complaint, I discharged a volley of kicks at the leg of +the chair, and wound up with "I can't think why he can't!"</p> + +<p>"I don't know," said my sister, timidly, "but he said something about +not affording it, and spending money, and about trade being bad, and +he was afraid there would be great distress in the town."</p> + +<p>Oh, these illogical women! I was furious. "What on earth has that to +do with us?" I shouted at her. "Father's a doctor; trade won't hurt +him. But you are so silly, Minnie, I can't talk to you. I only know +it's very hard. Fancy staying a whole year boxed up in this beastly +town!" And I had so worked myself up that I fully believed <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_122" id="Page_122"></a>[122]</span>in the +truth of the sentence with which I concluded—</p> + +<p>"<i>There never</i> <span class="smcap">was</span> <i>anything so miserable!</i>"</p> + +<p>Minnie said nothing, for my feelings just then were something like +those of the dogs who (Dr. Watts tells us)</p> + +<p class="blockquot">"delight <br /> + + To bark and bite;"</p> + + +<p>and perhaps she was afraid of being bitten. At any rate, she held her +tongue; and just then my father came into the room.</p> + +<p>The door was open, and he must have heard my last speech as he came +along the passage; but he made no remark on it, and only said, "Would +any young man here like to go with me to see a patient?"</p> + +<p>I went willingly, for I was both tired and half-ashamed of teasing +Minnie, and we were soon in the street. It was a broad and cheerful +one, as I said; but before long we left it for a narrower, and then +turned off from that into a side street, where the foot-path would +only allow us to walk in single file—a dirty, dark lane, where surely +the sun never did shine.</p> + +<p>"What a horrid place!" I said. "I never was here before. Why don't +they pull such a street down?"</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_123" id="Page_123"></a>[123]</span></p> + +<p>"What is to become of the people who live in it?" said my father.</p> + +<p>"Let them live in one of the bigger streets," I said; "it would be +much more comfortable."</p> + +<p>"Very likely," he said; "but they would have to pay much more for +their houses; and if they haven't the money to pay with, what's to be +done?"</p> + +<p>I could not say, for, like older social reformers than myself, I felt +more sure that the reform was needed, than of how to accomplish it. +But before I could decide upon what to do with the dirty little +street, we had come to a place so very much worse that it put the +other quite out of my head. There is a mournful fatality about the +pretty names which are given, as if in mockery, to the most wretched +of the bye-streets in large towns. The street we had left was called +Rosemary Street, and this was Primrose Place.</p> + +<p>Primrose Place was more like a yard than a street; the houses were all +irregular and of different ages. On one side was a gap with palings +round it, where building was going on, and beyond rose a huge black +factory. But the condition of Primrose Place was beyond description. I +had never seen anything like it before, and kept as close to my father +as was consistent with boyish, dignity. The pathway was broken up, +children squalled at the doors and <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_124" id="Page_124"></a>[124]</span>quarrelled in the street, which +was strewn with rags, and bones, and bits of old iron, and shoes, and +the tops of turnips. I do not think there was a whole unbroken window +in all the row of tall miserable houses, and the wet clothes hanging +out on lines stretched across the street, flapped above our heads. I +counted three cripples as we went up Primrose Place. My father stopped +to speak to several people, and I heard many complaints of the bad +state of trade to which my sister had alluded. He gave some money to +one woman, and spoke kindly to all; but he hurried me on as fast as he +could, and we turned at last into one of the houses.</p> + +<p>My ill-humour had by this time almost worked itself off in the fresh +air, and the novel scenes through which we had come; and, for the +present, the morning's disappointment was forgotten as I followed my +father through the crowded miserable rooms, and clambered up staircase +after staircase, till we reached the top of the house, and stumbled +through a latched door into the garret. After so much groping in the +dark, the light dazzled me, and I thought at first that the room was +empty. But at last a faint "Good day" from the corner near the window +drew my eyes that way; and there, stretched on a sort of bed, and +supported by a chair at his back, lay the patient we had come to see.</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_125" id="Page_125"></a>[125]</span></p> + +<p>He was a young man about twenty-six years old, in the last stage of +that terrible disease so fatally common in our country—he was dying +of consumption. There was no mistaking the flushed cheek, the +painfully laborious breathing, and the incessant cough; while two old +crutches in the corner spoke of another affliction—he was a cripple. +His gaunt face lighted up with a glow of pleasure when my father came +in, who seated himself at once on the end of the bed, and began to +talk to him, whilst I looked round the room. There was absolutely +nothing in it, except the bed on which the sick man lay, the chair +that supported him, and a small three-legged table. The low roof was +terribly out of repair, and the window was patched with newspaper; but +through the glass panes that were left, in full glory streamed the +sun, and in the midst of the blaze stood a pot of musk in full bloom. +The soft yellow flowers looked so grand, and smelled so sweet, that I +was lost in admiration, till I found the sick man's black eyes fixed +on mine.</p> + +<p>"You are looking at my bit of green, master?" he said, in a gratified +tone.</p> + +<p>"Do you like flowers?" I inquired, coming shyly up to the bed.</p> + +<p>"Do I like 'em?" he exclaimed in a low voice. "Ay, I love 'em well +enough—well enough," and he <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_126" id="Page_126"></a>[126]</span>looked fondly at the plant, "though it's +long since I saw any but these."</p> + +<p>"You have not been in the country for a long time?" I inquired, +compassionately. I felt sad to think that he had perhaps lain there +for months, without a taste of fresh air or a run in the fields; but I +was <i>not</i> prepared for his answer.</p> + +<p>"<i>I never was in the country, young gentleman.</i>"</p> + +<p>I looked at my father.</p> + +<p>"Yes," he said, in answer to my glance, "it is quite true. William was +born here. He got hurt when a boy, and has been lame ever since. For +some years he has been entirely confined to the house. He was never +out of town, and never saw a green field."</p> + +<p>Never out of the town! confined to the house for years! and what a +house! The tears rushed to my eyes, and I felt that angry heart-ache +which the sight of suffering produces in those who are too young to be +insensible to it, and too ignorant of <span class="smcap">God's</span> Providence to +submit with "quietness and confidence" to His will.</p> + +<p>"My son can hardly believe it, William."</p> + +<p>"It is such a shame," I said; "it is horrible. I am very sorry for +you."</p> + +<p>The black eyes turned kindly upon me, and the sick man said, "Thank +you heartily, Sir. You mean <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_127" id="Page_127"></a>[127]</span>very kindly. I used to say the same sort +of things myself, when I was younger, and knew no better. I used to +think it was very hard, and that no one was so miserable as I was. But +I know now how much better off I am than most folks, and how many +things I have to be thankful for."</p> + +<p>I looked round the room, and began involuntarily to count the +furniture—one, two, three. The "many things" were certainly not +chairs and tables.</p> + +<p>But he was gazing before him, and went on: "I often think how thankful +I ought to be to die in peace, and have a quiet room to myself. There +was a girl in a consumption on the floor below me; and she used to sit +and cough, while her father and mother quarrelled so that I could hear +them through the floor. I used to send her half of anything nice I +had, but I found they took it. I did wish then," he added, with a +sudden flush, "that I had been a strong man!"</p> + +<p>"How shocking!" I said.</p> + +<p>"Yes," he answered; "it was that first set me thinking how many +mercies I had. And then there came such a good parson to St. John's, +and he taught me many things; and then I knew your father; and the +neighbours have been very kind. And while I could work I got good +wage, and laid by a bit; and I've sold a few things, and there'll be +these <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_128" id="Page_128"></a>[128]</span>to sell when I'm gone; and so I've got what will keep me while +I do live, and pay for my coffin. What can a man want more?"</p> + +<p>What, indeed! Unsatisfied heart, make answer!</p> + +<p>A fit of coughing that shook the crazy room interrupted him here. When +he had recovered himself, he turned to my father.</p> + +<p>"Ay, ay, I have many mercies, as you know, Sir. Who would have thought +I could have kept a bit of green like that plant of mine in a place +like this? But, you see, they pulled down those old houses opposite +just before I got it, and now the sun couldn't come into a king's room +better than it comes into mine. I was always afraid, year after year, +that they would build it up, and my bit of green would die; and they +are building now, but it will last my time. Indeed, indeed, I've had +much to be thankful for. Not," he added, in a low, reverential tone, +"not to mention greater blessings. The presence of the <span class="smcap">Lord</span>! +the presence of the <span class="smcap">Lord</span>!"</p> + +<p>I was awed, almost frightened, by the tone in which he spoke, and by +the look of his face, on which the shadow of death was falling fast. +He lay in a sort of stupor, gazing with his black eyes at the broken +roof, as if through it he saw something invisible to us.</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_129" id="Page_129"></a>[129]</span></p> + +<p>It was some time before he seemed to recollect that we were there, and +before I ventured to ask him. "Where did you get your plant?"</p> + +<p>He smiled. "That's a long story, master; but it was this way. You see, +my father died quite young in a decline, and left my mother to +struggle on with eight of us as she could. She buried six, one after +another; and then she died herself, and brother Ben and I were left +alone. But we were mighty fond of one another, and got on very well. I +got plenty of employment, weaving mats and baskets for a shop in the +town, and Ben worked at the factory. One Saturday night he came home +all in a state, and said there was going to be a cheap trip on the +Monday into the country. It was the first there had been from these +parts, though there have been many since, I believe. Neither he nor I +had ever been out of the town, and he was full of it that we must go. +He had brought his Saturday wage with him, and we would work hard +afterwards. Well, you see, the landlord had been that day, and had +said he must have the rent by Tuesday, or he'd turn us out. I'd got +some of it laid by, and was looking to Ben's wages to make it up. But +I couldn't bear to see his face pining for a bit of fresh air, and so +I thought I could stay at home and work on Monday for what would make +up the rent, and he need never know.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_130" id="Page_130"></a>[130]</span> So I pretended that I didn't +want to go, and couldn't be bothered with the fuss; and at last I set +him off on Monday without me. It was late at night when he came back +like one wild. He'd got flowers in his hat, and flowers in all his +button-holes; he'd got his handkerchief filled with hay, and was +carrying something under his coat. He began laughing and crying, and +'Eh, Bill!' he said, 'thou hast been a fool. Thou hast missed summat. +But I've brought thee a bit of green, lad, I've brought thee a bit of +green.' And then he lifted up his coat, and there was the plant, which +some woman had given him. We didn't sleep much that night. He spread +the hay over the bed, for me to lay my face on, and see how the fields +smelt, and then he began and told me all about it; and after that, +when I was tired with work, or on a Sunday afternoon, I used to say, +'Now, Ben, tell us a bit about the country.' And he liked nothing +better. He used to say that I should go, if he carried me on his back; +but the <span class="smcap">Lord</span> did not see fit. He took cold at work, and went +off three months afterwards. It was singular, the morning he died he +called me to him, and said, 'Bill, I've been a dreaming about that +trip that thou didst want to go after all. I dreamt—' and then he +stopped, and said no more; but, after a bit, he opened his eyes wide, +and pulled me to him, and he said, 'Bill, my <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_131" id="Page_131"></a>[131]</span>lad, there's such +flowers in heaven, such flowers!' And so the <span class="smcap">Lord</span> took him. +But I kept the bit of green for his sake."</p> + +<p>Here followed another fit of coughing, which brought my father from +the end of the bed to forbid his talking any more.</p> + +<p>"I have got to see another patient in the yard," he said, "and I will +leave my son here. He shall read you a chapter or two till I come +back; he is a good reader for his age."</p> + +<p>And so my father went. I was, as he said, a good reader for my age; +but I felt very nervous when the sick man drew a Bible from his side, +and put it in my hands. I wondered what I should read; but it was soon +settled by his asking for certain Psalms, which I read as clearly and +distinctly as I could. At first I was rather disturbed by his +occasional remarks, and a few murmured Amens; but I soon got used to +it. He joined devoutly in the "Glory be to the Father"—with which I +concluded—and then asked for a chapter from the Revelation of St. +John. I was more at ease now, and read my best, with a happy sense of +being useful; whilst he lay in the sunshine, folding the sheet with +his bony fingers, with his eyes fixed on the beloved "bit of green," +and drinking in the Words of Life with dying ears.</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_132" id="Page_132"></a>[132]</span></p> + +<p>"<i>Blessed are they that dwell in the heavenly Jerusalem, where there +is no need of the sun, neither of the moon, to shine in it; for the +glory of</i> <span class="smcap">God</span> <i>does lighten it, and the Lamb is the light +thereof.</i>"</p> + +<p>By the time that my father returned, the sick man and I were fast +friends; and I left him with his blessing on my head. As we went home, +my good kind father told me that I was nearly old enough now to take +an interest in his concerns, and began to talk of his patients, and of +the poverty and destitution of some parts of the town. Then he spoke +of the bad state of trade—that it was expected to be worse, and that +the want of work and consequent misery this year would probably be +very great. Finally he added, that when so many were likely to be +starving, he had thought it right that we should deny ourselves our +little annual treat, and so save the money to enable us to take our +part in relieving the distressed.</p> + +<p>"Don't you think so, my boy?" he concluded, as we reached the door of +our comfortable (how comfortable!) home.</p> + +<p>My whole heart was in my "Yes."</p> + +<p>It is a happy moment for a son when his father first confides in him. +It is a happy moment for a father when his son first learns to +appreciate some of the labour of his life, and henceforth to obey his +commands, not only with a blind obedience, but in <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_133" id="Page_133"></a>[133]</span>the sympathizing +spirit of the "perfect love" which "casts out fear." My heart was too +full to thank him then for his wise forbearance and wiser confidence; +but when after some months my sister's health made change of air to +the house of a country relative necessary, great was my pride and +thankfulness that I was well enough to remain at the post of duty by +my father's side.</p> + +<p>One day, not long after our visit to William, he went again to see +him; and when he came back I saw by the musk-plant in his hand the +news he brought. Its flowers were lovelier than ever, but its master +was transplanted into a heavenly garden, and he had left it to me.</p> + +<p>Mortal man does not learn any virtue in one lesson; and I have only +too often in my life been ungrateful both to <span class="smcap">God</span> and man. But +the memory of lame William has often come across me when I have been +tempted to grumble about small troubles; and has given me a little +help (not to be despised) in striving after the grace of Thankfulness, +even for a "bit of green."</p> + + + + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_134" id="Page_134"></a>[134]</span></p> +<h2><a name="MONSIEUR_THE_VISCOUNTS_FRIEND" id="MONSIEUR_THE_VISCOUNTS_FRIEND"></a>MONSIEUR THE VISCOUNT'S FRIEND.</h2> + +<h3>A TALE IN THREE CHAPTERS.</h3> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"Sweet are the vses of aduersitie<br /> +</span> +<span class="i0">Which like the toad, ougly and venemous,<br /> +</span> +<span class="i0">Weares yet a precious lewell in his head."<br /></span> +</div></div> +<div><span class="sig1">As You Like It: a.d. 1623.<br /></span></div> + + + + + +<h2>CHAPTER I.</h2> + + +<p>It was the year of grace 1779. In one of the most beautiful corners of +beautiful France stood a grand old château. It was a fine old +building, with countless windows large and small, with high-pitched +roofs and pointed towers, which in good taste or bad, did its best to +be everywhere ornamental, from the gorgon heads which frowned from its +turrets to the long row of stables and the fantastic dovecotes. It +stood (as became such a castle) upon an eminence, and looked down. +Very beautiful indeed was what it looked upon. Terrace below terrace +glowed with the most brilliant flowers, and broad flights of steps led +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_135" id="Page_135"></a>[135]</span>from one garden to the other. On the last terrace of all, fountains +and jets of water poured into one large basin, in which were gold and +silver fish. Beyond this were shady walks, which led to a lake on +which floated water-lilies and swans. From the top of the topmost +flight of steps you could see the blazing gardens one below the other, +the fountains and the basin, the walks and the lake, and beyond these +the trees, and the smiling country, and the blue sky of France.</p> + +<p>Within the castle, as without, beauty reigned supreme. The sunlight, +subdued by blinds and curtains, stole into rooms furnished with every +grace and luxury that could be procured in a country that then +accounted itself the most highly-civilized in the world. It fell upon +beautiful flowers and beautiful china, upon beautiful tapestry and +pictures; and it fell upon Madame the Viscountess, sitting at her +embroidery. Madame the Viscountess was not young, but she was not the +least beautiful object in those stately rooms. She had married into a +race of nobles who (themselves famed for personal beauty) had been +scrupulous in the choice of lovely wives. The late Viscount (for +Madame was a widow) had been one of the handsomest of the gay +courtiers of his day; and Madame had not been unworthy of him. Even +now, though the roses on her cheeks were more entirely artificial than +they had been in the days of her <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_136" id="Page_136"></a>[136]</span>youth, she was like some exquisite +piece of porcelain. Standing by the embroidery frame was Madame's only +child, a boy who, in spite of his youth, was already Monsieur the +Viscount. He also was beautiful. His exquisitely-cut mouth had a curl +which was the inheritance of scornful generations, but which was +redeemed by his soft violet eyes and by an under-lying expression of +natural amiability. His hair was cut square across the forehead, and +fell in natural curls behind. His childish figure had already been +trained in the fencing school, and had gathered dignity from +perpetually treading upon shallow steps and in lofty rooms. From the +rosettes on his little shoes to his <i>chapeau à plumes</i>, he also was +like some porcelain figure. Surely, such beings could not exist except +in such a château as this, where the very air (unlike that breathed by +common mortals) had in the ante-rooms a faint aristocratic odour, and +was for yards round Madame the Viscountess dimly suggestive of +frangipani!</p> + +<p>Monsieur the Viscount did not stay long by the embroidery frame; he +was entertaining to-day a party of children from the estate, and had +come for the key of an old cabinet of which he wished to display the +treasures. When tired of this, they went out on to the terrace, and +one of the children who had not been there before exclaimed at the +beauty of the view.</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_137" id="Page_137"></a>[137]</span></p> + +<p>"It is true," said the little Viscount, carelessly, "and all, as far +as you can see, is the estate."</p> + +<p>"I will throw a stone to the end of your property, Monsieur," said one +of the boys, laughing; and he picked one off the walk, and stepping +back, flung it with all his little strength. The stone fell before it +had passed the fountains, and the failure was received with shouts of +laughter.</p> + +<p>"Let us see who can beat that," they cried; and there was a general +search for pebbles, which were flung at random among the flower beds.</p> + +<p>"One may easily throw such as those," said the Viscount, who was +poking under the wall of the first terrace; "but here is a stone that +one may call a stone. Who will send this into the fish-pond? It will +make a fountain of itself."</p> + +<p>The children drew round him as, with ruffles turned back, he tugged +and pulled at a large dirty looking stone, which was half-buried in +the earth by the wall. "Up it comes!" said the Viscount, at length; +and sure enough, up it came; but underneath it, his bright eyes +shining out of his dirty wrinkled body—horror of horrors!—there lay +a toad. Now, even in England, toads are not looked upon with much +favour, and a party of English children would have been startled by +such a discovery. But with French people, the dread of toads is +ludicrous in its <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_138" id="Page_138"></a>[138]</span>intensity. In France toads are believed to have +teeth, to bite, and to spit poison; so my hero and his young guests +must be excused for taking flight at once with a cry of dismay. On the +next terrace, however, they paused, and seeing no signs of the enemy, +crept slowly back again. The little Viscount (be it said) began to +feel ashamed of himself, and led the way, with his hand upon the +miniature sword which hung at his side. All eyes were fixed upon the +fatal stone, when from behind it was seen slowly to push forth, first +a dirty wrinkled leg, then half a dirty wrinkled head, with one +gleaming eye. It was too much; with cries of, "It is he! he comes! he +spits! he pursues us!" the young guests of the château fled in good +earnest, and never stopped until they reached the fountain and the +fish-pond.</p> + +<p>But Monsieur the Viscount stood his ground. At the sudden apparition +the blood rushed to his heart, and made him very white, then it +flooded back again and made him very red, and then he fairly drew his +sword, and shouting, "<i>Vive la France!</i>" rushed upon the enemy. The +sword if small was sharp, and stabbed the poor toad would most +undoubtedly have been, but for a sudden check received by the valiant +little nobleman. It came in the shape of a large heavy hand that +seized Monsieur the <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_139" id="Page_139"></a>[139]</span> Viscount with the grasp of a giant, while a voice +which could only have belonged to the owner of such a hand said in +slow deep tones,</p> + +<p>"<i>Que faites-vous?</i>" ("What are you doing?")</p> + +<p>It was the tutor, who had been pacing up and down the terrace with a +book, and who now stood holding the book in his right hand, and our +hero in his left.</p> + +<p>Monsieur the Viscount's tutor was a remarkable man. If he had not been +so, he would hardly have been tolerated at the château, since he was +not particularly beautiful, and not especially refined. He was in holy +orders, as his tonsured head and clerical costume bore witness—a +costume which, from its tightness and simplicity, only served to +exaggerate the unusual proportions of his person. Monsieur the +Preceptor had English blood in his veins, and his northern origin +betrayed itself in his towering height and corresponding breadth, as +well as by his fair hair and light blue eyes. But the most remarkable +parts of his outward man were his hands, which were of immense size, +especially about the thumbs. Monsieur the Preceptor was not exactly in +keeping with his present abode. It was not only that he was wanting in +the grace and beauty that reigned around him, but that his presence +made those very graces and beauties to look small. He seemed to have a +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_140" id="Page_140"></a>[140]</span>gift the reverse of that bestowed upon King Midas—the gold on which +his heavy hand was laid seemed to become rubbish. In the presence of +the late Viscount, and in that of Madame his widow, you would have +felt fully the deep importance of your dress being <i>à la mode</i>, and +your complexion <i>à la</i> strawberries and cream (such influences still +exist); but let the burly tutor appear upon the scene, and all the +magic died at once out of brocaded silks and pearl-coloured stockings, +and dress and complexion became subjects almost of insignificance. +Monsieur the Preceptor was certainly a singular man to have been +chosen as an inmate of such a household; but, though young, he had +unusual talents, and added to them the not more usual accompaniments +of modesty and trustworthiness. To crown all, he was rigidly pious in +times when piety was not fashionable, and an obedient son of the +church of which he was a minister. Moreover, a family that fashion +does not permit to be demonstratively religious, may gain a reflected +credit from an austere chaplain; and so Monsieur the Preceptor +remained in the château and went his own way. It was this man who now +laid hands on the Viscount, and, in a voice that sounded like amiable +thunder, made the inquiry, "<i>Que faites-vous?</i>"</p> + +<p>"I am going to kill this animal—this hideous <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_141" id="Page_141"></a>[141]</span>horrible animal," said +Monsieur the Viscount, struggling vainly under the grasp of the tutors +finger and thumb.</p> + +<p>"It is only a toad," said Monsieur the Preceptor, in his laconic +tones.</p> + +<p>"<i>Only</i> a toad, do you say, Monsieur?" said the Viscount. "That is +enough, I think. It will bite—it will spit—it will poison: it is +like that dragon you tell me of, that devastated Rhodes—I am the good +knight that shall kill it."</p> + +<p>Monsieur the Preceptor laughed heartily. "You are misled by a vulgar +error. Toads do not bite—they have no teeth; neither do they spit +poison."</p> + +<p>"You are wrong, Monsieur," said the Viscount; "I have seen their teeth +myself. Claude Mignon, at the lodge, has two terrible ones, which he +keeps in his pocket as a charm."</p> + +<p>"I have seen them," said the tutor, "in Monsieur Claude's pocket. When +he can show me similar ones in a toad's head I will believe. +Meanwhile, I must beg of you, Monsieur, to put up your sword. You must +not kill this poor animal, which is quite harmless, and very useful in +a garden—it feeds upon many insects and reptiles which injure the +plants."</p> + +<p>"It shall not be useful, in this garden," said the little Viscount, +fretfully. "There are plenty of gardeners to destroy the insects, and, +if needful, we <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_142" id="Page_142"></a>[142]</span>can have more. But the toad shall not remain. My +mother would faint if she saw so hideous a beast among her beautiful +flowers."</p> + +<p>"Jacques!" roared the tutor to a gardener who was at some distance. +Jacques started as if a clap of thunder had sounded in his ear, and +approached with low bows. "Take that toad, Jacques, and carry it to +the <i>potager</i>. It will keep the slugs from your cabbages."</p> + +<p>Jacques bowed low and lower, and scratched his head, and then did +reverence again with Asiatic humility, but at the same time moved +gradually backwards, and never even looked at the toad.</p> + +<p>"You also have seen the contents of Monsieur Claude's pocket?" said +the tutor, significantly, and quitting his hold of the Viscount, he +stooped down, seized the toad in his huge finger and thumb, and strode +off in the direction of the <i>potager</i>, followed at a respectful +distance by Jacques, who vented his awe and astonishment in alternate +bows and exclamations at the astounding conduct of the +incomprehensible Preceptor.</p> + +<p>"What is the use of such ugly beasts?" said the Viscount to his tutor, +on his return from the <i>potager</i>. "Birds and butterflies are pretty, +but what can such villains as these toads have been made for?"</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_143" id="Page_143"></a>[143]</span></p> + +<p>"You should study natural history, Monsieur—" began the priest, who +was himself a naturalist.</p> + +<p>"That is what you always say," interrupted the Viscount, with the +perverse folly of ignorance; "but if I knew as much as you do, it +would not make me understand why such ugly creatures need have been +made."</p> + +<p>"Nor," said the priest, firmly, "is it necessary that you should +understand it, particularly if you do not care to inquire. It is +enough for you and me if we remember Who made them, some six thousand +years before either of us was born."</p> + +<p>With which Monsieur the Preceptor (who had all this time kept his +place in the little book with his big thumb) returned to the terrace, +and resumed his devotions at the point where they had been interrupted +which exercise he continued till he was joined by the Curé of the +village, and the two priests relaxed in the political and religious +gossip of the day.</p> + +<p>Monsieur the Viscount rejoined his young guests, and they fed the gold +fish and the swans, and played <i>Colin Maillard</i> in the shady walks, +and made a beautiful bouquet for Madame, and then fled indoors at the +first approach of evening chill, and found that the Viscountess had +prepared a feast of fruit and flowers for them in the great hall. +Here, at the head <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_144" id="Page_144"></a>[144]</span>of the table, with Madame at his right hand, his +guests around, and the liveried lacqueys waiting his commands, +Monsieur the Viscount forgot that anything had ever been made which +could mar beauty and enjoyment; while the two priests outside stalked +up and down under the falling twilight, and talked ugly talk of crime +and poverty that were <i>somewhere</i> now, and of troubles to come +hereafter.</p> + +<p>And so night fell over the beautiful sky, the beautiful château, and +the beautiful gardens; and upon the secure slumbers of beautiful +Madame and her beautiful son, and beautiful, beautiful France.</p> + + + + + + +<h2>CHAPTER II.</h2> + + +<p>It was the year of grace 1792, thirteen years after the events related +in the last chapter. It was the 2nd of September, and Sunday, a day of +rest and peace in all Christian countries, and even more in gay, +beautiful France—a day of festivity and merriment. This Sunday, +however, seemed rather an exception to the general rule. There were no +gay groups or bannered processions; the typical incense and the public +devotion of which it is the symbol were alike wanting; the streets in +some places seemed deserted, and in others there was an ominous crowd, +and the <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_145" id="Page_145"></a>[145]</span>dreary silence was now and then broken by a distant sound of +yells and cries, that struck terror into the hearts of the Parisians.</p> + +<p>It was a deserted bye-street, overlooked by some shut-up warehouses, +and from the cellar of one of these a young man crept up on to the +pathway. His dress had once been beautiful, but it was torn and +soiled; his face was beautiful still, but it was marred by the hideous +eagerness of a face on which famine has laid her hand—he was +starving. As this man came out from the warehouse, another man came +down the street. His dress was not beautiful, neither was he. There +was a red look about him—he wore a red flannel cap, tricolour +ribbons, and had something red upon his hands, which was neither +ribbon nor flannel. He also looked hungry; but it was not for food. +The other stopped when he saw him, and pulled something from his +pocket. It was a watch, a repeater, in a gold filigree case of +exquisite workmanship, with raised figures depicting the loves of an +Arcadian shepherd and shepherdess; and, as it lay on the white hand of +its owner, it bore an evanescent fragrance that seemed to recall +scenes as beautiful and as completely past as the days of pastoral +perfection, when</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"All the world and love were young<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And truth in every shepherd's tongue."<br /></span> +</div></div> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_146" id="Page_146"></a>[146]</span></p> + +<p>The young man held it to the other and spoke. "It was my mother's," he +said, with an appealing glance of violet eyes; "I would not part with +it but that I am starving. Will you get me food?"</p> + +<p>"You are hiding?" said he of the red cap.</p> + +<p>"Is that a crime in these days?" said the other, with a smile that +would in other days have been irresistible.</p> + +<p>The man took the watch, shaded the donor's beautiful face with a rough +red cap and tricolour ribbon, and bade him follow him. He, who had but +lately come to Paris, dragged his exhausted body after his conductor, +hardly noticed the crowds in the streets, the signs by which the man +got free passage for them both, or their entrance by a little +side-door into a large dark building, and never knew till he was +delivered to one of the gaolers that he had been led into the prison +of the Abbaye. Then the wretch tore the cap of Liberty from his +victim's head, and pointed to him with a fierce laugh.</p> + +<p>"He wants food, this aristocrat. He shall not wait long—there is a +feast in the court below, which he shall join presently. See to it, +Antoine! And you, <i>Monsieur</i>, <i>Mons-ieur</i>! listen to the banqueters."</p> + +<p>He ceased, and in the silence yells and cries from a court below came +up like some horrid answer to imprecation.</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_147" id="Page_147"></a>[147]</span></p> + +<p>The man continued—</p> + +<p>"He has paid for his admission, this Monsieur. It belonged to Madame +his mother. Behold!"</p> + +<p>He held the watch above his head, and dashed it with insane fury on +the ground, and, bidding the gaoler see to his prisoner, rushed away +to the court below.</p> + +<p>The prisoner needed some attention. Weakness, and fasting, and horror +had overpowered a delicate body and a sensitive mind, and he lay +senseless by the shattered relic of happier times. Antoine, the gaoler +(a weak-minded man whom circumstances had made cruel), looked at him +with indifference while the Jacobin remained in the place, and with +half-suppressed pity when he had gone. The place where he lay was a +hall or passage in the prison, into which several cells opened, and a +number of the prisoners were gathered together at one end of it. One +of them had watched the proceedings of the Jacobin and his victim with +profound interest, and now advanced to where the poor youth lay. He +was a priest, and though thirteen years had passed over his head since +we saw him in the château, and though toil and suffering and anxiety +had added the traces of as many more, yet it would not have been +difficult to recognize the towering height, the candid face, and, +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_148" id="Page_148"></a>[148]</span>finally, the large thumb in the little book of ——, Monsieur the +Preceptor, who had years ago exchanged his old position for a +parochial cure. He strode up to the gaoler (whose head came a little +above the priest's elbow), and, drawing him aside, asked, with his old +abruptness, "Who is this?"</p> + +<p>"It is the Vicomte de B——. I know his face. He has escaped the +commissaires for some days."</p> + +<p>"I thought so. Is his name on the registers?"</p> + +<p>"No. He escaped arrest, and has just been brought in, as you saw."</p> + +<p>"Antoine," said the priest, in a low voice, and with a gaze that +seemed to pierce the soul of the weak little gaoler; "Antoine, when +you were a shoemaker in the Rue de la Croix, in two or three hard +winters I think you found me a friend."</p> + +<p>"Oh! Monsieur le Curé," said Antoine, writhing; "if Monsieur le Curé +would believe that if I could save his life! But—"</p> + +<p>"Pshaw!" said the priest, "it is not for myself, but for this boy. You +must save him, Antoine. Hear me, you <i>must</i>. Take him now to one of +the lower cells and hide him. You risk nothing. His name is not on the +prison register. He will not be called, he will not be missed; that +fanatic will think that he has perished with the rest of us (Antoine +shuddered, though the priest did not move a <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_149" id="Page_149"></a>[149]</span>muscle) and when this mad +fever has subsided and order is restored, he will reward you. And +Antoine—"</p> + +<p>Here the priest pocketed his book, and somewhat awkwardly with his +huge hands unfastened the left side of his cassock, and tore the silk +from the lining. Monsieur le Curé's cassock seemed a cabinet of +oddities. First he pulled from this ingenious hiding-place a crucifix, +which he replaced; then a knot of white ribbon, which he also +restored; and, finally, a tiny pocket or bag of what had been +cream-coloured satin, embroidered with small bunches of heartsease, +and which was aromatic with otto of roses. Awkwardly, and somewhat +slowly, he drew out of this a small locket, in the centre of which was +some unreadable legend in cabalistic-looking character, and which +blazed with the finest diamonds. Heaven alone knows the secret of that +gem, or the struggle with which the priest yielded it. He put it into +Antoine's hand, talking as he did so partly to himself and partly to +the gaoler.</p> + +<p>"We brought nothing into this world, and it is certain we can carry +nothing out. The diamonds are of the finest, Antoine, and will sell +for much. The blessing of a dying priest upon you if you do kindly, +and his curse if you do ill to this poor child, whose home was my home +in better days. And for <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_150" id="Page_150"></a>[150]</span>the locket—it is but a remembrance, and to +remember is not difficult!"</p> + +<p>As the last observation was not addressed to Antoine, so also he did +not hear it. He was discontentedly watching the body of the Viscount, +whom he consented to help, but with genuine weak-mindedness consented +ungraciously.</p> + +<p>"How am I to get him there? Monsieur le Curé sees that he cannot stand +upon his feet."</p> + +<p>Monsieur le Curé smiled, and stooping, picked his old pupil up in his +arms as if he had been a baby, and bore him to one of the doors.</p> + +<p>"You must come no further," said Antoine, hastily.</p> + +<p>"Ingrate!" muttered the priest in momentary anger, and then, ashamed, +he crossed himself, and pressing the young nobleman to his bosom with +the last gush of earthly affection that he was to feel, he kissed his +senseless face, spoke a benediction to ears that could not hear it, +and laid his burden down.</p> + +<p>"<span class="smcap">God</span> the Father, the Son, and the Holy Ghost, be with thee +now and in the dread hour of death. Adieu! we shall meet hereafter."</p> + +<p>The look of pity, the yearning of rekindled love, the struggle of +silenced memories passed from his face and left a shining +calm—foretaste of the perpetual Light and the eternal Rest.</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_151" id="Page_151"></a>[151]</span></p> + +<p>Before he reached the other prisoners, the large thumb had found its +old place in the little book, the lips formed the old old words; but +it might almost have been said of him already, that "his spirit was +with the <span class="smcap">God</span> who gave it."</p> + +<p>As for Monsieur the Viscount, it was perhaps well that he was not too +sensible of his position, for Antoine got him down the flight of stone +steps that led to the cell by the simple process of dragging him by +the heels. After a similar fashion he crossed the floor, and was +deposited on a pallet; the gaoler then emptied a broken pitcher of +water over his face, and locking the door securely, hurried back to +his charge.</p> + +<p>When Monsieur the Viscount came to his senses he raised himself and +looked round his new abode. It was a small stone cell; it was +underground, with a little grated window at the top that seemed to be +level with the court; there was a pallet—painfully pressed and +worn—a chair, a stone on which stood a plate and broken pitcher, and +in one corner a huge bundle of firewood which mocked a place where +there was no fire. Stones lay scattered about, the walls were black, +and in the far dark corners the wet oozed out and trickled slowly +down, and lizards and other reptiles crawled up.</p> + +<p>I suppose that the first object that attracts the <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_152" id="Page_152"></a>[152]</span>hopes of a new +prisoner is the window of his cell, and to this, despite his weakness, +Monsieur the Viscount crept. It afforded him little satisfaction. It +was too high in the cell for him to reach it, too low in the prison to +command any view, and was securely grated with iron. Then he examined +the walls, but not a stone was loose. As he did so, his eye fell upon +the floor, and he noticed that two of the stones that lay about had +been raised up by some one and a third laid upon the top. It looked +like child's play, and Monsieur the Viscount kicked it down, and then +he saw that underneath it there was a pellet of paper roughly rolled +together. Evidently it was something left by the former occupant of +the cell for his successor. Perhaps he had begun some plan for getting +away which he had not had time to perfect on his own account, +Perhaps—but by this time the paper was spread out, and Monsieur the +Viscount read the writing. The paper was old and yellow. It was the +fly-leaf torn out of a little book, and on it was written in black +chalk, the words—</p> + +<p class="center">"<i>Souvenez-vous du Sauveur.</i>" <br /> +(Remember the Saviour.)</p> + +<p>He turned it over, he turned it back again; there was no other mark; +there was nothing more; and Monsieur the Viscount did not conceal from +himself <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_153" id="Page_153"></a>[153]</span>that he was disappointed. How could it be otherwise? He had +been bred in ease and luxury, and surrounded with everything that +could make life beautiful; while ugliness, and want, and sickness, and +all that make life miserable, had been kept, as far as they can be +kept, from the precincts of the beautiful château which was his home. +What were the <i>consolations</i> of religion to him? They are offered to +those (and to those only) who need them. They were to Monsieur the +Viscount what the Crucified Christ was to the Greeks of +old—foolishness.</p> + +<p>He put the paper in his pocket and lay down again, feeling it the +crowning disappointment of what he had lately suffered. Presently, +Antoine came with some food; it was not dainty, but Monsieur the +Viscount devoured it like a famished hound, and then made inquiries as +to how he came and how long he had been there. When the gaoler began +to describe him, whom he called the Curé, Monsieur the Viscount's +attention quickened into eagerness, an eagerness deepened by the +tender interest that always hangs round the names of those whom we +have known in happier and younger days. The happy memories recalled by +hearing of his old tutor seemed to blot out his present misfortunes. +With French excitability, he laughed and wept alternately.</p> + +<p>"As burly as ever, you say? The little book? I remember <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_154" id="Page_154"></a>[154]</span> it, it was +his breviary. Ah! it is he. It is Monsieur the Preceptor, whom I have +not seen for years. Take me to him, bring him here, let me see him!"</p> + +<p>But Monsieur the Preceptor was in Paradise.</p> + +<p>That first night of Monsieur the Viscount's imprisonment was a +terrible one. The bitter chill of a Parisian autumn, the gnawings of +half-satisfied hunger, the thick walls that shut out all hope of +escape but did not exclude those fearful cries that lasted with few +intervals throughout the night, made it like some hideous dream. At +last the morning broke; at half-past two o'clock, some members of the +<i>commune</i> presented themselves in the hall of the National Assembly +with the significant announcement:—"The prisons are empty!" and +Antoine, who had been quaking for hours, took courage, and went with +half a loaf of bread and a pitcher of water to the cell that was not +"empty." He found his prisoner struggling with a knot of white ribbon, +which he was trying to fasten in his hair. One glance at his face told +all.</p> + +<p>"It is the fever," said Antoine; and he put down the bread and water +and fetched an old blanket and a pillow; and that day and for many +days, the gaoler hung above his prisoner's pallet with the tenderness +of a woman. Was he haunted by the vision of a burly figure that had +bent over his own sick bed in the <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_155" id="Page_155"></a>[155]</span>Rue de la Croix? Did the voice +(once so familiar in counsel and benediction!) echo still in his ears?</p> + +<p>"<i>The blessing of a dying priest upon you if you do well, and his +curse if you do ill to this poor child, whose home was my home in +better days.</i>"</p> + +<p>Be this as it may, Antoine tended his patient with all the constancy +compatible with keeping his presence in the prison a secret; and it +was not till the crisis was safely past, that he began to visit the +cell less frequently, and reassumed the harsh manners which he held to +befit his office.</p> + +<p>Monsieur the Viscount's mind rambled much in his illness. He called +for his mother, who had long been dead. He fancied himself in his own +château. He thought that all his servants stood in a body before him, +but that not one would move to wait on him. He thought that he had +abundance of the most tempting food and cooling drinks, but placed +just beyond his reach. He thought that he saw two lights like stars +near together, which were close to the ground, and kept appearing and +then vanishing away. In time he became more sensible; the château +melted into the stern reality of his prison walls; the delicate food +became bread and water; the servants disappeared like spectres; but in +the empty cell, in the dark corners near the floor, he still fancied +that he saw two sparks of light coming and going, <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_156" id="Page_156"></a>[156]</span> appearing and then +vanishing away. He watched them till his giddy head would bear it no +longer, and he closed his eyes and slept. When he awoke he was much +better, but when he raised himself and turned towards the +stone—there, by the bread and the broken pitcher, sat a dirty, ugly, +wrinkled toad, gazing at him, Monsieur the Viscount, with eyes of +yellow fire.</p> + +<p>Monsieur the Viscount had long ago forgotten the toad which had +alarmed his childhood; but his national dislike to that animal had not +been lessened by years, and the toad of the prison seemed likely to +fare no better than the toad of the château. He dragged himself from +his pallet, and took up one of the large damp stones which lay about +the floor of the cell, to throw at the intruder. He expected that when +he approached it, the toad would crawl away, and that he could throw +the stone after it; but to his surprise, the beast sat quite unmoved, +looking at him with calm shining eyes, and, somehow or other, Monsieur +the Viscount lacked strength or heart to kill it. He stood doubtful +for a moment, and then a sudden feeling of weakness obliged him to +drop the stone, and sit down, while tears sprang to his eyes with the +sense of his helplessness.</p> + +<p>"Why should I kill it?" he said, bitterly. "The beast will live and +grow fat upon this damp and <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_157" id="Page_157"></a>[157]</span>loathsomeness, long after they have put +an end to my feeble life. It shall remain. The cell is not big, but it +is big enough for us both. However large be the rooms a man builds +himself to live in, it needs but little space in which to die!"</p> + +<p>So Monsieur the Viscount dragged his pallet away from the toad, placed +another stone by it, and removed the pitcher; and then, wearied with +his efforts, lay down and slept heavily.</p> + +<p>When he awoke, on the new stone by the pitcher was the toad, staring +full at him with topaz eyes. He lay still this time and did not move, +for the animal showed no intention of spitting, and he was puzzled by +its tameness.</p> + +<p>"It seems to like the sight of a man," he thought. "Is it possible +that any former inmate of this wretched prison can have amused his +solitude by making a pet of such a creature? and if there were such a +man, where is he now?"</p> + +<p>Henceforward, sleeping or waking, whenever Monsieur the Viscount lay +down upon his pallet, the toad crawled up on to the stone, and kept +watch over him with shining lustrous eyes; but whenever there was a +sound of the key grating in the lock, and the gaoler coming his +rounds, away crept the toad, and was quickly lost in the dark corners +of the room. When the man was gone, it returned to its place, and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_158" id="Page_158"></a>[158]</span> +Monsieur the Viscount would talk to it, as he lay on his pallet.</p> + +<p>"Ah! Monsieur Crapaud," he would say, with mournful pleasantry, +"without doubt you have had a master and a kind one; but, tell me, who +was he, and where is he now? Was he old or young, and was it in the +last stage of maddening loneliness that he made friends with such a +creature as you?"</p> + +<p>Monsieur Crapaud looked very intelligent, but he made no reply, and +Monsieur the Viscount had recourse to Antoine.</p> + +<p>"Who was in this cell before me?" he asked at the gaoler's next visit.</p> + +<p>Antoine's face clouded. "Monsieur le Curé had this room. My orders +were that he was to be imprisoned in secret.'"</p> + +<p>Monsieur le Curé had this room. There was a revelation in those words. +It was all explained now. The priest had always had a love for animals +(and for ugly, common animals), which his pupil had by no means +shared. His room at the château had been little less than a menagerie. +He had even kept a glass beehive there, which communicated with a hole +in the window through which the bees flew in and out, and he would +stand for hours with his thumb in the breviary, watching the labours +of his pets. And this also had been his room! This dark, damp cell.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_159" id="Page_159"></a>[159]</span> +Here, breviary in hand, he had stood, and lain, and knelt. Here, in +this miserable prison, he had found something to love, and on which to +expend the rare intelligence and benevolence of his nature. Here, +finally, in the last hours of his life, he had written on the fly-leaf +of his prayer-book something to comfort his successor, and, "being +dead, yet spoke" the words of consolation which he had administered in +his lifetime. Monsieur the Viscount read that paper now with different +feelings.</p> + +<p>There is, perhaps, no argument so strong, and no virtue that so +commands the respect of young men, as consistency. Monsieur the +Preceptor's lifelong counsel and example would have done less for his +pupil than was effected by the knowledge of his consistent career, now +that it was past. It was not the nobility of the priest's principles +that awoke in Monsieur the Viscount a desire to imitate his religious +example, but the fact that he had applied them to his own life, not +only in the time of wealth, but in the time of tribulation and in the +hour of death. All that high-strung piety—that life of prayer—those +unswerving admonitions to consider the vanity of earthly treasures, +and to prepare for death—which had sounded so unreal amidst the +perfumed elegances of the château, came back now with a reality gained +from experiment. The daily life of <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_160" id="Page_160"></a>[160]</span>self-denial, the conversation +garnished from Scripture and from the Fathers, had not, after all, +been mere priestly affectations. In no symbolic manner, but literally, +he had "watched for the coming of his Lord," and "taken up the cross +daily;" and so, when the cross was laid on him, and when the voice +spoke which must speak to all, "The Master is come, and calleth for +thee," he bore the burden and obeyed the summons unmoved.</p> + +<p><i>Unmoved</i>!—this was the fact that struck deep into the heart of +Monsieur the Viscount, as he listened to Antoine's account of the +Curé's imprisonment. What had astonished and overpowered his own +undisciplined nature had not disturbed Monsieur the Preceptor. He had +prayed in the château—he prayed in the prison. He had often spoken in +the château of the softening and comforting influences of communion +with the lower animals and with nature, and in the uncertainty of +imprisonment he had tamed a toad. "None of these things had moved +him," and, in a storm of grief and admiration, Monsieur the Viscount +bewailed the memory of his tutor.</p> + +<p>"If he had only lived to teach me!"</p> + +<p>But he was dead, and there was nothing for Monsieur the Viscount but +to make the most of his example. This was not so easy to follow as he +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_161" id="Page_161"></a>[161]</span>imagined. Things seemed to be different with him to what they had +been with Monsieur the Preceptor. He had no lofty meditations, no +ardent prayers, and calm and peace seemed more distant than ever. +Monsieur the Viscount met, in short, with all those difficulties that +the soul must meet with, which, in a moment of enthusiasm, has +resolved upon a higher and a better way of life, and in moments of +depression is perpetually tempted to forego that resolution. His +prison life was, however, a pretty severe discipline, and he held on +with struggles and prayers; and so, little by little, and day by day, +as the time of his imprisonment went by, the consolations of religion +became a daily strength against the fretfulness of imperious temper, +the sickness of hope deferred, and the dark suggestions of despair.</p> + +<p>The term of his imprisonment was a long one. Many prisoners came and +went within the walls of the Abbaye, but Monsieur the Viscount still +remained in his cell; indeed, he would have gained little by leaving +it if he could have done so, as he would almost certainly have been +retaken. As it was, Antoine on more than one occasion concealed him +behind the bundles of firewood, and once or twice he narrowly escaped +detection by less friendly officials. There were times when the +guillotine seemed to him almost better than this long suspense: but +while <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_162" id="Page_162"></a>[162]</span>other heads passed to the block, his remained on his shoulders; +and so weeks and even months went by. And during all this time, +sleeping or waking, whenever he lay down upon his pallet, the toad +crept up on to the stone, and kept watch over him with lustrous eyes.</p> + +<p>Monsieur the Viscount hardly acknowledged to himself the affection +with which he came to regard this ugly and despicable animal. The +greater part of his regard for it he believed to be due to its +connection with his tutor, and the rest he set down to the score of +his own humanity, and took credit to himself accordingly: whereas in +truth Monsieur Crapaud was of incalculable service to his master, who +would lie and chatter to him for hours, and almost forget his present +discomfort in recalling past happiness, as he described the château, +the gardens, the burly tutor, and beautiful Madame, or laughed over +his childish remembrances of the toad's teeth in Claude Mignon's +pocket; whilst Monsieur Crapaud sat well-bred and silent, with a world +of comprehension in his fiery eyes. Whoever thinks this puerile must +remember that my hero was a Frenchman, and a young Frenchman, with a +prescriptive right to chatter for chattering's sake, and also that he +had not a very highly cultivated mind of his own to converse with, +even if the most highly cultivated intellect is ever a <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_163" id="Page_163"></a>[163]</span> reliable +resource against the terrors of solitary confinement.</p> + +<p>Foolish or wise, however, Monsieur the Viscount's attachment +strengthened daily; and one day something happened which showed his +pet in a new light, and afforded him fresh amusement.</p> + +<p>The prison was much infested with certain large black spiders, which +crawled about the floor and walls; and, as Monsieur the Viscount was +lying on his pallet, he saw one of these scramble up and over the +stone on which sat Monsieur Crapaud. That good gentleman, whose eyes, +till then, had been fixed as usual on his master, now turned his +attention to the intruder. The spider, as if conscious of danger, had +suddenly stopped still. Monsieur Crapaud gazed at it intently with his +beautiful eyes, and bent himself slightly forward. So they remained +for some seconds, then the spider turned round, and began suddenly to +scramble away. At this instant Monsieur the Viscount saw his friend's +eyes gleam with an intenser fire, his head was jerked forwards; it +almost seemed as if something had been projected from his mouth, and +drawn back again with the rapidity of lightning. Then Monsieur Crapaud +resumed his position, drew in his head, and gazed mildly and sedately +before him; <i>but the spider was nowhere to be seen</i>.</p> + +<p>Monsieur the Viscount burst into a loud laugh. <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_164" id="Page_164"></a>[164]</span></p> +<p>"Eh, well! Monsieur," + said he, "but this is not well-bred on your part. Who gave you leave + to eat my spiders? and to bolt them in such an unmannerly way, + moreover."</p> +<p>In spite of this reproof Monsieur Crapaud looked in no way ashamed of +himself, and I regret to state that henceforward (with the partial +humaneness of mankind in general), Monsieur the Viscount amused +himself by catching the insects (which were only too plentiful) in an +old oyster-shell, and then setting them at liberty on the stone for +the benefit of his friend. As for him, all appeared to be fish that +came to his net—spiders and beetles, slugs and snails from the damp +corners, flies, and wood-lice found on turning up the large stone, +disappeared one after the other. The wood-lice were an especial +amusement: when Monsieur the Viscount touched them, they shut up into +tight little balls, and in this condition he removed them to the +stone, and placed them like marbles in a row, Monsieur Crapaud +watching the proceeding with rapt attention. After awhile the balls +would slowly open and begin to crawl away; but he was a very active +wood-louse indeed who escaped the suction of Monsieur Crapaud's +tongue, as, his eyes glowing with eager enjoyment, he bolted one after +another, and Monsieur the Viscount clapped his hands and applauded.</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_165" id="Page_165"></a>[165]</span></p> + +<p>The grated window was a very fine field for spiders and other insects, +and by piling up stones on the floor, Monsieur the Viscount contrived +to scramble up to it, and fill his friend's oyster-shell with the +prey.</p> + +<p>One day, about a year and nine months after his first arrival at the +prison, he climbed to the embrasure of the window, as usual, +oyster-shell in hand. He always chose a time for this when he knew +that the court would most probably be deserted, to avoid the danger of +being recognized through the grating. He was, therefore, not a little +startled at being disturbed in his capture of a fat black spider by a +sound of something bumping against the iron bars. On looking up, he +saw that a string was dangling before the window with something +attached to the end of it. He drew it in, and, as he did so, he +fancied that he heard a distant sound of voices and clapped hands, as +if from some window above. He proceeded to examine his prize, and +found that it was a little round pincushion of sand, such as women use +to polish their needles with, and that, apparently, it was used as a +make-weight to ensure the steady descent of a neat little letter that +was tied beside it, in company with a small lead pencil. The letter +was directed to "<i>The prisoner who finds this.</i>" Monsieur the Viscount +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_166" id="Page_166"></a>[166]</span>opened it at once. This was the letter—"<i>In prison, 24th Prairial, +year 2</i>.</p> + +<p>"<i>Fellow-sufferer, who are you? how long have you been imprisoned? Be +good enough to answer</i>."</p> + +<p>Monsieur the Viscount hesitated for a moment, and then determined to +risk all. He tore off a bit of the paper, and with the little pencil +hurriedly wrote this reply:—</p> + +<p>"<i>In secret, June 12, 1794</i>.</p> + +<p>"<i>Louis Archambaud Jean-Marie Arnaud, Vicomte de B., supposed to have +perished in the massacres of September</i>, 1792. <i>Keep my secret. I have +been imprisoned a year and nine months. Who are</i> you? <i>how long have</i> +you <i>been here</i>?"</p> + +<p>The letter was drawn up, and he watched anxiously for the reply. It +came, and with it some sheets of blank paper.</p> + +<p>"<i>Monsieur</i>,—<i>We have the honour to reply to your inquiries, and +thank you for your frankness. Henri Edouard Clermont, Baron de St. +Claire. Valerie de St. Claire. We have been here but two days. Accept +our sympathy for your misfortunes</i>."</p> + +<p>Four words in this note seized at once upon Monsieur the Viscount's +interest—<i>Valerie de St. Claire</i>;—and for some reasons, which I do +not pretend to explain, he decided that it was she who was the author +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_167" id="Page_167"></a>[167]</span>of these epistles, and the demon of curiosity forthwith took +possession of his mind. Who was she? was she old or young? And in +which relation did she stand to Monsieur le Baron—that of wife, of +sister, or of daughter? And from some equally inexplicable cause +Monsieur the Viscount determined in his own mind that it was the +latter. To make assurance doubly sure, however, he laid a trap to +discover the real state of the case. He wrote a letter of thanks and +sympathy, expressed with all the delicate chivalrous politeness of a +nobleman of the old <i>régime</i>, and addressed it to <i>Madame la Baronne</i>. +The plan succeeded. The next note he received contained these +sentences:—"<i>I am not the Baroness. Madame my mother is, alas! dead. +I and my father are alone. He is ill, but thanks you, Monsieur, for +your letters, which relieve the</i> ennui <i>of imprisonment. Are you +alone?</i>"</p> + +<p>Monsieur the Viscount, as in duty bound, relieved the <i>ennui</i> of the +Baron's captivity by another epistle. Before answering the last +question, he turned round involuntarily, and looked to where Monsieur +Crapaud sat by the broken pitcher. The beautiful eyes were turned +towards him, and Monsieur the Viscount took up his pencil, and wrote +hastily, "<i>I am not alone—I have a friend.</i>"</p> + +<p>Henceforward the oyster-shell took a long time to fill, and patience +seemed a harder virtue than ever. <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_168" id="Page_168"></a>[168]</span>Perhaps the last fact had something +to do with the rapid decline of Monsieur the Viscount's health. He +became paler and weaker, and more fretful. His prayers were +accompanied by greater mental struggles, and watered with more tears. +He was, however, most positive in his assurances to Monsieur Crapaud +that he knew the exact nature and cause of the malady that was +consuming him. It resulted, he said, from the noxious and unwholesome +condition of his cell; and he would entreat Antoine to have it swept +out. After some difficulty the gaoler consented.</p> + +<p>It was nearly a month since Monsieur the Viscount had first been +startled by the appearance of the little pincushion. The stock of +paper had long been exhausted. He had torn up his cambric ruffles to +write upon, and Mademoiselle de St. Claire had made havoc of her +pocket-handkerchiefs for the same purpose. The Viscount was feebler +than ever, and Antoine became alarmed. The cell should be swept out +the next morning. He would come himself, he said, and bring another +man out of the town with him to help him, for the work was heavy, and +he had a touch of rheumatism. The man was a stupid fellow from the +country, who had only been a week in Paris; he had never heard of the +Viscount, and Antoine would tell him that the prisoner was a certain +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_169" id="Page_169"></a>[169]</span>young lawyer who had really died of fever in prison the day before. +Monsieur the Viscount thanked him; and it was not till the next +morning arrived, and he was expecting them every moment, that Monsieur +the Viscount remembered the toad, and that he would without doubt be +swept away with the rest in the general clearance. At first he thought +that he would beg them to leave it, but some knowledge of the petty +insults which that class of men heaped upon their prisoners made him +feel that this would probably be only an additional reason for their +taking the animal away. There was no place to hide it in, for they +would go all round the room; unless—unless Monsieur the Viscount took +it up in his hand. And this was just what he objected to do. All his +old feelings of repugnance came back; he had not even got gloves on; +his long white hands were bare, he could not touch a toad. It was true +that the beast had amused him, and that he had chatted to it; but, +after all, this was a piece of childish folly—an unmanly way, to say +the least, of relieving the tedium of captivity. What was Monsieur +Crapaud but a very ugly (and most people said a venomous) reptile? To +what a folly he had been condescending! With these thoughts, Monsieur +the Viscount steeled himself against the glances of his topaz-eyed +friend, and when the steps of the men were heard upon the stairs, <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_170" id="Page_170"></a>[170]</span>he +did not move from the window where he had placed himself, with his +back to the stone.</p> + +<p>The steps came nearer and nearer, Monsieur the Viscount began to +whistle—the key was rattled in the lock, and Monsieur the Viscount +heard a bit of bread fall, as the toad hastily descended to hide +itself as usual in the corners. In a moment his resolution was gone; +another second, and it would be too late. He dashed after the +creature, picked it up, and when the men came in he was standing with +his hands behind him, in which Monsieur Crapaud was quietly and safely +seated.</p> + +<p>The room was swept, and Antoine was preparing to go, when the other, +who had been eyeing the prisoner suspiciously, stopped and said with a +sharp sneer, "Does the citizen always preserve that position?"</p> + +<p>"Not he," said the gaoler, good-naturedly. "He spends most of his time +in bed, which saves his legs. Come along, François."</p> + +<p>"I shall not come," said the other, obstinately. "Let the citizen show +me his hands."</p> + +<p>"Plague take you!" said Antoine, in a whisper. "What sulky fit +possesses you, my comrade? Let the poor wretch alone. What wouldst +thou with his hands? Wait a little, and thou shall have his head."</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_171" id="Page_171"></a>[171]</span></p> + +<p>"We should have few heads or prisoners either, if thou hadst the care +of them," said François, sharply. "I say that the prisoner secretes +something, and that I will see it. Show your hands, dog of an +aristocrat!"</p> + +<p>Monsieur the Viscount set his teeth to keep himself from speaking, and +held out his hands in silence, toad and all.</p> + +<p>Both the men started back with an exclamation, and François got behind +his comrade, and swore over his shoulder.</p> + +<p>Monsieur the Viscount stood upright and still, with a smile on his +white face. "Behold, citizen, what I secrete, and what I desire to +keep. Behold all that I have left to secrete or to desire! There is +nothing more."</p> + +<p>"Throw it down!" screamed François; "many a witch has been burnt for +less—throw it down."</p> + +<p>The colour began to flood over Monsieur the Viscount's face; but still +he spoke gently, and with bated breath. "If you wish me to suffer, +citizen, let this be my witness that I have suffered. I must be very +friendless to desire such a friend. I must be brought very low to ask +such a favour. Let the Republic give me this."</p> + +<p>"The Republic has one safe rule for aristocrats," said the other; "she +gives them nothing but their <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_172" id="Page_172"></a>[172]</span>keep till she pays for their +shaving—once for all. She gave one of these dogs a few rags to dress +a wound on his back with, and he made a rope of his dressings, and let +himself down from the window. We will have no more such games. You may +be training the beast to spit poison at good citizens. Throw it down +and kill it."</p> + +<p>Monsieur the Viscount made no reply. His hands had moved towards his +breast, against which he was holding his golden-eyed friend. There are +times in life when the brute creation contrasts favourably with the +lords thereof, and this was one of them. It was hard to part just now.</p> + +<p>Antoine, who had been internally cursing his own folly in bringing +such a companion into the cell, now interfered. "If you are going to +stay here to be bitten or spit at, François, my friend," said he, "I +am not. Thou art zealous, my comrade, but dull as an owl. The Republic +is far-sighted in her wisdom beyond thy coarse ideas, and has more +ways of taking their heads from these aristocrats than one. Dost thou +not see?" And he tapped his forehead significantly, and looked at the +prisoner; and so, between talking and pushing, got his sulky companion +out of the cell, and locked the door after them.</p> + +<p>"And so, my friend—my friend!" said Monsieur the Viscount, tenderly, +"we are safe once more; but <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_173" id="Page_173"></a>[173]</span>it will not be for long, my Crapaud. +Something tells me that I cannot much longer be overlooked. A little +while, and I shall be gone; and thou wilt have, perchance, another +master, when I am summoned before mine."</p> + +<p>Monsieur the Viscount's misgivings were just. François, on whose +stupidity Antoine had relied, was (as is not uncommon with people +stupid in other respects) just clever enough to be mischievous. +Antoine's evident alarm made him suspicious, and he began to talk +about the too-elegant-looking young lawyer who was imprisoned "in +secret," and permitted by the gaoler to keep venomous beasts. Antoine +was examined and committed to one of his own cells, and Monsieur the +Viscount was summoned before the revolutionary tribunal.</p> + +<p>There was little need even for the scanty inquiry that in those days +preceded sentence. In every line of his beautiful face, marred as it +was by sickness and suffering—in the unconquerable dignity, which +dirt and raggedness were powerless to hide, the fatal nobility of his +birth and breeding were betrayed. When he returned to the ante-room, +he did not positively know his fate; but in his mind there was a moral +certainty that left him no hope.</p> + +<p>The room was filled with other prisoners awaiting trial; and, as he +entered, his eyes wandered round it <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_174" id="Page_174"></a>[174]</span>to see if there were any familiar +faces. They fell upon two figures standing with their backs to him—a +tall, fierce-looking man, who, despite his height and fierceness, had +a restless, nervous despondency expressed in all his movements; and a +young girl who leant on his arm as if for support, but whose steady +quietude gave her more the air of a supporter. Without seeing their +faces, and for no reasonable reason, Monsieur the Viscount decided +with himself that they were the Baron and his daughter, and he begged +the man who was conducting him for a moment's delay. The man +consented. France was becoming sick of unmitigated carnage, and even +the executioners sometimes indulged in pity by way of a change.</p> + +<p>As Monsieur the Viscount approached the two they turned round, and he +saw her face—a very fair and very resolute one, with ashen hair and +large eyes. In common with almost all the faces in that room, it was +blanched with suffering; and, it is fair to say, in common with many +of them, it was pervaded by a lofty calm. Monsieur the Viscount never +for an instant doubted his own conviction; he drew near and said in a +low voice, "Mademoiselle de St. Claire!"</p> + +<p>The Baron looked first fierce, and then alarmed. His daughter's face +illumined; she turned her large eyes on the speaker, and said simply,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_175" id="Page_175"></a>[175]</span> +"Monsieur le Vicomte?"</p> + +<p>The Baron apologized, commiserated, and sat down on a seat near, with +a look of fretful despair; and his daughter and Monsieur the Viscount +were left standing together. Monsieur the Viscount desired to say a +great deal, and could say very little. The moments went by, and hardly +a word had been spoken.</p> + +<p>Valerie asked if he knew his fate.</p> + +<p>"I have not heard it," he said; "but I am morally certain. There can +be but one end in these days."</p> + +<p>She sighed. "It is the same with us. And if you must suffer, Monsieur, +I wish that we may suffer together. It would comfort my father—and +me."</p> + +<p>Her composure vexed him. Just, too, when he was sensible that the +desire of life was making a few fierce struggles in his own breast.</p> + +<p>"You seem to look forward to death with great cheerfulness, +Mademoiselle."</p> + +<p>The large eyes were raised to him with a look of surprise at the +irritation of his tone.</p> + +<p>"I think," she said, gently, "that one does not look forward <i>to</i>, but +<i>beyond</i> it." She stopped and hesitated, still watching his face, and +then spoke hurriedly and diffidently:—</p> + +<p>"Monsieur, it seems impertinent to make such suggestions to you, who +have doubtless a full fund of <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_176" id="Page_176"></a>[176]</span>consolation; but I remember, when a +child, going to hear the preaching of a monk who was famous for his +eloquence. He said that his text was from the Scriptures—it has been +in my mind all to-day—'<i>There the wicked cease from troubling, and +there the weary be at rest.</i>' The man is becoming impatient. Adieu! +Monsieur. A thousand thanks and a thousand blessings."</p> + +<p>She offered her cheek, on which there was not a ray of increased +colour, and Monsieur the Viscount stooped and kissed it, with a thick +mist gathering in his eyes, through which he could not see her face.</p> + +<p>"Adieu! Valerie!"</p> + +<p>"Adieu! Louis!"</p> + +<p>So they met, and so they parted; and as Monsieur the Viscount went +back to his prison, he flattered himself that the last link was broken +for him in the chain of earthly interests.</p> + +<p>When he reached the cell he was tired, and lay down, and in a few +seconds a soft scrambling over the floor announced the return of +Monsieur Crapaud from his hiding-place. With one wrinkled leg after +another he clambered on to the stone, and Monsieur the Viscount +started when he saw him.</p> + +<p>"Friend Crapaud! I had actually forgotten thee. I fancied I had said +adieu for the last time;" and he gave a choked sigh, which Monsieur +Crapaud could <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_177" id="Page_177"></a>[177]</span>not be expected to understand. In about five minutes he +sprang up suddenly. "Monsieur Crapaud, I have not long to live, and no +time must be lost in making my will." Monsieur Crapaud was too wise to +express any astonishment; and his master began to hunt for a +tidy-looking stone (paper and cambric were both at an end). They were +all rough and dirty; but necessity had made the Viscount inventive, +and he took a couple and rubbed them together till he had polished +both. Then he pulled out the little pencil, and for the next half hour +composed and wrote busily. When it was done he lay down, and read it +to his friend. This was Monsieur the Viscount's last will and +Testament:—</p> + +<p class="center">"<i>To my successor in this cell.</i></p> + +<p>"To you whom Providence has chosen to be the inheritor of my sorrows +and my captivity, I desire to make another bequest. There is in this +prison a toad. He was tamed by a man (peace to his memory!) who +tenanted this cell before me. He has been my friend and companion for +nearly two years of sad imprisonment. He has sat by my bedside, fed +from my hand, and shared all my confidence. He is ugly, but he has +beautiful eyes; he is silent, but he is attentive; he is a brute, but +I wish the men of France were in this respect more <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_178" id="Page_178"></a>[178]</span>his superiors! He +is very faithful. May you never have a worse friend! He feeds upon +insects, which I have been accustomed to procure for him. Be kind to +him; he will repay it. Like other men, I bequeath what I would take +with me if I could.</p> + +<p>"Fellow-sufferer, adieu! <span class="smcap">God</span> comfort you as He has comforted +me! The sorrows of this life are sharp but short; the joys of the next +life are eternal. Think sometimes on him who commends his friend to +your pity, and himself to your prayers.</p> + +<p>"This is the last will and testament of Louis Archambaud Jean-Marie +Arnaud, Vicomte de B——."</p> + +<p>Monsieur the Viscount's last will and testament was with difficulty +squeezed into the surface of the larger of the stones. Then he hid it +where the priest had hidden <i>his</i> bequest long ago, and then lay down +to dream of Monsieur the Preceptor, and that they had met at last.</p> + +<p>The next day was one of anxious suspense. In the evening, as usual, a +list of those who were to be guillotined next morning, was brought +into the prison; and Monsieur the Viscount begged for a sight of it. +It was brought to him. First on the list was Antoine! Halfway down was +his own name, "Louis de B——," and a little lower his fascinated +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_179" id="Page_179"></a>[179]</span>gaze fell upon names that stirred his heart with such a passion of +regret as he had fancied it would never feel again, "Henri de St. +Claire, Valerie de St. Claire."</p> + +<p>Her eyes seemed to shine on him from the gathering twilight, and her +calm voice to echo in his ears. "<i>It has been in my mind all to-day. +There the wicked cease from troubling, and there the weary be at +rest.</i>"</p> + +<p><i>There</i>! He buried his face and prayed.</p> + +<p>He was disturbed by the unlocking of the door, and the new gaoler +appeared with Antoine! The poor wretch seemed overpowered by terror. +He had begged to be imprisoned for this last night with Monsieur the +Viscount. It was only a matter of a few hours, as they were to die at +daybreak, and his request was granted.</p> + +<p>Antoine's entrance turned the current of Monsieur the Viscount's +thoughts. No more selfish reflections now. He must comfort this poor +creature, of whose death he was to be the unintentional cause. +Antoine's first anxiety was that Monsieur the Viscount should bear +witness that the gaoler had treated him kindly, and so earned the +blessing and not the curse of Monsieur le Curé, whose powerful +presence seemed to haunt him still. On this score he was soon set at +rest, and then came the old, old <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_180" id="Page_180"></a>[180]</span>story. He had been but a bad man. If +his life were to come over again, he would do differently. Did +Monsieur the Viscount think that there was any hope?</p> + +<p>Would Monsieur the Viscount have recognized himself, could he, two +years ago, have seen himself as he was now? Kneeling by that rough, +uncultivated figure, and pleading with all the eloquence that he could +master to that rough uncultivated heart, the great Truths of +Christianity—so great and few and simple in their application to our +needs! The violet eyes had never appealed more tenderly, the soft +voice had never been softer than now, as he strove to explain to this +ignorant soul, the cardinal doctrines of Faith and Repentance, and +Charity, with an earnestness that was perhaps more effectual than his +preaching.</p> + +<p>Monsieur the Viscount was quite as much astonished as flattered by the +success of his instructions. The faith on which he had laid hold with +such mortal struggles, seemed almost to "come natural" (as people say) +to Antoine. With abundant tears he professed the deepest penitence for +his past life, at the same time that he accepted the doctrine of the +Atonement as a natural remedy, and never seemed to have a doubt in the +Infinite Mercy that should cover his infinite guilt.</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_181" id="Page_181"></a>[181]</span></p> + +<p>It was all so orthodox that even if he had doubted (which he did not) +the sincerity of the gaoler's contrition and belief, Monsieur the +Viscount could have done nothing but envy the easy nature of Antoine's +convictions. He forgot the difference of their respective +capabilities!</p> + +<p>When the night was far advanced the men rose from their knees, and +Monsieur the Viscount persuaded Antoine to lie down on his pallet, and +when the gaoler's heavy breathing told that he was asleep, Monsieur +the Viscount felt relieved to be alone once more—alone, except for +Monsieur Crapaud, whose round fiery eyes were open as usual.</p> + +<p>The simplicity with which he had been obliged to explain the truths of +Divine Love to Antoine, was of signal service to Monsieur the Viscount +himself. It left him no excuse for those intricacies of doubt, with +which refined minds too often torture themselves; and as he paced +feebly up and down the cell, all the long-withheld peace for which he +had striven since his imprisonment seemed to flood into his soul. How +blessed—how undeservedly blessed—was his fate! Who or what was he +that after such short, such mitigated sufferings, the crown of victory +should be so near? The way had seemed long to come, it was short to +look back upon, and now the golden gates were almost reached, the +everlasting doors were <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_182" id="Page_182"></a>[182]</span>open. A few more hours, and then—! and as +Monsieur the Viscount buried his worn face in his hands, the tears +that trickled from his fingers were literally tears of joy.</p> + +<p>He groped his way to the stone, pushed some straw close to it, and lay +down on the ground to rest, watched by Monsieur's Crapaud's fiery +eyes. And as he lay, faces seemed to him to rise out of the darkness, +to take the form and features of the face of the priest, and to gaze +at him with unutterable benediction. And in his mind, like some +familiar piece of music, awoke the words that had been written on the +fly-leaf of the little book; coming back, sleepily and dreamily, over +and over again—</p> + +<p class="center"><i>"Souvenez-vous du Sauveur! Souvenez-vous du Sauveur!"</i></p> + +<p class="center">(Remember the Saviour!)</p> + +<p>In that remembrance he fell asleep.</p> + +<p>Monsieur the Viscount's sleep for some hours was without a dream. Then +it began to be disturbed by that uneasy consciousness of sleeping too +long, which enables some people to awake at whatever hour they have +resolved upon. At last it became intolerable, and wearied as he was, +he awoke. It was broad daylight, and Antoine was snoring beside him. +Surely the cart would come soon, the executions were generally at an +early hour. But time went on, and <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_183" id="Page_183"></a>[183]</span>no one came, and Antoine awoke. The +hours of suspense passed heavily, but at last there were steps and a +key rattled into the lock. The door opened, and the gaoler appeared +with a jug of milk and a loaf. With a strange smile he set them down.</p> + +<p>"A good appetite to you, citizens."</p> + +<p>Antoine flew on him. "Comrade! we used to be friends. Tell me, what is +it? Is the execution deferred?"</p> + +<p>"The execution has taken place at last," said the other, +significantly; "<i>Robespierre is dead!</i>" and he vanished.</p> + +<p>Antoine uttered a shriek of joy. He wept, he laughed, he cut capers, +and flinging himself at Monsieur the Viscount's feet, he kissed them +rapturously. When he raised his eyes to Monsieur the Viscount's face, +his transports moderated. The last shock had been too much, he seemed +almost in a stupor. Antoine got him on to the pallet, dragged the +blanket over him, broke the bread into the milk, and played the nurse +once more.</p> + +<p>On that day thousands of prisoners in the city of Paris alone awoke +from the shadow of death to the hope of life. The Reign of Terror was +ended!</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_184" id="Page_184"></a>[184]</span></p> + + + + +<h2>CHAPTER III.</h2> + + +<p>It was a year of Grace early in the present century.</p> + +<p>We are again in the beautiful country of beautiful France. It is the +château once more. It is the same, but changed. The unapproachable +elegance, the inviolable security, have witnessed invasion. The right +wing of the château is in ruins, with traces of fire upon the +blackened walls; while here and there, a broken statue or a roofless +temple are sad memorials of the Revolution. Within the restored part +of the château, however, all looks well. Monsieur the Viscount has +been fortunate, and if not so rich a man as his father, has yet +regained enough of his property to live with comfort, and, as he +thinks, luxury. The long rooms are little less elegant than in former +days, and Madame the present Viscountess's boudoir is a model of +taste. Not far from it is another room, to which it forms a singular +contrast. This room belongs to Monsieur the Viscount. It is small, +with one window. The floor and walls are bare, and it contains no +furniture; but on the floor is a worn-out pallet, by which lies a +stone, and on that a broken pitcher, and in a little frame against the +wall is preserved a crumpled bit of paper like the fly-leaf of some +little book, on which is a half-effaced inscription, which can be +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_185" id="Page_185"></a>[185]</span>deciphered by Monsieur the Viscount if by no one else. Above the +window is written in large letters, a date and the word REMEMBER. +Monsieur the Viscount is not likely to forget, but he is afraid of +himself and of prosperity lest it should spoil him.</p> + +<p>It is evening, and Monsieur the Viscount is strolling along the +terrace with Madame on his arm. He has only one to offer her, for +where the other should be an empty sleeve is pinned to his breast, on +which a bit of ribbon is stirred by the breeze. Monsieur the Viscount +has not been idle since we saw him last; the faith that taught him to +die, has taught him also how to live—an honourable, useful life.</p> + +<p>It is evening, and the air comes up perfumed from a bed of violets by +which Monsieur the Viscount is kneeling. Madame (who has a fair face +and ashen hair) stands by him with her little hand on his shoulder, +and her large eyes upon the violets.</p> + +<p>"My friend! my friend! my friend!" It is Monsieur the Viscount's +voice, and at the sound of it, there is a rustle among the violets +that sends the perfume high into the air. Then from the parted leaves +come forth first a dirty wrinkled leg, then a dirty wrinkled head with +gleaming eyes, and Monsieur Crapaud crawls with self-satisfied dignity +on to Monsieur the Viscount's outstretched hand.</p> + +<p>So they stay laughing and chatting, and then <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_186" id="Page_186"></a>[186]</span> Monsieur the Viscount +bids his friend good-night, and holds him towards Madame that she may +do the same. But Madame (who did not enjoy Monsieur Crapaud's society +in prison) cannot be induced to do more than scratch his head +delicately with the tip of her white finger. But she respects him +greatly, at a distance, she says. Then they go back along the terrace, +and are met by a man-servant in Monsieur the Viscount's livery. Is it +possible that this is Antoine, with his shock head covered with +powder?</p> + +<p>Yes; that grating voice, which no mental change avails to subdue, is +his, and he announces that Monsieur le Curé has arrived. It is the old +Curé of the village (who has survived the troubles of the Revolution), +and many are the evenings he spends at the château, and many the times +in which the closing acts of a noble life are recounted to him, the +life of his old friend whom he hopes ere long to see—of Monsieur the +Preceptor. He is kindly welcomed by Monsieur and by Madame, and they +pass on together into the château. And when Monsieur the Viscount's +steps have ceased to echo from the terrace, Monsieur Crapaud buries +himself once more among the violets.</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>Monsieur the Viscount is dead, and Madame <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_187" id="Page_187"></a>[187]</span>sleeps also at his side; +and their possessions have descended to their son.</p> + +<p>Not the least valued among them is a case with a glass front and +sides, in which, seated upon a stone is the body of a toad stuffed +with exquisite skill, from whose head gleam eyes of genuine topaz. +Above it in letters of gold is a date, and this inscription:—</p> + +<p class="center"> + "MONSIEUR THE VISCOUNT'S FRIEND". + <br /> +</p> +<p class="center">ADIEU! +</p> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_188" id="Page_188"></a>[188]</span></p> + + + + +<h2><a name="THE_YEW-LANE_GHOSTS" id="THE_YEW-LANE_GHOSTS"></a>THE YEW-LANE GHOSTS</h2> + +<h2>CHAPTER I.</h2> + +<div class="poem">"Cowards are cruel." </div> +<div><span class="sig1">Old Proverb.</span><br /></div> + + +<p>This story begins on a fine autumn afternoon when, at the end of a +field over which the shadows of a few wayside trees were stalking like +long thin giants, a man and a boy sat side by side upon a stile. They +were not a happy-looking pair. The boy looked uncomfortable, because +he wanted to get away and dared not go. The man looked uncomfortable +also; but then no one had ever seen him look otherwise, which was the +more strange as he never professed to have any object in life but his +own pleasure and gratification. Not troubling himself with any +consideration of law or principle—of his own duty or other people's +comfort—he had consistently spent his whole time and energies in +trying to be jolly; and though now a grown-up young man, had so far +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_189" id="Page_189"></a>[189]</span>had every appearance of failing in the attempt. From this it will be +seen that he was not the most estimable of characters, and we shall +have no more to do with him than we can help; but as he must appear in +the story, he may as well be described.</p> + +<p>If constant self-indulgence had answered as well as it should have +done, he would have been a fine-looking young man; as it was, the +habits of his life were fast destroying his appearance. His hair would +have been golden if it had been kept clean. His figure was tall and +strong; but the custom of slinking about places where he had no +business to be, and lounging in corners where he had nothing to do, +had given it such a hopeless slouch that for the matter of beauty he +might almost as well have been knock-kneed. His eyes would have been +handsome if the lids had been less red; and if he had ever looked you +in the face, you would have seen that they were blue. His complexion +was fair by nature and discoloured by drink. His manner was something +between a sneak and a swagger, and he generally wore his cap +a-one-side, carried his hands in his pockets and a short stick under +his arm, and whistled when any one passed him. His chief +characteristic, perhaps, was the habit he had of kicking. Indoors he +kicked the furniture, in the road he kicked the stones, if he lounged +against a wall he kicked it; he <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_190" id="Page_190"></a>[190]</span>kicked all animals and such human +beings as he felt sure would not kick him again.</p> + +<p>It should be said here that he had once announced his intention of +"turning steady, and settling, and getting wed." The object of his +choice was the prettiest girl in the village, and was as good as she +was pretty. To say the truth, the time had been when Bessy had not +felt unkindly towards the yellow-haired lad; but his conduct had long +put a gulf between them, which only the conceit of a scamp would have +attempted to pass. However, he flattered himself that he "knew what +the lasses meant when they said no;" and on the strength of this +knowledge he presumed far enough to elicit a rebuff so hearty and +unmistakable that for a week he was the laughing stock of the village. +There was no mistake this time as to what "no" meant; his admiration +turned to a hatred almost as intense, and he went faster "to the bad" +than ever.</p> + +<p>It was Bessy's little brother who sat by him on the stile; "Beauty +Bill," as he was called, from the large share he possessed of the +family good looks. The lad was one of those people who seem born to be +favourites. He was handsome, and merry, and intelligent; and, being +well brought up, was well-conducted and amiable—the pride and pet of +the village. Why did Mother Muggins of the shop let <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_191" id="Page_191"></a>[191]</span>the goody side of +her scales of justice drop the lower by one lollipop for Bill than for +any other lad, and exempt him by unwonted smiles from her general +anathema on the urchin race? There were other honest boys in the +parish, who paid for their treacle-sticks in sterling copper of the +realm! The very roughs of the village were proud of him, and would +have showed their good nature in ways little to his benefit had not +his father kept a somewhat severe watch upon his habits and conduct. +Indeed, good parents and a strict home counterbalanced the evils of +popularity with Beauty Bill, and, on the whole, he was little spoilt, +and well deserved the favour he met with. It was under cover of +friendly patronage that his companion was now detaining him; but, all +the circumstances considered, Bill felt more suspicious than +gratified, and wished Bully Tom anywhere but where he was.</p> + +<p>The man threw out one leg before him like the pendulum of a clock.</p> + +<p>"Night school's opened, eh?" he inquired; and back swung the pendulum +against Bill's shins.</p> + +<p>"Yes;" and the boy screwed his legs on one side.</p> + +<p>"You don't go, do you?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, I do," said Bill, trying not to feel ashamed of the fact, +"Father can't spare me to the day-<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_192" id="Page_192"></a>[192]</span>school now, so our Bessy persuaded +him to let me go at nights."</p> + +<p>Bully Tom's face looked a shade darker, and the pendulum took a swing +which it was fortunate the lad avoided; but the conversation continued +with every appearance of civility.</p> + +<p>"You come back by Yew-lane, I suppose?"</p> + +<p>"Yes."</p> + +<p>"Why, there's no one lives your way but old Johnson; you must come +back alone?"</p> + +<p>"Of course, I do," said Bill, beginning to feel vaguely uncomfortable.</p> + +<p>"It must be dark now before school looses?" was the next inquiry; and +the boy's discomfort increased, he hardly knew why, as he answered—</p> + +<p>"There's a moon."</p> + +<p>"So there is," said Bully Tom, in a tone of polite assent; "and +there's a weathercock on the church-steeple but I never heard of +either of 'em coming down to help a body, whatever happened."</p> + +<p>Bill's discomfort had become alarm.</p> + +<p>"Why, what could happen?" he asked. "I don't understand you."</p> + +<p>His companion whistled, looked up in the air, and kicked vigorously, +but said nothing. Bill was not extraordinarily brave, but he had a +fair amount both of spirit and sense; and having a shrewd<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_193" id="Page_193"></a>[193]</span> suspicion +that Bully Tom was trying to frighten him, he almost made up his mind +to run off then and there. Curiosity, however, and a vague alarm which +he could not throw off, made him stay for a little more information.</p> + +<p>"I wish you'd out with it!" he exclaimed, impatiently. "What could +happen? No one ever comes along Yew-lane; and if they did they +wouldn't hurt me."</p> + +<p>"I know no one ever comes near it when they can help it," was the +reply; "so, to be sure, you couldn't get set upon. And a pious lad of +your sort wouldn't mind no other kind. Not like ghosts, or anything of +that."</p> + +<p>And Bully Tom looked round at his companion; a fact disagreeable from +its rarity.</p> + +<p>"I don't believe in ghosts," said Bill, stoutly.</p> + +<p>"Of course you don't," sneered his tormentor; "you're too well +educated. Some people does, though. I suppose them that has seen them +does. Some people thinks that murdered men walk. P'raps some people +thinks the man as was murdered in Yew-lane walks."</p> + +<p>"What man?" gasped Bill, feeling very chilly down the spine.</p> + +<p>"Him that was riding by the cross-roads and dragged into Yew-lane, and +his head cut off and never found, and his body buried in the +churchyard," said<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_194" id="Page_194"></a>[194]</span> Bully Tom, with a rush of superior information; +"and all I know is, if I thought he walked in Yew-lane, or any other +lane, I wouldn't go within five mile of it after dusk—that's all. But +then I'm not book-larned."</p> + +<p>The two last statements were true if nothing else was that the man had +said; and after holding up his feet and examining his boots with his +head a-one-side, as if considering their probable efficiency against +flesh and blood, he slid from his perch, and "loafed" slowly up the +street, whistling and kicking the stones as he went along. As to +Beauty Bill, he fled home as fast as his legs would carry him. By the +door stood Bessy, washing some clothes; who turned her pretty face as +he came up.</p> + +<p>"You're late, Bill," she said. "Go in and get your tea, it's set out. +It's night-school night, thou knows, and Master Arthur always likes +his class to time." He lingered, and she continued—"John Gardener was +down this afternoon about some potatoes, and he says Master Arthur is +expecting a friend."</p> + +<p>Bill did not heed this piece of news, any more than the slight flush +on his sister's face as she delivered it; he was wondering whether +what Bully Tom said was mere invention to frighten him, or whether +there was any truth in it.</p> + +<p>"Bessy!" he said, "was there a man ever murdered in Yew-lane?"</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_195" id="Page_195"></a>[195]</span></p> + +<p>Bessy was occupied with her own thoughts, and did not notice the +anxiety of the question.</p> + +<p>"I believe there was," she answered carelessly, "somewhere about +there. It's a hundred years ago or more. There's an old gravestone +over him in the churchyard by the wall, with an odd verse on it. They +say the parish clerk wrote it. But get your tea, or you'll be late, +and father'll be angry;" and Bessy took up her tub and departed.</p> + +<p>Poor Bill! Then it was too true. He began to pull up his trousers and +look at his grazed legs; and the thoughts of his aching shins, Bully +Tom's cruelty, the unavoidable night-school, and the possible ghost, +were too much for him, and he burst into tears.</p> + + + + +<h2>CHAPTER II.</h2> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"There are birds out on the bushes,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">In the meadows lies the lamb,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">How I wonder if they're ever<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Half as frightened as I am?"<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p><span class="sig1">C.F. Alexander.</span><br /> +</p> + + +<p>The night-school was drawing to a close. The attendance had been good, +and the room looked cheerful. In one corner the Rector was teaching a +group of grown-up men, who (better late than never) <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_196" id="Page_196"></a>[196]</span> were zealously +learning to read; in another the schoolmaster was flourishing his +stick before a map as he concluded his lesson in geography. By the +fire sat Master Arthur, the Rector's son, surrounded by his class, and +in front of him stood Beauty Bill. Master Arthur was very popular with +the people, especially with his pupils. The boys were anxious to get +into his class, and loath to leave it. They admired his great height, +his merry laugh, the variety of walking-sticks he brought with him, +and his very funny way of explaining pictures. He was not a very +methodical teacher, and was rather apt to give unexpected lessons on +subjects in which he happened just then to be interested himself; but +he had a clear simple way of explaining anything, which impressed it +on the memory, and he took a great deal of pains in his own way. Bill +was especially devoted to him. He often wished that Master Arthur +could get very rich, and take him for his man-servant; he thought he +should like to brush his clothes and take care of his sticks. He had a +great interest in the growth of his moustache and whiskers. For some +time past Master Arthur had had a trick of pulling at his upper lip +whilst he was teaching; which occasionally provoked a whisper of +"Moostarch, guvernor!" between two unruly members of his class; but +never till to-night had Bill seen anything in that line which<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_197" id="Page_197"></a>[197]</span> +answered his expectations. Now, however, as he stood before the young +gentleman, the fire-light fell on such a distinct growth of hair, that +Bill's interest became absorbed to the exclusion of all but the most +perfunctory attention to the lesson on hand. Would Master Arthur grow +a beard? Would his moustache be short like the pictures of Prince +Albert, or long and pointed like that of some other great man whose +portrait he had seen in the papers? He was calculating on the probable +effect of either style, when the order was given to put away books, +and then the thought which had been for a time diverted came back +again—his walk home.</p> + +<p>Poor Bill! his fears returned with double force from having been for +awhile forgotten. He dawdled over the books, he hunted in wrong places +for his cap and comforter, he lingered till the last boy had clattered +through the doorway, and left him with a group of elders who closed +the proceedings and locked up the school. But after this further delay +was impossible. The whole party moved out into the moonlight, and the +Rector and his son, the schoolmaster and the teachers, commenced, a +sedate parish gossip, whilst Bill trotted behind, wondering whether +any possible or impossible business would take one of them his way. +But when the turning point was reached, the Rector destroyed all his +hopes.</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_198" id="Page_198"></a>[198]</span></p> + +<p>"None of us go your way, I think," said he, as lightly as if there +were no grievance in the case; "however, it's not far. Good-night, my +boy!"</p> + +<p>And so with a volley of good-nights, the cheerful voices passed on up +the village. Bill stood till they had quite died away, and then when +all was silent, he turned into the lane.</p> + +<p>The cold night-wind crept into his ears, and made uncomfortable noises +among the trees, and blew clouds over the face of the moon. He almost +wished that there were no moon. The shifting shadows under his feet, +and the sudden patches of light on unexpected objects, startled him, +and he thought he should have felt less frightened if it had been +quite dark. Once he ran for a bit, then he resolved to be brave, then +to be reasonable; he repeated scraps of lessons, hymns, and last +Sunday's Collect, to divert and compose his mind; and as this plan +seemed to answer, he determined to go through the Catechism, both +question and answer, which he hoped might carry him to the end of his +unpleasant journey. He had just asked himself a question with +considerable dignity, and was about to reply, when a sudden gleam of +moonlight lit up a round object in the ditch. Bill's heart seemed to +grow cold, and he thought his senses would have forsaken him. Could +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_199" id="Page_199"></a>[199]</span>this be the head of ——? No! on nearer inspection it proved to be +only a turnip; and when one came to think of it, that would have been +rather a conspicuous place for the murdered man's skull to have been +lost in for so many years.</p> + +<p>My hero must not be ridiculed too much for his fears. The terrors that +visit childhood are not the less real and overpowering from being +unreasonable; and to excite them is wanton cruelty. Moreover, he was +but a little lad, and had been up and down Yew-lane both in daylight +and dark without any fears, till Bully Tom's tormenting suggestions +had alarmed him. Even now, as he reached the avenue of yews from which +the lane took its name, and passed into their gloomy shade, he tried +to be brave. He tried to think of the good GOD Who takes care of His +children, and to Whom the darkness and the light are both alike. He +thought of all he had been taught about angels, and wondered if one +were near him now, and wished that he could see him, as Abraham and +other good people had seen angels. In short, the poor lad did his best +to apply what he had been taught to the present emergency, and very +likely had he not done so he would have been worse; but as it was, he +was not a little frightened, as we shall see.</p> + +<p>Yew-lane—cool and dark when the hottest sunshine lay beyond it—a +loitering place for lovers—the <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_200" id="Page_200"></a>[200]</span>dearly-loved play-place of +generations of children on sultry summer days—looked very grim and +vault-like, with narrow streaks of moonlight peeping in at rare +intervals to make the darkness to be felt! Moreover, it was really +damp and cold, which is not favourable to courage. At a certain point +Yew-lane skirted a corner of the churchyard, and was itself crossed by +another road, thus forming a "four-want-way," where suicides were +buried in times past. This road was the old high-road, where the mail +coach ran, and along which, on such a night as this, a hundred years +ago, a horseman rode his last ride. As he passed the church on his +fatal journey did anything warn him how soon his headless body would +be buried beneath its shadow? Bill wondered. He wondered if he were +old or young—what sort of a horse he rode—whose cruel hands dragged +him into the shadow of the yews and slew him, and where his head was +hidden, and why. Did the church look just the same, and the moon shine +just as brightly, that night a century ago? Bully Tom was right. The +weathercock and moon sit still, whatever happens. The boy watched the +gleaming high road as it lay beyond the dark aisle of trees, till he +fancied he could hear the footfalls of the solitary horse—and yet, +no! The sound was not upon the hard road, but nearer; it was not the +clatter of hoofs, but something—and a <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_201" id="Page_201"></a>[201]</span>rustle—and then Bill's blood +seemed to freeze in his veins, as he saw a white figure, wrapped in +what seemed to be a shroud, glide out of the shadow of the yews and +move slowly down the lane. When it reached the road it paused, raised +a long arm warningly towards him for a moment, and then vanished in +the direction of the churchyard.</p> + +<p>What would have been the consequence of the intense fright the poor +lad experienced is more than anyone can say, if at that moment the +church clock had not begun to strike nine. The familiar sound, close +in his ears, roused him from the first shock, and before it had ceased +he contrived to make a desperate rally of his courage, flew over the +road, and crossed the two fields that now lay between him and home +without looking behind him.</p> + + + + +<h2>CHAPTER III.</h2> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>"It was to her a real <i>grief of heart</i>, acute, as children's + <br /> + sorrows often are.</p> + +<p>"We beheld this from the opposite windows—and, seen thus + <br /> + from a little distance, how many of our own and of other + <br /> + people's sorrows might not seem equally trivial, and <br /> + equally +deserving of ridicule!"</p> +</div> + +<p><span class="sig1">Hans Christian Andersen.</span></p> + + +<p><br /> + When Bill got home he found the household busy with a much more +practical subject than that of ghosts <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_202" id="Page_202"></a>[202]</span>and haunted yew-trees. Bessy +was ill. She had felt a pain in her side all the day, which towards +night had become so violent that the doctor was sent for, who had +pronounced it pleurisy, and had sent her to bed. He was just coming +downstairs as Bill burst into the house. The mother was too much +occupied about her daughter to notice the lad's condition; but the +doctor's sharp eyes saw that something was amiss, and he at once +inquired what it was. Bill hammered and stammered, and stopped short. +The doctor was such a tall, stout, comfortable-looking man, he looked +as if he couldn't believe in ghosts. A slight frown, however, had come +over his comfortable face, and he laid two fingers on Bill's wrist as +he repeated his question.</p> + +<p>"Please, sir," said Bill, "I've seen—"</p> + +<p>"A mad dog?" suggested the doctor.</p> + +<p>"No, sir."</p> + +<p>"A mad bull?"</p> + +<p>"No, sir," said Bill, desperately, "I've seen a ghost."</p> + +<p>The doctor exploded into a fit of laughter, and looked more +comfortable than ever.</p> + +<p>"And <i>where</i> did we see the ghost?" he inquired, in a professional +voice, as he took up his coat-tails and warmed himself at the fire.</p> + +<p>"In Yew-lane, sir; and I'm sure I did see it," <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_203" id="Page_203"></a>[203]</span> said Bill, half +crying; "it was all in white, and beckoned me."</p> + +<p>"That's to say you saw a white gravestone, or a tree in the moonlight, +or one of your classmates dressed up in a table-cloth. It was all +moonshine, depend upon it," said the doctor, with a chuckle at his own +joke; "take my advice, my boy, and don't give way to foolish fancies."</p> + +<p>At this point the mother spoke—</p> + +<p>"If his father knew, sir, as he'd got any such fads in his head, he'd +soon flog 'em out of him."</p> + +<p>"His father is a very good one," said the doctor; "a little too fond +of the stick, perhaps. There," he added, good-naturedly, slipping +sixpence into Bill's hand, "get a new knife, my boy, and cut a good +thick stick, and the next ghost you meet, lay hold of him and let him +taste it."</p> + +<p>Bill tried to thank him, but somehow his voice was choked, and the +doctor turned to his mother.</p> + +<p>"The boy has been frightened," he said, "and is upset. Give him some +supper, and put him to bed." And the good gentleman departed.</p> + +<p>Bill was duly feasted and sent to rest. His mother did not mention the +matter to her husband, as she knew he would be angry; and occupied +with real anxiety for her daughter, she soon forgot it herself. +Consequently, the next night-school night <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_204" id="Page_204"></a>[204]</span>she sent Bill to "clean +himself," hurried on his tea, and packed him off, just as if nothing +had happened.</p> + +<p>The boy's feelings since the night of the apparition had not been +enviable. He could neither eat nor sleep. As he lay in bed at night, +he kept his face covered with the clothes, dreading that if he peeped +out into the room the phantom of the murdered horseman would beckon to +him from the dark corners. Lying so till the dawn broke and the cocks +began to crow, he would then look cautiously forth, and seeing by the +grey light that the corners were empty, and that the figure by the +door was not the Yew-lane Ghost, but his mother's faded print dress +hanging on a nail, would drop his head and fall wearily asleep. The +day was no better, for each hour brought him nearer to the next night +school; and Bessy's illness made his mother so busy, that he never +could find the right moment to ask her sympathy for his fears, and +still less could he feel himself able to overcome them. And so the +night-school came round again, and there he sat, gulping down a few +mouthfuls of food, and wondering how he should begin to tell his +mother that he neither dare, could, nor would, go down Yew-lane again +at night. He had just opened his lips when the father came in, and +asked in a loud voice "Why Bill was not off." This effectually put a +stop to any confidences, and the boy ran out of the <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_205" id="Page_205"></a>[205]</span>house. Not, +however, to school. He made one or two desperate efforts at +determination, and then gave up altogether. He <i>could</i> not go!</p> + +<p>He was wondering what he should do with himself, when it struck him +that he would go whilst it was daylight and look for the grave with +the odd verse of which Bessy had spoken. He had no difficulty in +finding it. It was marked by a large ugly stone, on which the +inscription was green and in some places almost effaced.</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>SACRED TO THE MEMORY</p> + +<p>OF</p> + +<p>EPHRAIM GARNETT—</p></div> + +<p>He had read so far when a voice close by him said—</p> + +<p>"You'll be late for school, young chap."</p> + +<p>Bill looked up, and to his horror beheld Bully Tom standing in the +road and kicking the churchyard wall.</p> + +<p>"Aren't you going?" he asked, as Bill did not speak.</p> + +<p>"Not to-night," said Bill, with crimson cheeks.</p> + +<p>"Larking, eh?" said Bully Tom. "My eyes, won't your father give it +you!" and he began to move off.</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_206" id="Page_206"></a>[206]</span></p> + +<p>"Stop!" shouted Bill in an agony; "don't tell him, Tom. That would be +a dirty trick. I'll go next time, I will indeed; I can't go to-night. +I'm not larking, I'm scared. You won't tell?"</p> + +<p>"Not this time, maybe," was the reply; "but I wouldn't be in your +shoes if you play this game next night;" and off he went.</p> + +<p>Bill thought it well to quit the churchyard at once for some place +where he was not likely to be seen; he had never played truant before, +and for the next hour or two was thoroughly miserable as he slunk +about the premises of a neighbouring farm, and finally took refuge in +a shed, and began to consider his position. He would remain hidden +till nine o'clock, and then go home. If nothing were said, well and +good; unless some accident should afterwards betray him. But if his +mother asked any questions about the school? He dared not, and he +would not, tell a lie; and yet what would be the result of the truth +coming out? There could be no doubt that his father would beat him. +Bill thought again, and decided that he could bear a thrashing, but +not the sight of the Yew-lane Ghost; so he remained where he was, +wondering how it would be, and how he should get over the next +school-night when it came. The prospect was so hopeless, and the poor +lad so wearied with anxiety and wakeful <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_207" id="Page_207"></a>[207]</span>nights, that he was almost +asleep when he was startled by the church clock striking nine; and, +jumping up, he ran home. His heart beat heavily as he crossed the +threshold; but his mother was still absorbed by thoughts of Bessy, and +he went to bed unquestioned. The next day too passed over without any +awkward remarks, which was very satisfactory; but then night-school +day came again, and Bill felt that he was in a worse position than +ever. He had played truant once with success; but he was aware that it +would not do a second time. Bully Tom was spiteful, and Master Arthur +might come to "look up" his recreant pupil, and then Bill's father +would know all.</p> + +<p>On the morning of the much-dreaded day, his mother sent him up to the +Rectory to fetch some little delicacy that had been promised for +Bessy's dinner. He generally found it rather amusing to go there. He +liked to peep at the pretty garden, to look out for Master Arthur, and +to sit in the kitchen and watch the cook, and wonder what she did with +all the dishes and bright things that decorated the walls. To-day all +was quite different. He avoided the gardens, he was afraid of being +seen by his teacher, and though cook had an unusual display of pots +and pans in operation, he sat in the corner of the kitchen indifferent +to everything but the thought of the Yew-lane Ghost. The dinner for +Bessy was <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_208" id="Page_208"></a>[208]</span>put between two saucers, and as cook gave it into his hands +she asked kindly after his sister, and added—</p> + +<p>"You don't look over-well yourself, lad! What's amiss?"</p> + +<p>Bill answered that he was quite well, and hurried out of the house to +avoid further inquiries. He was becoming afraid of everyone! As he +passed the garden he thought of the gardener, and wondered if he would +help him. He was very young and very good-natured; he had taken of +late to coming to see Bessy, and Bill had his own ideas upon that +point; finally, he had a small class at the night-school. Bill +wondered whether if he screwed up his courage to-night to go, John +Gardener would walk back with him for the pleasure of hearing the +latest accounts of Bessy. But all hopes of this sort were cut off by +Master Arthur's voice shouting to him from the garden—</p> + +<p>"Hi, there! I want you, Willie! Come here, I say."</p> + +<p>Bill ran through the evergreens, and there among the flower-beds in +the sunshine he saw—first, John Gardener driving a mowing-machine +over the velvety grass under Master Arthur's very nose, so there was +no getting a private interview with him. Secondly, Master Arthur +himself, sitting on the ground with <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_209" id="Page_209"></a>[209]</span>his terrier in his lap, directing +the proceedings by means of a donkey-headed stick with elaborately +carved ears; and thirdly, Master Arthur's friend.</p> + +<p>Now little bits of gossip will fly; and it had been heard in the +dining-room, and conveyed by the parlour-maid to the kitchen, and +passed from the kitchen into the village, that Master Arthur's friend +was a very clever young gentleman; consequently Beauty Bill had been +very anxious to see him. As, however, the clever young gentleman was +lying on his back on the grass, with his hat flattened over his face +to keep out the sun, and an open book lying on its face upon his +waistcoat to keep the place, and otherwise quite immovable, and very +like other young gentlemen, Bill did not feel much the wiser for +looking at him. He had a better view of him soon, however, for Master +Arthur began to poke his friend's legs with the donkey-headed stick, +and to exhort him to get up.</p> + +<p>"Hi! Bartram, get up! Here's my prime pupil. See what we can turn out. +You may examine him if you like. Willie: this gentleman is a very +clever gentleman, so you must keep your wits about you. <i>He'll</i> put +questions to you, I can tell you! There's as much difference between +his head and mine, as between mine and the head of this stick." And +Master Arthur flourished his "one-legged donkey," <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_210" id="Page_210"></a>[210]</span> as he called it, in +the air, and added, "Bartram! you lazy lout! <i>will</i> you get up and +take an interest in my humble efforts for the good of my +fellow-creatures?"</p> + +<p>Thus adjured, Mr. Bartram sat up with a jerk which threw his book on +to his boots, and his hat after it, and looked at Bill. Now Bill and +the gardener had both been grinning, as they always did at Master +Arthur's funny speeches, but when Bill found the clever gentleman +looking at him, he straightened his face very quickly. The gentleman +was not at all like his friend ("nothing near so handsome," Bill +reported at home), and he had such a large prominent forehead that he +looked as if he were bald. When he sat up, he suddenly screwed up his +eyes in a very peculiar way, pulled out a double gold eye-glass, fixed +it on his nose, and stared through it for a second; after which his +eyes unexpectedly opened to their full extent (they were not small +ones), and took a sharp survey of Bill over the top of his spectacles; +and this ended, he lay back on his elbow without speaking. Bill then +and there decided that Mr. Bartram was very proud, rather mad, and the +most disagreeable gentleman he ever saw; and he felt sure could see as +well as he (Bill) could, and only wore spectacles out of a peculiar +kind of pride and vain-glory which he could not exactly specify. +Master <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_211" id="Page_211"></a>[211]</span> Arthur seemed to think, at any rate, that he was not very +civil, and began at once to talk to the boy himself.</p> + +<p>"Why were you not at school last time, Willie? couldn't your mother +spare you?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, Sir."</p> + +<p>"Then why didn't you come?" said Master Arthur, in evident +astonishment.</p> + +<p>Poor Bill! He stammered as he had stammered before the doctor, and +finally gasped—</p> + +<p>"Please, Sir, I was scared."</p> + +<p>"Scared? What of?"</p> + +<p>"Ghosts," murmured Bill in a very ghostly whisper. Mr. Bartram raised +himself a little. Master Arthur seemed confounded.</p> + +<p>"Why, you little goose! How is it you never were afraid before?"</p> + +<p>"Please, Sir, I saw one the other night."</p> + +<p>Mr. Bartram took another look over the top of his eye-glass and sat +bolt upright, and John Gardener stayed his machine and listened, while +poor Bill told the whole story of the Yew-lane Ghost.</p> + +<p>When it was finished, the gardener, who was behind Master Arthur, +said—</p> + +<p>"I've heard something of this, Sir, in the village," and then added +more which Bill could not hear.</p> + +<p>"Eh, what?" said Master Arthur. "Willie, take <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_212" id="Page_212"></a>[212]</span>the machine and drive +about the garden a-bit wherever you like. Now, John."</p> + +<p>Willie did not at all like being sent away at this interesting point. +Another time he would have enjoyed driving over the short grass, and +seeing it jump up like a little green fountain in front of him; but +now his whole mind was absorbed by the few words he caught at +intervals of the conversation going on between John and the young +gentlemen. What could it mean? Mr. Bartram seemed to have awakened to +extraordinary energy, and was talking rapidly. Bill heard the words +"lime-light" and "large sheet," and thought they must be planning a +magic-lantern exhibition, but was puzzled by catching the word +"turnip." At last, as he was rounding the corner of a bed of +geraniums, he distinctly heard Mr. Bartram ask—</p> + +<p>"They cut the man's head off, didn't they?"</p> + +<p>Then they were talking about the ghost, after all! Bill gave the +machine a jerk, and to his dismay sliced a branch off one of the +geraniums. What was to be done? He must tell Master Arthur, but he +could not interrupt him just now; so on he drove, feeling very much +dispirited, and by no means cheered by hearing shouts of laughter from +the party on the grass. When one is puzzled and out of spirits, it is +no consolation to hear other people laughing over a <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_213" id="Page_213"></a>[213]</span>private joke; +moreover, Bill felt that if they were still on the subject of the +murdered man and his ghost, their merriment was very unsuitable. +Whatever was going on, it was quite evident that Mr. Bartram was the +leading spirit of it, for Bill could see Master Arthur waving the one +legged donkey in an ecstasy, as he clapped his friend on the back till +the eye-glass danced upon his nose. At last Mr. Bartram threw himself +back as if closing a discussion, and said loud enough for Bill to +hear—</p> + +<p>"You never heard of a bully who wasn't a coward."</p> + +<p>Bill thought of Bully Tom, and how he had said he dared not risk the +chance of meeting with a ghost, and began to think that this was a +clever young gentleman, after all. Just then Master Arthur called to +him; and he took the bit of broken geranium and went.</p> + +<p>"Oh, Willie!" said Master Arthur, "we've been talking over your +misfortunes—geranium? fiddle-sticks! put it in your button-hole—your +misfortunes, I say, and for to-night at any rate we intend to help you +out of them. John—ahem!—will be—ahem!—engaged to-night, and unable +to take his class as usual; but this gentleman has kindly consented to +fill his place ("Hear, hear," said the gentleman alluded to), and if +you'll come to-night, like a good lad, he and I will walk back with +you; so if you do see <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_214" id="Page_214"></a>[214]</span>the ghost, it will be in good company. But, +mind, this is on one condition. You must not say anything about +it—about our walking back with you, I mean—to anybody. Say nothing; +but get ready and come to school as usual. You understand?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, Sir," said Bill; "and I'm very much obliged to you, Sir, and the +other gentleman as well."</p> + +<p>Nothing more was said, so Bill made his best bow and retired. As he +went he heard Master Arthur say to the gardener—</p> + +<p>"Then you'll go to the town at once, John. We shall want the things as +soon as possible. You'd better take the pony, and we'll have the list +ready for you."</p> + +<p>Bill heard no more words; but as he left the grounds the laughter of +the young gentlemen rang out into the road.</p> + +<p>What did it all mean?</p> + + + + +<h2>CHAPTER IV</h2> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>"The night was now pitmirk; the wind soughed amid the + <br /> + headstones and railings of the gentry (for we all must die), + <br /> + and the black corbies in the steeple-holes cackled and +crawed <br /> +in a fearsome manner."</p> +</div> + +<p><span class="sig1">Mansie Waugh. +</span><br /></p> + + +<p>Bill was early at the night-school. No other of his class had arrived, +so he took the corner by the <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_215" id="Page_215"></a>[215]</span> fire sacred to first-comers, and watched +the gradual gathering of the school. Presently Master Arthur appeared, +and close behind him came his friend. Mr. Bartram Lindsay looked more +attractive now than he had done in the garden. When standing, he was +an elegant though plain-looking young man, neat in his dress, and with +an admirable figure. He was apt to stand very still and silent for a +length of time, and had a habit of holding his chin up in the air, +which led some people to say that he "held himself very high." This +was the opinion that Bill had formed, and he was rather alarmed by +hearing Master Arthur pressing his friend to take his class instead of +the more backward one, over which the gardener usually presided; and +he was proportionably relieved when Mr. Bartram steadily declined.</p> + +<p>"To say the truth, Bartram," said the young gentleman, "I am much +obliged to you, for I am used to my own boys, and prefer them."</p> + +<p>Then up came the schoolmaster.</p> + +<p>"Mr. Lindsay going to take John's class? Thank you, Sir. I've put out +the books; if you want anything else, Sir, p'raps you'll mention it. +When they have done reading, perhaps, Sir, you will kindly draft them +off for writing, and take the upper classes in arithmetic, if you +don't object, Sir."</p> + +<p>Mr. Lindsay did not object.</p> +<p> <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_216" id="Page_216"></a>[216]</span>"If you have a picture or two," he said. +"Thank you. Know their letters? All right. Different stages of + progression. Very good. I've no doubt we shall get on together."</p> +<p>"Between ourselves, Bartram," whispered Master Arthur into his +friend's ear, "the class is composed of boys who ought to have been to +school, and haven't; or who have been, and are none the better for it. +Some of them can what they call 'read in the Testament,' and all of +them confound b and d when they meet with them. They are at one point +of general information—namely, they all know what you have just told +them, and will none of them know it by next time. I call it the +rag-tag and bob-tail class. John says they are like forced tulips. +They won't blossom simultaneously. He can't get them all to one +standard of reading."</p> + +<p>Mr. Lindsay laughed and said—</p> + +<p>"He had better read less, and try a little general oral instruction. +Perhaps they don't remember because they can't understand;"—and the +Rector coming in at that moment, the business of the evening +commenced.</p> + +<p>Having afterwards to cross the school for something, Bill passed the +new teacher and his class, and came to the conclusion that they did +"get on together," and very well too. The rag-tag and bob-tail <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_217" id="Page_217"></a>[217]</span>shone +that night, and afterwards were loud in praises of the lesson. "It was +so clear," and "He was so patient." Indeed, patience was one great +secret of Mr. Lindsay's teaching; he waited so long for an answer that +he generally got it. His pupils were obliged to exert themselves when +there was no hope of being passed over, and everybody was waiting. +Finally, Bill's share of the arithmetic lesson converted him to Master +Arthur's friend. He <i>was</i> a clever young gentleman, and a kind one +too.</p> + +<p>The lesson had been so interesting—the clever young gentleman, +standing (without his eye-glass) by the blackboard, had been so strict +and yet so entertaining, was so obviously competent, and so pleasantly +kind, that Bill, who liked arithmetic, and (like all intelligent +children) appreciated good teaching, had had no time to think of the +Yew-lane Ghost till the lesson was ended. It was not till the hymn +began (they always ended the night-school with singing), then he +remembered it. Then, while he was shouting with all his might Bishop +Ken's glorious old lines—</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"Keep me, oh keep me, King of kings,"<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>he caught Mr. Lindsay's eyes fixed on him, and back came the thoughts +of his terrible fright, with a little shame too at his own timidity. +Which of us trusts as we should do in the "defence of the Most High?"</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_218" id="Page_218"></a>[218]</span></p> + +<p>Bill lingered as he had done the last time, and went out with the +"grown-ups." It had been raining, and the ground was wet and sludgy, +though it was fair overhead. The wind was cold, too, and Mr. Lindsay +began to cough so violently, that Bill felt rather ashamed of taking +him so far out of his way, through the damp chilly lane, and began to +wonder whether he could not summon up courage to go alone. The result +was, that with some effort he said—</p> + +<p>"Please, Mr. Lindsay, Sir, I think you won't like to come so far this +cold night. I'll try and manage, if you like."</p> + +<p>Mr. Lindsay laid one hand on Bill's shoulder, and said quietly—</p> + +<p>"No, thank you, my boy, we'll come with you, Thank you, all the same."</p> + +<p>"Nevertheless, Bartram," said Master Arthur, "I wish you could keep +that cough of yours quiet—it will spoil everything. A boy was eating +peppermints in the shade of his copy-book this very night. I did box +his ears; but I wish I had seized the goodies, they might have kept +you quiet."</p> + +<p>"Thank you," was the reply, "I abhor peppermint; but I have got some +lozenges, if that will satisfy you. And when I smell ghosts, I can +smother myself in my pocket-handkerchief."</p> + +<p>Master Arthur laughed boisterously.</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_219" id="Page_219"></a>[219]</span></p> + +<p>"We shall smell one if brimstone will do it. I hope he won't set +himself on fire, or the scenic effect will be stronger than we +bargained for."</p> + +<p>This was the beginning of a desultory conversation carried on at +intervals between the two young gentlemen, of which, though Bill heard +every sentence, he couldn't understand one. He made one effort to +discover what Master Arthur was alluding to, but with no satisfactory +result, as we shall see.</p> + +<p>"Please, Master Arthur," he said desperately, "you don't think +there'll be two ghosts, do you, Sir?"</p> + +<p>"I should say," said Master Arthur, so slowly and with such gravity +that Bill felt sure he was making fun of him, "I should say, Bill, +that if a place is haunted at all there is no limit to the number of +ghosts—fifty quite as likely as one. What do you say, Bartram?"</p> + +<p>"Quite so," said Bartram.</p> + +<p>Bill made no further attempts to understand the mystery. He listened, +but only grew more and more bewildered at the dark hints he heard, and +never understood what it all meant until the end came; when (as is not +uncommon) he wondered how he could have been so stupid, and why he had +not seen it all from the very first.</p> + +<p>They had now reached the turning-point, and as they passed into the +dark lane, where the wind was <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_220" id="Page_220"></a>[220]</span>shuddering and shivering among the +trees, Bill shuddered and shivered too, and felt very glad that the +young gentlemen were with him, after all.</p> + +<p>Mr. Lindsay pulled out his watch.</p> + +<p>"Well?" said his friend.</p> + +<p>"Ten minutes to nine."</p> + +<p>Then they walked on in silence, Master Arthur with one arm through his +friend's, and the one-legged donkey under the other; and Mr. Lindsay +with his hand on Bill's shoulder.</p> + +<p>"I <i>should</i> like a pipe!" said Master Arthur presently; "it's so +abominably damp."</p> + +<p>"What a fellow you are," said Mr. Lindsay. "Out of the question! With +the wind setting down the lane too! you talk of my cough—which is +better, by-the-bye."</p> + +<p>"What a fellow <i>you</i> are!" retorted the other. "Bartram, you are the +oddest creature I know. What ever you take up, you do drive at so. Now +I have hardly got a lark afloat before I'm sick of it. I wish you'd +tell me two things—first, why are you so grave to-night? and, +secondly, what made you take up our young friend's cause so warmly?"</p> + +<p>"One answer will serve both questions," said Mr. Lindsay. "The truth +is, old fellow, our young friend—[and Bill felt certain that the +'young friend' was himself]—has a look of a little chap I <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_221" id="Page_221"></a>[221]</span>was chum +with at school—Regy Gordon. I don't talk about it often, for I can't +very well; but he was killed—think of it, man!—<i>killed</i> by such a +piece of bullying as this! When they found him, he was quite stiff and +speechless; he lived a few hours, but he only said two words—my name, +and amen."</p> + +<p>"Amen?" said Master Arthur, inquiringly.</p> + +<p>"Well, you see when the surgeon said it was no go, they telegraphed +for his friends; but they were a long way off, and he was sinking +rapidly; and the old Doctor was in the room, half heart-broken, and he +saw Gordon move his hands together, and he said, 'If any boy knows +what prayers Gordon minor has been used to say, let him come and say +them by him;' and I did. So I knelt by his bed and said them, the old +Doctor kneeling too and sobbing like a child; and when I had done, +Regy moved his lips and said 'Amen;' and then he said 'Lindsay!' and +smiled, and then—"</p> + +<p>Master Arthur squeezed his friend's arm tightly, but said nothing, and +both the young men were silent; but Bill could not restrain his tears. +It seemed the saddest story he had ever heard, and Mr. Lindsay's hand +upon his shoulder shook so intolerably whilst he was speaking, that he +had taken it away, which made Bill worse, and he fairly sobbed.</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_222" id="Page_222"></a>[222]</span></p> + +<p>"What are you blubbering about, young 'un?" said Mr. Lindsay. "He is +better off than any of us, and if you are a good boy you will see him +some day;" and the young gentleman put his hand back again, which was +steady now.</p> + +<p>"What became of the other fellow?" said Master Arthur.</p> + +<p>"He was taken away, of course. Sent abroad, I believe. It was hushed +up. And now you know," added Mr. Lindsay, "why my native indolence has +roused itself to get this cad taught a lesson, which many a time I +wished to GOD when wishes were too late, that that other bully had +been taught <i>in time</i>. But no one could thrash him; and no one durst +complain. However, let's change the subject, old fellow! I've got over +it long since: though sometimes I think the wish to see Regy again +helps to keep me a decent sort of fellow. But when I saw the likeness +this morning, it startled me; and then to hear the story, it seemed +like a dream—the Gordon affair over again. I suppose rustic nerves +are tougher; however, your village blackguard shan't have the chance +of committing murder if we can cure him!"</p> + +<p>"I believe you half wanted to undertake the cure yourself," said +Master Arthur.</p> + +<p>Mr. Lindsay laughed.</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_223" id="Page_223"></a>[223]</span></p> + +<p>"I did for a minute. Fancy your father's feelings if I had come home +with a black eye from an encounter with a pot-house bully! You know I +put my foot into a tender secret of your man's, by offering to be the +performer!"</p> + +<p>"How?"</p> + +<p>Mr. Lindsay lowered his voice, but not so that Bill could not hear +what he said, and recognize the imitation of John Gardener.</p> + +<p>"He said, 'I'd rather do it, if <i>you</i> please, Sir. The fact is, I'm +partial to the young woman myself!' After that, I could but leave John +to defend his young woman's belongings."</p> + +<p>"Gently!" exclaimed Master Arthur. "There is the Yew Walk."</p> + +<p>From this moment the conversation was carried on in whispers, to +Bill's further mystification. The young gentlemen recovered their +spirits, and kept exploding in smothered chuckles of laughter.</p> + +<p>"Cold work for him if he's been waiting long!" whispered one.</p> + +<p>"Don't know. His head's under cover, remember!" said the other: and +they laughed.</p> + +<p>"Bet you sixpence he's been smearing his hand with brimstone for the +last half hour."</p> + +<p>"Don't smell him yet, though."</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_224" id="Page_224"></a>[224]</span></p> + +<p>"He'll be a patent aphis-destroyer in the rose-garden for months to +come."</p> + +<p>"Sharp work for the eyelids if it gets under the sheet."</p> + +<p>They were now close by the Yews, out of which the wind came with a +peculiar chill, as if it had been passing through a vault. Mr. Bartram +Lindsay stooped down, and whispered in Bill's ear. "Listen, my lad. We +can't go down the lane with you, for we want to see the ghost, but we +don't want the ghost to see us. Don't be frightened, but go just as +usual. And mind—when you see the white figure, point with your own +arm <i>towards the Church</i>, and scream as loud as you like. Can you do +this?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, Sir," whispered Bill.</p> + +<p>"Then off with you. We shall creep quietly on behind the trees; and +you shan't be hurt, I promise you."</p> + +<p>Bill summoned his courage, and plunged into the shadows. What could be +the meaning of Mr. Lindsay's strange orders? Should he ever have +courage to lift his arm towards the church in the face of that awful +apparition of the murdered man? And if he did, would the unquiet +spirit take the hint, and go back into the grave, which Bill knew was +at that very corner to which he must point? Left alone, his terrors +began to return; and he listened eagerly to <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_225" id="Page_225"></a>[225]</span>see if, amid the +ceaseless soughing of the wind among the long yew branches, he could +hear the rustle of the young men's footsteps as they crept behind. But +he could distinguish nothing. The hish-wishing of the thin leaves was +so incessant, the wind was so dexterous and tormenting in the tricks +it played and the sounds it produced, that the whole place seemed +alive with phantom rustlings and footsteps; and Bill felt as if Master +Arthur was right, and that there was "no limit" to the number of +ghosts!</p> + +<p>At last he could see the end of the avenue. There among the few last +trees was the place where the ghost had appeared. There beyond lay the +white road, the churchyard corner, and the tall grey tomb-stone +glimmering in the moonlight. A few steps more, and slowly from among +the yews came the ghost as before, and raised its long white arm. Bill +determined that, if he died for it, he would do as he had been told; +and lifting his own hand he pointed towards the tomb-stone, and gave a +shout. As he pointed, the ghost turned round, and then—rising from +behind the tomb-stone, and gliding slowly to the edge of the wall, +which separated the churchyard from the lower level of the road—there +appeared a sight so awful, that Bill's shout merged into a prolonged +scream of terror.</p> + +<p>Truly Master Arthur's anticipations of a "scenic <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_226" id="Page_226"></a>[226]</span>effect" were amply +realized. The walls and buttresses of the old Church stood out dark +against the sky; the white clouds sailed slowly by the moon, which +reflected itself on the damp grass, and shone upon the flat wet +tomb-stones till they looked like pieces of water. It was not less +bright upon the upright ones, upon quaint crosses, short headstones, +and upon the huge ungainly memorial of the murdered Ephraim Garnett. +But <i>the</i> sight on which it shone that night was the figure now +standing by Ephraim Garnett's grave, and looking over the wall. An +awful figure, of gigantic height, with ghostly white garments clinging +round its headless body, and carrying under its left arm the head that +should have been upon its shoulders. On this there was neither flesh +nor hair. It seemed to be a bare skull, with fire gleaming through the +hollow eye-sockets and the grinning teeth. The right hand of the +figure was outstretched as if in warning; and from the palms to the +tips of the fingers was a mass of lambent flame. When Bill saw this +fearful apparition he screamed with hearty good will; but the noise he +made was nothing to the yell of terror that came from beneath the +shroud of the Yew-lane Ghost, who, on catching sight of the rival +spectre, fled wildly up the lane, kicking the white sheet off as he +went, and finally displaying, to Bill's amazement, the form and +features <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_227" id="Page_227"></a>[227]</span>of Bully Tom. But this was not all. No sooner had the first +ghost started, than the second (not to be behind-hand) jumped nimbly +over the wall, and gave chase. But fear had put wings on to Bully +Tom's feet; and the second ghost being somewhat encumbered by his +costume, judged it wisdom to stop; and then taking the fiery skull in +its flaming hands, shied it with such dexterity, that it hit Bully Tom +in the middle of his back, and falling on to the wet ground, went out +with a hiss. This blow was an unexpected shock to the Bully, who +thought the ghost must have come up to him with supernatural rapidity, +and falling on his knees in the mud, began to roar most lustily:</p> + +<p>"Lord, have mercy upon me! I'll never do it no more!"</p> + +<p>Mr. Lindsay was not likely to alter his opinion on the subject of +bullies. This one, like others, was a mortal coward. Like other men, +who have no fear of GOD before their eyes, he made up for it by having +a very hearty fear of sickness, death, departed souls, and one or two +other things, which the most self-willed sinner knows well enough to +be in the hands of a Power which he cannot see, and does not wish to +believe in. Bully Tom had spoken the truth when he said that if he +thought there was a ghost in Yew-lane he wouldn't go near it. If he +had believed the <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_228" id="Page_228"></a>[228]</span> stories with which he had alarmed poor Bill, the +lad's evening walk would never have been disturbed, as far as he was +concerned. Nothing but his spite against Bessy would have made him +take so much trouble to vex the peace, and stop the schooling, of her +pet brother; and as it was, the standing alone by the churchyard at +night was a position so little to his taste, that he had drunk pretty +heavily in the public-house for half an hour beforehand, to keep up +his spirits. And now he had been paid back in his own coin, and lay +grovelling in the mud, and calling profanely on the Lord, Whose mercy +such men always cry for in their trouble, if they never ask it for +their sins. He was so confused and blinded by drink and fright, that +he did not see the second ghost divest himself of his encumbrances, or +know that it was John Gardener, till that rosy-cheeked worthy, his +clenched hands still flaming with brimstone, danced round him, and +shouted scornfully, and with that vehemence of aspiration, in which he +was apt to indulge when excited:</p> + +<p>"Get hup, yer great cowardly booby, will yer? So you thought you was +coming hout to frighten a little lad, did ye? And you met with one of +your hown size, did ye? Now <i>will</i> ye get hup and take it like a man, +or shall I give it you as ye lie there?"</p> + +<p>Bully Tom chose the least of two evils, and <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_229" id="Page_229"></a>[229]</span>staggering to his feet +with an oath, rushed upon John. But in his present condition he was no +match for the active little gardener, inspired with just wrath, and +thoughts of Bessy; and he then and there received such a sound +thrashing as he had not known since he first arrogated the character +of village bully. He was roaring loudly for mercy, and John Gardener +was giving him a harmless roll in the mud by way of conclusion, when +he caught sight of the two young gentlemen in the lane—Master Arthur +in fits of laughter at the absurd position of the ex-Yew-lane Ghost +and Mr. Lindsay standing still and silent, with folded arms, set lips, +and the gold eye-glass on his nose. As soon as he saw them, he began +to shout, "Murder! help!" at the top of his voice.</p> + +<p>"I see myself," said Master Arthur, driving his hands contemptuously +into his pockets—"I see myself helping a great lout who came out to +frighten a child, and can neither defend his own eyes and nose, nor +take a licking with a good grace when he deserves it!"</p> + +<p>Bully Tom appealed to Mr. Lindsay.</p> + +<p>"Yah! yah!" he howled: "will you see a man killed for want of help?"</p> + +<p>But the clever young gentleman seemed even less inclined to give his +assistance.</p> + +<p>"Killed!" he said contemptuously; "I <i>have</i> seen <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_230" id="Page_230"></a>[230]</span>a lad killed on such +a night as this, by such a piece of bullying! Be thankful you have +been stopped in time! I wouldn't raise my little finger to save you +from twice such a thrashing. It has been fairly earned! Give the ghost +his shroud, Gardener, and let him go; and recommend him not to haunt +Yew-lane in future."</p> + +<p>John did so, with a few words of parting advice on his own account.</p> + +<p>"Be hoff with you," he said. "Master Lindsay, he speaks like a book. +You're a disgrace to your hage and sect, you are! I'd as soon fight +with an old charwoman. Though, bless you, young gentlemen," he added, +as Bully Tom slunk off muttering, "he <i>is</i> the biggest blackguard in +the place; and what the Rector'll say, when he comes to know as you've +been mingled up with him, passes me."</p> + +<p>"He'll forgive us, I dare say," said Master Arthur. "I only wish he +could have seen you emerge from behind that stone! It was a sight for +a century! I wonder what the youngster thought of it! Hi, Willie, +here, Sir! What did you think of the second ghost?"</p> + +<p>Bill had some doubts as to the light in which he ought to regard that +apparition; but he decided on the simple truth.</p> + +<p>"I thought it looked very horrid, Sir."</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_231" id="Page_231"></a>[231]</span></p> + +<p>"I should hope it did! The afternoon's work of three able-bodied men +has been marvellously wasted if it didn't. However, I must say you +halloed out loud enough!"</p> + +<p>Bill coloured, the more so as Mr. Lindsay was looking hard at him over +the top of his spectacles.</p> + +<p>"Don't you feel rather ashamed of all your fright, now you've seen the +ghosts without their sheets?" inquired the clever young gentleman.</p> + +<p>"Yes, Sir," said Bill, hanging his head. "I shall never believe in +ghosts again, Sir, though."</p> + +<p>Mr. Bartram Lindsay took off his glasses, and twiddled them in his +fingers.</p> + +<p>"Well, well," he said in a low hurried voice; "I'm not the parson, and +I don't pretend to say what you should believe and what you shouldn't. +We know precious little as to how much the spirits of the dead see and +know of what they have left behind. But I think you may venture to +assure yourself that when a poor soul has passed the waves of this +troublesome world, by whatever means, it doesn't come back kicking +about under a white sheet in dark lanes, to frighten little boys from +going to school."</p> + +<p>"And that's very true, Sir," said John Gardener, admiringly.</p> + +<p>"So it is," said Master Arthur. "I couldn't have <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_232" id="Page_232"></a>[232]</span>explained that +myself, Willie; but those are my sentiments and I beg you'll attend to +what Mr. Lindsay has told you."</p> + +<p>"Yes, Sir," said Bill.</p> + +<p>Mr. Lindsay laughed, though not quite merrily, and said—</p> + +<p>"I could tell him something more, Arthur, though he's too young to +understand it: namely, that if he lives, the day will come, when he +would be only too happy if the dead might come back and hold out their +hands to us, anywhere, and for however short a time."</p> + +<p>The young gentleman stopped abruptly; and the gardener heaved a +sympathetic sigh.</p> + +<p>"I tell you what it is, Bartram," muttered Master Arthur, "I suppose +I'm too young, too, for I've had quite enough of the melancholies for +one night. As to you, you're as old as the hills; but it's time you +came home; and if I'd known before what you told me to night, old +fellow, you shouldn't have come out on this expedition. Now, for you, +Willie," added the young gentleman, whirling sharply round, "if you're +not a pattern Solomon henceforth, it won't be the fault of your +friends. And if wisdom doesn't bring you to school after this, I shall +try the argument of the one-legged donkey."</p> + +<p>"I don't think I shall miss next time, Sir." </p> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_233" id="Page_233"></a>[233]</span>"I hope you won't. Now, + John, as you've come so far, you may as well see the lad safe home; + but don't shake hands with the family in the present state of your + fists, or you might throw somebody into a fit. Good-night!"</p> +<p>Yew-lane echoed a round of "Good-nights;" and Bill and the gardener +went off in high spirits. As they crossed the road, Bill looked round, +and under the trees saw the young gentlemen strolling back to the +Rectory, arm in arm. Mr. Bartram Lindsay with his chin high in the +air, and Master Arthur vehemently exhorting him on some topic, of +which he was pointing the moral with flourishes of the one-legged +donkey.</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>For those who like to know "what became of" everybody, these facts are +added:</p> + +<p>The young gentlemen got safely home; and Master Arthur gave such a +comical account of their adventure, that the Rector laughed too much +to scold them, even if he had wished.</p> + +<p>Beauty Bill went up and down Yew-lane on many a moonlight night after +this one, but he never saw another ghost, or felt any more fears in +connection with Ephraim Garnett. To make matters more entirely +comfortable, however, John kindly took to the <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_234" id="Page_234"></a>[234]</span>custom of walking home +with the lad after night-school was ended. In return for this +attention, Bill's family were apt to ask him in for an hour; and by +their fire-side he told the story of the two ghosts so often—from the +manufacture in the Rectory barn to the final apparition at the +cross-roads—that the whole family declare they feel just as if they +had seen it.</p> + +<p>Bessy, under the hands of the cheerful doctor, got quite well, and +eventually married. As her cottage boasts the finest window plants in +the village, it is shrewdly surmised that her husband is a gardener.</p> + +<p>Bully Tom talked very loudly for some time of "having the law of" the +rival ghost; but finding, perhaps, that the story did not redound to +his credit, was unwilling to give it further publicity, and changed +his mind.</p> + +<p>Winter and summer, day and night, sunshine and moonlight, have passed +over the lane and the churchyard, and the wind has had many a ghostly +howl among the yews, since poor Bill learnt the story of the murder; +but he knows now that the true Ephraim Garnett has never been seen on +the cross-roads since a hundred years ago, and will not be till the +Great Day.</p> + +<p>In the ditch by the side of Yew-lane shortly after <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_235" id="Page_235"></a>[235]</span> the events I have +been describing, a little lad found a large turnip, in which someone +had cut eyes, nose, and mouth, and put bits of stick for teeth. The +turnip was hollow, and inside it was fixed a bit of wax candle. He +lighted it up, and the effect was so splendid, that he made a show of +it to his companions at the price of a marble each, who were well +satisfied. And this was the last of the Yew-lane Ghosts.</p> +<p> </p> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_236" id="Page_236"></a>[236]</span></p> +<h2><a name="A_BAD_HABIT" id="A_BAD_HABIT"></a>A BAD HABIT.</h2> +<h2>CHAPTER I.</h2> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"Oh, how much more doth beauty beauteous seem<br /></span> +<span class="i0">By that sweet ornament which truth doth give!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The rose looks fair, but fairer we it deem<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For that sweet odour which doth in it live."<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="sig1">Shakespeare.<br /></span> +</div></div> + + +<p><br /> + My godmother, Lady Elizabeth, used to say, "Most things are matters of +habit. Good habits and bad habits." And she generally added, "<i>Your</i> +bad habit, Selina, is a habit of grumbling."</p> + +<p>I was always accustomed to seeing great respect paid to anything my +godmother said or did. In the first place, she was what Mrs. Arthur +James Johnson called "a fine lady," and what the maids called "a real +lady." She was an old friend and, I think, a relative of my father, +who had married a little below his own rank—my mother being the +daughter of a rich manufacturer. My father had died before I can +remember things, and Joseph and <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_237" id="Page_237"></a>[237]</span> I lived with our mother and her +friends. At least, we were with our mother when she could bear the +noise; and for the rest of our time, when we were tired of playing +games together, we sat with the maids.</p> + +<p>"That is where you learned your little <i>toss</i> and your trick of +grumbling, my dear," my godmother said, planting her gold eye-glasses +on her high nose; "and that is why your mouth is growing out of shape, +and your forehead getting puckered, and your chin poked, and—and your +boots bulged crooked."</p> + +<p>"<i>My boots</i>, godmother?"</p> + +<p>"Your boots, my dear. No boots will keep in shape if you shake your +hips and kick with your heels like a servant out Sunday walking. When +little girls flounce on the high road, it only looks ridiculous; but +when you grow up, you'll never have a clean petticoat, or be known for +a well-bred woman behind your back, unless you learn to walk as if +your legs and your feelings were under your own control. That is why +the sergeant is coming to-morrow and every week-day morning to drill +you and Joseph from ten to eleven whilst you remain here."</p> + +<p>And my godmother pressed the leaves of the journal on her lap, and cut +them quite straight and very decisively with a heavy ivory +paper-knife.</p> + +<p>I had never been taught that it is bad manners <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_238" id="Page_238"></a>[238]</span>to mutter—nurse +always talked to herself when she was "put out"—and, as I stood in +much awe of Lady Elizabeth, I did not like to complain aloud of her +arrangements. So I turned my doll with a sharp flounce in my arms, and +muttered behind her tarlatan skirts that "I did think we were to have +had whole holidays out visiting."</p> + +<p>I believe my godmother heard me; but she only looked at me for a +moment over the top of her gold eye-glasses, and then went on reading +the paper through them.</p> + +<p>After a few moments, she laid it down on her lap with her left hand, +and with her right hand took off her eye-glasses and held them between +her fingers.</p> + +<p>"I shall be sorry if you don't grow up nice-looking, Selina," she +said. "It's a great advantage to a woman—indeed, to anyone—to be +good-looking. Your mother was a pretty woman, too; and your father—"</p> + +<p>Lady Elizabeth stopped, and then, seeming suddenly to see that I was +watching her and waiting, put her glasses before her eyes again, and +continued—</p> + +<p>"Your father was a very good-looking gentleman, with a fine face and a +fine figure, beautiful eyes and mouth, very attractive hands, and most +fascinating manners. It will be a pity if you don't grow up +nice-looking."</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_239" id="Page_239"></a>[239]</span></p> + +<p>I grew crimson, partly with mortification and partly with +astonishment. I had a strong natural desire to be pretty, but I felt +sure I had been taught somehow that it was much more meritorious not +to care about it. It certainly did not please me when (if I had +offended them) the maids said I should never be as pretty as Maud Mary +Ibbetson, my bosom friend; but when nurse took the good looking-glass +out of the nursery, and hung up the wavy one which used to be in her +room instead, to keep me from growing vain, I did not dispute her +statement that "the less little girls looked in the glass the better." +And when I went to see Maud Mary (who was the only child of rich +parents, and had a cheval-glass in her own bed-room), it was a just +satisfaction to me to feel that if she was prettier, and could see +herself full length, she was probably vainer than I.</p> + +<p>It was very mortifying, therefore, to find that my godmother not only +thought me plain, but gave me no credit for not minding it. I grew +redder and redder, and my eyes filled with tears.</p> + +<p>Lady Elizabeth was very nice in one way—she treated us with as much +courtesy and consideration as if we were grown up. People do not think +about being polite to children, but my godmother was very polite.</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_240" id="Page_240"></a>[240]</span></p> + +<p>"My dear child," she said, holding out her hand, "I am very sorry if I +have hurt your feelings. I beg your pardon."</p> + +<p>I put my hot and rather dirty little paw among her cool fingers and +diamond rings. I could not mutter to her face, but I said rather under +my sobs that "it seemed such a thing" to be blamed for not being +pretty.</p> + +<p>"My dear Selina, I never said anything about your being pretty. I said +I should be sorry if you did not grow up nice-looking, which is quite +another thing. It will depend on yourself whether you are nice-looking +or not."</p> + +<p>I began to feel comforted, but I bridled my chin in an aggrieved +manner, which I know I had caught from Mrs. Marsden, the charwoman, +when she took tea in the nursery and told long tales to nurse; and I +said I "was sure it wasn't for want of speaking to" nurse that my hair +did not wave like Maud Mary's, but that when I asked her to crimp it, +she only said, "Handsome is that handsome does, and that ought to be +enough for you, Miss Selina, without <i>my</i> slaving to damp-plait your +hair every night."</p> + +<p>I repeated nurse's speech pretty volubly, and with her sharp accent +and accompanying toss. My godmother heard me out, and then she said—</p> + +<p>"Nurse quoted a very good proverb, which is <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_241" id="Page_241"></a>[241]</span>even truer than it is +allowed to be. Those who do well grow to look well. My little +goddaughter, that soft child's face of yours can be pinched and pulled +into a nice shape or an ugly shape, very much as you pull and pinch +that gutta-percha head I gave you, and, one way or another, it is +being shaped all along."</p> + +<p>"But people can't give themselves beautiful figures, and eyes, and +mouths, and hands, as you said papa had, unless they are born so," I +objected.</p> + +<p>"Your father's figure, my dear," said Lady Elizabeth, "was beautiful +with the grace and power which comes of training. He was a military +man, and you have only to look at a dozen common men in a marching +regiment and compare them with a dozen of the same class of men who go +on plodding to work and loafing at play in their native villages, to +see what people can do for their own figures. His eyes, Selina, were +bright with intelligence and trained powers of observation; and they +were beautiful with kindliness, and with the well-bred habit of giving +complete attention to other people and their affairs when he talked +with them. He had a rare smile, which you may not inherit, but the +real beauty of such mouths as his comes from the lips being restrained +into firm and sensitive lines, through years of self-control and fine +sympathies."</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_242" id="Page_242"></a>[242]</span></p> + +<p>I do not quite understand. "Do you mean that I can practise my mouth +into a nice shape?" I asked.</p> + +<p>"Certainly not, my dear, any more than you can pinch your nose into +shape with your finger and thumb; but your lips, and all the lines of +your face, will take shape of themselves, according to your temper and +habits.</p> + +<p>"There are two things," my godmother continued, after turning round to +look at me for a minute, "there are two things, Selina, against your +growing up good-looking. One is that you have caught so many little +vulgarisms from the servants; and the other is your little bad habit +of grumbling, which, for that matter, is a very ill-bred habit as +well, and would spoil the prettiest eyes, nose, mouth, and chin that +ever were inherited. Under-bred and ill-educated women are, as a +general rule, much less good-looking than well-bred and +highly-educated ones, especially in middle life; not because good +features and pretty complexions belong to one class more than to +another, but because nicer personal habits and stricter discipline of +the mind do. A girl who was never taught to brush her teeth, to +breathe through the nostrils instead of the lips, and to chew with the +back teeth instead of the front, has a very poor chance of growing up +with a pretty mouth, as anyone may see <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_243" id="Page_243"></a>[243]</span>who has observed a middle-aged +woman of that class munching a meat pie at a railway-station. And if, +into the bargain, she has nothing to talk about but her own and her +neighbour's everyday affairs, and nothing to think about to keep her +from continually talking, life, my dear child, is so full of little +rubs, that constant chatter of this kind must almost certainly be +constant grumbling. And constant grumbling, Selina, makes an ugly +under-lip, a forehead wrinkled with frowning, and dull eyes that see +nothing but grievances. There is a book in the library with some +pictures of faces that I must show you. Do you draw at all, my dear?"</p> + +<p>"Mamma gave me a drawing-slate on my birthday," I replied, "but Joseph +bothered me to lend it to him, and now he's broken the glass. It <i>is</i> +so tiresome! But it's always the way if you lend things."</p> + +<p>"What makes you think that it is always the way if you lend things?" +my godmother gently inquired.</p> + +<p>"It seems as if it was, I'm sure," was my answer. "It was just the +same with the fish-kettle when cook lent it to the Browns. They kept +it a fortnight, and let it rust, and the first time cook put a drop of +water into it it leaked; and she said it always <i>was</i> the way; you +might lend everything you had, and people had <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_244" id="Page_244"></a>[244]</span>no conscience, but if +it came to borrowing a pepperpot—"</p> + +<p>My godmother put up both her long hands with an impatient gesture.</p> + +<p>"That will do, my dear. I don't care to hear all that your mother's +cook said about the fish-kettle."</p> + +<p>I felt uncomfortable, and was glad that Lady Elizabeth went on +talking.</p> + +<p>"Have you and Joseph any collections? When I was your age, I remember +I made a nice collection of wafers. They were quite as pretty as +modern monograms."</p> + +<p>"Joseph collected feathers out of the pillows once," I said, laughing. +"He got a great many different sorts, but nurse burned them, and he +cried."</p> + +<p>"I'm sorry nurse burned them. I daresay they made him very happy. I +advise you to begin a collection, Selina. It is a capital cure for +discontent. Anything will do. A collection of buttons, for instance. +There are a great many kinds; and if ever some travelled friend crowns +your collection with a mandarin's button, for one day at least you +won't feel a grievance worth speaking of."</p> + +<p>I was feeling very much aggrieved as Lady Elizabeth spoke, and +thinking to myself that "it seemed so hard to be scolded out visiting, +and when one had not got into any scrape." But I only said that<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_245" id="Page_245"></a>[245]</span> +"nobody at home ever said that I grumbled so much;" and that I "didn't +know that our servants complained more than other people's."</p> + +<p>"I do not suppose they do," said my godmother. "I have told you +already that I consider it a foible of ill-educated people, whose +interests are very limited, and whose feelings are not disciplined. +You know James, the butler, Selina, do you not?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, yes, godmamma!"</p> + +<p>I knew James well. He was very kind to me, and always liberal when, by +Lady Elizabeth's orders, he helped me to almonds and raisins at +dessert.</p> + +<p>"My mother died young," said Lady Elizabeth, "and at sixteen I was +head of my father's household. I had been well trained, and I tried to +do my duty. Amid all the details of providing for and entertaining +many people, my duty was to think of everything, and never to seem as +if I had anything on my mind. I should have been fairly trained <i>for a +kitchen-maid</i>, Selina, if I had done what I was told when it was +bawled at me, and had talked and seemed more overwhelmed with work +than the Prime Minister. Well, most of our servants had known me from +babyhood, and it was not a light matter to have the needful authority +over them without hurting the feelings of such old and faithful +friends. But, on the whole, they respected my efforts, and were proud +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_246" id="Page_246"></a>[246]</span>of my self-possession. I had more trouble with the younger ones, who +were too young to help me, and whom I was too young to overawe. I was +busy one morning writing necessary letters, when James—who was then +seventeen, and the under-footman—came to the drawing room and wished +to speak to me. When he had wasted a good deal of my time in +describing his unwillingness to disturb me, and the years his father +had lived in my father's service, I said, 'James, I have important +letters to write, and very little time to spare. If you have any +complaint to make, will you kindly put it as shortly as you can?' 'I'm +sure, my lady, I have no wish to complain,' was James's reply; and +thereon his complaints poured forth in a continuous stream. I took out +my watch (unseen by James, for I never insult people), and gave him +five minutes for his grievances. He got on pretty fast with them. He +had mentioned the stone floor of his bed-room, a draught in the pantry, +the overbearingness of the butler, the potatoes for the servants' hall +being under-boiled when the cook was out of temper, the inferior +quality of the new plate-powder, the insinuations against his father's +honesty by servants who were upstarts by comparison, his hat having +been spoilt by the rain, and that he never was so miserable in his +life—when the five minutes expired, and I said 'Then, James, you want +to go?' <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_247" id="Page_247"></a>[247]</span> He coloured, and I really think tears stood in his eyes. He +was a good-hearted lad.</p> + +<p>"When he began to say that he could never regard any other place as he +looked on this, and that he felt towards his lordship and me as he +could feel towards no other master and mistress, I gave him another +five minutes for what he was pleased with. To do him justice, the list +was quite as long as that of his grievances. No people were like us, +and he had never been so happy in his life. So I said, 'Then, James, +you want to stay?'</p> + +<p>"James began a fresh statement, in which his grievances and his +satisfactions came alternately, and I cut this short by saying, 'Well, +James, the difficulty seems to be that you have not made up your mind +what you do want. I have no time to balance matters for you, so you +had better go downstairs and think it well over, and let me know what +you decide.'</p> + +<p>"He went accordingly, and when he was driven to think for himself by +being stopped from talking to me, I suppose he was wise enough to +perceive that it is easier to find crosses in one's lot than to feel +quite sure that one could change it for a better. I have no doubt that +he had <i>not</i> got all he might lawfully have wished for, but, different +as our positions were, no more had I, and we both had to do <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_248" id="Page_248"></a>[248]</span>our duty +and make the best of life as we found it. It's a very good thing, dear +child, to get into the habit of saying to oneself, 'One can't have +everything.' I suppose James learned to say it, for he has lived with +me ever since."</p> + +<p>At this moment Joseph called to me through the open window which led +into the garden—</p> + +<p>"Oh, Selina! I am so sorry; but when I got to the shop I couldn't +remember whether it was a quarter of a yard of ribbon or +three-quarters that you wanted for the doll's hat."</p> + +<p>Joseph was always doing stupid things like this. It vexed me very +much, and I jumped up and hastily seized my doll to go out and speak +to him, saying, as I did so, that "boys were enough to drive one wild, +and one might as well ask the poodle to do anything as Joseph." And it +was not till I had flounced out of the drawing-room that I felt rather +hot and uncomfortable to remember that I had tossed my head, and +knitted my brows, and jerked my chin, and pouted my lips, and shaken +my skirts, and kicked up my heels, as I did so, and that my godmother +had probably been observing me through her gold eye-glasses.</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_249" id="Page_249"></a>[249]</span></p> + + + + +<h2>CHAPTER II.</h2> + +<p>"It is easier to prevent ill habits than to break them."—<span class="smcap">Old +Proverb</span>.</p> + + +<p>I must say that Joseph <i>was</i> rather a stupid boy. He was only a year +younger than me, but I never could make him understand exactly what I +wanted him to do when we played together; and he was always saying, +"Oh, I say, look here, Selina!" and proposing some silly plan of his +own. But he was very good-natured, and when we were alone I let him be +uncle to the dolls. When we spent the day with Maud Mary, however, we +never let him play with the baby-house; but we allowed him to be the +postman and the baker, and people of that sort, who knock and ring, +and we sent him messages.</p> + +<p>During the first week of our visit to Lady Elizabeth, the weather was +so fine that Joseph and I played all day long in the garden. Then it +became rainy, and we quarrelled over the old swing and the imperfect +backgammon board in the lumber-room, where we were allowed to amuse +ourselves. But one morning when we went to our play-room, after +drilling with Sergeant Walker, Joseph found a model fortress and +wooden soldiers and cannon in one corner of the room; and I found a +Dutch market, with all kinds of wooden booths, and little tables to +have tea at in another. They were presents from my <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_250" id="Page_250"></a>[250]</span>godmother; and +they were far the best kind of toys we had ever had, you could do so +many things with them.</p> + +<p>Joseph was so happy with his soldiers that he never came near the +Dutch fair; and at other times he was always bothering to be allowed +to play with the dolls. At first I was very glad, for I was afraid he +would be coming and saying, "Oh, I say, Selina," and suggesting +things; and I wanted to arrange the shops my own way. But when they +were done, and I was taking the dolls from one booth to another to +shop, I did think it seemed very odd that Joseph should not even want +to walk through the fair. And when I gave him leave to be a +shopkeeper, and to stand in front of each booth in turn, he did not +seem at all anxious to come; and he would bring a cannon with him, and +hide it behind his back when I came to buy vegetables for the dolls' +dinners.</p> + +<p>We quarrelled about the cannon. I said no one ever heard of a +greengrocer with a cannon in his shop; and Joseph said it couldn't +matter if the greengrocer stood in front of the cannon so as to hide +it. So I said I wouldn't have a cannon in my fair at all; and Joseph +said he didn't want to come to my fair, for he liked his fortress much +better, and he rattled out, dragging his cannon behind him, and +knocked down Adelaide Augusta, the gutta-percha <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_251" id="Page_251"></a>[251]</span>doll, who was leaning +against the fishmonger's slab, with her chin on the salmon.</p> + +<p>It was very hard, and I said so; and then Joseph said there were +plenty of times when I wouldn't let him play with the dolls; and I +said that was just it—when I didn't want him to he wanted, and when I +wanted him to he wouldn't, and that he was very selfish.</p> + +<p>So at last he put away his cannon, and came and played at shops; but +he was very stupid, and would look over his shoulder at the fortress +when he ought to have been pretending to sell; and once, when I had +left the fair, he got his cannon back and shot peas out of it, so that +all the fowls fell off the real hooks in the poulterer's shop, and +said he was bombarding the city.</p> + +<p>I was very angry, and said, "I shall go straight down, and complain to +godmamma," and I went.</p> + +<p>The worst of it was that only that very morning Lady Elizabeth had +said to me, "Remember one thing, my dear. I will listen to no +complaints whatever. No grumbles either from you or from Joseph. If +you want anything that you have not got, and will ask for it, I will +do my best for you, as my little guests; and if it is right and +reasonable, and fair to both, you shall have what you want. But you +must know your own mind when you ask, and make the <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_252" id="Page_252"></a>[252]</span>best of what I can +do for you. I will hear no general complaints whatever."</p> + +<p>Remembering this, I felt a little nervous when I was fairly in the +drawing-room, and Lady Elizabeth had laid down her glasses to hear +what I had to say.</p> + +<p>"Do you want anything, my dear?" said she.</p> + +<p>I began to complain—that Joseph was so stupid; that it seemed so +provoking; that I did think it was very unkind of him, etc.; but Lady +Elizabeth put up her hand.</p> + +<p>"My dear Selina, you have forgotten what I told you. If there is +anything that an old woman like me can do to make your father's child +happy, do not be afraid to ask for it, but I will not have grumbling +in the drawing-room. By all means make up your mind as to what you +want, and don't be afraid to ask your old godmother. But if she thinks +it right to refuse, or you do not think it right to ask, you must make +the best of matters as they stand, and keep your good humour and your +good manners like a lady."</p> + +<p>I felt puzzled. When I complained to nurse that Joseph "was so +tiresome," she grumbled back again that "she never knew such +children," and so forth. It is always easy to meet grievance with +grievance, but I found that it was not so easy to make up my mind and +pluck up my courage to ask in so many words for what I wanted.</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_253" id="Page_253"></a>[253]</span></p> + +<p>"Shall I ask Joseph to put away his cannon and come and play at your +game for an hour now, my dear? I will certainly forbid him to fire +into your shop."</p> + +<p>This did not quite satisfy me. As a matter of fact, Joseph had left +his fortress to play with me; and I did not really think he would +discharge his cannon at the poulterer's again. But I thought myself +hardly used, and I wanted my godmother to think so too, and to scold +Joseph. What else I wanted, I did not feel quite sure.</p> + +<p>"I wish you would speak to Joseph," I said. "He would attend to you if +you told him how selfish and stupid he is."</p> + +<p>"My dear, I never offered to complain to Joseph, but I will order him +not to molest you, and I will ask him to play with you."</p> + +<p>"I'm sure I don't want him to play with me, unless he can play nicely, +and invent things for the dolls to say, as Maud Mary would," was my +reply; for I was getting thoroughly vexed.</p> + +<p>"Then I will tell him that unless he can play your game as you wish +it, he had better amuse himself with his own toys. Is there anything +else that you want, my dear?"</p> + +<p>I could not speak, for I was crying, but I sobbed out that "I missed +Maud Mary so."</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_254" id="Page_254"></a>[254]</span></p> + +<p>"Who is Maud Mary, Selina?"</p> + +<p>"Maud Mary Ibbetson, my particular friend—my <i>very</i> particular +friend," I explained.</p> + +<p>I spoke warmly, for at that moment the memory of Maud Mary seemed +adorable, and I longed to pour my complaints into her sympathetic ear. +Besides, I had another reason for regretting that she was not with me. +When we were together, it was she, as a rule, who had new and handsome +toys to exhibit, whilst I played the humbler part of admirer. But if +she had been with me, then, what would not have been my triumph in +displaying the Dutch fair! The longer I thought of her the faster my +tears fell, but they did not help me to think of anything definite to +ask for; and when Lady Elizabeth said, "would you like to go home, my +dear? or do you want me to ask your friend to stay with you?" I had +the grace to feel ashamed of my peevishness, and to thank my godmother +for her kindness, and to protest against wanting anything more. I only +added, amid my subsiding sobs, that "it did seem such a thing," when I +had got a Dutch fair to play at dolls in, that Joseph should be so +stupid, and that dear Maud Mary, who would have enjoyed it so much, +should not be able to see it.</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_255" id="Page_255"></a>[255]</span></p> + + + + +<h2>CHAPTER III.</h2> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>"Nous aurons aussi la fête dans notre rue."—<span class="smcap">Russian +Proverb</span>.</p></div> + + +<p>Next day, when our drill in the long corridor was over, Lady Elizabeth +told Joseph to bring his fortress, guns, and soldiers into the +library, and to play at the Thirty Years' War in the bay-window from a +large book with pictures of sieges and battles, which she lent him.</p> + +<p>To me my godmother turned very kindly and said, "I have invited your +little friend Maud to come and stay here for a week. I hope she will +arrive to-day, so you had better prepare your dolls and your shops for +company."</p> + +<p>Maud Mary coming! I danced for joy, and kissed my godmother, and +expressed my delight again and again. I should have liked to talk +about it to Joseph, but he had plunged into the Thirty Years' War, and +had no attention to give me.</p> + +<p>It was a custom in the neighbourhood where my mother lived to call +people by double Christian names, John Thomas, William Edward, and so +forth; but my godmother never called Maud Mary anything but Maud.</p> + +<p>It was possible that my darling friend might arrive by the twelve +o'clock train, and the carriage <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_256" id="Page_256"></a>[256]</span>was sent to meet her, whilst I danced +up and down the big hall with impatience. When it came back without +her my disappointment knew no bounds. I felt sure that the Ibbetsons' +coachman had been unpunctual, or dear Maud Mary's nurse had been +cross, as usual, and had not tried to get her things packed. I rushed +into the library full of my forebodings, but my godmother only said, +"No grumbling, my dear!" and Joseph called out, "Oh, I say, Selina, I +wish you wouldn't swing the doors so: you've knocked down Wallenstein, +and he's fallen on the top of Gustavus Adolphus;" and I had to compose +myself as best I could till the five o'clock train.</p> + +<p>Then she came. Darling Maud Mary!</p> + +<p>Perhaps it was because I crushed her new feather in kissing her (and +Maud Mary was very particular about her clothes); perhaps it was +because she was tired with travelling, which I forgot; or perhaps it +was because she would rather have had tea first, that Maud Mary was +not quite so nice about the Dutch fair as I should have liked her to +be.</p> + +<p>She said she rather wondered that Lady Elizabeth had not given me a +big dolls' house like hers instead; that she had come away in such a +hurry that she forgot to lock hers up, and she should not be the least +surprised if the kitten got into it and broke something, but "it did +seem rather odd" to be invited <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_257" id="Page_257"></a>[257]</span>in such a very hurried way; that just +when she <i>was</i> going to a big house to pay a grand visit, of course +the dressmaker "disappointed" Mrs. Ibbetson, but "that was the way +things always did happen;" that the last time Mr. Ibbetson was in +Paris he offered to bring her a dolls' railway train, with real +first-class carriages really stuffed, but she said she would rather +have a locket, and that was the very one which was hanging round her +neck, and which was much handsomer than Lucy Jane Smith's, which cost +five pounds in London.</p> + +<p>Maud Mary's inattention to the fair and the dolls was so obvious that +I followed my godmother's advice, and "made the best of it" by saying, +"I'm afraid you're very much tired, darling?"</p> + +<p>Maud Mary tossed her chin and frowned.</p> + +<p>It was "enough to tire anybody," she said, to travel on that +particular line. The railway of which her papa was a director was very +differently managed.</p> + +<p>I think my godmother's courtesy to us, and her thoughtful kindness, +had fixed her repeated hints about self-control and good manners +rather firmly in my head. I distinctly remember making an effort to +forget my toys and think of Maud Mary's comfort.</p> + +<p>I said, "Will you come and take off your things, darling?" and she +said, "Yes, darling;" and then we had tea.</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_258" id="Page_258"></a>[258]</span></p> + +<p>But next day, when she was quite rested, and had really nothing to +complain of, I did think she might have praised the Dutch fair.</p> + +<p>She said it "seemed such a funny thing" to have to play in an old +garret; but she need not have wanted to alter the arrangement of all +the shops, and have everything her own way, as she always had at home, +because, if her dolls' house was hers, my Dutch fair was mine. I did +think, for a moment, of getting my godmother to speak to her, but I +knew it would be of no use to complain unless I had something to ask +for. When I came to think of it, I found that what I wanted was that +Maud Mary should let me manage my own toys and direct the game, and I +resolved to ask her myself.</p> + +<p>"Look here, darling," said I, "when I come and play with you, I always +play dolls as you like, because the dolls' house is yours; I wish you +would play my game to-day, as the Dutch fair is mine."</p> + +<p>Maud Mary flounced to her feet, and bridled with her wavy head, and +said she was sure she did not want to play if I didn't like her way of +playing; and as to my Dutch fair, her papa could buy her one any day +for her very own.</p> + +<p>I was nettled, for Maud Mary was a little apt to flourish Mr. +Ibbetson's money in my face; but if her father was rich, my godmother +was a lady of rank, <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_259" id="Page_259"></a>[259]</span>and I said that "my godmother, Lady Elizabeth, +said it was very vulgar to flounce and toss one's head if one was put +out."</p> + +<p>Maud Mary crimsoned, and, exclaiming that she did not care what Lady +Elizabeth or Lady Anybody Else said, she whisked over three shops with +the ends of her sash, and kicked the wax off Josephine Esmeralda's +nose with the heel of her Balmoral boot.</p> + +<p>I don't like confessing it, but I did push Maud Mary, and Maud Mary +slapped me.</p> + +<p>And when we both looked up, my godmother was standing before us, with +her gold spectacles on her nose.</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>Lady Elizabeth was very kind, and even then I knew that she was very +right.</p> + +<p>When she said, "I have asked your friend for a week, and for that +week, my dear, she is your guest, and you must try to please, and +<i>make the best of it</i>," I not only did not dispute it; I felt a spirit +of self-suppression and hospitable pride awake within me to do as she +had said.</p> + +<p>I think the hardest part of it was that, whatever I did and whatever I +gave up, Maud Mary recognized no effort on my part. What she got she +took as her due, and what she did not get she grumbled about.</p> + +<p>I sometimes think that it was partly because, in <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_260" id="Page_260"></a>[260]</span>all that long week, +she never ceased grumbling, that I did; I hope for life.</p> + +<p>Only once I said, "O godmamma! how glad I shall be when I am alone +with Joseph again!" And with sudden remorse, I added, "But I beg your +pardon, that's grumbling; and you <i>have</i> been so kind!"</p> + +<p>Lady Elizabeth took off her eye-glasses, and held out her hands for +mine.</p> + +<p>"Is it grumbling, little woman?" she said. "Well, I'm not sure."</p> + +<p>"<i>I'm</i> not sure," I said, smiling; "for you know I only said I should +be so <i>glad</i> to be alone with Joseph, and to try to be good to him; +for he is a very kind boy, and if he is a little awkward with the +dolls, I mean to make the best of it. <i>One can't have everything</i>," I +added, laughing.</p> + +<p>Lady Elizabeth drew my head towards her, and stroked and kissed it.</p> + +<p>"<span class="smcap">God</span> bless you, child," she said. "You <i>have</i> inherited your +father's smile."</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>"But, I say, Selina," whispered Joseph, when I went to look at his +fortress in the bay-window. "Do you suppose it's because he's dead +that she cried behind her spectacles when she said you had got his +smile?"</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_261" id="Page_261"></a>[261]</span> +</p> + + + +<h2><a name="A_HAPPY_FAMILY" id="A_HAPPY_FAMILY"></a>A HAPPY FAMILY.</h2> + + + + +<h2>CHAPTER I.</h2> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"If solid happiness we prize,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Within our breast this jewel lies.</span> +</div></div> +<hr style='width: 20%;' /> +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">From our own selves our joys must flow,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And peace begins at home."<br /></span> +<span class="sig1">Cotton.</span> +</div></div> + + + + +<p><br />The family—our family, not the Happy Family—consisted of me and my +brothers and sisters. I have a father and mother, of course.</p> + +<p>I am the eldest, as I remind my brothers; and of the more worthy +gender, which my sisters sometimes forget. Though we live in the +village, my father is a gentleman, as I shall be when I am grown up. I +have told the village boys so more than once. One feels mean in +boasting that one is better born than they are; but if I did not tell +them, I am not sure that they would always know.</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_262" id="Page_262"></a>[262]</span></p> + +<p>Our house is old, and we have a ghost—the ghost of my +great-great-great-great-great-aunt.</p> + +<p>She "crossed her father's will," nurse says, and he threatened to flog +her with his dog-whip, and she ran away, and was never heard of more. +He would not let the pond be dragged, but he never went near it again; +and the villagers do not like to go near it now. They say you may meet +her there, after sunset, flying along the path among the trees, with +her hair half down, and a knot of ribbon fluttering from it, and +parted lips, and terror in her eyes.</p> + +<p>The men of our family (my father's family, my mother is Irish) have +always had strong wills. I have a strong will myself.</p> + +<p>People say I am like the picture of my great-grandfather (the +great-great-great-nephew of the ghost). He must have been a wonderful +old gentleman by all accounts. Sometimes nurse says to us, "Have your +own way, and you'll live the longer," and it always makes me think of +great-grandfather, who had so much of his own way, and lived to be +nearly a hundred.</p> + +<p>I remember my father telling us how his sisters had to visit their old +granny for months at a time, and how he shut the shutters at three +o'clock on summer afternoons, and made them play dummy whist by candle +light.</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_263" id="Page_263"></a>[263]</span></p> + +<p>"Didn't you and your brothers go?" asked Uncle Patrick, across the +dinner-table. My father laughed.</p> + +<p>"Not we! My mother got us there once—but never again."</p> + +<p>"And did your sisters like it?"</p> + +<p>"Like it? They used to cry their hearts out. I really believe it +killed poor Jane. She was consumptive and chilly, but always craving +for fresh air; and granny never would have open windows, for fear of +draughts on his bald head; and yet the girls had no fires in their +room, because young people shouldn't be pampered."</p> + +<p>"And ye never-r offer-r-ed—neither of ye—to go in the stead of +them?"</p> + +<p>When Uncle Patrick rolls his R's in a discussion, my mother becomes +nervous.</p> + +<p>"One can't expect boys to consider things," she said. "Boys will be +boys, you know."</p> + +<p>"And what would you have 'em be?" said my father. Uncle Patrick turned +to my mother.</p> + +<p>"Too true, Geraldine. Ye don't expect it. Worse luck! I assure ye, I'd +be aghast at the brutes we men can be, if I wasn't more amazed that +we're as good as we are, when the best and gentlest of your sex—the +moulders of our childhood, the desire of our manhood—demand so little +for all that you alone <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_264" id="Page_264"></a>[264]</span>can give. There were conceivable uses in women +preferring the biggest brutes of barbarous times, but it's not so now; +and boys will be civilised boys, and men will be civilised men, sweet +sister, when you <i>do</i> expect it, and when your grace and favours are +the rewards of nobleness, and not the easy prize of selfishness and +savagery."</p> + +<p>My father spoke fairly.</p> + +<p>"There's some truth in what you say, Pat."</p> + +<p>"And small grace in my saying it. Forgive me, John."</p> + +<p>That's the way Uncle Patrick flares up and cools down, like a straw +bonfire. But my father makes allowances for him; first, because he is +an Irishman, and, secondly, because he's a cripple.</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>I love my mother dearly, and I can do anything I like with her. I +always could. When I was a baby, I would not go to sleep unless she +walked about with me, so (though walking was bad for her) I got my own +way, and had it afterwards.</p> + +<p>With one exception. She would never tell me about my godfather. I +asked once, and she was so distressed that I was glad to promise never +to speak of him again. But I only thought of him the more, though all +I knew about him was his portrait—such a <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_265" id="Page_265"></a>[265]</span>fine fellow—and that he +had the same swaggering, ridiculous name as mine.</p> + +<p>How my father allowed me to be christened Bayard I cannot imagine. But +I was rather proud of it at one time—in the days when I wore long +curls, and was so accustomed to hearing myself called "a perfect +picture," and to having my little sayings quoted by my mother and her +friends, that it made me miserable if grown-up people took the liberty +of attending to anything but me. I remember wriggling myself off my +mother's knee when I wanted change, and how she gave me her watch to +keep me quiet, and stroked my curls, and called me her fair-haired +knight, and her little Bayard; though, remembering also, how +lingeringly I used just not to do her bidding, ate the sugar when she +wasn't looking, tried to bawl myself into fits, kicked the +nurse-girl's shins, and dared not go upstairs by myself after dark—I +must confess that a young chimpanzee would have as good claims as I +had to represent that model of self-conquest and true chivalry, "the +Knight without fear and without reproach."</p> + +<p>However, the vanity of it did not last long. I wonder if that +grand-faced godfather of mine suffered as I suffered when he went to +school and said his name was Bayard? I owe a day in harvest to the +young wag who turned it into Backyard. I gave in <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_266" id="Page_266"></a>[266]</span>my name as Backyard +to every subsequent inquirer, and Backyard I modestly remained.</p> + + + + +<h2>CHAPTER II.</h2> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"The lady with the gay macaw."</span><br /> + + +<span class="sig1">Longfellow.</span><br /> +</div></div> + +<p><br /> + My sisters are much like other fellows' sisters, excepting Lettice. +That child is like no one but herself.</p> + +<p>I used to tease the other girls for fun, but I teased Lettice on +principle—to knock the nonsense out of her. She was only eight, and +very small, but, from the top row of her tight little curls to the +rosettes on her best shoes, she seemed to me a mass of affectation.</p> + +<p>Strangers always liked Lettice. I believe she was born with a company +voice in her mouth; and she would flit like a butterfly from one +grown-up person to another, chit-chattering, whilst some of us stood +pounding our knuckles in our pockets, and tying our legs into knots, +as we wished the drawing-room carpet would open and let us through +into the cellar to play at catacombs.</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_267" id="Page_267"></a>[267]</span></p> + +<p>That was how Cocky came. Lettice's airs and graces bewitched the old +lady who called in the yellow chariot, and was so like a cockatoo +herself—a cockatoo in a citron velvet bonnet, with a bird of Paradise +feather. When that old lady put up her eye-glass, she would have +frightened a yard-dog; but Lettice stood on tip-toes and stroked the +feather, saying, "What a love-e-ly bird!" And next day came +Cocky—perch and all complete—<i>for the little girl who loves birds</i>. +Lettice was proud of Cocky, but Edward really loved him, and took +trouble with him.</p> + +<p>Edward is a good boy. My mother called him after the Black Prince.</p> + +<p>He and I disgraced ourselves in the eyes of the Cockatoo lady, and it +cost the family thirty thousand pounds, which we can ill afford to +lose. It was unlucky that she came to luncheon the very day that +Edward and I had settled to dress up as Early Britons, in blue woad, +and dine off earth-nuts in the shrubbery. As we slipped out at the +side door, the yellow chariot drove up to the front. We had doormats +on, as well as powder-blue, but the old lady was terribly shocked, and +drove straight away, and did not return. Nurse says she is my father's +godmother, and has thirty thousand pounds, which she would have +bequeathed to us if we had not offended her.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_268" id="Page_268"></a>[268]</span> + +I take the blame entirely, because I always made the others play as I +pleased.</p> + +<p>We used to play at all kinds of things—concerts, circuses, +theatricals, and sometimes conjuring. Uncle Patrick had not been to +see us for a long time, when one day we heard that he was coming, and +I made up my mind at once that I would have a perfectly new +entertainment for him.</p> + +<p>We like having entertainments for Uncle Patrick, because he is such a +very good audience. He laughs, and cries, and claps, and thumps with +his crutch, and if things go badly, he amuses the rest.</p> + +<p>Ever since I can remember anything, I remember an old print, called +"The Happy Family," over our nursery fire-place, and how I used to +wonder at that immovable cat, with sparrows on her back, sitting +between an owl and a magpie. And it was when I saw Edward sitting with +Benjamin the cat, and two sparrows he had brought up by hand, +struggling and laughing because Cocky would push itself, crest first, +under his waistcoat, and come out at the top to kiss him—that an idea +struck me; and I resolved to have a Happy Family for Uncle Patrick, +and to act Showman myself.</p> + +<p>Edward can do anything with beasts. He was absolutely necessary as +confederate, but it was possible Lettice might want to show off with +Cocky, and <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_269" id="Page_269"></a>[269]</span> I did not want a girl on the stage, so I said very little +to her. But I told Edward to have in the yard-dog, and practise him in +being happy with the rest of the family pets. Fred, the farm-boy, +promised to look out for an owl. Benjamin, the cat, could have got +mice enough; but he would have eaten them before Edward had had time +to teach him better, so I set a trap. I knew a village-boy with a +magpie, ready tamed.</p> + +<p>Bernard, the yard-dog, is a lumbering old fellow, with no tricks. We +have tried. We took him out once, into a snow-drift, with a lantern +round his neck, but he rescued nothing, and lost the lantern—and then +he lost himself, for it was dark.</p> + +<p>But he is very handsome and good, and I knew, if I put him in the +middle, he would let anything sit upon him. He would not feel it, or +mind if he did. He takes no notice of Cocky.</p> + +<p>Benjamin never quarrels with Cocky, but he dare not forget that Cocky +is there. And Cocky sometimes looks at Benjamin's yellow eyes as if it +were thinking how very easily they would come out. But they are quite +sufficiently happy together for a Happy Family.</p> + +<p>The mice gave more trouble than all the rest, so I settled that +Lettice should wind up the mechanical mouse, and run that on as the +curtain rose.</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_270" id="Page_270"></a>[270]</span></p> + + + + +<h2>CHAPTER III.</h2> + +<div class="poem">"Memor esto majorum."</div> + +<p><span class="sig1">Old Motto</span>.</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"....<br /></span> +<span class="i0">All my fears are laid aside,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">If I but remember only<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Such as these have lived and died!"<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p><span class="sig1">Longfellow.</span><br /></p> + + +<p>Do you wish to avoid vexations? Then never have a Happy Family! Mine +were countless.</p> + +<p>Fred could not get me an owl. Lettice <i>did</i> want to show off with +Cocky. I had my own way, but she looked sulky and spiteful. I got Tom +Smith's magpie; but I had to have him, too. However, my costume as +Showman was gorgeous, and Edward kept our Happy Family well together. +We arranged that Tom should put Mag on at the left wing, and then run +round behind, and call Mag softly from the right. Then she would hop +across the stage to him, and show off well. Lettice was to let mother +know when the spectators might take their places, and to tell the +gardener when to raise the curtain.</p> + +<p>I really think one magpie must be "a sign of sorrow," as nurse says; +but what made Bernard take it into his beautiful foolish head to give +trouble I <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_271" id="Page_271"></a>[271]</span>cannot imagine. He wouldn't lie down, and when he did, it +was with a <i>grump</i> of protest that seemed to forbode failure. However, +he let Cocky scold him and pull his hair, which was a safety-valve for +Cocky. Benjamin dozed with dignity. He knew Cocky wasn't watching for +his yellow eyes.</p> + +<p>I don't think Lettice meant mischief when she summoned the spectators, +for time was up. But her warning the curtain to rise when it did was +simple malice and revenge.</p> + +<p>I never can forget the catastrophe, but I do not clearly remember how +Tom Smith and I <i>began</i> to quarrel. He was excessively impudent, and +seemed to think we couldn't have had a Happy Family without him and +his chattering senseless magpie.</p> + +<p>When I told him to remember he was speaking to a gentleman, he grinned +at me.</p> + +<p>"A gentleman? Nay, my sakes! Ye're not civil enough by half. More like +a new policeman, if ye weren't such a Guy Fawkes in that finery."</p> + +<p>"Be off," said I, "and take your bird with you."</p> + +<p>"What if I won't go?"</p> + +<p>"I'll make you!"</p> + +<p>"Ye darsen't touch me."</p> + +<p>"Daren't I?"</p> + +<p>"Ye darsen't."</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_272" id="Page_272"></a>[272]</span></p> + +<p>"I dare."</p> + +<p>"Try."</p> + +<p>"<i>Are</i> you going?"</p> + +<p>"Noa."</p> + +<p>I only pushed him. He struck first. He's bigger than me, but he's a +bigger coward, and I'd got him down in the middle of the stage, and +had given him something to bawl about, before I became conscious that +the curtain was up. I only realised it then, because civil, stupid +Fred, arrived at the left wing, panting and gasping—</p> + +<p>"Measter Bayard! Here's a young wood-owl for ye."</p> + +<p>As he spoke, it escaped him, fluff and feathers flying in the effort, +and squawking, plunging, and fluttering, made wildly for the darkest +corner of the stage, just as Lettice ran on the mechanical mouse in +front.</p> + +<p>Bernard rose, and shook off everything, and Cocky went into screaming +hysterics; above which I now heard the thud of Uncle Patrick's crutch, +and the peals upon peals of laughter with which our audience greeted +my long-planned spectacle of a Happy Family!</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>Our Irish uncle is not always nice. He teases <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_273" id="Page_273"></a>[273]</span>and mocks, and has an +uncertain temper. But one goes to him in trouble. I went next morning +to pour out my woes, and defend myself, and complain of the others.</p> + +<p>I spoke seriously about Lettice. It is not pleasant for a fellow to +have a sister who grows up peculiar, as I believe Lettice will. Only +the Sunday before, I told her she would be just the sort of woman men +hate, and she said she didn't care; and I said she ought to, for women +were made for men, and the Bible says so; and she said grandmamma said +that every soul was made for <span class="smcap">God</span> and its own final good. She +was in a high-falutin mood, and said she wished she had been +christened Joan instead of Lettice, and that I would be a true Bayard; +and that we could ride about the world together, dressed in armour, +and fighting for the right. And she would say all through the list of +her favourite heroines, and asked me if I minded <i>their</i> being +peculiar, and I said of course not, why should you mind what women do +who don't belong to you? So she said she could not see that; and I +said that was because girls can't see reason; and so we quarrelled, +and I gave her a regular lecture, which I repeated to Uncle Patrick.</p> + +<p>He listened quite quietly till my mother came in, and got fidgetty, +and told me not to argue with my uncle. Then he said—</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_274" id="Page_274"></a>[274]</span></p> + +<p>"Ah! let the boy talk, Geraldine, and let me hear what he has to say +for himself. There's a sublime audacity about his notions, I tell ye. +Upon me conscience, I believe he thinks his grandmother was created +for his particular convenience."</p> + +<p>That's how he mocks, and I suppose he meant my Irish grandmother. He +thinks there's nobody like her in the wide world, and my father says +she is the handsomest and wittiest old lady in the British Isles. But +I did not mind. I said,</p> + +<p>"Well, Uncle Patrick, you're a man, and I believe you agree with me, +though you mock me."</p> + +<p>"Agree with ye?" He started up, and pegged about the room. "Faith! if +the life we live is like the globe we inhabit—if it revolves on its +own axis, <i>and you're that axis</i>—there's not a flaw in your +philosophy; but <span class="smcap">if</span>—Now perish my impetuosity! I've +frightened your dear mother away. May I ask, by the bye, if <i>she</i> has +the good fortune to please ye, since the Maker of all souls made her, +for all eternity, with the particular object of mothering you in this +brief patch of time?"</p> + +<p>He had stopped under the portrait—my godfather's portrait. All his +Irish rhodomontade went straight out of my head, and I ran to him.</p> + +<p>"Uncle, you know I adore her! But there's one thing she won't do, and, +oh, I wish you would! It's <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_275" id="Page_275"></a>[275]</span>years since she told me never to ask, and +I've been on honour, and I've never even asked nurse; but I don't +think it's wrong to ask you. Who is that man behind you, who looks +such a wonderfully fine fellow? My Godfather Bayard."</p> + +<p>I had experienced a shock the night before, but nothing to the shock +of seeing Uncle Patrick's face then, and hearing him sob out his +words, instead of their flowing like a stream.</p> + +<p>"Is it possible? Ye don't know? She can't speak of him yet? Poor +Geraldine!"</p> + +<p>He controlled himself, and turned to the picture, leaning on his +crutch. I stood by him and gazed too, and I do not think, to save my +life, I could have helped asking—</p> + +<p>"Who is he?"</p> + +<p>"Your uncle. Our only brother. Oh, Bayard, Bayard!"</p> + +<p>"Is he dead?"</p> + +<p>He nodded, speechless; but somehow I could not forbear.</p> + +<p>"What did he die of?"</p> + +<p>"Of unselfishness. He died—for others."</p> + +<p>"Then he <i>was</i> a hero? That's what he looks like. I am glad he is my +godfather. Dear Uncle Pat, do tell me all about it."</p> + +<p>"Not now—hereafter. Nephew, any man—with <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_276" id="Page_276"></a>[276]</span>the heart of man and not +of a mouse—is more likely than not to behave well at a pinch; but no +man who is habitually selfish can be <i>sure</i> that he will, when the +choice comes sharp between his own life and the lives of others. The +impulse of a supreme moment only focusses the habits and customs of a +man's soul. The supreme moment may never come, but habits and customs +mould us from the cradle to the grave. His were early disciplined by +our dear mother, and he bettered her teaching. Strong for the weak, +wise for the foolish—tender for the hard—gracious for the +surly—good for the evil. Oh, my brother, without fear and without +reproach! Speak across the grave, and tell your sister's son that vice +and cowardice become alike impossible to a man who has never—cradled +in selfishness, and made callous by custom—learned to pamper himself +at the expense of others!"</p> + +<p>I waited a little before I asked—</p> + +<p>"Were you with him when he died?"</p> + +<p>"I was."</p> + +<p>"Poor Uncle Patrick! What <i>did</i> you do?"</p> + +<p>He pegged away to the sofa, and threw himself on it.</p> + +<p>"Played the fool. Broke an arm and a thigh, and damaged my spine, +and—<i>lived</i>. Here rest the mortal remains."</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_277" id="Page_277"></a>[277]</span></p> + +<p>And for the next ten minutes, he mocked himself, as he only can.</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>One does not like to be outdone by an uncle, even by such an uncle; +but it is not very easy to learn to live like Godfather Bayard.</p> + +<p>Sometimes I wish my grandmother had not brought up her sons to such a +very high pitch, and sometimes I wish my mother had let that unlucky +name become extinct in the family, or that I might adopt my nickname. +One could live up to <i>Backyard</i> easily enough. It seems to suit being +grumpy and tyrannical, and seeing no further than one's own nose, so +well.</p> + +<p>But I do try to learn unselfishness; though I sometimes think it would +be quite as easy for the owl to learn to respect the independence of a +mouse, or a cat to be forbearing with a sparrow!</p> + +<p>I certainly get on better with the others than I used to do; and I +have some hopes that even my father's godmother is not finally +estranged through my fault.</p> + +<p>Uncle Patrick went to call on her whilst he was with us. She is very +fond of "that amusing Irishman with the crutch," as she calls him; and +my father says he'll swear Uncle Patrick entertained her <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_278" id="Page_278"></a>[278]</span>mightily +with my unlucky entertainment, and that she was as pleased as Punch +that her cockatoo was in the thick of it.</p> + +<p>I am afraid it is too true; and the idea made me so hot, that if I had +known she was really coming to call on us again, I should certainly +have kept out of the way. But when Uncle Patrick said, "If the yellow +chariot rolls this way again, Bayard, ye need not be pursuing these +archæological revivals of yours in a too early English costume," I +thought it was only his chaff. But she did come.</p> + +<p>I was pegging out the new gardens for the little ones. We were all +there, and when she turned her eye over us (just like a cockatoo), and +said, in a company voice—</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>"What a happy little family!"</p></div> + +<p>I could hardly keep my countenance, and I heard Edward choking in +Benjamin's fur, where he had hidden his face.</p> + +<p>But Lettice never moved a muscle. She clasped her hands, and put her +head on one side, and said—in <i>her</i> company voice—"But you know +brother Bayard <i>is</i> so good to us now, and <i>that</i> is why we are such A +HAPPY FAMILY."</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_279" id="Page_279"></a>[279]</span> +</p> + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p> </p> +<p> </p> +<p> </p> +<p><i>The present Series of Mrs. Ewing's Works is the only authorized, + complete, and uniform Edition published.</i></p> +<p><i>It will consist of 18 volumes, Small Crown 8vo, at 2s. 6d. per vol., +issued, as far as possible, in chronological order, and these will +appear at the rate of two volumes every two months, so that the Series +will be completed within 18 months. The device of the cover was +specially designed by a Friend of Mrs. Ewing.</i></p> + +<p><i>The following is a list of the books included in the Series—</i></p> + + +<p>1. MELCHIOR'S DREAM, AND OTHER TALES.</p> + +<p>2. MRS. OVERTHEWAY'S REMEMBRANCES.</p> + +<p>3. OLD-FASHIONED FAIRY-TALES.</p> + +<p>4. A FLAT-IRON FOR A FARTHING.</p> + +<p>5. THE BROWNIES, AND OTHER TALES.</p> + +<p>6. SIX TO SIXTEEN.</p> + +<p>7. LOB-LIE-BY-THE-FIRE, AND OTHER TALES.</p> + +<p>8. JAN OF THE WINDMILL.</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_280" id="Page_280"></a>[280]</span></p> + +<p>9. VERSES FOR CHILDREN, AND SONGS.</p> + +<p>10. THE PEACE EGG—A CHRISTMAS MUMMING PLAY—HINTS FOR PRIVATE +THEATRICALS, &c.</p> + +<p>11. A GREAT EMERGENCY, AND OTHER TALES.</p> + +<p>12. BROTHERS OF PITY, AND OTHER TALES OF BEASTS AND MEN.</p> + +<p>13. WE AND THE WORLD, Part I</p> + +<p>14. WE AND THE WORLD, Part II.</p> + +<p>15. JACKANAPES—DADDY DARWIN'S DOVECOTE—THE STORY OF A SHORT LIFE.</p> + +<p>16. MARY'S MEADOW, AND OTHER TALES OF FIELDS AND FLOWERS.</p> + +<p>17. MISCELLANEA, including The Mystery of the Bloody Hand—Wonder +Stories—Tales of the Khoja, and other translations.</p> + +<p>18. JULIANA HORATIA EWING AND HER BOOKS, with a selection from Mrs. +Ewing's Letters.</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>S.P.C.K., <span class="smcap">Northumberland Avenue, London</span>, W.C.</p> + + + + + + + + +<pre> + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Melchior's Dream and Other Tales +by Juliana Horatia Ewing + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK MELCHIOR'S DREAM AND OTHER TALES *** + +***** This file should be named 16540-h.htm or 16540-h.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + https://www.gutenberg.org/1/6/5/4/16540/ + +Produced by Juliet Sutherland, Sankar Viswanathan and the +Online Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: Melchior's Dream and Other Tales + +Author: Juliana Horatia Ewing + +Release Date: August 17, 2005 [EBook #16540] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ASCII + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK MELCHIOR'S DREAM AND OTHER TALES *** + + + + +Produced by Juliet Sutherland, Sankar Viswanathan and the +Online Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net + + + + + + + + + + MELCHIOR'S DREAM + + AND OTHER TALES, + + + + + BY + + JULIANA HORATIA EWING. + + + + + + LONDON: + SOCIETY FOR PROMOTING CHRISTIAN KNOWLEDGE, + NORTHUMBERLAND AVENUE, W.C. + NEW YORK: E. & J.B. YOUNG & CO. + + + + [Published under the direction of the General Literature + Committee.] + + + + +Dedicated + +TO + +FOUR BROTHERS AND FOUR SISTERS. + + + + +CONTENTS. + + + MELCHIOR'S DREAM + + THE BLACKBIRD'S NEST + + FRIEDRICH'S BALLAD + + A BIT OF GREEN + + MONSIEUR THE VISCOUNT'S FRIEND + + THE YEW-LANE GHOSTS + + A BAD HABIT + + A HAPPY FAMILY + + + + +EDITOR'S PREFACE. + + +It is always a memorable era in a mother's life when she first +introduces a daughter into society. Many things contribute to make it +so; among which is the fact of the personal blessing to herself, in +having been permitted to see the day--to have been spared, that is, to +watch over her child in infancy, and now to see her entering life upon +her own account. + +But a more uncommon privilege is the one granted to me on the present +occasion, of introducing a daughter into the literary world; and the +feelings of pride and pleasure it calls forth, are certainly not less +powerful than those created by the commoner occurrence. It is my +comfort also to add that these are not overclouded by any painful +anxiety or misgiving. There may be differences of opinion as to the +precise amount of literary merit in these tales; but viewed as the +first productions of a young author, they are surely full of promise; +while their whole tone and aim is so unmistakably high, that even +those who criticize the style will be apt to respect the writer. + +I ought here to express a hope that it will not be thought +presumptuous on my part, to undertake the office of introduction. I +beg it to be understood that I address myself especially to those +readers who have (I speak it with deep gratitude and pleasure) +listened kindly and favourably to me for several years past, and who +will, I trust, be no less well disposed towards my daughter's +writings. + +To them also it may be interesting to know, that in the "J.H.G." of +"Melchior's Dream," etc., they will find the original of my own +portrait of "Aunt Judy." + +But I have still something more to say: another little bit of +gratification to express. What one sister has written, another has +illustrated by her pencil; a cause of double thankfulness in my heart +to Him from whom all good gifts come. + +MARGARET GATTY. + + +NOTE.--_The foregoing Preface was written for the first +edition of "Melchior's Dream, and other Tales." This was published in +1862 under Mrs. Ewing's maiden initials, "J.H.G." It contained the +first five stories in the present volume, and these were illustrated +by the writer's eldest sister, "M.S.G."_ + + + + +MELCHIOR'S DREAM. + +AN ALLEGORY. + +"Thou that hast given so much to me, Give one thing more--a +grateful heart." + +GEORGE HERBERT. + +"Well, father, I don't believe the Browns are a bit better off than we +are; and yet when I spent the day with young Brown, we cooked all +sorts of messes in the afternoon; and he wasted twice as much rum and +brandy and lemons in his trash, as I should want to make good punch +of. He was quite surprised, too, when I told him that our mince-pies +were kept shut up in the larder, and only brought out at meal-times, +and then just one apiece; he said they had mince-pies always going, +and he got one whenever he liked. Old Brown never blows up about that +sort of thing; he likes Adolphus to enjoy himself in the holidays, +particularly at Christmas." + +The speaker was a boy--if I may be allowed to use the word in speaking +of an individual whose jackets had for some time past been resigned +to a younger member of his family, and who daily, in the privacy of +his own apartment, examined his soft cheeks by the aid of his sisters' +"back-hair glass." He was a handsome boy too; tall, and like +David--"ruddy, and of a fair countenance;" and his face, though +clouded then, bore the expression of general amiability. He was the +eldest son in a large young family, and was being educated at one of +the best public schools. He did not, it must be confessed, think +either small beer or small beans of himself; and as to the beer and +beans that his family thought of him, I think it was pale ale and +kidney-beans at least. + +Young Hopeful had, however, his weak points like the rest of us; and +perhaps one of the weakest was the difficulty he found in amusing +himself without _bothering_ other people. He had quite a monomania for +proposing the most troublesome "larks" at the most inconvenient +moments; and if his plans were thwarted, an AEolian harp is cheerful +compared to the tone in which, arguing and lamenting, he + +"Fought his battles o'er again," + +to the distraction of every occupied member of the household. + +When the lords of the creation of all ages can find nothing else to +do, they generally take to eating and drinking; and so it came to pass +that our hero had set his mind upon brewing a jorum of punch, and +sipping it with an accompaniment of mince-pies; and Paterfamilias had +not been quietly settled to his writing for half-an-hour, when he was +disturbed by an application for the necessary ingredients. These he +had refused, quietly explaining that he could not afford to waste his +French brandy, etc., in school-boy cookery, and ending with, "You see +the reason, my dear boy?" + +To which the dear boy replied as above, and concluded with the +disrespectful (not to say ungrateful) hint, "Old Brown never blows up +about that sort of thing; he likes Adolphus to enjoy himself in the +holidays." + +Whereupon Paterfamilias made answer, in the mildly deprecating tone in +which the elder sometimes do answer the younger in these topsy-turvy +days:-- + +"That's quite a different case. Don't you see, my boy, that Adolphus +Brown is an only son, and you have nine brothers and sisters? If you +have punch and mince-meat to play with, there is no reason why Tom +should not have it, and James, and Edward, and William, and Benjamin, +and Jack. And then there are your sisters. Twice the amount of the +Browns' mince-meat would not serve you. I like you to enjoy yourself +in the holidays as much as young Brown or anybody; but you must +remember that I send you boys to good schools, and give you all the +substantial comforts and advantages in my power; and the Christmas +bills are very heavy, and I have a great many calls on my purse; and +you must be reasonable. Don't you see?" + +"Well, father--" began the boy; but his father interrupted him. He +knew the unvarying beginning of a long grumble, and dreading the +argument, cut it short. + +"I have decided. You must amuse yourself some other way. And just +remember that young Brown's is quite another case. He is an only son." + +Whereupon Paterfamilias went off to his study and his sermon; and his +son, like the Princess in Andersen's story of the Swineherd, was left +outside to sing, + + "O dearest Augustine, + All's clean gone away!" + +Not that he did say that--that was the princess' song--what he said +was, + + "_I wish I were an only son!_" + +This was rather a vain wish, for round the dining-room fire (where he +soon joined them) were gathered his nine brothers and sisters, who, to +say the truth, were not looking much more lively and cheerful than +he. And yet (of all days in the year on which to be doleful and +dissatisfied!) this was Christmas Eve. + +Now I know that the idea of dulness or discomfort at Christmas is a +very improper one, particularly in a story. We all know how every +little boy in a story-book spends the Christmas holidays. + +First, there is the large hamper of good things sent by grandpapa, +which is as inexhaustible as Fortunatus's purse, and contains +everything, from a Norfolk turkey to grapes from the grandpaternal +vinery. + +There is the friend who gives a guinea to each member of the family, +and sees who will spend it best. + +There are the godpapas and godmammas, who might almost be fairy +sponsors from the number of expensive gifts that they bring upon the +scene. The uncles and aunts are also liberal. + +One night is devoted to a magic-lantern (which has a perfect focus), +another to the pantomime, a third to a celebrated conjuror, a fourth +to a Christmas tree and juvenile ball. + +The happy youth makes himself sufficiently ill with plum-pudding, to +testify to the reader how good it was, and how much there was of it; +but recovers in time to fall a victim to the negus and trifle at +supper for the same reason. He is neither fatigued with late hours +nor surfeited with sweets; or if he is, we do not hear of it. + +But as this is a strictly candid history, I will at once confess the +truth, on behalf of my hero and his brothers and sisters. They had +spent the morning in decorating the old church, in pricking holly +about the house, and in making a mistletoe bush. Then in the afternoon +they had tasted the Christmas soup and seen it given out; they had put +a finishing touch to the snow man by crowning him with holly, and had +dragged the yule-logs home from the carpenter's. And now, the early +tea being over, Paterfamilias had gone to finish his sermon for +to-morrow; his friend was shut up in his room; and Materfamilias was +in hers, with one of those painful headaches which even Christmas will +not always keep away. So the ten children were left to amuse +themselves, and they found it rather a difficult matter. + +"Here's a nice Christmas!" said our hero. He had turned his youngest +brother out of the arm-chair, and was now lying in it with his legs +over the side. "Here's a nice Christmas! A fellow might just as well +be at school. I wonder what Adolphus Brown would think of being cooped +up with a lot of children like this! It's his party to-night, and he's +to have champagne and ices. I wish I were an only son." + +"Thank you," said a chorus of voices from the floor. They were all +sprawling about on the hearth-rug, pushing and struggling like so many +kittens in a sack, and every now and then with a grumbled +remonstrance:-- + +"Don't, Jack! you're treading on me." + +"You needn't take all the fire, Tom." + +"Keep your legs to yourself, Benjamin." + +"It wasn't I," etc., with occasionally the feebler cry of a small +sister-- + +"Oh! you boys are so rough." + +"And what are you girls, I wonder?" inquired the proprietor of the +arm-chair with cutting irony. "Whiney piney, whiney piney. I wish +there were no such things as brothers and sisters!" + +"_You wish_ WHAT?" said a voice from the shadow by the door, as deep +and impressive as that of the ghost in Hamlet. + +The ten sprang up; but when the figure came into the fire-light, they +saw that it was no ghost, but Paterfamilias's old college friend, who +spent most of his time abroad, and who, having no home or relatives of +his own, had come to spend Christmas at his friend's vicarage. "You +wish _what_?" he repeated. + +"Well, brothers and sisters are a bore," was the reply. "One or two +would be all very well; but just look, here are ten of us; and it just +spoils everything. If a fellow wants to go anywhere, it's somebody +else's _turn_. If old Brown sends a basket of grapes, it's share and +share alike; all the ten must taste, and then there's about a grape +and a half for each. If anybody calls or comes to luncheon, there are +a whole lot of brats swarming about, looking as if we kept a school. +Whatever one does, the rest must do; whatever there is, the rest must +share; whereas, if a fellow was an only son, he would have the +whole--and by all the rules of arithmetic, one is better than a +tenth." + +"And by the same rules ten is better than one," said the friend. + +"Sold again," sang out Master Jack from the floor, and went head over +heels against the fender. + +His brother boxed his ears with great promptitude, and went on, "Well, +I don't care; confess, sir, isn't it rather a nuisance?" + +Paterfamilias's friend looked very grave, and said, quietly, "I don't +think I am able to judge. I never had brother or sister but one, and +he was drowned at sea. Whatever I have had, I have had the whole of, +and would have given it away willingly for some one to give it to. If +any one sent me grapes, I ate them alone. If I made anything, there +was no one to show it to. If I wanted to act, I must act all the +characters, and be my own audience. I remember that I got a lot of +sticks at last, and cut heads and faces to all of them, and carved +names on their sides, and called them my brothers and sisters. If you +want to know what I thought a nice number for a fellow to have, I can +only say that I remember carving twenty-five. I used to stick them in +the ground and talk to them. I have been only, and lonely, and alone, +all my life, and have never felt the nuisance you speak of." + +This was a funny account; but the speaker looked so far from funny +that one of the sisters, who was very tender-hearted, crept up to him, +and said, gently-- + +"Richard is only joking; he doesn't really want to get rid of us. The +other day the curate said he wished he had a sister, and Richard +offered to sell us all for ninepence; but he is only in fun. Only it +is rather slow just now, and the boys get rather cross; at least, we +all of us do." + +"It's a dreadful state of things," said the friend, smiling through +his black beard and moustachios. "What is to be done?" + +"I know what would be very nice," insinuated the young lady. + +"What?" + +"If you wouldn't mind telling us a very short story till supper-time. +The boys like stories." + +"That's a good idea," said Benjamin. "As if the girls didn't!" + +But the friend proclaimed order, and seated himself with the girl in +question on his knee. "Well, what sort of a story is it to be?" + +"Any sort," said Richard; "only not too true, if you please. I don't +like stories like tracts. There was an usher at a school I was at, and +he used to read tracts about good boys and bad boys to the fellows on +Sunday afternoon. He always took out the real names, and put in the +names of the fellows instead. Those who had done well in the week he +put in as good ones, and those who hadn't as the bad. He didn't like +me, and I was always put in as a bad boy, and I came to so many +untimely ends I got sick of it. I was hanged twice, and transported +once for sheep-stealing; I committed suicide one week, and broke into +the bank the next; I ruined three families, became a hopeless +drunkard, and broke the hearts of my twelve distinct parents. I used +to beg him to let me be reformed next week; but he said he never would +till I did my Caesar better. So, if you please, we'll have a story that +can't be true." + +"Very well," said the friend, laughing; "but if it isn't true, may I +put you in? All the best writers, you know, draw their characters from +their friends now-a-days. May I put you in?" + +"Oh, certainly!" said Richard, placing himself in front of the fire, +putting his feet on the hob, and stroking his curls with an air which +seemed to imply that whatever he was put into would be highly +favoured. + +The rest struggled, and pushed, and squeezed themselves into more +modest but equally comfortable quarters; and after a few moments of +thought, Paterfamilias's friend commenced the story of + + +MELCHIOR'S DREAM. + + +"Melchior is my hero. He was--well, he considered himself a young man, +so we will consider him so too. He was not perfect; but in these days +the taste in heroes is for a good deal of imperfection, not to say +wickedness. He was not an only son. On the contrary, he had a great +many brothers and sisters, and found them quite as objectionable as my +friend Richard does." + +"I smell a moral," murmured the said Richard. + +"Your scent must be keen," said the story-teller, "for it is a long +way off. Well, he had never felt them so objectionable as on one +particular night, when, the house being full of company, it was +decided that the boys should sleep in 'barracks,' as they called it; +that is, all in one large room." + +"Thank goodness, we have not come to that!" said the incorrigible +Richard; but he was reduced to order by threats of being turned out, +and contented himself with burning the soles of his boots against the +bars of the grate in silence: and the friend continued:-- + +"But this was not the worst. Not only was he, Melchior, to sleep in +the same room with his brothers, but his bed being the longest and +largest, his youngest brother was to sleep at the other end of +it--foot to foot. True, by this means he got another pillow, for, of +course, that little Hop-o'-my-Thumb could do without one, and so he +took his; but, in spite of this, he determined that, sooner than +submit to such an indignity, he would sit up all night. Accordingly, +when all the rest were fast asleep, Melchior, with his boots off and +his waistcoat easily unbuttoned, sat over the fire in the long +lumber-room which served that night as 'barracks'. He had refused to +eat any supper downstairs to mark his displeasure, and now repaid +himself by a stolen meal according to his own taste. He had got a +pork-pie, a little bread and cheese, some large onions to roast, a +couple of raw apples, an orange, and papers of soda and tartaric acid +to compound effervescing draughts. When these dainties were finished, +he proceeded to warm some beer in a pan, with ginger, spice, and +sugar, and then lay back in his chair and sipped it slowly, gazing +before him, and thinking over his misfortunes. + +"The night wore on, the fire got lower and lower, and still Melchior +sat, with his eyes fixed on a dirty old print that had hung above the +mantelpiece for years, sipping his 'brew', which was fast getting +cold. The print represented an old man in a light costume, with a +scythe in one hand and an hour-glass in the other; and underneath the +picture in flourishing capitals was the word TIME. + +"'You're a nice old beggar,' said Melchior, dreamily. 'You look like +an old hay-maker who has come to work in his shirt-sleeves, and +forgotten the rest of his clothes. Time! time you went to the +tailor's, I think.' + +"This was very irreverent; but Melchior was not in a respectful mood; +and as for the old man, he was as calm as any philosopher. + +"The night wore on, and the fire got lower and lower, and at last went +out altogether. + +"'How stupid of me not to have mended it!' said Melchior; but he had +not mended it, and so there was nothing for it but to go to bed; and +to bed he went accordingly. + +"'But I won't go to sleep,' he said; 'no, no; I shall keep awake, and +to-morrow they shall know that I have had a bad night.' + +"So he lay in bed with his eyes wide open, and staring still at the +old print, which he could see from his bed by the light of the candle, +which he had left alight on the mantelpiece to keep him awake. The +flame waved up and down, for the room was draughty; and as the lights +and shadows passed over the old man's face, Melchior almost fancied +that it nodded to him, so he nodded back again; and as that tired him +he shut his eyes for a few seconds. When he opened them again, there +was no longer any doubt--the old man's head was moving; and not only +his head, but his legs, and his whole body. Finally, he put his feet +out of the frame, and prepared to step right over the mantelpiece, +candle, and all. + +"'Take care,' Melchior tried to say, 'you'll set fire to your shirt.' +But he could not utter a sound; and the old man arrived safely on the +floor, where he seemed to grow larger and larger, till he was fully +the size of a man, but still with the same scythe and hour-glass, and +the same airy costume. Then he came across the room, and sat down by +Melchior's bedside. + +"'Who are you?' said Melchior, feeling rather creepy. + +"'TIME,' said his visitor in a deep voice, which sounded as +if it came from a distance. + +"'Oh, to be sure, yes! In copper-plate capitals.' + +"'What's in copper-plate capitals?' inquired Time. + +"'Your name, under the print.' + +"'Very likely,' said Time. + +"Melchior felt more and more uneasy. 'You must be very cold,' he said. +'Perhaps you would feel warmer if you went back into the picture.' + +"'Not at all,' said Time; 'I have come on purpose to see you.' + +"'I have not the pleasure of knowing you,' said Melchior, trying to +keep his teeth from chattering. + +"'There are not many people who have a personal acquaintance with me,' +said his visitor. 'You have an advantage--I am your godfather.' + +"'Indeed,' said Melchior; 'I never heard of it.' + +"'Yes,' said his visitor; 'and you will find it a great advantage.' + +"'Would you like to put on my coat?' said Melchior, trying to be +civil. + +"'No, thank you,' was the answer. 'You will want it yourself. We must +be driving soon.' + +"'Driving!' said Melchior. + +"'Yes,' was the answer; 'all the world is driving; and you must drive; +and here come your brothers and sisters.' + +"Melchior sat up; and there they were, sure enough, all dressed, and +climbing one after the other on to the bed--_his_ bed! + +"There was that little minx of a sister with her curls (he always +called them carrot shavings), who was so conceited (girls always are!) +and always trying to attract notice, in spite of Melchior's incessant +snubbings. There was that clever brother, with his untidy hair and +bent shoulders, who was just as bad the other way; who always ran out +of the back door when visitors called, and was for ever moping and +reading: and this, in spite of Melchior's hiding his books, and +continually telling him that he was a disgrace to the family, a +perfect bear, not fit to be seen, etc.--all with the laudable desire +of his improvement. There was that little Hop-o'-my-Thumb, as lively +as any of them, a young monkey, the worst of all; who was always in +mischief, and consorting with the low boys in the village; though +Melchior did not fail to tell him that he was not fit company for +gentlemen's sons, that he was certain to be cut when he went to +school, and that he would probably end his days by being transported, +if not hanged. There was the second brother, who was Melchior's chief +companion, and against whom he had no particular quarrel. And there +was the little pale lame sister, whom he dearly loved; but whom, odd +to say, he never tried to improve at all; his remedy for her failings +was generally, 'Let her do as she likes, will you?' There were others +who were all tiresome in their respective ways; and one after the +other they climbed up. + +"'What are you doing, getting on to my bed!' inquired the indignant +brother, as soon as he could speak. + +"'Don't you know the difference between a bed and a coach, godson?' +said Time, sharply. + +"Melchior was about to retort, but on looking round, he saw that they +were really in a large sort of coach with very wide windows. 'I +thought I was in bed,' he muttered. 'What can I have been dreaming +of?' + +"'What, indeed!' said the godfather. 'But, be quick, and sit close, +for you have all to get in; you are all brothers and sisters.' + +"'Must families be together?' inquired Melchior, dolefully. + +"'Yes, at first,' was the answer; 'they get separated in time. In +fact, everyone has to cease driving sooner or later. I drop them on +the road at different stages, according to my orders,' and he showed a +bundle of papers in his hands; 'but, as I favour you, I will tell you +in confidence that I have to drop all your brothers and sisters before +you. There, you four oldest sit on this side, you five others there, +and the little one must stand or be nursed.' + +"'Ugh!' said Melchior, 'the coach would be well enough if one was +alone; but what a squeeze with all these brats! I say, go pretty +quick, will you?' + +"'I will,' said Time, 'if you wish it. But, beware that you cannot +change your mind. If I go quicker for your sake, I shall never go slow +again; if slower, I shall not again go quick; and I only favour you so +far, because you are my godson. Here, take the check-string; when you +want me, pull it, and speak through the tube. Now we're off.' + +"Whereupon the old man mounted the box, and took the reins. He had no +whip; but when he wanted to start, he shook the hour-glass, and off +they went. Then Melchior saw that the road where they were driving was +very broad, and so filled with vehicles of all kinds that he could not +see the hedges. The noise and crowd and dust were very great; and to +Melchior all seemed delightfully exciting. There was every sort of +conveyance, from the grandest coach to the humblest donkey-cart; and +they seemed to have enough to do to escape being run over. Among all +the gay people there were many whom he knew; and a very nice thing it +seemed to be to drive among all the grandees, and to show his +handsome face at the window, and bow and smile to his acquaintance. +Then it appeared to be the fashion to wrap oneself in a tiger-skin +rug, and to look at life through an opera-glass, and old Time had +kindly put one of each into the coach. + +"But here again Melchior was much troubled by his brothers and +sisters. Just at the moment when he was wishing to look most +fashionable and elegant, one or other of them would pull away the rug, +or drop the glass, or quarrel, or romp, or do something that spoilt +the effect. In fact, one and all, they 'just spoilt everything;' and +the more he scolded, the worse they became. The 'minx' shook her +curls, and flirted through the window with a handsome but ill-tempered +looking man on a fine horse, who praised her 'golden locks,' as he +called them; and, oddly enough, when Melchior said the man was a lout, +and that the locks in question were corkscrewy carrot shavings, she +only seemed to like the man and his compliments the more. Meanwhile, +the untidy brother pored over his book, or if he came to the window, +it was only to ridicule the fine ladies and gentlemen, so Melchior +sent him to Coventry. Then Hop-o'-my-Thumb had taken to make signs and +exchange jokes with some disreputable-looking youths in a dog-cart; +and when his brother would have put him to 'sit still like a +gentleman' at the bottom of the coach, he seemed positively to prefer +his low companions; and the rest were little better. + +"Poor Melchior! Surely there never was a clearer case of a young +gentleman's comfort destroyed, solely by other people's perverse +determination to be happy in their own way instead of in his. Surely, +no young gentleman ever knew better that if his brothers and sisters +would yield to his wishes, they would not quarrel; or ever more +completely overlooked the fact, that if he had yielded more to theirs +the same happy result might have been attained. At last he lost +patience, and pulling the check-string, bade Godfather Time drive as +fast as he could. + +"'For,' said he, 'there will never be any peace while there are so +many of us in the coach; if a fellow had the rug and glass, and, +indeed, the coach to himself, he might drive and bow and talk with the +best of them; but as it is, one might as well go about in a wild-beast +caravan.' + +"Godfather Time frowned, but shook his glass all the same, and away +they went at a famous pace. All at once they came to a stop. + +"'Now for it,' says Melchior; 'here goes one at any rate.' + +"Time called out the name of the second brother over his shoulder; and +the boy stood up, and bade his brothers and sisters good-bye. + +"'It is time that I began to push my way in the world,' said he, and +passed out of the coach, and in among the crowd. + +"'You have taken the only quiet boy,' said Melchior to the godfather +angrily. 'Drive fast now, for pity's sake; and let us get rid of the +tiresome ones.' + +"And fast enough they drove, and dropped first one and then the other; +but the sisters, and the reading boy, and the youngest still remained. + +"'What are you looking at?' said Melchior to the lame sister. + +"'At a strange figure in the crowd,' she answered. + +"'I see nothing,' said Melchior. But on looking again after a while, +he did see a figure wrapped in a cloak, gliding in and out among the +people, unnoticed, if not unseen. + +"'Who is it?' Melchior asked of the godfather. + +"'A friend of mine,' Time answered. 'His name is Death.' + +"Melchior shuddered, more especially as the figure had now come up to +the coach, and put its hand in through the window, on which, to his +horror, the lame sister laid hers and smiled. At this moment the +coach stopped. + +"'What are you doing?' shrieked Melchior, 'Drive on! drive on!' + +"But even while he sprang up to seize the check-string the door had +opened, the pale sister's face (a little paler now) had dropped upon +the shoulder of the figure in the cloak, and he had carried her away; +and Melchior stormed and raved in vain. + +"'To take her, and to leave the rest! Cruel! cruel!' + +"In his rage and grief, he hardly knew it when the untidy brother was +called, and putting his book under his arm, slipped out of the coach +without looking to the right or left. Presently the coach stopped +again; and when Melchior looked up the door was open, and at it was +the fine man on the fine horse, who was lifting the sister on to the +saddle before him. 'What fool's game are you playing?' said Melchior, +angrily. 'I know that man. He is both ill-tempered and a bad +character.' + +"'You never told her so before,' muttered young Hop-o'-my-Thumb. + +"'Hold your tongue,' said Melchior. 'I forbade her to talk to him, +which was enough.' + +"'I don't want to leave you; but he cares for me, and you don't,' +sobbed the sister; and she was carried away. + +"When she had gone, the youngest brother slid down from his corner and +came up to Melchior. + +"'We are alone now, Brother,' he said; 'let us be good friends. May I +sit on the front seat with you, and have half the rug? I will be very +good and polite, and will have nothing more to do with those fellows, +if you will talk to me.' + +"Now Melchior really rather liked the idea, but as his brother seemed +to be in a submissive mood, he thought he would take the opportunity +of giving him a good lecture, and would then graciously relent and +forgive. So he began by asking him if he thought that he was fit +company for him (Melchior), what he thought that gentlefolks would say +to a boy who had been playing with such youths as young +Hop-o'-my-Thumb had, and whether the said youths were not scoundrels? +And when the boy refused to say that they were (for they had been kind +to him), Melchior said that his tastes were evidently as bad as ever, +and even hinted at the old transportation threat. This was too much; +the boy went angrily back to his window corner, and Melchior--like too +many of us!--lost the opportunity of making peace for the sake of +wagging his own tongue. + +"'But he will come round in a few minutes,' he thought A few minutes +passed, however, and there was no sign. A few minutes more, and there +was a noise, a shout; Melchior looked up, and saw that the boy had +jumped through the open window into the road, and had been picked up +by the men in the dog-cart, and was gone. + +"And so at last my hero was alone. At first he enjoyed it very much. +He shook out his hair, wrapped himself in the rug, stared through the +opera-glass, and did the fine gentleman very well indeed. But though +everyone allowed him to be the finest young fellow on the road, yet +nobody seemed to care for the fact as much as he did; they talked, and +complimented, and stared at him, but he got tired of it. For he could +not arrange his hair any better; he could not dispose the rug more +gracefully, or stare more perseveringly through the glass; and if he +could, his friends could do nothing more than they had done. In fact, +he got tired of the crowd, and found himself gazing through the +window, not to see his fine friends, but to try and catch sight of his +brothers and sisters. Sometimes he saw the youngest brother, looking +each time more wild and reckless; and sometimes the sister, looking +more and more miserable; but he saw no one else. + +"At last there was a stir among the people, and all heads were turned +towards the distance, as if looking for something. Melchior asked what +it was, and was told that the people were looking for a man, the hero +of many battles, who had won honour for himself and for his country in +foreign lands, and who was coming home. Everybody stood up and gazed, +Melchior with them. Then the crowd parted, and the hero came on. No +one asked whether he were handsome or genteel, whether he kept good +company, or wore a tiger-skin rug, or looked through an opera-glass? +They knew what he had _done_, and it was enough. + +"He was a bronzed hairy man, with one sleeve empty, and a breast +covered with stars; but in his face, brown with sun and wind, +overgrown with hair and scarred with wounds, Melchior saw his second +brother! There was no doubt of it. And the brother himself, though he +bowed kindly in answer to the greetings showered on him, was gazing +anxiously for the old coach, where he used to ride and be so +uncomfortable, in that time to which he now looked back as the +happiest of his life. + +"'I thank you, gentlemen. I am indebted to you, gentlemen. I have been +away long. I am going home.' + +"'Of course he is!' shouted Melchior, waving his arms widely with +pride and joy. 'He is coming home; to this coach, where he was--oh, +it seems but an hour ago! Time goes so fast. We were great friends +when we were young together. My brother and I, ladies and gentlemen, +the hero and I--my brother--the hero with the stars upon his +breast--he is coming home!' + +"Alas! what avail stars and ribbons on a breast where the life-blood +is trickling slowly from a little wound? The crowd looked anxious; the +hero came on, but more slowly, with his dim eyes straining for the old +coach; and Melchior stood with his arms held out in silent agony. But +just when he was beginning to hope, and the brothers seemed about to +meet, a figure passed between--a figure in a cloak. + +"'I have seen you many times, Friend, face to face,' said the hero; +'but now I would fain have waited for a little while.' + +"'To enjoy his well-earned honours,' murmured the crowd. + +"'Nay,' he said, 'not that; but to see my home, and my brothers and +sisters. But if it may not be, friend Death, I am ready, and tired +too.' With that he held out his hand, and Death lifted up the hero of +many battles like a child, and carried him away, stars and ribbons and +all. + +"'Cruel Death!' cried Melchior; 'was there no one else in all this +crowd, that you must take him?' + +"His friends condoled with him; but they soon went on their own ways; +and the hero seemed to be forgotten; and Melchior, who had lost all +pleasure in the old bowings and chattings, sat sadly gazing out of the +window, to see if he could see any one for whom he cared. At last, in +a grave dark man, who was sitting on a horse, and making a speech to +the crowd, he recognized his clever untidy brother. + +"'What is that man talking about?' he asked of some one near him. + +"'That man!' was the answer. 'Don't you know? He is _the_ man of the +time. He is a philosopher. Everybody goes to hear him. He has found +out that--well--that everything is a mistake.' + +"'Has he corrected it?' said Melchior. + +"'You had better hear for yourself,' said the man. 'Listen.' + +"Melchior listened, and a cold clear voice rang upon his ear, +saying:-- + +"'The world of fools will go on as they have ever done; but to the +wise few, to whom I address myself, I would say--Shake off at once and +for ever the fancies and feelings, the creeds and customs that shackle +you, and be true. We have come to a time when wise men will not be +led blindfold in the footsteps of their predecessors, but will tear +away the bandage and see for themselves. I have torn away mine, and +looked. There is no Faith--it is shaken to its rotten foundation; +there is no Hope--it is disappointed every day; there is no Love at +all. There is nothing for any man or for each, but his fate; and he is +happiest and wisest who can meet it most unmoved.' + +"'It is a lie!' shouted Melchior. 'I feel it to be so in my heart. A +wicked foolish lie! Oh! was it to teach such evil folly as this that +you left home and us, my brother? Oh, come back! come back!' + +"The philosopher turned his head coldly, and smiled. 'I thank the +gentleman who spoke,' he said, still in the same cold voice, 'for his +bad opinion, and for his good wishes. I think the gentleman spoke of +home and kindred. My experience of life has led me to find that home +is most valued when it is left, and kindred most dear when they are +parted. I have happily freed myself from such inconsistencies. I am +glad to know that fate can tear me from no place that I care for more +than the next where it shall deposit me, nor take away any friends +that I value more than those it leaves. I recommend a similar +self-emancipation to the gentleman who did me the honour of +speaking.' + +"With this the philosopher went his way, and the crowd followed him. + +"'There is a separation more bitter than death,' said Melchior. + +"At last he pulled the check-string, and called to Godfather Time in +an humble entreating voice. + +"'It is not your fault,' he began; 'it is not your fault, Godfather; +but this drive has been altogether wrong. Let us turn back and begin +again. Let us all get in afresh and begin again.' + +"'But what a squeeze with all the brats!' said Godfather Time, +ironically. + +"'We should be so happy,' murmured Melchior, humbly; 'and it is very +cold and chilly; we should keep each other warm.' + +"'You have the tiger-skin rug and the opera-glass, you know,' said +Time. + +"'Ah, do not speak of me!' cried Melchior, earnestly. 'I am thinking +of them. There is plenty of room; the little one can sit on my knee; +and we shall be so happy. The truth is, Godfather, that I have been +wrong. I have gone the wrong way to work. A little more love, and +kindness, and forbearance, might have kept my sisters with us, might +have led the little one to better tastes and pleasures, and have +taught the other by experience the truth of the faith and hope and +love which he now reviles. Oh, I have sinned! I have sinned! Let us +turn back, Godfather Time, and begin again. And oh! drive very slowly, +for partings come only too soon.' + +"'I am sorry,' said the old man in the same bitter tone as before, 'to +disappoint your rather unreasonable wishes. What you say is admirably +true, with this misfortune, that your good intentions are too late. +Like the rest of the world you are ready to seize the opportunity when +it is past. You should have been kind _then_. You should have advised +_then_. You should have yielded _then_. You should have loved your +brothers and sisters while you had them. It is too late now.' + +"With this he drove on, and spoke no more, and poor Melchior stared +sadly out of the window. As he was gazing at the crowd, he suddenly +saw the dog-cart, in which were his brother and his wretched +companions. Oh, how old and worn he looked! and how ragged his clothes +were! The men seemed to be trying to persuade him to do something that +he did not like, and they began to quarrel; but in the midst of the +dispute he turned his head and caught sight of the old coach; and +Melchior seeing this, waved his hands, and beckoned with all his +might. The brother seemed doubtful; but Melchior waved harder, and +(was it fancy?) Time seemed to go slower. The brother made up his +mind; he turned and jumped from the dog-cart as he had jumped from the +old coach long ago, and ducking in and out among the horses and +carriages, ran for his life. The men came after him; but he ran like +the wind--pant, pant, nearer, nearer; at last the coach was reached, +and Melchior seized the prodigal by his rags and dragged him in. + +"'Oh, thank GOD, I have got you safe, my brother!' + +"But what a brother! with wasted body and sunken eyes; with the old +curly hair turned to matted locks, that clung faster to his face than +the rags did to his trembling limbs; what a sight for the +opera-glasses of the crowd! What a subject for the tongues that were +ever wagging, and complimenting, and backbiting, and lying, all in a +breath, and without sense or scruple! What a sight and a subject for +the fine friends, for whose good opinion Melchior had been so anxious? +Do you think he was as anxious now? Do you think he was troubled by +what they either saw or said; or was ashamed of the wretched prodigal +lying among the cushions? I think not. I think that for the most +foolish of us there are moments in life (of real joy or real sorrow) +when we judge things by a higher standard, and care vastly little for +what 'people say'. The only shame that Melchior felt was that his +brother should have fared so hardly in the trials and temptations of +the world outside, while he had sat at ease among the cushions of the +old coach, that had been the home of both alike. Thank GOD, +it was the home of both now! And poor Hop-o'-my-Thumb was on the front +seat at last, with Melchior kneeling at his feet, and fondly stroking +the head that rested against him. + +"'Has powder come into fashion, brother?' he said. 'Your hair is +streaked with white.' + +"'If it has,' said the other, laughing, 'your barber is better than +mine, Melchior, for your head is as white as snow.' + +"'Is it possible? are we so old? has Time gone so very fast? But what +are you staring at through the window? I shall be jealous of that +crowd, brother.' + +"'I am not looking at the crowd,' said the prodigal in a low voice; +'but I see--' + +"'You see what?' said Melchior. + +"'A figure in a cloak, gliding in and out--' + +"Melchior sprang up in horror. 'No! no!' he cried, hoarsely. 'No! +surely no!' + +"Surely yes! Too surely the well-known figure came on; and the +prodigal's sunken eyes looked more sunken still as he gazed. As for +Melchior, he neither spoke nor moved, but stood in a silent agony, +terrible to see. All at once a thought seemed to strike him; he seized +his brother, and pushed him to the furthest corner of the seat, and +then planted himself firmly at the door just as Death came up and put +his hand into the coach. Then he spoke in a low steady voice, more +piteous than cries or tears. + +"'I humbly beseech you, good Death, if you must take one of us, to +take me. I have had a long drive, and many comforts and blessings, and +am willing if unworthy to go. He has suffered much, and had no +pleasure; leave him for a little to enjoy the drive in peace, just for +a very little; he has suffered so much, and I have been so much to +blame; let me go instead of him.' + +"Alas for Melchior! It is decreed in the Providence of GOD, +that, although the opportunities for doing good, which are in the +power of every man, are beyond count or knowledge, yet, the +opportunity once neglected, no man by any self-sacrifice can atone for +those who have fallen or suffered by his negligence. Poor Melchior! An +unalterable law made him the powerless spectator of the consequences +of his neglected opportunities. 'No man may deliver his brother, or +make agreement unto GOD for him, for it cost more to redeem +their souls, so that he must let that alone for ever.' And is it ever +so bitter to 'let alone,' as in a case where we might have acted and +did not? + +"Poor Melchior! In vain he laid both his hands in Death's outstretched +palm; they fell to him again as if they had passed through air; he was +pushed aside--Death passed into the coach--'one was taken and the +other left.' + +"As the cloaked figure glided in and out among the crowd, many turned +to look at his sad burden, though few heeded him. Much was said; but +the general voice of the crowd was this: 'Ah! he is gone, is he? Well! +a born rascal! It must be a great relief to his brother!' A conclusion +which was about as wise, and about as near the truth, as the world's +conclusions generally are. As for Melchior, he neither saw the figure +nor heard the crowd, for he had fallen senseless among the cushions. + +"When he came to his senses, he found himself lying still upon his +face; and so bitter was his loneliness and grief, that he lay still +and did not move. He was astonished, however, by the (as it seemed to +him) unusual silence. The noise of the carriages had been deafening, +and now there was not a sound. Was he deaf? or had the crowd gone? He +opened his eyes. Was he blind? or had the night come? He sat right up, +and shook himself, and looked again. The crowd _was_ gone; so, for +matter of that, was the coach; and so was Godfather Time. He had not +been lying among cushions, but among pillows; he was not in any +vehicle of any kind, but in bed. The room was dark, and very still; +but through the 'barracks' window, which had no blind, he saw the +winter sun pushing through the mist, like a red hot cannon-ball +hanging in the frosty trees; and in the yard outside, the cocks were +crowing. + +"There was no longer any doubt that he was safe in his old home; but +where were his brothers and sisters? With a beating heart he crept to +the other end of the bed; and there lay the prodigal, but with no +haggard cheeks or sunken eyes, no grey locks or miserable rags, but a +rosy yellow-haired urchin fast asleep, with his head upon his arm. 'I +took his pillow,' muttered Melchior, self-reproachfully. + +"A few minutes later, young Hop-o'-my-Thumb (whom Melchior dared not +lose sight of for fear he should melt away) seated comfortably on his +brother's back, and wrapped up in a blanket, was making a tour of the +'barracks.' + +"'It's an awful lark,' said he, shivering with a mixture of cold and +delight. + +"If not exactly a _lark_, it was a very happy tour to Melchior, as, +hope gradually changing into certainty, he recognized his brothers in +one shapeless lump after the other in the little beds. There they all +were, sleeping peacefully in a happy home, from the embryo hero to the +embryo philosopher, who lay with the invariable book upon his pillow, +and his hair looking (as it always did) as if he lived in a high wind. + +"'I say,' whispered Melchior, pointing to him, 'what did he say the +other day about being a parson?' + +"'He said he should like to be one,' returned Hop-o'-my-Thumb; 'but +you said he would frighten away the congregation with his looks. And +then, you know, he got very angry, and said he didn't know priests +need be dandies, and that everybody was humbuggy alike, and thought of +nothing but looks; but that he would be a philosopher like Diogenes, +who cared for nobody, and was as ugly as an ape, and lived in a tub.' + +"'He will make a capital parson,' said Melchior, hastily, 'and I shall +tell him so to-morrow. And when I'm squire here, he shall be vicar, +and I'll subscribe to all his dodges without a grumble. I'm the eldest +son. And, I say, don't you think we could brush his hair for him in a +morning, till he learns to do it himself?' + +"'Oh, I will!' was the lively answer; 'I'm an awful dab at brushing. +Look how I brush your best hat!' + +"'True,' said Melchior. 'Where are the girls to-night?' + +"'In the little room at the end of the long passage,' said +Hop-o'-my-Thumb, trembling with increased chilliness and enjoyment. +'But you're never going there! we shall wake the company, and they +will all come out to see what's the matter.' + +"'I shouldn't care if they did,' said Melchior, 'it would make it feel +more real.' + +"As he did not understand this sentiment, Hop-o'-my-Thumb said +nothing, but held on very tightly; and they crept softly down the cold +grey passage in the dawn. The girls' door was open; for the girls were +afraid of robbers, and left their bed-room door wide open at night, as +a natural and obvious means of self-defence. The girls slept together; +and the frill of the pale sister's prim little night-cap was buried in +the other one's uncovered curls. + +"'How you do tremble!' whispered Hop-o'-my-Thumb; 'are you cold?' This +inquiry received no answer; and after some minutes he spoke again. 'I +say, how very pretty they look! don't they?' + +"But for some reason or other, Melchior seemed to have lost his voice; +but he stooped down and kissed both the girls very gently, and then +the two brothers crept back along the passage to the 'barracks.' + +"'One thing more,' said Melchior; and they went up to the mantelpiece. +'I will lend you my bow and arrows to-morrow, on one condition--' + +"'Anything!' was the reply, in an enthusiastic whisper. + +"'That you take that old picture for a target, and never let me see it +again.' + +"It was very ungrateful! but perfection is not in man; and there was +something in Melchior's muttered excuse-- + +"'I couldn't stand another night of it.' + +"Hop-o'-my-Thumb was speedily put to bed again, to get warm, this time +with both the pillows; but Melchior was too restless to sleep, so he +resolved to have a shower-bath, and to dress. After which, he knelt +down by the window, and covered his face with his hands. + +"'He's saying very long prayers,' thought Hop-o'-my-Thumb, glancing at +him from his warm nest; 'and what a jolly humour he is in this +morning!' + +"Still the young head was bent, and the handsome face hidden; and +Melchior was finding his life every moment more real and more happy. +For there was hardly a thing, from the well-filled 'barracks' to the +brother bedfellow, that had been a hardship last night, which this +morning did not seem a blessing. He rose at last, and stood in the +sunshine, which was now pouring in; a smile was on his lips, and on +his face were two drops, which, if they were water, had not come from +the shower-bath, or from any bath at all." + + * * * * * + +"Is that the end?" inquired the young lady on his knee, as the story +teller paused here. + +"Yes, that is the end." + +"It's a beautiful story," she murmured, thoughtfully; "but what an +extraordinary one! I don't think I could have dreamt such a wonderful +dream." + +"Do you think you could have eaten such a wonderful supper?" said the +friend, twisting his moustachios. + +After this point, the evening's amusements were thoroughly successful. +Richard took his smoking boots from the fire-place, and was called upon +for various entertainments for which he was famous: such as the +accurate imitation of a train just starting, in which two pieces of +bone were used with considerable effect; as also of a bumble-bee, who +(very much out of season) went buzzing about, and was always being +caught with a heavy bang on the heads and shoulders of those who least +expected it; all which specimens of his talents were received with due +applause by his admiring brothers and sisters. + +The bumble-bee had just been caught (for the twenty-first time) with a +loud smack on brother Benjamin's ear, when the door opened, and +Paterfamilias entered with Materfamilias (whose headache was better), +and followed by the candles. A fresh log was then thrown upon the +fire, the yule cakes and furmety were put upon the table, and +everybody drew round to supper; and Paterfamilias announced that +although he could not give the materials to play with, he had no +objection now to a bowl of moderate punch for all, and that Richard +might compound it. This was delightful; and as he sat by his father, +ladling away to the rest, Adolphus Brown could hardly have felt more +jovial, even with the champagne and ices. + +The rest sat with radiant faces and shining heads in goodly order; and +at the bottom of the table, by Materfamilias, was the friend, as happy +in his unselfish sympathy as if his twenty-five sticks had come to +life, and were supping with him. As happy--nearly--as if a certain +woman's grave had never been dug under the southern sun that could not +save her, and as if the children gathered round him were those of +whose faces he had often dreamt, but might never see. + +His health had been drunk, and everybody else's too, when, just as +supper was coming to a close, Richard (who had been sitting in +thoughtful silence for some minutes) got up with sudden resolution, +and said, + +"I want to propose Mr. What's-his-name's health on my own account. I +want to thank him for his story, which had only one mistake in it. +Melchior should have kept the effervescing papers to put into the +beer; it's a splendid drink! Otherwise it was first-rate; though it +hit me rather hard. I want to say that though I didn't mean all I said +about being an only son (when a fellow gets put out he doesn't know +what he means), yet I know I was quite wrong, and the story is quite +right. I want particularly to say that I'm very glad there are so many +of us, for the more, you know, the merrier. I wouldn't change father +or mother, brothers or sisters, with any one in the world. It couldn't +be better, we couldn't be happier. We are all together, and to-morrow +is Christmas Day. Thank GOD." + +It was very well said. It was a very good speech. It was very well and +very good that while the blessings were with him, he could feel it to +be so, and be grateful. + +It was very well, and good also, that the friend, who had neither home +nor kindred to be grateful for, had something else for which he could +thank GOD as heartily. The thought of that something came to +him then as he sat at his friend's table, filling his eyes with tears. +It came to him next day as he knelt before GOD's altar, +remembering in blessed fellowship that deed of love which is the +foundation of all our hope and joy. It came to him when he went back +to his lonely wandering life, and thought with tender interest of that +boyish speech. It came--a whisper of consolation to silence envy and +regret for ever. + +"There _is_ something far better. There _is_ something far happier. +There is a better Home than any earthly one, and a Family that shall +never be divided." + + + + +THE BLACKBIRD'S NEST. + + "Let me not think an action mine own way, + But as Thy love shall sway, + Resigning up the rudder to Thy skill." + + GEORGE HERBERT. + + +One day, when I was a very little girl (which is a long time ago), I +made a discovery. The place where I made it was not very remote, being +a holly-bush at the bottom of our garden; and the discovery was not a +great one in itself, though I thought it very grand. I had found a +blackbird's nest, with three young ones in it. + +The discovery was made on this wise. I was sitting one morning on a +log of wood opposite this holly-bush, reading the story of Goody +Twoshoes, and thinking to myself how much I should like to be like +her, and to go about in the village with a raven, a pigeon, and a lark +on my shoulders, admired and talked about by everybody. All sorts of +nonsense passed through my head as I sat, with the book on my lap, +staring straight before me; and I was just fancying the kind +condescension with which I would behave to everybody when I became a +Goody Twoshoes, when I saw a bird come out of the holly-bush and fly +away. It was a blackbird: there was no doubt of it; and it must have a +nest in the tree, or why had it been there so long? Down went my book, +and I flew to make my discovery. A blackbird's nest, with three young +ones! I stood still at first in pure pleasure at the sight; and then, +little by little, grand ideas came into my head. + +I would be very kind to these little blackbirds, I thought; I would +take them home out of this cold tree, and make a large nest of cotton +wool (which would be much softer and better for them than to be where +they were), and feed them, and keep them; and then, when they were +full-grown, they would, of course, love me better than any one, and be +very tame and grateful; and I should walk about with them on my +shoulders, like Goody Twoshoes, and be admired by everybody; for, I am +ashamed to say, most of my day dreams ended with this, _to be admired +by everybody_. I was so wrapped up in these thoughts that I did not +know, till his hands were laid upon my shoulders, that my friend, the +curate of the village, had come up behind me. He lived next door to +us, and often climbed over the wall that divided our garden to bring +me flowers for my little bed. He was a tall, dark, not very young man; +and the best hand at making fire-balloons, mending toys, and making a +broken wax doll as good as new with a hot knitting needle, that you +can imagine. I had heard grown-up people call him grave and silent, +but he always laughed and talked to me. + +"What are you doing, little woman?" he said. + +"I have got a nest of poor little birds," I answered; "I am so sorry +for them here in the cold; but they will be all right when I have got +them indoors. I shall make them a beautiful nest of cotton wool, and +feed them. Won't it be nice?" + +I spoke confidently; for I had really so worked up my fancy that I +felt quite a contemptuous pity for all the wretched little birds who +were hatched every year without me to rear them. At the same time, I +had a general idea that grown-up people always _did_ throw cold water +on splendid plans like mine; so I was more indignant than surprised +when my friend the curate tried to show me that it was quite +impossible to do as I wished. The end of all his arguments was that I +must leave the nest in its place. But I had a great turn for +disputing, and was not at all inclined to give up my point. "You told +me on Sunday," I said, pertly, "that we were never too little to do +kind things; let me do this." + +"If I could be sure," he said, looking at me, "that you only wish to +do a kind thing." + +I got more angry and rude. + +"Perhaps you think I want to kill them," I said. + +He did not answer, but taking both my hands in his, said, gravely, +"Tell me, my child, which do you wish most--to be kind to these poor +little birds? or to have the honour and glory of having them, and +bringing them up?" + +"To be kind to them," said I, getting very red. "I don't want any +honour and glory," and I felt ready to cry. + +"Well, well," he said, smiling; "then I know you will believe me when +I tell you that the kindest thing you can do for these little birds is +to leave them where they are. And if you like, you can come and sit +here every day till they are able to fly, and keep watch over the +nest, that no naughty boy may come near it--the curate, for instance!" +and he pulled a funny face. "That will be very kind." + +"But they will never know, and I want them to like me," said I. + +"I thought you only wanted to be kind," he answered. And then he began +to talk very gently about different sorts of kindness, and that if I +wished to be kind like a Christian, I must be kind without hoping for +any reward, whether gratitude or anything else. He told me that the +best followers of Jesus in all times had tried hard to do everything, +however small, simply for GOD's sake, and to put themselves +away. That they often began even their letters, etc., with such words, +as, "Glory to GOD," to remind themselves that everything they +did, to be perfect, must be done to GOD, and GOD alone. And that in +doing good kind things even, they were afraid lest, though the thing +was right, the wish to do it might have come from conceit or +presumption. + +"This self-devotion," he added, "is the very highest Christian life, +and seems, I dare say, very hard for you even to understand, and much +more so to put in practice. But we must all try for it in the best way +we can, little woman; and for those who by GOD's grace really +practised it, it was almost as impossible to be downcast or +disappointed as if they were already in Heaven. They wished for +nothing to happen to themselves but GOD's will; they did +nothing but for GOD's glory. And so a very good bishop says, +'I have my end, whether I succeed or am disappointed.' So you will +have your end, my child, in being kind to these little birds in the +right way, and denying yourself, whether they know you or not." + +I could not have understood all he said; but I am afraid I did not try +to understand what I might have done; however, I said no more, and +stood silent, while he comforted me with the promise of a new flower +for my garden, called "hen and chickens," which he said I was to take +care of instead of the little blackbirds. + +When he was gone I went back to the holly-bush, and stood gazing at +the nest, and nursing angry thoughts in my heart. "What a _preach_," I +thought, "about nothing! as if there could be any conceit and +presumption in taking care of three poor little birds! The curate must +forget that I was growing into a big girl; and as to not knowing how +to feed them, I knew as well as he did that birds lived upon worms, +and liked bread-crumbs." And so _thinking wrong_ ended (as it almost +always does) in _doing wrong_: and I took the three little blackbirds +out of the nest, popped them into my pocket-handkerchief, and ran +home. And I took some trouble to keep them out of everyone's +sight--even out of my mother's; for I did not want to hear any more +"grown-up" opinions on the matter. + +I filled a basket with cotton wool, and put the birds inside, and took +them into a little room downstairs, where they would be warm. Before I +went to bed I put two or three worms, and a large supply of soaked +bread-crumbs, in the nest, close to their little beaks. "What can they +want more?" thought I in my folly; but conscience is apt to be +restless when one is young, and I could not feel quite comfortable in +bed, though I got to sleep at last, trying to fancy myself Goody +Twoshoes, with three sleek full-fledged blackbirds on my shoulders. + +In the morning, as soon as I could slip away, I went to my pets. Any +one may guess what I found; but I believe no one can understand the +shock of agony and remorse that I felt. There lay the worms that I had +dug up with reckless cruelty; there was the wasted bread; and there, +above all, lay the three little blackbirds, cold and dead! + +I do not know how long I stood looking at the victims of my +presumptuous wilfulness; but at last I heard a footstep in the +passage, and fearing to be caught, I tore out of the house, and down +to my old seat near the holly-bush, where I flung myself on the +ground, and "wept bitterly." At last I heard the well-known sound of +some one climbing over the wall; and then the curate stood before me, +with the plant of "hen and chickens" in his hands. I jumped up, and +shrank away from him. + +"Don't come near me," I cried; "the blackbirds are dead;" and I threw +myself down again. + +I knew from experience that few things roused the anger of my friend +so strongly as to see or hear of animals being ill-treated. I had +never forgotten, one day when I was out with him, his wrath over a boy +who was cruelly beating a donkey; and now I felt, though I could not +see, the expression of his face, as he looked at the holly-bush and at +me, and exclaimed, "You took them!" And then added, in the low tone in +which he always spoke when angry, "And the mother-bird has been +wandering all night round this tree, seeking her little ones in vain, +not to be comforted, because they are not! Child, child! has +GOD the Father given life to His creatures for you to destroy +it in this reckless manner?" + +His words cut my heart like a knife; but I was too utterly wretched +already to be much more miserable; I only lay still and moaned. At +last he took pity, and lifting me up on to his knee, endeavoured to +comfort me. + +This was not, however, an easy matter. I knew much better than he did +how very naughty I had been; and I felt that I had murdered the poor +tender little birds. + +"I can never, never, forgive myself!" I sobbed. + +"But you must be reasonable," he said. "You gave way to your vanity +and wilfulness, and persuaded yourself that you only wished to be kind +to the blackbirds; and you have been punished. Is it not so?" + +"O yes!" I cried; "I am so wicked! I wish I were as good as you are!" + +"As I am!"--he began. + +I was too young then to understand the sharp tone of self-reproach in +which he spoke. In my eyes he was perfection; only perhaps a little +_too_ good. But he went on:-- + +"Do you know, this fault of yours reminds me of a time when I was just +as wilful and conceited, just as much bent upon doing the great duty +of helping others in my own grand fashion, rather than in the humble +way which GOD's Providence pointed out, only it was in a much +more serious matter; I was older, too, and so had less excuse. I am +almost tempted to tell you about it; not that our cases are really +quite alike, but that the punishment which met my sin was so +unspeakably bitter in comparison with yours, that you may be thankful +to have learnt a lesson of humility at smaller cost." + +I did not understand him--in fact, I did not understand many things +that he said, for he had a habit of talking to me as if he were +speaking to himself; but I had a general idea of his meaning, and said +(very truly), "I cannot fancy you doing wrong." + +I was puzzled again by the curious expression of his face; but he only +said, "Shall I tell you a story?" + +I knew his stories of old, and gave an eager "Yes." + +"It is a sad one," he said. + +"I do not think I should like a very funny one just now," I replied. +"Is it true?" + +"Quite," he answered. "It is about myself." He was silent for a few +moments, as if making up his mind to speak; and then, laying his head, +as he sometimes did, on my shoulder, so that I could not see his face, +he began. + +"When I was a boy (older than you, so I ought to have been better), I +might have been described in the words of Scripture--I was 'the only +son of my mother, and she was a widow.' We were badly off, and she was +very delicate, nay, ill--more ill, GOD knows, than I had any +idea of. I had long been used to the sight of the doctor once or twice +a week, and to her being sometimes better and sometimes worse; and +when our old servant lectured me for making a noise, or the doctor +begged that she might not be excited or worried, I fancied that +doctors and nurses always did say things of that sort, and that there +was no particular need to attend to them. + +"Not that I was unfeeling to my dear mother, for I loved her +devotedly in my wilful worldly way. It was for her sake that I had +been so vexed by the poverty into which my father's death had plunged +us. For her sake I worried her, by grumbling before her at our narrow +lodgings and lost comforts. For her sake, child, in my madness, I +wasted the hours in which I might have soothed, and comforted, and +waited on her, in dreaming of wild schemes for making myself famous +and rich, and giving her back all and more than she had lost. For her +sake I fancied myself pouring money at her feet, and loading her with +luxuries, while she was praying for me to our common Father, and +laying up treasure for herself in Heaven. + +"One day I remember, when she was remonstrating with me over a bad +report which the schoolmaster had given of me (he said I could work, +but wouldn't), my vanity overcame my prudence, and I told her that I +thought some fellows were made to 'fag,' and some not; that I had been +writing a poem in my dictionary the day that I had done so badly, and +that I hoped to be a poet long before my master had composed a +grammar. I can see now her sorrowful face as, with tears in her eyes, +she told me that all 'fellows' alike were made to do their duty +'before GOD, and Angels, and Men.' That it was by improving +the little events and opportunities of every day that men became +great, and not by neglecting them for their own presumptuous fancies. +And she entreated me to strive to do my duty, and to leave the rest +with GOD. I listened, however, impatiently to what I called a +'jaw' or a 'scold,' and then (knowing the tender interest she took in +all I did) I tried to coax her by offering to read my poem. But she +answered with just severity, that what she wished was to see me a good +man, not a great one; and that she would rather see my exercises duly +written than fifty poems composed at the expense of my neglected duty. +Then she warned me tenderly of the misery which my conceit would bring +upon me, and bade me, when I said my evening prayers, to add that +prayer of King David, 'Keep Thy servant from presumptuous sins, lest +they get the dominion over me.' + +"Alas! they had got the dominion over me already, too strongly for her +words to take any hold. 'She won't even look at my poem,' I thought, +and hurried proudly from the room, banging one door and leaving +another open. And I silenced my uneasy conscience by fresh dreams of +making my fortune and hers. But the punishment came at last. One day +the doctor took me into a room alone, and told me as gently as he +could what everyone but myself knew already--my mother was dying. I +cannot tell you, child, how the blow fell upon me--how, at first, I +utterly disbelieved its truth! It seemed _impossible_ that the only +hope of my life, the object of all my schemes and fancies, was to be +taken away. But I was awakened at last, and resolved that, +GOD helping me, while she did live, I would be a better son. +I can now look back with thankfulness on the few days we were +together. I never left her. She took her food and medicine from my +hand; and I received my First Communion with her on the day she died. +The day before, kneeling by her bed, I had confessed all the sin and +vanity of my heart and those miserable dreams; had destroyed with my +own hand all my papers, and had resolved that I would apply to my +studies, and endeavour to obtain a scholarship and the necessary +preparation for Holy Orders. It was a just ambition, little woman, +undertaken humbly, in the fear of GOD, and in the path of +duty; and I accomplished it years after, when I had nothing left of my +mother but her memory." + +The curate was silent, and I felt, rather than saw, that the tears +which were wetting my frock had not come from my own eyes, though I +was crying bitterly. I flung my arms round his neck, and hugged him +tight. + +"Oh, I am so sorry!" I sobbed; "so very, very sorry!" + +We became quieter after a bit; and he lifted up his head and smiled, +and called himself a fool for making me sad, and told me not to tell +any one what he had told me, and what babies we had been, except my +mother. + +"Tell her _everything_ always," he said. + +I soon cheered up, particularly as he took me over the wall, and into +his workshop, and made a coffin for the poor little blackbirds, which +we lined with cotton-wool and scented with musk, as a mark of respect. +Then he dug a deep hole in the garden and we buried them, and made a +fine high mound of earth, and put the "hen and chicken" plants all +round. And that night, sitting on my mother's knee, I told her +"everything," and shed a few more tears of sorrow and repentance in +her arms. + + * * * * * + +Many years have passed since then, and many showers of rain have +helped to lay the mound flat with the earth, so that the "hen and +chickens" have run all over it, and made a fine plot. The curate and +his mother have met at last; and I have transplanted many flowers that +he gave me to his grave. I sometimes wonder if, in his perfect +happiness, he knows, or cares to know, how often the remembrance of +his story has stopped the current of conceited day-dreams, and brought +me back to practical duty with the humble prayer, "Keep Thy servant +also from presumptuous sins." + + + + +FRIEDRICH'S BALLAD. + +A TALE OF THE FEAST OF ST. NICHOLAS. + + + "Ne pinger ne scolpir fia piu che queti, + L'anima volta a quell' Amor divino + Ch'asserse a prender noi in Croce le braccia." + + "Painting and Sculpture's aid in vain I crave, + My one sole refuge is that Love divine + Which from the Cross stretched forth its arms to save." + + _Written by_ MICHAEL ANGELO _at the age of 83._ + + +"So be it," said one of the council, as he rose and addressed the +others. "It is now finally decided. The Story Woman is to be walled +up." + +The council was not an ecclesiastical one, and the woman condemned to +the barbarous and bygone punishment of being "walled up" was not an +offending nun. In fact the Story Woman (or _Maerchen-Frau_ as she is +called in Germany) may be taken to represent the imaginary personage +who is known in England by the name of Mother Bunch, or Mother Goose; +and it was in this instance the name given by a certain family of +children to an old book of ballads and poems, which they were +accustomed to read in turn with special solemnities, on one particular +night in the year; the reader for the time being having a peculiar +costume, and the title of "Maerchen-Frau," or Mother Bunch, a name +which had in time been familiarly adopted for the ballad-book itself. + +This book was not bound in a fashionable colour, nor illustrated by a +fashionable artist; the Chiswick Press had not set up a type for it, +and Hayday's morocco was a thing unknown. It had not, in short, one of +those attractions with which in these days books are surrounded, whose +insides do not always fulfil the promise of the binding. If, however, +it was on these points inferior to modern volumes, it had on others +the advantage. It did not share a precarious favour with a dozen +rivals in mauve, to be supplanted ere the year was out by twelve new +ones in magenta. It was never thrown aside with the contemptuous +remark,--"I've read that!" On the contrary, it always had been to its +possessors, what (from the best Book downwards) a good book always +should be, a friend, and not an acquaintance--not to be too readily +criticized, but to be loved and trusted. The pages were yellow and +worn, not with profane ill-usage, but with honourable wear and tear; +and the mottled binding presented much such an appearance as might be +expected from a book that had been pressed under the pillow of one +reader, and in the pocket of another; that had been wept over and +laughed over, and warmed by winter fires, and damped in the summer +grass, and had in general seen as much of life as the venerable book +in question. It was not the property of one member of the family, but +the joint possession of all. It was not _mine_, but _ours_, as the +inscription, "For the Children," written on the blank leaf testified; +which inscription was hereafter to be a pathetic memorial to aged eyes +of days when "the children" were not yet separated, and took their +pleasures, like their meals, together. + +And after all this, with the full consent of a council of the owners, +the _Maerchen-Frau_ was to be "walled up." + +But before I attempt to explain, or in any way excuse this seemingly +ungracious act, it may be well to give some account of the doers +thereof. Well, then:-- + +Providence had blessed a certain respectable tradesman, in a certain +town in Germany, with a large and promising family of children. He had +married very early the beloved of his boyhood, and had been left a +widower with one motherless baby almost before he was a man. A +neighbour, with womanly compassion, took pity upon this desolate +father, and more desolate child; and it was not until she had nursed +the babe in her own house through a dangerous sickness, and had for +long been chief adviser to the parent, that he awoke to the fact that +she had become necessary to him, and they were married. + +Of this union came a family of eight, the two eldest of whom were laid +in turn in the quiet grave. The others survived, and, with the first +wife's daughter, made a goodly family party, which sometimes sorely +taxed the resources of the tradesman to provide for, though his +business was good and his wife careful. They scrambled up, however, as +children are wont to do in such circumstances; and at the time our +story opens the youngest had turned his back upon babyhood, and Marie, +the eldest, had reached that pinnacle of childish ambition--she was +"grown up." + +A very good Marie she was, and always had been; from the days when she +ran to school with a little knapsack on her back, and her fair hair +hanging down in two long plaits, to the present time, when she +tenderly fastened that same knapsack on to the shoulders of a younger +sister; and when the plaits had for long been reclaimed from their +vagrant freedom, and coiled close to her head. + +"Our Marie is not clever," said one of the children, who flattered +himself that _he was_ a bit of a genius; "our Marie is not clever, but +also she is never wrong." + +It is with this same genius that our story has chiefly to do. + +Friedrich was a child of unusual talent; a fact which, happily for +himself, was not discovered till he was more than twelve years old. He +learnt to read very quickly; and when he was once able, read every +book on which he could lay his hands, and in his father's house the +number was not great. When Marie was a child, the school was kept by a +certain old man, very gentle and learned in his quiet way. He had been +fond of his fair-haired pupil, and when she was no longer a scholar, +had passed many an odd hour in imparting to her a slight knowledge of +Latin, and of the great Linnaeus' system of botany. He was now dead, +and his place filled by a less sympathizing pedagogue; and Friedrich +listened with envious ears to his more fortunate sister's stories of +her friend and master. + +"So he taught you Latin--that great language! And botany--which is a +science!" the child would exclaim with envious admiration, when he had +heard for the thousandth time every particular of the old +schoolmaster's kindness. + +And Marie would answer calmly, as she "refooted" one of the father's +stockings, "We did a good deal of the grammar, which I fear I have +forgotten, and I learnt by heart a few of the Psalms in Latin, which I +remember well. Also we commenced the system of Mr. Linnaeus, but I was +very stupid, and ever preferred those plates which pictured the flower +itself to those which gave the torn pieces, and which he thought most +valuable. But, above all, he taught me to be good; and though I have +forgotten many of his lessons, there are words and advice of his which +I heeded little then, but which come back and teach me now. Father +once heard the Burgomaster say he was a genius, but I know that he was +good, and that is best of all;" with which, having turned the heel of +her stocking, Marie would put it out of reach of the kitten, and lay +the table for dinner. + +And Friedrich--poor Friedrich!--groaning inwardly at his sister's +indifference to her great opportunities for learning, would speculate +to himself on the probable fate of each volume in the old +schoolmaster's library, which had been sold when he, Friedrich, was +but three years old. Thus, in these circumstances, the boy expressed +his feelings with moderation when he said, "Our Marie is not clever, +but also she is never wrong." + +If the schoolmaster was dead, however, Friedrich was not, +nevertheless, friendless. There was a certain bookseller in his native +town, for whom in his spare time he ran messages, and who in return +was glad to let him spend his playhours and half-holidays among the +books in his shop. There, perched at the top of the shelves on a +ladder, or crouched upon his toes at the bottom, he devoured some +volumes and dipped into others; but what he liked best was poetry, and +this not uncommon taste with many young readers was with this one a +mania. Wherever the sight of verses met his eye, there he fastened and +read greedily. + +One day, a short time before my story opens, he found, in his +wanderings from shelf to shelf, some nicely-bound volumes, one of +which he opened, and straightway verses of the most attractive-looking +metre met his eye, not, however, in German, but in a fair round Roman +text, and, alas! in a language which he did not understand. There were +customers in the shop, so he stood still in the corner with his nose +almost resting on the bookshelf, staring fiercely at the page, as if +he would force the meaning out of those fair clear-looking verses. +When the last beard had vanished through the doorway, Friedrich came +up to the counter, book in hand. + +"Well, now?" said the comfortable bookseller, with a round German +smile. + +"This book," said the boy; "in what language is it?" + +The man stuck his spectacles on his nose, and smiled again. + +"It is Italian, and these are the sonnets of Petrarch, my child. The +edition is a fine one, so be careful." Friedrich went back to his +place, sighing heavily. After a while he came out again. + +"Well now, what is it?" said the bookseller, cheerfully. + +"Have you an Italian grammar?" + +"Only this," said the other, as he picked a book from the shelf and +laid it on the counter with a twinkle in his eye. The boy opened it +and looked up disappointed. + +"It is all Italian," said he. + +"No, no," was the answer; "it is in French and Italian, and was +printed at Paris. But what wouldst thou with a grammar, my child?" + +The boy blushed as if he had been caught stealing, and said hastily-- + +"I _must_ read those poems, and I cannot if I do not learn the +language." + +"And thou wouldst read Petrarch with a grammar," shouted the +bookseller; "ho! ho! ho!" + +"And a dictionary," said Friedrich; "why not?" + +"Why not?" repeated the other, with renewed laughter. "Why not? +Because to learn a language, my Friedrich, one must have a master, and +exercises, and a phrase-book, and progressive reading-lessons with +vocabulary; and, in short, one must learn a language in the way +everybody else learns it; that is why not, my Friedrich." + +"Everybody is nobody," said Friedrich, hotly; "at least nobody worth +caring for. If I had a grammar and a dictionary, I would read those +beautiful poems." + +"Hear him!" said the cheerful little bookseller. "He will read +Petrarch. He! If my volumes stop in the shelves till thou canst read +them, my child--ho! ho! ho!" and he rubbed his brushy little beard +with glee. + +Friedrich's temper was not by nature of the calmest, and this +conversation rubbed its tenderest points. He answered almost +fiercely-- + +"Take care of your volumes. If I live, and they _do_ stop in the +shelves, I will buy them of you some day. Remember!" and he turned +sharply round to hide the tears which had begun to fall. + +For a moment the good shopkeeper's little mouth became as round as his +round little eyes and his round little face; then he laid his hands on +the counter, and jumping neatly over flung his dead weight on to +Friedrich, and embraced him heartily. + +"My poor child! (a kiss)--would that it had pleased Heaven to make +thee the son of a nobleman--(another kiss). But hear me. A man in +Berlin is now compiling an Italian grammar. It is to be out in a month +or two. I shall have a copy, and thou shalt see it; and if ever thou +canst read Petrarch I will give thee my volumes--(a volley of kisses). +And now, as thou hast stayed so long, come into the little room and +dine with me." With which invitation the kind-hearted German released +his young friend and led him into the back room, where they buried the +memory of Petrarch in a mess of vegetables and melted butter. + +It may be added here, that the Petrarchs remained on the shelf, and +that years afterwards the round-faced little bookseller redeemed his +promise with pride. + +Of these visits the father was to all intents and purposes ignorant. +He knew that Friedrich went to see the bookseller, and that the +bookseller was good-natured to him; but he never dreamt that his son +read the books with which his neighbour's shop was lined, and he knew +nothing of the wild visions which that same shop bred and nourished in +the mind of his boy, and which made the life outside its doorstep +seem a dream. The father and son saw that life from different points +of view. The boy felt that he was more talented than other boys, and +designed himself for a poet; the tradesman saw that the boy was more +talented than other boys, and designed him for the business; and the +opposite nature of these determinations was the one great misery of +Friedrich's life. + +If, however, this source of the child's sorrows was a secret one, and +not spoken of to his brothers and sisters, or even to his friend the +bookseller, equally secret also were the sources of his happiness. No +eye but his own ever beheld those scraps of paper which he begged from +the bookseller, and covered with childish efforts at verse-making. No +one shared the happiness of those hours, of which perhaps a quarter +was spent in working at the poem, and three-fourths were given to the +day-dreams of the poet; or knew that the wild fancies of his brain +made Friedrich's nights more happy than his days. By day he was a +child (his family, with some reason, said a tiresome one), by night he +was a man, and a great man. He visited the courts of Europe, and +received compliments from Royalty; _his_ plays were acted in the +theatres; _his_ poems stood on the shelves of the booksellers; he made +his family rich (the boy was too young to wish for money for +himself); he made everybody happy, and himself famous. + +Fame! that was the word that rang in his ears and danced before his +eyes as the hours of the night wore on, and he lived through a +glorious lifetime. And so, when the mother, candle in hand, came round +like a guardian angel among the sleeping children, to see that "all +was right," he--poor child!--must feign to be sleeping on his face, to +hide the traces of the tears which he had wept as he composed the +epitaph which was to grace the monument of the famous Friedrich ----, +poet, philosopher, etc. Whoever doubts the possibility of such +exaggerated folly, has never known an imaginative childhood, or wept +over those unreal griefs, which are not the less bitter at the time +from being remembered afterwards with a mixture of shame and +amusement. Happy or unhappy, however, in his dreams the boy was great, +and this was enough; for Friedrich was vain, as everyone is tempted to +be who feels himself in any way singular and unlike those about him. +He revelled in the honours which he showered upon himself, and so--the +night was happy; and so--the day was unwelcome when he was smartly bid +to get up and put on his stockings, and found Fame gone and himself a +child again, without honour, in his own country, and in his father's +house. + +These sad dreams (sad in their uselessness) were destined, however, to +do him some good at last; and, oddly enough, the childish council that +condemned the ballad-book decided his fate also. This was how it +happened. + +The children were accustomed, as we have said, to celebrate the Feast +of St. Nicholas by readings from their beloved book. St. Nicholas's +Day (the 6th of December) has for years been a favourite festival with +the children in many parts of the Continent. In France, the children +are diligently taught that St. Nicholas comes in the night down the +chimney, and fills the little shoes (which are ranged there for the +purpose) with sweetmeats or rods, according to his opinion of their +owner's conduct during the past year. The Saint is supposed to travel +through the air, and to be followed by an ass laden with two panniers, +one of which contains the good things, and the other the birch, and he +leaves his ass at the top of the chimney and comes down alone. The +same belief is entertained in Holland; and in some parts of Germany he +is even believed to carry off bad boys and girls in his sack, +answering in this respect to our English Bogy. + +The day, as may be supposed, is looked forward to with no small amount +of anxiety; very clean and tidy are the little shoes placed by the +young expectants; and their parents--who have threatened and promised +in St. Nicholas's name for a year past--take care that, with one sort +of present or the other, the shoes are well filled. The great +question--rods or sweetmeats--is, however, finally settled for each +individual before breakfast-time on the great day; and before dinner, +despite maternal warnings, most of the said sweetmeats have been +consumed. And so it came to pass that Friedrich and his brothers and +sisters had hit upon a plan for ending the day, with the same spirit +and enjoyment with which it opened. + +The mother, by a little kind manoeuvring, generally induced the +father to sup and take his evening pipe with a neighbour, for the +tradesman was one of those whose presence is rather a "wet blanket" +upon all innocent folly and fun. Then she good-naturedly took herself +off to household matters, and the children were left in undisturbed +possession of the stove, round which they gathered with the book, and +the game commenced. Each in turn read whichever poem he preferred; and +the reader for the time being, was wrapt in a huge hood and cloak, +kept for the purpose, and was called the "Maerchen-Frau," or Story +Woman. Sometimes the song had a chorus, which all the children sang to +whichever suited best of the thousand airs that are always floating +in German brains. Sometimes, if the ballad was a favourite one, the +others would take part in any verses that contained a dialogue. This +was generally the case with some verses in the pet ballad of +Bluebeard, at that exciting point where Sister Anne is looking from +the castle window. First the Maerchen-Frau read in a sonorous voice-- + + "Schwester Aennchen, siehst du nichts?" + (Sister Anne, do you see nothing?) + +Then the others replied for Anne-- + + "Staeubchen fliegen, Graeschen wehen." + (A little dust flies, a little grass waves.) + +Again the Maerchen-Frau-- + + "Aennchen, laesst sich sonst nichts sehen?" + (Little Anne, is there nothing else to be seen?) + +And the unsatisfactory reply-- + + "Schwesterchen, sonst seh' ich nichts!" + (Little sister, I see nothing else!) + +After this the Maerchen-Frau finished the ballad alone, and the +conclusion was received with shouts of applause and laughter, that +would have considerably astonished the good father, could he have +heard them, and that did sometimes oblige the mother to call order +from the loft above, just for propriety's sake; for, in truth, the +good woman loved to hear them, and often hummed in with a chorus to +herself as she turned over the clothes among which she was busy. + +At last, however, after having been for years the crowning enjoyment +of St. Nicholas's Day, the credit of the Maerchen-Frau was doomed to +fade. The last reading had been rather a failure, not because the old +ballad-book was supplanted by a new one, or because the children had +outgrown its histories; perhaps--though they did not acknowledge +it--Friedrich was in some degree to blame. + +His increasing knowledge, the long readings in the bookseller's shop, +which his brothers and sisters neither shared nor knew of, had given +him a feeling of contempt for the one book on which they feasted from +year to year; and his part, as Maerchen-Frau, had been on this occasion +more remarkable for yawns than for anything else. The effect of this +failure was not confined to that day. Whenever the book was brought +out, there was the same feeling that the magic of it was gone, and +very greatly were the poor children disquieted by the fact. + +At last, one summer's day, in the year of which we are writing, one of +the boys was struck, as he fancied, by a brilliant idea; and as +brilliant ideas on any subject are precious, he lost no time in +summoning a council of his brothers and sisters in the garden. It was +a half-holiday, and they soon came trooping round the great linden +tree--where the bees were already in full possession--and the youngest +girl, who was but six years old, bore the book hugged fast in her two +arms. + +The boy opened the case--as lawyers say--by describing the loss of +interest in their book since the last Feast of St. Nicholas. "This did +not," he said, "arise from any want of love to the stories themselves, +but from the fact of their knowing them so well. Whatever ballad the +Maerchen-Frau chose, every line of it was so familiar to each one of +them that it seemed folly to repeat it. In these circumstances it was +evident that the greatest compliment they could pay the stories was to +forget them, and he had a plan for attaining this desirable end. Let +them deny themselves now for their future pleasure; let them put away +the Maerchen-Frau till next St. Nicholas's Day, and, in the meantime, +let each of them do his best to forget as much of it as he possibly +could." The speaker ceased, and in the silence the bees above droned +as if in answer, and then the children below shouted applause until +the garden rang. + +But now came the question, where was the Maerchen-Frau to be put? and +for this the suggestive brother had also an idea. He had found +certain bricks in the thick old garden wall which were loose, and when +taken out there was a hole which was quite the thing for their +purpose. Let them wrap the book carefully up, put it in the hole, and +replace the bricks. This was his proposal, and he sat down. The bees +droned above, the children shouted below, and the proposal was carried +amid general satisfaction. "So be it," said the suggestor, in +conclusion. "It is now finally decided. The Maerchen-Frau is to be +walled up." + +And walled up she was forthwith, but not without a parting embrace +from each of her judges, and possibly some slight latent faith in the +suggestion of one of the party that perhaps St. Nicholas would put a +new inside and new stories into her before next December. + +"I don't think I should like a new inside, though," doubted the child +before mentioned, with a shake of her tiny plaits, "or new stories +either." + +As this quaint little Fraeulein went into the house she met Friedrich, +who came from the bookseller's. + +"Friedrich," said she, in a solemn voice, "we have walled up the +'Maerchen-Frau.'" + +"Have you, _Schwesterchen_?" + +This was Friedrich's answer; but it may safely be stated that, if any +one had asked him what it was his sister had told him, he would have +been utterly unable to reply. + +He had been to the bookseller's! + +The summer passed, and the children kept faithfully to their resolve. +The little sister sometimes sat by the wall and comforted the +Maerchen-Frau inside, with promises of coming out soon; but not a brick +was touched. There was something pathetic in the children's voluntary +renouncement of their one toy. The father was too absent and the +mother too busy, to notice its loss; Marie missed it and made +inquiries of the children, but she was implored to be silent, and +discreetly held her tongue. Winter drew on, and for some time a change +was visible in the manners of one of the children; he seemed restless +and uncomfortable, as if something preyed upon his mind. At last he +was induced to unburden himself to the others, when it was discovered +that he couldn't forget the poems in "Maerchen-Frau." This was the +grievance. + +"It seems as if I did it on purpose," groaned he in self-indignation. +"The nearer the time comes, and the more I try to forget, the clearer +I remember them everyone. You know my pet is Bluebeard; well, I +thought I would forget that altogether, every word: and then when my +turn came to be Maerchen-Frau I would take it for my piece. And now, of +all the rest, this is just the one that runs in my head. It is quite +as if I did it on purpose." + +Involuntarily the company--who appeared to have forgotten it as little +as he--struck up in a merry tune-- + + "Blaubart war ein reicher Mann," etc.[A] + +"Oh, don't!" groaned the victim. "That's just how it goes in my head +all along, especially the verse-- + + "Stark war seines Koerpers Ban, + Feurig waren seine Blicke, + Aber ach!--ein Missgeschicke!-- + Aber ach! sein Bart war blau."[B] + +"On Sunday, when the preacher gave out the text, I was looking at him, +and it came so strongly into my head that I nearly said it out +loud--'But ah! his beard was blue!' To-day the schoolmaster asked me a +question about Solomon. I could remember nothing but 'Ah! his beard +was blue!' I have tried this week with all my might; and the harder I +try, the better I remember every word. It is dreadful." + +[Footnote A: "Bluebeard was a rich man."] + +[Footnote B: + + "Strong was the build of his body, + Fiery were his glances, + But ah!--disaster!-- + But ah! his beard was blue."] + +It was dreadful; but he was somewhat comforted to learn that the +memories of his brothers and sisters were as perverse as his own. +Those ballads were not to be easily forgotten. They refused to give up +their hold on the minds they had nourished and amused so long. + +One and all the children were really distressed, with the exception of +Friedrich, who had, as usual, given about half his attention to the +subject in hand; and who now sat absently humming to himself the +account of Bluebeard's position and character, as set forth in +Gotter's ballad. + +The others came to the conclusion that there was but one hope +left--that St. Nicholas might have put some new ballads into the old +book--and one and all they made for the hiding-place, followed at a +feebler pace by the little Fraeulein, who ran with her lips tightly +shut, her hands clenched, and her eyes wide open with a mixture of +fear and expectation. The bricks were removed, the book unwrapped, but +alas! everything was the same, even to the rough woodcut of Bluebeard +himself, in the act of sharpening his scimitar. There was no change, +except that the volume was rather the worse for damp. It was thrown +down with a murmur of disappointment, but seized immediately by the +little Fraeulein, who flung herself upon it in a passion of tears and +embraces. Hers was the only faithful affection; the charm of the +Maerchen-Frau was gone. + +They were all out of humour with this, and naturally looked about for +some one to find fault with. Friedrich was at hand, and so they fell +upon him and reproached him for his want of sympathy with their +vexation. The boy awoke from a brown study, and began to defend +himself:--"He was very sorry," he said; "but he couldn't see the use +of making such a great fuss about a few old ballads, that after all +were nothing so very wonderful." + +This was flat heresy, and he was indignantly desired to say where any +were to be got like them--where even _one_ might be found, when St. +Nicholas could not provide them? Friedrich was even less respectful to +the idea of St. Nicholas, and said something which, translated into +English, would look very like the word _humbug_. This was no answer to +the question "where were they to get a ballad?" and a fresh storm came +upon his head; whereupon being much goaded, and in a mixture of vanity +and vexation of spirit, he let out the fact that "he thought he could +write one almost as good himself." + +This turned the current of affairs. The children had an instinctive +belief in Friedrich's talents, to which their elders had not attained. +The faith of childhood is great; and they saw no reason why he should +not be able to do as he said, and so forthwith began to pet and coax +him as unmercifully as they had scolded five minutes before. + +"Beloved Friedrich; dear little brother! _Do_ write one for us. We +know thou canst!" + +"I cannot," said Friedrich. "It is all nonsense. I was only joking." + +"It is not nonsense; we know thou canst! Dear Fritz--just to please +us!" + +"Do!" said another. "It was only yesterday the mother was saying, +'Friedrich can do nothing useful!' But when thou hast written a poem +thou wilt have done more than any one in the house--ay, or in the +town. And when thou hast written one poem thou wilt write more, and be +like Hans Sachs, and the Twelve Wise Masters thou hast told us of so +often." + +Friedrich had read many of the verses of the Cobbler Poet, but the +name of Hans Sachs awakened no thought in his mind. He had heard +nothing of that speech but one sentence, and it decided him. + +_Friedrich can do nothing useful._ "I will see what I can do," he +said, and walked hastily away. Down the garden, out into the road, +away to the mill, where he could stand by the roaring water and talk +aloud without being heard. + +"Friedrich can do nothing useful. Yes, I will write a ballad." + +He went home, got together some scraps of paper, and commenced. + +In half-a-dozen days he began as many ballads, and tore them up one +and all. He beat his brains for plots, and was satisfied with none. He +had a fair maiden, a cruel father, a wicked sister, a handsome knight, +and a castle on the Rhine; and so plunged into a love story with a +moonlight meeting, an escape on horseback, pursuit, capture, despair, +suicide, and a ghostly apparition that floated over the river, and +wrung her hands under the castle window. It seems impossible for an +author to do more for his heroine than take her out of the world, and +bring her back again; but our poet was not content. He had not come +himself to the sentiment of life, and felt a rough boyish disgust at +the maundering griefs of his hero and heroine, who, moreover, were +unpleasantly like every other hero and heroine that he had ever read +of under similar circumstances; and if there was one thing more than +another that Friedrich was determined to be, it was to be original. + +He had no half hopes. With the dauntlessness of young ambition, he +determined to do his very best, and that that best should be better +than anything that ever had been done by any one. + +Having failed with the sentimental, he tried to write something funny. +Surely such child's tales as Bluebeard, Cinderella, etc., were easy +enough to write. He would make a _Kindeslied_--a child's song. But he +was mistaken; to write a new nursery ballad was the hardest task of +all. Time after time he struggled; and, at last, one day when he had +written and destroyed a longer effort than usual, he went to bed in +hopeless despair. + +His disappointment mingled with his dreams. He dreamt that he was in +the bookseller's shop hunting among the shelves for some scraps of +paper on which he had written. He could not find them, he thought, but +came across the Petrarch volumes in their beautiful binding. He opened +one and saw--not a word of that fair-looking Italian, but--his own +ballad that he could not write, written and printed in good German +character with his name on the title-page. He took it in his hands and +went out of the shop, and as he did so it seemed to him, in his dream, +that he had become a man. He dreamt that as he came down the steps, +the people in the street gathered round him and cheered and shouted. +The women held up their children to look at him; he was a Great Man! +He thought that he turned back into the shop and went up to the +counter. There sat the smiling little bookseller as natural as life, +who smiled and bowed to him, as Friedrich had a hundred times seen +him bow and smile to the bearded men who came in to purchase. + +"How many have you sold of this?" said Friedrich, in his dream. + +"Forty thousand!" with another smile and bow. + +Forty thousand! It seemed to him that all the world must have read it. +This was Fame. + +He went out of the shop, through the shouting market-place, and home, +where his father led him in and offered pipes and a mug of ale, as if +he were the Burgomaster. He sat down, and when his mother came in, +rose to embrace her, and, doing so, knocked down the mug. Crash! it +went on the floor with a loud noise, which woke him up; and then he +found himself in bed, and that he had thrown over the mug of water +which he had put by his bedside to drink during the thirsty feverish +hours that he lay awake. + +He was not a great man, but a child. + +He had not written a ballad, but broken a mug. + +"Friedrich can do nothing useful." + +He buried his face, and wept bitterly. + +In time, his tears were dried, and as it was very early he lay awake +and beat his brains. He had added nothing to his former character but +the breaking of a piece of crockery. Something must be done. No more +funny ballads now. He would write something terrible--miserable; +something that should make other people weep as he had wept. He was in +a very tragic humour indeed. He would have a hero who should go into +the world to seek his fortune, and come back to find his lady-love in +a nunnery; but that was an old story. Well, he would turn it the other +way, and put the hero into a monastery; but that wasn't new. Then he +would shut both of them up, and not let them meet again till one was a +monk and the other a nun, which would be grievous enough in all +reason; but this was the oldest of all. Friedrich gave up love stories +on the spot. It was clearly not his _forte_. + +Then he thought he would have a large family of brothers and sisters, +and kill them all by a plague. But, besides the want of further +incident, this idea did not seem to him sufficiently sad. Either from +its unreality, or from their better faith, the idea of death does not +possess the same gloom for the young that it does for those older +minds that have a juster sense of the value of human life, and are, +perhaps, more heavily bound in the chains of human interests. + +No; the plague story might be pathetic, but it was not miserable--not +miserable enough at any rate for Friedrich. + +In truth, he felt at last that every misfortune that he could invent +was lost in the depths of the real sorrow which oppressed his own +life, and out of this knowledge came an idea for his ballad. What a +fool never to have thought of it before! + +He would write the history--the miserable bitter history--of a great +man born to a small way of life, whose merits should raise him from +his low estate to a deserved and glorious fame; who should toil, and +strive, and struggle, and when his hopes and prayers seemed to be at +last fulfilled, and the reward of his labours at hand, should awake +and find that it was a dream; that he was no nearer to Fame than ever, +and that he might never reach it. Here was enough sorrow for a +tragedy. The ballad should be written now. + +The next day. Friedrich plunged into the bookseller's shop. + +"Well, now, what is it?" smiled the comfortable little bookseller. + +"I want some paper, please," gasped Friedrich; "a good big bit if I +may have it, and, if you please, I must go now. I will come and clean +out the shop for you at the end of the week, but I am very busy +to-day." + +"The condition of the shop," said the little bookseller, +grandiloquently, with a wave of his hand, "yields to more important +matters; namely, to thy condition, my child, which is not of the best. +Thou art as white as this sheet of paper, to which thou art heartily +welcome. I am silent, but not ignorant. Thou wouldst be a writer, but +art not yet a philosopher, my Friedrich. Thou art not fast-set on thy +philosophic equilibrium. Thou hast knocked down three books and a +stool since thou hast come in the shop. Be calm, my child: consider +that even if truly also the fast-bound-eternally-immutable-condition +of everlastingly-varying-circumstance--" + +But by this time Friedrich was at home. + +How he got through the next three days he never knew. He stumbled in +and out of the house with the awkwardness of an idiot, and was so +stupid in school that nothing but his previous good character saved +him from a flogging. The day before the Feast of St. Nicholas (which +was a holiday) the schoolmaster dismissed him with the severe inquiry, +if he meant to be a dunce all his life? and Friedrich went home with +two sentences ringing in his head-- + +"Do I mean to be a dunce all my life?" + +"Friedrich can do nothing useful." + +To-night the ballad must be finished. + +He contrived to sit up beyond his usual hour, and escaped notice by +crouching behind a large linen chest, and there wrote and wrote till +his heart beat and his head felt as if it would split in pieces. At +last, the careful mother discovered that Friedrich had not bid her +good-night, and he was brought out of his hiding-place and sent to +bed. + +He took a light and went softly up the ladder into the loft, and, to +his great satisfaction, found the others asleep. He said his prayers, +and got into bed, but he did not put out the light; he put a box +behind it to prevent its being seen, and drew out his paper and wrote. +The ballad was done, but he must make a fair copy for the +Maerchen-Frau; and very hard work it was, in his feverish excited +state, to write out a thing that was finished. He worked resolutely, +however, and at last completed it with trembling hands, and pushed it +under his pillow. + +Then he sat up in bed, and looked round him. + +Time passed, and still he sat shivering and clasping his knees, and +the reason he sat so was--because he dared not lie down. + +The work was done, and the overstrained mind, no longer occupied, +filled with ghastly fears and fancies. He did not dare to put out the +light, and yet its faint glimmer only made the darkness more horrible. +He did not dare to look behind him, though he knew that there was +nothing there. He trembled at the scratching sound in the wainscot, +though he knew that it was only mice. A sudden light on the window, +and a distant chorus, did not make his heart beat less wildly from +being nothing more alarming than two or three noisy students going +home with torches. Then his light took the matter into its own hands, +and first flared up with a suddenness that almost made Friedrich jump +out of his skin, and then left him in total darkness. He could endure +no longer, and, scrambling out of bed, crossed the floor to where the +warm light came up the steps of the ladder from the room beneath. +There our hero crouched without daring to move, and comforted himself +with the sounds of life below. But it was very wearying, and yet he +dared not go back. A neighbour had "dropped in," and he could see +figures passing to and fro across the kitchen. + +At last his sister passed, with the light shining on her golden +plaits, and he risked a low murmur of "Marie! Marie!" + +She stopped an instant, and then passed on; but after a few minutes, +she returned, and came up the ladder with her finger on her lips to +enjoin silence. He needed no caution, being instinctively aware that +if one parental duty could be more obvious than another to the +tradesman, it would be that of crushing such folly as Friedrich was +displaying by timely severity. The boy crept back to bed, and Marie +came after him. + +There are unheroic moments in the lives of the greatest of men, and +though when the head is strong and clear, and there is plenty of light +and good company, it is highly satisfactory and proper to smile +condescension upon female inanity, there are times when it is not +unpleasant to be at the mercy of kind arms that pity without asking a +reason, and in whose presence one may be foolish without shame. And it +is not ill, perhaps, for some of us, whose acutely strung minds go up +with every discovery, and down with every doubt, if we have some +humble comforter (whether woman or man) on whose face a faithful +spirit has set the seal of peace--a face which in its very +steadfastness is "as the face of an angel." + +Such a face looked down upon Friedrich, before which fancied horrors +fled; and he wound his arms round Marie's neck, and laid down his +head, and was comfortable, if not sublime. + +After a dozen or so of purposeless kisses, she spoke-- + +"What is it, my beloved?" + +"I--I don't think I can get to sleep," said the poet. + +Marie abstained from commenting on this remark, and Friedrich was +silent and comfortable. So comfortable that, though he despised her +opinion on such matters he asked it in a low whisper--"Marie, dost +thou not think it would be the very best thing in the world to be a +great man? To labour and labour for it, and be a great man at last?" + +Marie's answer was as low, but quite decided-- + +"No." + +"Why not, Marie?" + +"It is very nice to be great, and I should love to see thee a great +man, Friedrich, very well indeed, but the very best thing of all is to +be good. Great men are not always happy ones, though when they are +good also it is very glorious, and makes one think of the words of the +poor heathen in Lycaonia--'The gods have come down to us in the +likeness of men.' But if ever thou art a great man, little brother, it +will be the good and not the great things of thy life that will bring +thee peace. Nay, rather, neither thy goodness nor thy greatness, but +the mercy of GOD!" + +And in this opinion Marie was obstinately fixed, and Friedrich argued +no more. + +"I think I shall do now," said the hero at last; "I thank thee very +much, Marie." + +She kissed him anew, and bade GOD bless him, and wished him +good-night, and went down the ladder till her golden plaits caught +again the glow of the warm kitchen, and Friedrich lost sight of her +tall figure and fair face, and was alone once more. + +He was better, but still he could not sleep. Wearied and vexed, he lay +staring into the darkness till he heard steps upon the ladder, and +became the involuntary witness of--the true St. Nicholas. + +It was the mother, with a basket in her hand, and Friedrich watched +her as she approached the place where all the shoes were laid out, his +among them. + +The children were by no means immaculate or in any way greatly +superior to other families, but the mother was tender-hearted, and had +a poor memory for sins that were past, and Friedrich saw her fill one +shoe after another with cakes and sweetmeats. At last she came to his, +and then she stopped. He lifted up his head, and an indefinable fury +surged in his heart. He had been very tiresome since the ballad was +begun; was she going to put rods into his shoes only? _His_! He could +have borne anything but this. Meanwhile, she was fumbling in the +basket; and, at last, pulled out--not a rod, but--a paper of cakes of +another kind, to which Friedrich was particularly attached, and with +these she lined the shoes thickly, and filled them up with sweetmeats, +and passed on. + +"Oh, mother! mother! Far, far too kind!" The awkwardness and +stupidity of yesterday, and of many yesterdays, smote him to the +heart, and roused once more the only too ready tears. But he did not +cry long, he had a happy feeling of community with his brothers and +sisters in getting more than they any of them deserved; to have seen +the St. Nicholas's proceedings had diverted his mind from gloomy +fancies, and altogether, with a comfortable sensation of cakes and +kindness, he fell asleep smiling, and slept soundly and well. + +The next day he threw his arms round his mother, and said that the +cakes were "so nice." + +"But I don't deserve them," he added. + +"Thou'lt mend," said she kindly. "And no doubt the Saint knew that +thou hadst eaten but half a dinner for a week past, and brought those +cakes to tempt thee; so eat them all, my child; for, doubtless, there +are plenty more where they come from." + +"I am very much obliged to whoever did think of it," said Friedrich. + +"And plenty more there are," said the good woman to Marie afterwards, +as they were dishing the dinner. "Luise Jansen's shop is full of them. +But, bless the boy! he's too clever for anything. There's no playing +St. Nicholas with him." + +The day went by at last, and the evening came on. The tradesman went +off of himself to see if he could meet with the Burgomaster, and the +children became rabid in their impatience for Friedrich's ballad. + +He would not read it himself, so Marie was pressed into the service, +and crowned with the hood and cloak, and elected Maerchen-Frau. + +The author himself sat in an arm-chair, with a face as white and +miserable as if he were ordered for execution. He formed a painful +contrast to his ruddy brothers and sisters; and it would seem as if he +had begun already to experience the truth of Marie's assertion, that +"great men are not always happy ones." + +The ballad was put into the Maerchen-Frau's hands, and she was told +that Friedrich had written it. She gave a quick glance at it, and +asked if he had really invented it all. The children repeated the +fact, which was a pleasant but not a surprising one to them, and Marie +began. + +The young poet had evidently a good ear, for the verses were easy and +musical, and the metre more than tolerably correct; and as the hero of +the ballad worked harder and harder, and got higher and higher, the +children clapped their hands, and discovered that it was "quite like +Friedrich." + +Why, when that hero was almost at the height of fortune, and the +others gloried in his success, did the foolish author bury his face +upon his arms, and sob silently but bitterly in sympathy?--moreover, +with such a heavy and absorbing grief that he did not hear it, when +Marie stopped for an instant and then went on again, or know that +steps had come behind his chair, and that his father and the +Burgomaster were in the room. + +The Maerchen-Frau went on; the hero awoke from his unreal happiness to +his real fate, and bewailed in verse after verse the heavy weights of +birth, and poverty, and circumstance, that kept him from the heights +of fame. The ballad was ended. + +Then a voice fell on Friedrich's ear, which nearly took away his +breath. It was his father's asking sternly, "What is all this?" + +And then he knew that Marie was standing up, with a strange emotion on +her face, and he heard her say-- + +"It is a poem that Friedrich has written. He has written it all +himself. Every word. And he is but twelve years old!" She was pointing +to him, or, perhaps, the Burgomaster might not have recognized in that +huddled miserable figure the genius of the family. + +His was the next voice, and what he said Friedrich could hardly +remember; the last sentences only he clearly understood. + +"GOD has not blessed me with children, neighbour. My wife, as +well as I, would be ashamed if such genius were lost for want of a +little money. Give the child to me. He shall have a liberal education, +and will be a great man." + +"I shall not," said the tradesman, "stand in the way of his interests +or your commands. I cannot tell what to say to your kindness, +Burgomaster. GOD willing, I hope he will be a credit to the town." + +"GOD willing, he will be a credit to his country," said the +Burgomaster. + +The words rang in Friedrich's ears over and over again, like the +changes of bells. They danced before his eyes as if he saw them in a +book. They were written in his heart as if "graven with an iron pen +and lead in the rock for ever." + +"GOD _willing, I hope he will be a credit to the town._" + +"GOD _willing, he will be a credit to his country._" + +"_He shall have a liberal education, and will be a_ GREAT +MAN." + +Friedrich tried to stand on his feet and thank the Burgomaster; who, +on any other occasion, might have been tempted to suppose him an +idiot, so white and distorted was the child's face, struggling through +tears and smiles. He could not utter a word; a mist began to come +before his eyes, through which the Burgomaster's head seemed to bob up +and down, and then his father's, and his mother's, and Marie's, with a +look of pity on her face. He tried to tell _her_ that he was now a +great man and felt quite happy; but, unfortunately, was only able to +burst into tears, and then to burst out laughing, and then a sharp +pain shot through his head, and he remembered no more. + + * * * * * + +Friedrich had a dim consciousness of coming round after this, and +being put to bed; then he fell asleep, and slept heavily. When he woke +Marie was sitting by his side, and it was dark. The mother had gone +downstairs, she said, and she had taken her place. Friedrich lay +silent for a bit; at last he said, + +"I am very happy, Marie." + +"I am very glad, dearest." + +"Dost thou think father will let the Burgomaster give me a good +education, Marie?" + +"Yes, dear, I am sure he will." + +"It is very kind," said Friedrich, thoughtfully; "for I know he wants +me for the business. But I will help him some day. And, Marie, I will +be a good man, and when I am very rich I will give great alms to the +poor." + +"Thou wilt be a good man before thou art a rich one, I trust," said +his dogmatic sister. "We are accepted in that we have, and not in that +we have not. Thou hast great talent, and wilt give it to the Lord, +whether He make thee rich or no. Wilt thou not, dearest?" + +"What dost thou mean, Marie? Am I never to write anything but hymns?" + +"No, no, I do not mean that," she said. "I am very ignorant and cannot +rightly explain it to thee, little brother. But genius is a great and +perilous gift; and, oh, Friedrich! Friedrich! promise me just +this:--that thou wilt never, never write anything against the faith or +the teaching of the Saviour, and that thou wilt never use the graces +of poetry to cover the hideousness of any of those sins which it is +the work of a lifetime to see justly, and to fight against manfully. +Promise me just this." + +"Oh, Marie! to think that I could be so wicked!" + +"No! no!" she said, covering him with kisses. "I know thou wilt be +good and great, and we shall all be proud of our little brother. +GOD give thee the pen of a ready writer, and grace to use it +to His glory!" + +"I will," he said, "GOD help me! and I will write beautiful +hymns for thee, Marie, that when I am dead shall be sung in the +churches. They shall be like that Evening Hymn we sing so often. Sing +it now, my sister!" + +Marie cleared her throat, and in a low voice, that steadied and grew +louder and sweeter till it filled the house and died away among the +rafters, sang the beautiful hymn that begins-- + + "Herr, Dein Auge geht nicht unter, wenn es bei uns Abend wird;" + (Lord! Thine eye does not go down, when it is evening with us.) + +The boy lay drinking it in with that full enjoyment of simple vocal +music which is so innate in the German character; and as he lay, he +hummed his accustomed part in it, and the mother at work below caught +up the song involuntarily, and sang at her work; and Marie's clear +voice breaking through the wooden walls of the house, was heard by a +passer in the street, who struck in with the bass of the familiar +hymn, and went his way. Before it was ended, Friedrich was sleeping +peacefully once more. + +But Marie sat by the stove till the watchman in the quaint old street +told the hour of midnight, when (with the childish custom taught her +by the old schoolmaster long ago) she folded her hands, and murmured, + + "Nisi Dominus urbem custodiat, frustra vigilat custos." + (Except the Lord keep the city, the watchman waketh but + in vain.) + +And then she slept also. + +The snow fell softly on the roof, and on the walls of the old church +outside, and on the pavement of the street of the poet's native town, +and the night passed and the day came. + +There is little more to tell, for that night was the last night of his +sorrowful humble childhood, and that day was the first day of his +fame. + + * * * * * + +The Duke of ---- was an enlightened and generous man, and a munificent +patron of the Arts and Sciences, and of literary and scientific men. +He was not exactly a genius, but he was highly accomplished. He wrote +a little, and played a little, and drew a little; and with fortune to +befriend him, as a natural consequence he published a little, and +composed a little, and framed his pictures. + +But what was better and more remarkable than this, was the generous +spirit in which he loved and admired those who did great things in the +particular directions in which he did a little. He bought good +pictures while he painted bad ones; and those writers, musicians, and +artists who could say but little for his performances, had every +reason to talk loudly of his liberality. He was the special admirer of +talent born in obscurity; and at the time of which we are writing +(many years after the events related above), the favourite "lion" in +the literary clique he had gathered round him in his palace, was a +certain poet--the son of a small tradesman in a small town, who had +been educated by the kindness of the Burgomaster (long dead), and who +now had made Germany to ring with his fame; who had visited the Courts +of Europe, and received compliments from Royalty, whose plays were +acted in the theatres, whose poems stood on the shelves of the +booksellers, who was a great man--Friedrich! + +It was a lovely evening, and the Duke, leaning on the arm of his +favourite, walked up and down a terrace. The Duke was (as usual) in +the best possible humour. The poet (as was not uncommon) was just in +the slightest degree inclined to be in a bad one. They had been +reading a critique on his poems. It was praise, it is true, but the +praise was not judiciously administered, and the poet was aggrieved. +He rather felt (as authors are not unapt to feel) that a poet who +could write such poems should have critics created with express +capabilities for understanding him. But the good Duke was in his most +cheery and amiable mood, and quite bent upon smoothing his ruffled +lion into the same condition. + +"What impossible creatures you geniuses are to please!" he said. "Tell +me, my friend, has there ever been, since you first began your career, +a bit of homage or approbation that has really pleased you?" + +"Oh, yes!" said the poet, in a tone that sounded like Oh, no! + +"I don't believe it," said the Duke. "Come, now, could you, if you +were asked, describe the happiest and proudest hour of your life?" + +A new expression came into the poet's eyes, and lighted up his gaunt +intellectual face. Some old memories awoke within him, and it is +doubtful if he saw the landscape at which he was gazing. But the Duke +was not quick, though kind; he thought that Friedrich had not heard +him, and repeated the question. + +"Yes," said the poet. "Yes, indeed I could." + +"Well, then, let me guess," said the Duke, facetiously. (He fancied +that he was bringing his crusty genius into capital condition.) "Was +it when your great tragedy of 'Boadicea' was first performed in +Berlin, and the theatre rose like one man to offer homage, and the +gods sent thunder? I wish they had ever treated my humble efforts with +as much favour. Was it then?" + +"No!" + +"Was it when his Imperial Majesty the Emperor of ---- was pleased to +present you with a gold snuff-box set with diamonds, and to express +his opinion that your historical plays were incomparably among the +finest productions of poetic genius?" + +"His Imperial Majesty," said Friedrich, "is a brave soldier; but, +a--hem!--an indifferent critic. I do not take snuff, and his Imperial +Majesty does not read poetry. The interview was gratifying, but that +was not the occasion. No!" + +"Was it when you were staying with Dr. Kranz at G----, and the +students made that great supper for you, and escorted your carriage +both ways with a procession of torches?" + +"Poor boys!" said the poet, laughing; "it was very kind, and they +could ill afford it. But they would have drunk quite as much wine for +any one who would have taken the inside out of the University clock, +or burnt the Principal's wig, as they did for me. It was a very +unsteady procession that brought me home, I assure you. The way they +poked the torches in each other's faces left one student, as I heard, +with no less than eight duels on his hands. And, oh! the manner in +which they howled my most pathetic love songs! No! no!" + +The Duke laughed heartily. + +"Is it any of the various occasions on which the fair ladies of +Germany have testified their admiration by offerings of sympathy and +handiwork?" + +"No!" roared the poet. + +"Are you quite sure?" said the Duke, slyly. "I have heard of +comforters, and slippers, and bouquets, and locks of hair, besides a +dozen of warm stockings knit by the fair hands of ----" + +"Spare me!" groaned Friedrich, in mock indignation. "Am I a pet +preacher, that I should be smothered in female absurdities? I have +hair that would stuff a sofa, comforters that would protect a regiment +in Siberia, slippers, stockings ----. I shall sell them, I shall burn +them. I would send them back, but the ladies send nothing but their +Christian names, and to identify Luise, and Gretchen, and Catherine, +and Bettina, is beyond my powers. No!" + +When they had ceased laughing the Duke continued his catechism. + +"Was it when the great poet G---- (your only rival) paid that handsome +compliment to your verses on ----" + +"No!" interrupted the poet. "A thousand times no! The great poet +praised the verses you allude to simply to cover his depreciation of +my 'Captive Queen,' which is among my best efforts, but too much in +his own style. How Germany can worship his bombastic ---- but that's +nothing! No." + +"Was it when you passed accidentally through the streets of Dresden, +and the crowd discovered you, and carried you to the hotel on its +shoulders?" + +The momentary frown passed from Friedrich's face, and he laughed +again. + +"And when the men who carried me twisted my leg so that I couldn't +walk for a fortnight, to say nothing of the headache I endured from +bowing to the populace like a Chinese mandarin? No!" + +"Is it any triumph you have enjoyed in any other country in Europe?" + +"No!" + +"My dear genius, I can guess no more; what, in the name of Fortune, +was this happy occasion--this life triumph?" + +"It is a long story, your highness, and entertaining to no one but +myself." + +"You do me injustice," said the Duke. "A long story from you is too +good to be lost. Sit down, and favour me." + +A patron's wishes are not to be neglected; and somewhat unwillingly +the poet at last sat down, and told the story of his Ballad and of St. +Nicholas's Day, as it has been told here. The fountain of tears is +drier in middle age than in childhood, but he was not unmoved as he +concluded. + +"Every circumstance of that evening," he said, "is as fresh in my +remembrance now as it was then, and will be till I die. It is a joy, a +triumph, and a satisfaction that will never fade. The words that +roused me from despair, that promised knowledge to my ignorance and +fame to my humble condition, have power now to make my heart beat, and +to bring hopeful tears into eyes that should have dried with age-- + + "GOD _willing, he will be a credit to the town._" + + "GOD _willing, he will be a credit to his country._" + + "_He shall have a liberal education, and will be + a great man._" + +"It is as good as a poem," said the delighted Duke. "I shall tell the +company to-night that I am the most fortunate man in Germany. I have +heard your unpublished poem. By the bye, Poet, is that ballad +published?" + +"No, and never will be. It shall never know less kindly criticism than +it received then." + +"And are you really in earnest? Was this indeed the happiest triumph +your talents have ever earned?" + +"It was," said Friedrich. "The first blast on the trumpet of Fame is +the sweetest. Afterwards, we find it out of tune." + +"Your parents are dead, I think?" + +"They are, and so is my youngest sister." + +"And what of Marie?" + +"She married--a man who, I think, is in no way worthy of her. Not a +bad, but a stupid man, with strong Bible convictions on the subject of +marital authority. She is such an angel in his house as he can never +understand in this world." + +"Do you ever see her?" + +"Sometimes, when I want a rest. I went to see her not long ago, and +found her just the same as ever. I sat at her feet, and laid my head +in her lap, and tried to be a child again. I bade her tell me the +history of Bluebeard, and strove to forget that I had ever lost the +childish simplicity which she has kept so well;--and I almost +succeeded. I had forgotten that the great poet was jealous of my +'Captive Queen,' and told myself it would be a grand thing to be like +him. I thought I should like to see a live Emperor. But just when the +delusion was perfect, there was a row in the street. The people had +found me out, and I must show myself at the window. The spell was +broken. I have not tried it again." + +They were on the steps of the palace. + +"Your story has entertained and touched me beyond measure," said the +Duke. "But something is wanting. It does not (as they say) 'end +well.' I fear you are not happy." + +"I am content," said Friedrich. "Yes, I am happy. I never could be a +child again, even if it pleased GOD to restore to me the +circumstances of my childhood. It is best as it is, but I have learnt +the truth of what Marie told me. It is the good, and not the great +things of my life that bring me peace; or rather, neither one nor the +other, but the undeserved mercies of my GOD!" + + * * * * * + +For those who desire to know more of the poet's life than has been +told, this is added. He did not live to be very old. A painful disease +(the result of mental toil), borne through many years, ended his life +almost in its prime. He retained his faculties till the last, and bore +protracted suffering with a heroism and endurance which he had not +always displayed in smaller trials. The medical men pronounced, on the +authority of a _post-mortem_ examination, that he must for years have +suffered a silent martyrdom. Truly, his bodily sufferings (when known +at last) might well excuse many weaknesses and much moody, irritable +impatience; especially when it is remembered that the mental +sufferings of intellectual men are generally great in proportion to +their gifts, and (when clogged with nerves and body that are ever +urged beyond their strength) that they often mock the pride of +humanity by leaving but little space between the genius and the +madman. + +Another fact was not known till he had died--his charity. Then it was +discovered how much kindness he had exercised in secret, and that +three poor widows had been fed daily from his table during all the +best years of his prosperity. Before his death he arranged all his +affairs, even to the disposal of his worn-out body. + +"My country has been gracious to me," he said, "and, if it cares, may +dispose of my carcase as it will. But I desire that after my death my +heart may be taken from my body and buried at the feet of my father +and my mother in the churchyard of my native town. At their feet," he +added, with some of the old imperiousness--"strong in death." "At +their feet, remember!" + +In one of the largest cities of Germany, a huge marble monument is +erected to the memory of the Great Man. On three sides of the pedestal +are bas-relief designs illustrating some of his works, whereby three +fellow-countrymen added to their fame; and on the fourth is a fine +inscription in Latin, setting forth his talents, and his virtues, and +the honours conferred on him, and stating in conclusion (on the +authority of his eulogizer) that his works have gained for him +immortality. + +In a quiet green churchyard, near a quiet little town, under the +shadow of the quaint old church, a little cross marks the graves of a +tradesman and of his wife who lived and laboured in their generation, +and are at rest. Near them, daisies grow above the dust of the +"Fraeulein," which awaits the resurrection from the dead. And at the +feet of that simple couple lies the heart of their great son--a heart +which the sickness of earthly hope and the fever of earthly ambition +shall disturb no more. + +By the Poet's own desire, "the rude memorial" that marks the spot +contains no more than his initials, and a few words in his native +tongue to mark the foundation of the only ambition that he could feel +in death-- + + "Ich verlasse mich auf Gottes Guete immer und ewiglich." + + --_My trust is in the tender mercy of_ GOD _for + ever and ever._ + + + + +A BIT OF GREEN. + + "Thou oughtest, therefore, to call to mind the more heavy + sufferings of others, that so thou mayest the easier bear + thy own very small troubles."--THE IMITATION OF + CHRIST. + + +Children who live always with grass and flowers at their feet, and a +clear sky overhead, can have no real idea of the charm that country +sights and sounds have for those whose home is in a dirty, busy, +manufacturing town--just such a town, in fact, as I lived in when I +was a boy, which is more than twenty years ago. + +My father was a doctor, with a very large, if not what is called a +"genteel," practice, and we lived in a comfortable house in a broad +street. I was born and bred there; and, ever since I could remember, +the last sound that soothed my ears at night, and the first to which I +awoke in the morning, was the eternal rumbling and rattling of the +carts and carriages as they passed over the rough stones. I never +noticed if I heard them in the day-time, but at night my chief +amusement, as I lay in bed, was to guess by the sound of the wheels +what sort of vehicle was passing. + +"That light sharp rattle is a cab," I thought. "What a noise it makes, +and gone in a moment! One gentleman inside, I should think. There's an +omnibus; and there, jolty-jolt, goes a light cart; that's a carriage, +by the way the horses step; and now, rumbling heavily in the distance, +and coming slowly nearer, and heavier, and louder, this can be nothing +but a brewer's dray!" And the dray came so slowly that I was asleep +before it had got safely out of hearing. + +Ours was a very noisy street, but the noise made the night cheerful; +and so did the church clock near, which struck the quarters; and so +did the light of the street lamps, which came through the blind and +fell upon my little bed. We had very little light, except gaslight and +daylight, in our street; the sunshine seldom found its way to us, and, +when it did, people were so little used to it that they pulled down +the blinds for fear it should hurt the carpets. In the room my sister +and I called our nursery, however, we always welcomed it with blinds +rolled up to the very top; and, as we had no carpet, no damage was +done. + +But sunshine outside will not always make sunshine shine within, and +I remember one day when, though our nursery was unusually cheerful, +and though the windows were reflected in square patches of sunlight on +the floor, I stood in the very midst of the brightness, grumbling and +kicking at my sister's chair with a face as black as a thunder-cloud. +The reason of my ill-temper was this: Ever since I could remember, my +father had been accustomed, once a year, to take us all into the +country for change of air. Once he had taken us to the sea, but +generally we went to an old farmhouse in the middle of the beautiful +moors which lay not many miles from our dirty black town. But this +year, on this very sunshiny morning, he had announced at breakfast +that he could not let us go to what we called our moor-home. He had +even added insult to injury by expressing his thankfulness that we +were all in good health, so that the change was not a matter of +necessity. I was too indignant to speak, and rushed upstairs into the +nursery, where my little sister had also taken refuge. She was always +very gentle and obedient (provokingly so, I thought), and now she sat +rocking her doll on her knee in silent sorrow, whilst I stood kicking +her chair and grumbling in a tone which it was well the doll could not +hear, or rocking would have been of little use. I took pleasure in +trying to make her as angry as myself. I reminded her how lovely the +purple moors were looking at that moment, how sweet heather smelt, +and how good bilberries tasted. I said I thought it was "very hard." +It wasn't as if we were always paying visits, as many children did, to +their country relations; we had only one treat in the year, and father +wanted to take that away. Not a soul in the town, I said, would be as +unfortunate as we were. The children next door would go somewhere, of +course. So would the little Smiths, and the Browns, and _everybody_. +Everybody else went to the sea in the autumn; we were contented with +the moors, and he wouldn't even let us go there. And, at the end of +every burst of complaint, I discharged a volley of kicks at the leg of +the chair, and wound up with "I can't think why he can't!" + +"I don't know," said my sister, timidly, "but he said something about +not affording it, and spending money, and about trade being bad, and +he was afraid there would be great distress in the town." + +Oh, these illogical women! I was furious. "What on earth has that to +do with us?" I shouted at her. "Father's a doctor; trade won't hurt +him. But you are so silly, Minnie, I can't talk to you. I only know +it's very hard. Fancy staying a whole year boxed up in this beastly +town!" And I had so worked myself up that I fully believed in the +truth of the sentence with which I concluded-- + +"_There never_ WAS _anything so miserable!_" + +Minnie said nothing, for my feelings just then were something like +those of the dogs who (Dr. Watts tells us) + + "delight + To bark and bite;" + +and perhaps she was afraid of being bitten. At any rate, she held her +tongue; and just then my father came into the room. + +The door was open, and he must have heard my last speech as he came +along the passage; but he made no remark on it, and only said, "Would +any young man here like to go with me to see a patient?" + +I went willingly, for I was both tired and half-ashamed of teasing +Minnie, and we were soon in the street. It was a broad and cheerful +one, as I said; but before long we left it for a narrower, and then +turned off from that into a side street, where the foot-path would +only allow us to walk in single file--a dirty, dark lane, where surely +the sun never did shine. + +"What a horrid place!" I said. "I never was here before. Why don't +they pull such a street down?" + +"What is to become of the people who live in it?" said my father. + +"Let them live in one of the bigger streets," I said; "it would be +much more comfortable." + +"Very likely," he said; "but they would have to pay much more for +their houses; and if they haven't the money to pay with, what's to be +done?" + +I could not say, for, like older social reformers than myself, I felt +more sure that the reform was needed, than of how to accomplish it. +But before I could decide upon what to do with the dirty little +street, we had come to a place so very much worse that it put the +other quite out of my head. There is a mournful fatality about the +pretty names which are given, as if in mockery, to the most wretched +of the bye-streets in large towns. The street we had left was called +Rosemary Street, and this was Primrose Place. + +Primrose Place was more like a yard than a street; the houses were all +irregular and of different ages. On one side was a gap with palings +round it, where building was going on, and beyond rose a huge black +factory. But the condition of Primrose Place was beyond description. I +had never seen anything like it before, and kept as close to my father +as was consistent with boyish, dignity. The pathway was broken up, +children squalled at the doors and quarrelled in the street, which +was strewn with rags, and bones, and bits of old iron, and shoes, and +the tops of turnips. I do not think there was a whole unbroken window +in all the row of tall miserable houses, and the wet clothes hanging +out on lines stretched across the street, flapped above our heads. I +counted three cripples as we went up Primrose Place. My father stopped +to speak to several people, and I heard many complaints of the bad +state of trade to which my sister had alluded. He gave some money to +one woman, and spoke kindly to all; but he hurried me on as fast as he +could, and we turned at last into one of the houses. + +My ill-humour had by this time almost worked itself off in the fresh +air, and the novel scenes through which we had come; and, for the +present, the morning's disappointment was forgotten as I followed my +father through the crowded miserable rooms, and clambered up staircase +after staircase, till we reached the top of the house, and stumbled +through a latched door into the garret. After so much groping in the +dark, the light dazzled me, and I thought at first that the room was +empty. But at last a faint "Good day" from the corner near the window +drew my eyes that way; and there, stretched on a sort of bed, and +supported by a chair at his back, lay the patient we had come to see. + +He was a young man about twenty-six years old, in the last stage of +that terrible disease so fatally common in our country--he was dying +of consumption. There was no mistaking the flushed cheek, the +painfully laborious breathing, and the incessant cough; while two old +crutches in the corner spoke of another affliction--he was a cripple. +His gaunt face lighted up with a glow of pleasure when my father came +in, who seated himself at once on the end of the bed, and began to +talk to him, whilst I looked round the room. There was absolutely +nothing in it, except the bed on which the sick man lay, the chair +that supported him, and a small three-legged table. The low roof was +terribly out of repair, and the window was patched with newspaper; but +through the glass panes that were left, in full glory streamed the +sun, and in the midst of the blaze stood a pot of musk in full bloom. +The soft yellow flowers looked so grand, and smelled so sweet, that I +was lost in admiration, till I found the sick man's black eyes fixed +on mine. + +"You are looking at my bit of green, master?" he said, in a gratified +tone. + +"Do you like flowers?" I inquired, coming shyly up to the bed. + +"Do I like 'em?" he exclaimed in a low voice. "Ay, I love 'em well +enough--well enough," and he looked fondly at the plant, "though it's +long since I saw any but these." + +"You have not been in the country for a long time?" I inquired, +compassionately. I felt sad to think that he had perhaps lain there +for months, without a taste of fresh air or a run in the fields; but I +was _not_ prepared for his answer. + +"_I never was in the country, young gentleman._" + +I looked at my father. + +"Yes," he said, in answer to my glance, "it is quite true. William was +born here. He got hurt when a boy, and has been lame ever since. For +some years he has been entirely confined to the house. He was never +out of town, and never saw a green field." + +Never out of the town! confined to the house for years! and what a +house! The tears rushed to my eyes, and I felt that angry heart-ache +which the sight of suffering produces in those who are too young to be +insensible to it, and too ignorant of GOD's Providence to +submit with "quietness and confidence" to His will. + +"My son can hardly believe it, William." + +"It is such a shame," I said; "it is horrible. I am very sorry for +you." + +The black eyes turned kindly upon me, and the sick man said, "Thank +you heartily, Sir. You mean very kindly. I used to say the same sort +of things myself, when I was younger, and knew no better. I used to +think it was very hard, and that no one was so miserable as I was. But +I know now how much better off I am than most folks, and how many +things I have to be thankful for." + +I looked round the room, and began involuntarily to count the +furniture--one, two, three. The "many things" were certainly not +chairs and tables. + +But he was gazing before him, and went on: "I often think how thankful +I ought to be to die in peace, and have a quiet room to myself. There +was a girl in a consumption on the floor below me; and she used to sit +and cough, while her father and mother quarrelled so that I could hear +them through the floor. I used to send her half of anything nice I +had, but I found they took it. I did wish then," he added, with a +sudden flush, "that I had been a strong man!" + +"How shocking!" I said. + +"Yes," he answered; "it was that first set me thinking how many +mercies I had. And then there came such a good parson to St. John's, +and he taught me many things; and then I knew your father; and the +neighbours have been very kind. And while I could work I got good +wage, and laid by a bit; and I've sold a few things, and there'll be +these to sell when I'm gone; and so I've got what will keep me while +I do live, and pay for my coffin. What can a man want more?" + +What, indeed! Unsatisfied heart, make answer! + +A fit of coughing that shook the crazy room interrupted him here. When +he had recovered himself, he turned to my father. + +"Ay, ay, I have many mercies, as you know, Sir. Who would have thought +I could have kept a bit of green like that plant of mine in a place +like this? But, you see, they pulled down those old houses opposite +just before I got it, and now the sun couldn't come into a king's room +better than it comes into mine. I was always afraid, year after year, +that they would build it up, and my bit of green would die; and they +are building now, but it will last my time. Indeed, indeed, I've had +much to be thankful for. Not," he added, in a low, reverential tone, +"not to mention greater blessings. The presence of the LORD! +the presence of the LORD!" + +I was awed, almost frightened, by the tone in which he spoke, and by +the look of his face, on which the shadow of death was falling fast. +He lay in a sort of stupor, gazing with his black eyes at the broken +roof, as if through it he saw something invisible to us. + +It was some time before he seemed to recollect that we were there, and +before I ventured to ask him. "Where did you get your plant?" + +He smiled. "That's a long story, master; but it was this way. You see, +my father died quite young in a decline, and left my mother to +struggle on with eight of us as she could. She buried six, one after +another; and then she died herself, and brother Ben and I were left +alone. But we were mighty fond of one another, and got on very well. I +got plenty of employment, weaving mats and baskets for a shop in the +town, and Ben worked at the factory. One Saturday night he came home +all in a state, and said there was going to be a cheap trip on the +Monday into the country. It was the first there had been from these +parts, though there have been many since, I believe. Neither he nor I +had ever been out of the town, and he was full of it that we must go. +He had brought his Saturday wage with him, and we would work hard +afterwards. Well, you see, the landlord had been that day, and had +said he must have the rent by Tuesday, or he'd turn us out. I'd got +some of it laid by, and was looking to Ben's wages to make it up. But +I couldn't bear to see his face pining for a bit of fresh air, and so +I thought I could stay at home and work on Monday for what would make +up the rent, and he need never know. So I pretended that I didn't +want to go, and couldn't be bothered with the fuss; and at last I set +him off on Monday without me. It was late at night when he came back +like one wild. He'd got flowers in his hat, and flowers in all his +button-holes; he'd got his handkerchief filled with hay, and was +carrying something under his coat. He began laughing and crying, and +'Eh, Bill!' he said, 'thou hast been a fool. Thou hast missed summat. +But I've brought thee a bit of green, lad, I've brought thee a bit of +green.' And then he lifted up his coat, and there was the plant, which +some woman had given him. We didn't sleep much that night. He spread +the hay over the bed, for me to lay my face on, and see how the fields +smelt, and then he began and told me all about it; and after that, +when I was tired with work, or on a Sunday afternoon, I used to say, +'Now, Ben, tell us a bit about the country.' And he liked nothing +better. He used to say that I should go, if he carried me on his back; +but the LORD did not see fit. He took cold at work, and went +off three months afterwards. It was singular, the morning he died he +called me to him, and said, 'Bill, I've been a dreaming about that +trip that thou didst want to go after all. I dreamt--' and then he +stopped, and said no more; but, after a bit, he opened his eyes wide, +and pulled me to him, and he said, 'Bill, my lad, there's such +flowers in heaven, such flowers!' And so the LORD took him. +But I kept the bit of green for his sake." + +Here followed another fit of coughing, which brought my father from +the end of the bed to forbid his talking any more. + +"I have got to see another patient in the yard," he said, "and I will +leave my son here. He shall read you a chapter or two till I come +back; he is a good reader for his age." + +And so my father went. I was, as he said, a good reader for my age; +but I felt very nervous when the sick man drew a Bible from his side, +and put it in my hands. I wondered what I should read; but it was soon +settled by his asking for certain Psalms, which I read as clearly and +distinctly as I could. At first I was rather disturbed by his +occasional remarks, and a few murmured Amens; but I soon got used to +it. He joined devoutly in the "Glory be to the Father"--with which I +concluded--and then asked for a chapter from the Revelation of St. +John. I was more at ease now, and read my best, with a happy sense of +being useful; whilst he lay in the sunshine, folding the sheet with +his bony fingers, with his eyes fixed on the beloved "bit of green," +and drinking in the Words of Life with dying ears. + +"_Blessed are they that dwell in the heavenly Jerusalem, where there +is no need of the sun, neither of the moon, to shine in it; for the +glory of_ GOD _does lighten it, and the Lamb is the light +thereof._" + +By the time that my father returned, the sick man and I were fast +friends; and I left him with his blessing on my head. As we went home, +my good kind father told me that I was nearly old enough now to take +an interest in his concerns, and began to talk of his patients, and of +the poverty and destitution of some parts of the town. Then he spoke +of the bad state of trade--that it was expected to be worse, and that +the want of work and consequent misery this year would probably be +very great. Finally he added, that when so many were likely to be +starving, he had thought it right that we should deny ourselves our +little annual treat, and so save the money to enable us to take our +part in relieving the distressed. + +"Don't you think so, my boy?" he concluded, as we reached the door of +our comfortable (how comfortable!) home. + +My whole heart was in my "Yes." + +It is a happy moment for a son when his father first confides in him. +It is a happy moment for a father when his son first learns to +appreciate some of the labour of his life, and henceforth to obey his +commands, not only with a blind obedience, but in the sympathizing +spirit of the "perfect love" which "casts out fear." My heart was too +full to thank him then for his wise forbearance and wiser confidence; +but when after some months my sister's health made change of air to +the house of a country relative necessary, great was my pride and +thankfulness that I was well enough to remain at the post of duty by +my father's side. + +One day, not long after our visit to William, he went again to see +him; and when he came back I saw by the musk-plant in his hand the +news he brought. Its flowers were lovelier than ever, but its master +was transplanted into a heavenly garden, and he had left it to me. + +Mortal man does not learn any virtue in one lesson; and I have only +too often in my life been ungrateful both to GOD and man. But +the memory of lame William has often come across me when I have been +tempted to grumble about small troubles; and has given me a little +help (not to be despised) in striving after the grace of Thankfulness, +even for a "bit of green." + + + + +MONSIEUR THE +VISCOUNT'S FRIEND. + +A TALE IN THREE CHAPTERS. + + "Sweet are the vses of aduersitie + Which like the toad, ougly and venemous, + Weares yet a precious lewell in his head." + AS YOU LIKE IT: A.D. 1623. + + + + +CHAPTER I. + + +It was the year of grace 1779. In one of the most beautiful corners of +beautiful France stood a grand old chateau. It was a fine old +building, with countless windows large and small, with high-pitched +roofs and pointed towers, which in good taste or bad, did its best to +be everywhere ornamental, from the gorgon heads which frowned from its +turrets to the long row of stables and the fantastic dovecotes. It +stood (as became such a castle) upon an eminence, and looked down. +Very beautiful indeed was what it looked upon. Terrace below terrace +glowed with the most brilliant flowers, and broad flights of steps led +from one garden to the other. On the last terrace of all, fountains +and jets of water poured into one large basin, in which were gold and +silver fish. Beyond this were shady walks, which led to a lake on +which floated water-lilies and swans. From the top of the topmost +flight of steps you could see the blazing gardens one below the other, +the fountains and the basin, the walks and the lake, and beyond these +the trees, and the smiling country, and the blue sky of France. + +Within the castle, as without, beauty reigned supreme. The sunlight, +subdued by blinds and curtains, stole into rooms furnished with every +grace and luxury that could be procured in a country that then +accounted itself the most highly-civilized in the world. It fell upon +beautiful flowers and beautiful china, upon beautiful tapestry and +pictures; and it fell upon Madame the Viscountess, sitting at her +embroidery. Madame the Viscountess was not young, but she was not the +least beautiful object in those stately rooms. She had married into a +race of nobles who (themselves famed for personal beauty) had been +scrupulous in the choice of lovely wives. The late Viscount (for +Madame was a widow) had been one of the handsomest of the gay +courtiers of his day; and Madame had not been unworthy of him. Even +now, though the roses on her cheeks were more entirely artificial than +they had been in the days of her youth, she was like some exquisite +piece of porcelain. Standing by the embroidery frame was Madame's only +child, a boy who, in spite of his youth, was already Monsieur the +Viscount. He also was beautiful. His exquisitely-cut mouth had a curl +which was the inheritance of scornful generations, but which was +redeemed by his soft violet eyes and by an under-lying expression of +natural amiability. His hair was cut square across the forehead, and +fell in natural curls behind. His childish figure had already been +trained in the fencing school, and had gathered dignity from +perpetually treading upon shallow steps and in lofty rooms. From the +rosettes on his little shoes to his _chapeau a plumes_, he also was +like some porcelain figure. Surely, such beings could not exist except +in such a chateau as this, where the very air (unlike that breathed by +common mortals) had in the ante-rooms a faint aristocratic odour, and +was for yards round Madame the Viscountess dimly suggestive of +frangipani! + +Monsieur the Viscount did not stay long by the embroidery frame; he +was entertaining to-day a party of children from the estate, and had +come for the key of an old cabinet of which he wished to display the +treasures. When tired of this, they went out on to the terrace, and +one of the children who had not been there before exclaimed at the +beauty of the view. + +"It is true," said the little Viscount, carelessly, "and all, as far +as you can see, is the estate." + +"I will throw a stone to the end of your property, Monsieur," said one +of the boys, laughing; and he picked one off the walk, and stepping +back, flung it with all his little strength. The stone fell before it +had passed the fountains, and the failure was received with shouts of +laughter. + +"Let us see who can beat that," they cried; and there was a general +search for pebbles, which were flung at random among the flower beds. + +"One may easily throw such as those," said the Viscount, who was +poking under the wall of the first terrace; "but here is a stone that +one may call a stone. Who will send this into the fish-pond? It will +make a fountain of itself." + +The children drew round him as, with ruffles turned back, he tugged +and pulled at a large dirty looking stone, which was half-buried in +the earth by the wall. "Up it comes!" said the Viscount, at length; +and sure enough, up it came; but underneath it, his bright eyes +shining out of his dirty wrinkled body--horror of horrors!--there lay +a toad. Now, even in England, toads are not looked upon with much +favour, and a party of English children would have been startled by +such a discovery. But with French people, the dread of toads is +ludicrous in its intensity. In France toads are believed to have +teeth, to bite, and to spit poison; so my hero and his young guests +must be excused for taking flight at once with a cry of dismay. On the +next terrace, however, they paused, and seeing no signs of the enemy, +crept slowly back again. The little Viscount (be it said) began to +feel ashamed of himself, and led the way, with his hand upon the +miniature sword which hung at his side. All eyes were fixed upon the +fatal stone, when from behind it was seen slowly to push forth, first +a dirty wrinkled leg, then half a dirty wrinkled head, with one +gleaming eye. It was too much; with cries of, "It is he! he comes! he +spits! he pursues us!" the young guests of the chateau fled in good +earnest, and never stopped until they reached the fountain and the +fish-pond. + +But Monsieur the Viscount stood his ground. At the sudden apparition +the blood rushed to his heart, and made him very white, then it +flooded back again and made him very red, and then he fairly drew his +sword, and shouting, "_Vive la France!_" rushed upon the enemy. The +sword if small was sharp, and stabbed the poor toad would most +undoubtedly have been, but for a sudden check received by the valiant +little nobleman. It came in the shape of a large heavy hand that +seized Monsieur the Viscount with the grasp of a giant, while a voice +which could only have belonged to the owner of such a hand said in +slow deep tones, + +"_Que faites-vous?_" ("What are you doing?") + +It was the tutor, who had been pacing up and down the terrace with a +book, and who now stood holding the book in his right hand, and our +hero in his left. + +Monsieur the Viscount's tutor was a remarkable man. If he had not been +so, he would hardly have been tolerated at the chateau, since he was +not particularly beautiful, and not especially refined. He was in holy +orders, as his tonsured head and clerical costume bore witness--a +costume which, from its tightness and simplicity, only served to +exaggerate the unusual proportions of his person. Monsieur the +Preceptor had English blood in his veins, and his northern origin +betrayed itself in his towering height and corresponding breadth, as +well as by his fair hair and light blue eyes. But the most remarkable +parts of his outward man were his hands, which were of immense size, +especially about the thumbs. Monsieur the Preceptor was not exactly in +keeping with his present abode. It was not only that he was wanting in +the grace and beauty that reigned around him, but that his presence +made those very graces and beauties to look small. He seemed to have a +gift the reverse of that bestowed upon King Midas--the gold on which +his heavy hand was laid seemed to become rubbish. In the presence of +the late Viscount, and in that of Madame his widow, you would have +felt fully the deep importance of your dress being _a la mode_, and +your complexion _a la_ strawberries and cream (such influences still +exist); but let the burly tutor appear upon the scene, and all the +magic died at once out of brocaded silks and pearl-coloured stockings, +and dress and complexion became subjects almost of insignificance. +Monsieur the Preceptor was certainly a singular man to have been +chosen as an inmate of such a household; but, though young, he had +unusual talents, and added to them the not more usual accompaniments +of modesty and trustworthiness. To crown all, he was rigidly pious in +times when piety was not fashionable, and an obedient son of the +church of which he was a minister. Moreover, a family that fashion +does not permit to be demonstratively religious, may gain a reflected +credit from an austere chaplain; and so Monsieur the Preceptor +remained in the chateau and went his own way. It was this man who now +laid hands on the Viscount, and, in a voice that sounded like amiable +thunder, made the inquiry, "_Que faites-vous?_" + +"I am going to kill this animal--this hideous horrible animal," said +Monsieur the Viscount, struggling vainly under the grasp of the tutors +finger and thumb. + +"It is only a toad," said Monsieur the Preceptor, in his laconic +tones. + +"_Only_ a toad, do you say, Monsieur?" said the Viscount. "That is +enough, I think. It will bite--it will spit--it will poison: it is +like that dragon you tell me of, that devastated Rhodes--I am the good +knight that shall kill it." + +Monsieur the Preceptor laughed heartily. "You are misled by a vulgar +error. Toads do not bite--they have no teeth; neither do they spit +poison." + +"You are wrong, Monsieur," said the Viscount; "I have seen their teeth +myself. Claude Mignon, at the lodge, has two terrible ones, which he +keeps in his pocket as a charm." + +"I have seen them," said the tutor, "in Monsieur Claude's pocket. When +he can show me similar ones in a toad's head I will believe. +Meanwhile, I must beg of you, Monsieur, to put up your sword. You must +not kill this poor animal, which is quite harmless, and very useful in +a garden--it feeds upon many insects and reptiles which injure the +plants." + +"It shall not be useful, in this garden," said the little Viscount, +fretfully. "There are plenty of gardeners to destroy the insects, and, +if needful, we can have more. But the toad shall not remain. My +mother would faint if she saw so hideous a beast among her beautiful +flowers." + +"Jacques!" roared the tutor to a gardener who was at some distance. +Jacques started as if a clap of thunder had sounded in his ear, and +approached with low bows. "Take that toad, Jacques, and carry it to +the _potager_. It will keep the slugs from your cabbages." + +Jacques bowed low and lower, and scratched his head, and then did +reverence again with Asiatic humility, but at the same time moved +gradually backwards, and never even looked at the toad. + +"You also have seen the contents of Monsieur Claude's pocket?" said +the tutor, significantly, and quitting his hold of the Viscount, he +stooped down, seized the toad in his huge finger and thumb, and strode +off in the direction of the _potager_, followed at a respectful +distance by Jacques, who vented his awe and astonishment in alternate +bows and exclamations at the astounding conduct of the incomprehensible +Preceptor. + +"What is the use of such ugly beasts?" said the Viscount to his tutor, +on his return from the _potager_. "Birds and butterflies are pretty, +but what can such villains as these toads have been made for?" + +"You should study natural history, Monsieur--" began the priest, who +was himself a naturalist. + +"That is what you always say," interrupted the Viscount, with the +perverse folly of ignorance; "but if I knew as much as you do, it +would not make me understand why such ugly creatures need have been +made." + +"Nor," said the priest, firmly, "is it necessary that you should +understand it, particularly if you do not care to inquire. It is +enough for you and me if we remember Who made them, some six thousand +years before either of us was born." + +With which Monsieur the Preceptor (who had all this time kept his +place in the little book with his big thumb) returned to the terrace, +and resumed his devotions at the point where they had been interrupted +which exercise he continued till he was joined by the Cure of the +village, and the two priests relaxed in the political and religious +gossip of the day. + +Monsieur the Viscount rejoined his young guests, and they fed the gold +fish and the swans, and played _Colin Maillard_ in the shady walks, +and made a beautiful bouquet for Madame, and then fled indoors at the +first approach of evening chill, and found that the Viscountess had +prepared a feast of fruit and flowers for them in the great hall. +Here, at the head of the table, with Madame at his right hand, his +guests around, and the liveried lacqueys waiting his commands, +Monsieur the Viscount forgot that anything had ever been made which +could mar beauty and enjoyment; while the two priests outside stalked +up and down under the falling twilight, and talked ugly talk of crime +and poverty that were _somewhere_ now, and of troubles to come +hereafter. + +And so night fell over the beautiful sky, the beautiful chateau, and +the beautiful gardens; and upon the secure slumbers of beautiful +Madame and her beautiful son, and beautiful, beautiful France. + + * * * * * + + + + +CHAPTER II. + + +It was the year of grace 1792, thirteen years after the events related +in the last chapter. It was the 2nd of September, and Sunday, a day of +rest and peace in all Christian countries, and even more in gay, +beautiful France--a day of festivity and merriment. This Sunday, +however, seemed rather an exception to the general rule. There were no +gay groups or bannered processions; the typical incense and the public +devotion of which it is the symbol were alike wanting; the streets in +some places seemed deserted, and in others there was an ominous crowd, +and the dreary silence was now and then broken by a distant sound of +yells and cries, that struck terror into the hearts of the Parisians. + +It was a deserted bye-street, overlooked by some shut-up warehouses, +and from the cellar of one of these a young man crept up on to the +pathway. His dress had once been beautiful, but it was torn and +soiled; his face was beautiful still, but it was marred by the hideous +eagerness of a face on which famine has laid her hand--he was +starving. As this man came out from the warehouse, another man came +down the street. His dress was not beautiful, neither was he. There +was a red look about him--he wore a red flannel cap, tricolour +ribbons, and had something red upon his hands, which was neither +ribbon nor flannel. He also looked hungry; but it was not for food. +The other stopped when he saw him, and pulled something from his +pocket. It was a watch, a repeater, in a gold filigree case of +exquisite workmanship, with raised figures depicting the loves of an +Arcadian shepherd and shepherdess; and, as it lay on the white hand of +its owner, it bore an evanescent fragrance that seemed to recall +scenes as beautiful and as completely past as the days of pastoral +perfection, when + + "All the world and love were young + And truth in every shepherd's tongue." + +The young man held it to the other and spoke. "It was my mother's," he +said, with an appealing glance of violet eyes; "I would not part with +it but that I am starving. Will you get me food?" + +"You are hiding?" said he of the red cap. + +"Is that a crime in these days?" said the other, with a smile that +would in other days have been irresistible. + +The man took the watch, shaded the donor's beautiful face with a rough +red cap and tricolour ribbon, and bade him follow him. He, who had but +lately come to Paris, dragged his exhausted body after his conductor, +hardly noticed the crowds in the streets, the signs by which the man +got free passage for them both, or their entrance by a little +side-door into a large dark building, and never knew till he was +delivered to one of the gaolers that he had been led into the prison +of the Abbaye. Then the wretch tore the cap of Liberty from his +victim's head, and pointed to him with a fierce laugh. + +"He wants food, this aristocrat. He shall not wait long--there is a +feast in the court below, which he shall join presently. See to it, +Antoine! And you, _Monsieur_, _Mons-ieur_! listen to the banqueters." + +He ceased, and in the silence yells and cries from a court below came +up like some horrid answer to imprecation. + +The man continued-- + +"He has paid for his admission, this Monsieur. It belonged to Madame +his mother. Behold!" + +He held the watch above his head, and dashed it with insane fury on +the ground, and, bidding the gaoler see to his prisoner, rushed away +to the court below. + +The prisoner needed some attention. Weakness, and fasting, and horror +had overpowered a delicate body and a sensitive mind, and he lay +senseless by the shattered relic of happier times. Antoine, the gaoler +(a weak-minded man whom circumstances had made cruel), looked at him +with indifference while the Jacobin remained in the place, and with +half-suppressed pity when he had gone. The place where he lay was a +hall or passage in the prison, into which several cells opened, and a +number of the prisoners were gathered together at one end of it. One +of them had watched the proceedings of the Jacobin and his victim with +profound interest, and now advanced to where the poor youth lay. He +was a priest, and though thirteen years had passed over his head since +we saw him in the chateau, and though toil and suffering and anxiety +had added the traces of as many more, yet it would not have been +difficult to recognize the towering height, the candid face, and, +finally, the large thumb in the little book of ----, Monsieur the +Preceptor, who had years ago exchanged his old position for a +parochial cure. He strode up to the gaoler (whose head came a little +above the priest's elbow), and, drawing him aside, asked, with his old +abruptness, "Who is this?" + +"It is the Vicomte de B----. I know his face. He has escaped the +commissaires for some days." + +"I thought so. Is his name on the registers?" + +"No. He escaped arrest, and has just been brought in, as you saw." + +"Antoine," said the priest, in a low voice, and with a gaze that +seemed to pierce the soul of the weak little gaoler; "Antoine, when +you were a shoemaker in the Rue de la Croix, in two or three hard +winters I think you found me a friend." + +"Oh! Monsieur le Cure," said Antoine, writhing; "if Monsieur le Cure +would believe that if I could save his life! But--" + +"Pshaw!" said the priest, "it is not for myself, but for this boy. You +must save him, Antoine. Hear me, you _must_. Take him now to one of +the lower cells and hide him. You risk nothing. His name is not on the +prison register. He will not be called, he will not be missed; that +fanatic will think that he has perished with the rest of us (Antoine +shuddered, though the priest did not move a muscle) and when this mad +fever has subsided and order is restored, he will reward you. And +Antoine--" + +Here the priest pocketed his book, and somewhat awkwardly with his +huge hands unfastened the left side of his cassock, and tore the silk +from the lining. Monsieur le Cure's cassock seemed a cabinet of +oddities. First he pulled from this ingenious hiding-place a crucifix, +which he replaced; then a knot of white ribbon, which he also +restored; and, finally, a tiny pocket or bag of what had been +cream-coloured satin, embroidered with small bunches of heartsease, +and which was aromatic with otto of roses. Awkwardly, and somewhat +slowly, he drew out of this a small locket, in the centre of which was +some unreadable legend in cabalistic-looking character, and which +blazed with the finest diamonds. Heaven alone knows the secret of that +gem, or the struggle with which the priest yielded it. He put it into +Antoine's hand, talking as he did so partly to himself and partly to +the gaoler. + +"We brought nothing into this world, and it is certain we can carry +nothing out. The diamonds are of the finest, Antoine, and will sell +for much. The blessing of a dying priest upon you if you do kindly, +and his curse if you do ill to this poor child, whose home was my home +in better days. And for the locket--it is but a remembrance, and to +remember is not difficult!" + +As the last observation was not addressed to Antoine, so also he did +not hear it. He was discontentedly watching the body of the Viscount, +whom he consented to help, but with genuine weak-mindedness consented +ungraciously. + +"How am I to get him there? Monsieur le Cure sees that he cannot stand +upon his feet." + +Monsieur le Cure smiled, and stooping, picked his old pupil up in his +arms as if he had been a baby, and bore him to one of the doors. + +"You must come no further," said Antoine, hastily. + +"Ingrate!" muttered the priest in momentary anger, and then, ashamed, +he crossed himself, and pressing the young nobleman to his bosom with +the last gush of earthly affection that he was to feel, he kissed his +senseless face, spoke a benediction to ears that could not hear it, +and laid his burden down. + +"GOD the Father, the Son, and the Holy Ghost, be with thee +now and in the dread hour of death. Adieu! we shall meet hereafter." + +The look of pity, the yearning of rekindled love, the struggle of +silenced memories passed from his face and left a shining +calm--foretaste of the perpetual Light and the eternal Rest. + +Before he reached the other prisoners, the large thumb had found its +old place in the little book, the lips formed the old old words; but +it might almost have been said of him already, that "his spirit was +with the GOD who gave it." + +As for Monsieur the Viscount, it was perhaps well that he was not too +sensible of his position, for Antoine got him down the flight of stone +steps that led to the cell by the simple process of dragging him by +the heels. After a similar fashion he crossed the floor, and was +deposited on a pallet; the gaoler then emptied a broken pitcher of +water over his face, and locking the door securely, hurried back to +his charge. + +When Monsieur the Viscount came to his senses he raised himself and +looked round his new abode. It was a small stone cell; it was +underground, with a little grated window at the top that seemed to be +level with the court; there was a pallet--painfully pressed and +worn--a chair, a stone on which stood a plate and broken pitcher, and +in one corner a huge bundle of firewood which mocked a place where +there was no fire. Stones lay scattered about, the walls were black, +and in the far dark corners the wet oozed out and trickled slowly +down, and lizards and other reptiles crawled up. + +I suppose that the first object that attracts the hopes of a new +prisoner is the window of his cell, and to this, despite his weakness, +Monsieur the Viscount crept. It afforded him little satisfaction. It +was too high in the cell for him to reach it, too low in the prison to +command any view, and was securely grated with iron. Then he examined +the walls, but not a stone was loose. As he did so, his eye fell upon +the floor, and he noticed that two of the stones that lay about had +been raised up by some one and a third laid upon the top. It looked +like child's play, and Monsieur the Viscount kicked it down, and then +he saw that underneath it there was a pellet of paper roughly rolled +together. Evidently it was something left by the former occupant of +the cell for his successor. Perhaps he had begun some plan for getting +away which he had not had time to perfect on his own account, +Perhaps--but by this time the paper was spread out, and Monsieur the +Viscount read the writing. The paper was old and yellow. It was the +fly-leaf torn out of a little book, and on it was written in black +chalk, the words-- + + "_Souvenez-vous du Sauveur._" (Remember the Saviour.) + +He turned it over, he turned it back again; there was no other mark; +there was nothing more; and Monsieur the Viscount did not conceal from +himself that he was disappointed. How could it be otherwise? He had +been bred in ease and luxury, and surrounded with everything that +could make life beautiful; while ugliness, and want, and sickness, and +all that make life miserable, had been kept, as far as they can be +kept, from the precincts of the beautiful chateau which was his home. +What were the _consolations_ of religion to him? They are offered to +those (and to those only) who need them. They were to Monsieur the +Viscount what the Crucified Christ was to the Greeks of +old--foolishness. + +He put the paper in his pocket and lay down again, feeling it the +crowning disappointment of what he had lately suffered. Presently, +Antoine came with some food; it was not dainty, but Monsieur the +Viscount devoured it like a famished hound, and then made inquiries as +to how he came and how long he had been there. When the gaoler began +to describe him, whom he called the Cure, Monsieur the Viscount's +attention quickened into eagerness, an eagerness deepened by the +tender interest that always hangs round the names of those whom we +have known in happier and younger days. The happy memories recalled by +hearing of his old tutor seemed to blot out his present misfortunes. +With French excitability, he laughed and wept alternately. + +"As burly as ever, you say? The little book? I remember it, it was +his breviary. Ah! it is he. It is Monsieur the Preceptor, whom I have +not seen for years. Take me to him, bring him here, let me see him!" + +But Monsieur the Preceptor was in Paradise. + +That first night of Monsieur the Viscount's imprisonment was a +terrible one. The bitter chill of a Parisian autumn, the gnawings of +half-satisfied hunger, the thick walls that shut out all hope of +escape but did not exclude those fearful cries that lasted with few +intervals throughout the night, made it like some hideous dream. At +last the morning broke; at half-past two o'clock, some members of the +_commune_ presented themselves in the hall of the National Assembly +with the significant announcement:--"The prisons are empty!" and +Antoine, who had been quaking for hours, took courage, and went with +half a loaf of bread and a pitcher of water to the cell that was not +"empty." He found his prisoner struggling with a knot of white ribbon, +which he was trying to fasten in his hair. One glance at his face told +all. + +"It is the fever," said Antoine; and he put down the bread and water +and fetched an old blanket and a pillow; and that day and for many +days, the gaoler hung above his prisoner's pallet with the tenderness +of a woman. Was he haunted by the vision of a burly figure that had +bent over his own sick bed in the Rue de la Croix? Did the voice +(once so familiar in counsel and benediction!) echo still in his ears? + +"_The blessing of a dying priest upon you if you do well, and his +curse if you do ill to this poor child, whose home was my home in +better days._" + +Be this as it may, Antoine tended his patient with all the constancy +compatible with keeping his presence in the prison a secret; and it +was not till the crisis was safely past, that he began to visit the +cell less frequently, and reassumed the harsh manners which he held to +befit his office. + +Monsieur the Viscount's mind rambled much in his illness. He called +for his mother, who had long been dead. He fancied himself in his own +chateau. He thought that all his servants stood in a body before him, +but that not one would move to wait on him. He thought that he had +abundance of the most tempting food and cooling drinks, but placed +just beyond his reach. He thought that he saw two lights like stars +near together, which were close to the ground, and kept appearing and +then vanishing away. In time he became more sensible; the chateau +melted into the stern reality of his prison walls; the delicate food +became bread and water; the servants disappeared like spectres; but in +the empty cell, in the dark corners near the floor, he still fancied +that he saw two sparks of light coming and going, appearing and then +vanishing away. He watched them till his giddy head would bear it no +longer, and he closed his eyes and slept. When he awoke he was much +better, but when he raised himself and turned towards the +stone--there, by the bread and the broken pitcher, sat a dirty, ugly, +wrinkled toad, gazing at him, Monsieur the Viscount, with eyes of +yellow fire. + +Monsieur the Viscount had long ago forgotten the toad which had +alarmed his childhood; but his national dislike to that animal had not +been lessened by years, and the toad of the prison seemed likely to +fare no better than the toad of the chateau. He dragged himself from +his pallet, and took up one of the large damp stones which lay about +the floor of the cell, to throw at the intruder. He expected that when +he approached it, the toad would crawl away, and that he could throw +the stone after it; but to his surprise, the beast sat quite unmoved, +looking at him with calm shining eyes, and, somehow or other, Monsieur +the Viscount lacked strength or heart to kill it. He stood doubtful +for a moment, and then a sudden feeling of weakness obliged him to +drop the stone, and sit down, while tears sprang to his eyes with the +sense of his helplessness. + +"Why should I kill it?" he said, bitterly. "The beast will live and +grow fat upon this damp and loathsomeness, long after they have put +an end to my feeble life. It shall remain. The cell is not big, but it +is big enough for us both. However large be the rooms a man builds +himself to live in, it needs but little space in which to die!" + +So Monsieur the Viscount dragged his pallet away from the toad, placed +another stone by it, and removed the pitcher; and then, wearied with +his efforts, lay down and slept heavily. + +When he awoke, on the new stone by the pitcher was the toad, staring +full at him with topaz eyes. He lay still this time and did not move, +for the animal showed no intention of spitting, and he was puzzled by +its tameness. + +"It seems to like the sight of a man," he thought. "Is it possible +that any former inmate of this wretched prison can have amused his +solitude by making a pet of such a creature? and if there were such a +man, where is he now?" + +Henceforward, sleeping or waking, whenever Monsieur the Viscount lay +down upon his pallet, the toad crawled up on to the stone, and kept +watch over him with shining lustrous eyes; but whenever there was a +sound of the key grating in the lock, and the gaoler coming his +rounds, away crept the toad, and was quickly lost in the dark corners +of the room. When the man was gone, it returned to its place, and +Monsieur the Viscount would talk to it, as he lay on his pallet. + +"Ah! Monsieur Crapaud," he would say, with mournful pleasantry, +"without doubt you have had a master and a kind one; but, tell me, who +was he, and where is he now? Was he old or young, and was it in the +last stage of maddening loneliness that he made friends with such a +creature as you?" + +Monsieur Crapaud looked very intelligent, but he made no reply, and +Monsieur the Viscount had recourse to Antoine. + +"Who was in this cell before me?" he asked at the gaoler's next visit. + +Antoine's face clouded. "Monsieur le Cure had this room. My orders +were that he was to be imprisoned in secret.'" + +Monsieur le Cure had this room. There was a revelation in those words. +It was all explained now. The priest had always had a love for animals +(and for ugly, common animals), which his pupil had by no means +shared. His room at the chateau had been little less than a menagerie. +He had even kept a glass beehive there, which communicated with a hole +in the window through which the bees flew in and out, and he would +stand for hours with his thumb in the breviary, watching the labours +of his pets. And this also had been his room! This dark, damp cell. +Here, breviary in hand, he had stood, and lain, and knelt. Here, in +this miserable prison, he had found something to love, and on which to +expend the rare intelligence and benevolence of his nature. Here, +finally, in the last hours of his life, he had written on the fly-leaf +of his prayer-book something to comfort his successor, and, "being +dead, yet spoke" the words of consolation which he had administered in +his lifetime. Monsieur the Viscount read that paper now with different +feelings. + +There is, perhaps, no argument so strong, and no virtue that so +commands the respect of young men, as consistency. Monsieur the +Preceptor's lifelong counsel and example would have done less for his +pupil than was effected by the knowledge of his consistent career, now +that it was past. It was not the nobility of the priest's principles +that awoke in Monsieur the Viscount a desire to imitate his religious +example, but the fact that he had applied them to his own life, not +only in the time of wealth, but in the time of tribulation and in the +hour of death. All that high-strung piety--that life of prayer--those +unswerving admonitions to consider the vanity of earthly treasures, +and to prepare for death--which had sounded so unreal amidst the +perfumed elegances of the chateau, came back now with a reality gained +from experiment. The daily life of self-denial, the conversation +garnished from Scripture and from the Fathers, had not, after all, +been mere priestly affectations. In no symbolic manner, but literally, +he had "watched for the coming of his Lord," and "taken up the cross +daily;" and so, when the cross was laid on him, and when the voice +spoke which must speak to all, "The Master is come, and calleth for +thee," he bore the burden and obeyed the summons unmoved. + +_Unmoved_!--this was the fact that struck deep into the heart of +Monsieur the Viscount, as he listened to Antoine's account of the +Cure's imprisonment. What had astonished and overpowered his own +undisciplined nature had not disturbed Monsieur the Preceptor. He had +prayed in the chateau--he prayed in the prison. He had often spoken in +the chateau of the softening and comforting influences of communion +with the lower animals and with nature, and in the uncertainty of +imprisonment he had tamed a toad. "None of these things had moved +him," and, in a storm of grief and admiration, Monsieur the Viscount +bewailed the memory of his tutor. + +"If he had only lived to teach me!" + +But he was dead, and there was nothing for Monsieur the Viscount but +to make the most of his example. This was not so easy to follow as he +imagined. Things seemed to be different with him to what they had +been with Monsieur the Preceptor. He had no lofty meditations, no +ardent prayers, and calm and peace seemed more distant than ever. +Monsieur the Viscount met, in short, with all those difficulties that +the soul must meet with, which, in a moment of enthusiasm, has +resolved upon a higher and a better way of life, and in moments of +depression is perpetually tempted to forego that resolution. His +prison life was, however, a pretty severe discipline, and he held on +with struggles and prayers; and so, little by little, and day by day, +as the time of his imprisonment went by, the consolations of religion +became a daily strength against the fretfulness of imperious temper, +the sickness of hope deferred, and the dark suggestions of despair. + +The term of his imprisonment was a long one. Many prisoners came and +went within the walls of the Abbaye, but Monsieur the Viscount still +remained in his cell; indeed, he would have gained little by leaving +it if he could have done so, as he would almost certainly have been +retaken. As it was, Antoine on more than one occasion concealed him +behind the bundles of firewood, and once or twice he narrowly escaped +detection by less friendly officials. There were times when the +guillotine seemed to him almost better than this long suspense: but +while other heads passed to the block, his remained on his shoulders; +and so weeks and even months went by. And during all this time, +sleeping or waking, whenever he lay down upon his pallet, the toad +crept up on to the stone, and kept watch over him with lustrous eyes. + +Monsieur the Viscount hardly acknowledged to himself the affection +with which he came to regard this ugly and despicable animal. The +greater part of his regard for it he believed to be due to its +connection with his tutor, and the rest he set down to the score of +his own humanity, and took credit to himself accordingly: whereas in +truth Monsieur Crapaud was of incalculable service to his master, who +would lie and chatter to him for hours, and almost forget his present +discomfort in recalling past happiness, as he described the chateau, +the gardens, the burly tutor, and beautiful Madame, or laughed over +his childish remembrances of the toad's teeth in Claude Mignon's +pocket; whilst Monsieur Crapaud sat well-bred and silent, with a world +of comprehension in his fiery eyes. Whoever thinks this puerile must +remember that my hero was a Frenchman, and a young Frenchman, with a +prescriptive right to chatter for chattering's sake, and also that he +had not a very highly cultivated mind of his own to converse with, +even if the most highly cultivated intellect is ever a reliable +resource against the terrors of solitary confinement. + +Foolish or wise, however, Monsieur the Viscount's attachment +strengthened daily; and one day something happened which showed his +pet in a new light, and afforded him fresh amusement. + +The prison was much infested with certain large black spiders, which +crawled about the floor and walls; and, as Monsieur the Viscount was +lying on his pallet, he saw one of these scramble up and over the +stone on which sat Monsieur Crapaud. That good gentleman, whose eyes, +till then, had been fixed as usual on his master, now turned his +attention to the intruder. The spider, as if conscious of danger, had +suddenly stopped still. Monsieur Crapaud gazed at it intently with his +beautiful eyes, and bent himself slightly forward. So they remained +for some seconds, then the spider turned round, and began suddenly to +scramble away. At this instant Monsieur the Viscount saw his friend's +eyes gleam with an intenser fire, his head was jerked forwards; it +almost seemed as if something had been projected from his mouth, and +drawn back again with the rapidity of lightning. Then Monsieur Crapaud +resumed his position, drew in his head, and gazed mildly and sedately +before him; _but the spider was nowhere to be seen_. + +Monsieur the Viscount burst into a loud laugh. + +"Eh, well! Monsieur," said he, "but this is not well-bred on your +part. Who gave you leave to eat my spiders? and to bolt them in such +an unmannerly way, moreover." + +In spite of this reproof Monsieur Crapaud looked in no way ashamed of +himself, and I regret to state that henceforward (with the partial +humaneness of mankind in general), Monsieur the Viscount amused +himself by catching the insects (which were only too plentiful) in an +old oyster-shell, and then setting them at liberty on the stone for +the benefit of his friend. As for him, all appeared to be fish that +came to his net--spiders and beetles, slugs and snails from the damp +corners, flies, and wood-lice found on turning up the large stone, +disappeared one after the other. The wood-lice were an especial +amusement: when Monsieur the Viscount touched them, they shut up into +tight little balls, and in this condition he removed them to the +stone, and placed them like marbles in a row, Monsieur Crapaud +watching the proceeding with rapt attention. After awhile the balls +would slowly open and begin to crawl away; but he was a very active +wood-louse indeed who escaped the suction of Monsieur Crapaud's +tongue, as, his eyes glowing with eager enjoyment, he bolted one after +another, and Monsieur the Viscount clapped his hands and applauded. + +The grated window was a very fine field for spiders and other insects, +and by piling up stones on the floor, Monsieur the Viscount contrived +to scramble up to it, and fill his friend's oyster-shell with the +prey. + +One day, about a year and nine months after his first arrival at the +prison, he climbed to the embrasure of the window, as usual, +oyster-shell in hand. He always chose a time for this when he knew +that the court would most probably be deserted, to avoid the danger of +being recognized through the grating. He was, therefore, not a little +startled at being disturbed in his capture of a fat black spider by a +sound of something bumping against the iron bars. On looking up, he +saw that a string was dangling before the window with something +attached to the end of it. He drew it in, and, as he did so, he +fancied that he heard a distant sound of voices and clapped hands, as +if from some window above. He proceeded to examine his prize, and +found that it was a little round pincushion of sand, such as women use +to polish their needles with, and that, apparently, it was used as a +make-weight to ensure the steady descent of a neat little letter that +was tied beside it, in company with a small lead pencil. The letter +was directed to "_The prisoner who finds this._" Monsieur the Viscount +opened it at once. This was the letter-- + +"_In prison, 24th Prairial, year 2_. + +"_Fellow-sufferer, who are you? how long have you been imprisoned? Be +good enough to answer_." + +Monsieur the Viscount hesitated for a moment, and then determined to +risk all. He tore off a bit of the paper, and with the little pencil +hurriedly wrote this reply:-- + +"_In secret, June 12, 1794_. + +"_Louis Archambaud Jean-Marie Arnaud, Vicomte de B., supposed to have +perished in the massacres of September_, 1792. _Keep my secret. I have +been imprisoned a year and nine months. Who are_ you? _how long have_ +you _been here_?" + +The letter was drawn up, and he watched anxiously for the reply. It +came, and with it some sheets of blank paper. + +"_Monsieur_,--_We have the honour to reply to your inquiries, and +thank you for your frankness. Henri Edouard Clermont, Baron de St. +Claire. Valerie de St. Claire. We have been here but two days. Accept +our sympathy for your misfortunes_." + +Four words in this note seized at once upon Monsieur the Viscount's +interest--_Valerie de St. Claire_;--and for some reasons, which I do +not pretend to explain, he decided that it was she who was the author +of these epistles, and the demon of curiosity forthwith took +possession of his mind. Who was she? was she old or young? And in +which relation did she stand to Monsieur le Baron--that of wife, of +sister, or of daughter? And from some equally inexplicable cause +Monsieur the Viscount determined in his own mind that it was the +latter. To make assurance doubly sure, however, he laid a trap to +discover the real state of the case. He wrote a letter of thanks and +sympathy, expressed with all the delicate chivalrous politeness of a +nobleman of the old _regime_, and addressed it to _Madame la Baronne_. +The plan succeeded. The next note he received contained these +sentences:--"_I am not the Baroness. Madame my mother is, alas! dead. +I and my father are alone. He is ill, but thanks you, Monsieur, for +your letters, which relieve the_ ennui _of imprisonment. Are you +alone?_" + +Monsieur the Viscount, as in duty bound, relieved the _ennui_ of the +Baron's captivity by another epistle. Before answering the last +question, he turned round involuntarily, and looked to where Monsieur +Crapaud sat by the broken pitcher. The beautiful eyes were turned +towards him, and Monsieur the Viscount took up his pencil, and wrote +hastily, "_I am not alone--I have a friend._" + +Henceforward the oyster-shell took a long time to fill, and patience +seemed a harder virtue than ever. Perhaps the last fact had something +to do with the rapid decline of Monsieur the Viscount's health. He +became paler and weaker, and more fretful. His prayers were +accompanied by greater mental struggles, and watered with more tears. +He was, however, most positive in his assurances to Monsieur Crapaud +that he knew the exact nature and cause of the malady that was +consuming him. It resulted, he said, from the noxious and unwholesome +condition of his cell; and he would entreat Antoine to have it swept +out. After some difficulty the gaoler consented. + +It was nearly a month since Monsieur the Viscount had first been +startled by the appearance of the little pincushion. The stock of +paper had long been exhausted. He had torn up his cambric ruffles to +write upon, and Mademoiselle de St. Claire had made havoc of her +pocket-handkerchiefs for the same purpose. The Viscount was feebler +than ever, and Antoine became alarmed. The cell should be swept out +the next morning. He would come himself, he said, and bring another +man out of the town with him to help him, for the work was heavy, and +he had a touch of rheumatism. The man was a stupid fellow from the +country, who had only been a week in Paris; he had never heard of the +Viscount, and Antoine would tell him that the prisoner was a certain +young lawyer who had really died of fever in prison the day before. +Monsieur the Viscount thanked him; and it was not till the next +morning arrived, and he was expecting them every moment, that Monsieur +the Viscount remembered the toad, and that he would without doubt be +swept away with the rest in the general clearance. At first he thought +that he would beg them to leave it, but some knowledge of the petty +insults which that class of men heaped upon their prisoners made him +feel that this would probably be only an additional reason for their +taking the animal away. There was no place to hide it in, for they +would go all round the room; unless--unless Monsieur the Viscount took +it up in his hand. And this was just what he objected to do. All his +old feelings of repugnance came back; he had not even got gloves on; +his long white hands were bare, he could not touch a toad. It was true +that the beast had amused him, and that he had chatted to it; but, +after all, this was a piece of childish folly--an unmanly way, to say +the least, of relieving the tedium of captivity. What was Monsieur +Crapaud but a very ugly (and most people said a venomous) reptile? To +what a folly he had been condescending! With these thoughts, Monsieur +the Viscount steeled himself against the glances of his topaz-eyed +friend, and when the steps of the men were heard upon the stairs, he +did not move from the window where he had placed himself, with his +back to the stone. + +The steps came nearer and nearer, Monsieur the Viscount began to +whistle--the key was rattled in the lock, and Monsieur the Viscount +heard a bit of bread fall, as the toad hastily descended to hide +itself as usual in the corners. In a moment his resolution was gone; +another second, and it would be too late. He dashed after the +creature, picked it up, and when the men came in he was standing with +his hands behind him, in which Monsieur Crapaud was quietly and safely +seated. + +The room was swept, and Antoine was preparing to go, when the other, +who had been eyeing the prisoner suspiciously, stopped and said with a +sharp sneer, "Does the citizen always preserve that position?" + +"Not he," said the gaoler, good-naturedly. "He spends most of his time +in bed, which saves his legs. Come along, Francois." + +"I shall not come," said the other, obstinately. "Let the citizen show +me his hands." + +"Plague take you!" said Antoine, in a whisper. "What sulky fit +possesses you, my comrade? Let the poor wretch alone. What wouldst +thou with his hands? Wait a little, and thou shall have his head." + +"We should have few heads or prisoners either, if thou hadst the care +of them," said Francois, sharply. "I say that the prisoner secretes +something, and that I will see it. Show your hands, dog of an +aristocrat!" + +Monsieur the Viscount set his teeth to keep himself from speaking, and +held out his hands in silence, toad and all. + +Both the men started back with an exclamation, and Francois got behind +his comrade, and swore over his shoulder. + +Monsieur the Viscount stood upright and still, with a smile on his +white face. "Behold, citizen, what I secrete, and what I desire to +keep. Behold all that I have left to secrete or to desire! There is +nothing more." + +"Throw it down!" screamed Francois; "many a witch has been burnt for +less--throw it down." + +The colour began to flood over Monsieur the Viscount's face; but still +he spoke gently, and with bated breath. "If you wish me to suffer, +citizen, let this be my witness that I have suffered. I must be very +friendless to desire such a friend. I must be brought very low to ask +such a favour. Let the Republic give me this." + +"The Republic has one safe rule for aristocrats," said the other; "she +gives them nothing but their keep till she pays for their +shaving--once for all. She gave one of these dogs a few rags to dress +a wound on his back with, and he made a rope of his dressings, and let +himself down from the window. We will have no more such games. You may +be training the beast to spit poison at good citizens. Throw it down +and kill it." + +Monsieur the Viscount made no reply. His hands had moved towards his +breast, against which he was holding his golden-eyed friend. There are +times in life when the brute creation contrasts favourably with the +lords thereof, and this was one of them. It was hard to part just now. + +Antoine, who had been internally cursing his own folly in bringing +such a companion into the cell, now interfered. "If you are going to +stay here to be bitten or spit at, Francois, my friend," said he, "I +am not. Thou art zealous, my comrade, but dull as an owl. The Republic +is far-sighted in her wisdom beyond thy coarse ideas, and has more +ways of taking their heads from these aristocrats than one. Dost thou +not see?" And he tapped his forehead significantly, and looked at the +prisoner; and so, between talking and pushing, got his sulky companion +out of the cell, and locked the door after them. + +"And so, my friend--my friend!" said Monsieur the Viscount, tenderly, +"we are safe once more; but it will not be for long, my Crapaud. +Something tells me that I cannot much longer be overlooked. A little +while, and I shall be gone; and thou wilt have, perchance, another +master, when I am summoned before mine." + +Monsieur the Viscount's misgivings were just. Francois, on whose +stupidity Antoine had relied, was (as is not uncommon with people +stupid in other respects) just clever enough to be mischievous. +Antoine's evident alarm made him suspicious, and he began to talk +about the too-elegant-looking young lawyer who was imprisoned "in +secret," and permitted by the gaoler to keep venomous beasts. Antoine +was examined and committed to one of his own cells, and Monsieur the +Viscount was summoned before the revolutionary tribunal. + +There was little need even for the scanty inquiry that in those days +preceded sentence. In every line of his beautiful face, marred as it +was by sickness and suffering--in the unconquerable dignity, which +dirt and raggedness were powerless to hide, the fatal nobility of his +birth and breeding were betrayed. When he returned to the ante-room, +he did not positively know his fate; but in his mind there was a moral +certainty that left him no hope. + +The room was filled with other prisoners awaiting trial; and, as he +entered, his eyes wandered round it to see if there were any familiar +faces. They fell upon two figures standing with their backs to him--a +tall, fierce-looking man, who, despite his height and fierceness, had +a restless, nervous despondency expressed in all his movements; and a +young girl who leant on his arm as if for support, but whose steady +quietude gave her more the air of a supporter. Without seeing their +faces, and for no reasonable reason, Monsieur the Viscount decided +with himself that they were the Baron and his daughter, and he begged +the man who was conducting him for a moment's delay. The man +consented. France was becoming sick of unmitigated carnage, and even +the executioners sometimes indulged in pity by way of a change. + +As Monsieur the Viscount approached the two they turned round, and he +saw her face--a very fair and very resolute one, with ashen hair and +large eyes. In common with almost all the faces in that room, it was +blanched with suffering; and, it is fair to say, in common with many +of them, it was pervaded by a lofty calm. Monsieur the Viscount never +for an instant doubted his own conviction; he drew near and said in a +low voice, "Mademoiselle de St. Claire!" + +The Baron looked first fierce, and then alarmed. His daughter's face +illumined; she turned her large eyes on the speaker, and said simply, +"Monsieur le Vicomte?" + +The Baron apologized, commiserated, and sat down on a seat near, with +a look of fretful despair; and his daughter and Monsieur the Viscount +were left standing together. Monsieur the Viscount desired to say a +great deal, and could say very little. The moments went by, and hardly +a word had been spoken. + +Valerie asked if he knew his fate. + +"I have not heard it," he said; "but I am morally certain. There can +be but one end in these days." + +She sighed. "It is the same with us. And if you must suffer, Monsieur, +I wish that we may suffer together. It would comfort my father--and +me." + +Her composure vexed him. Just, too, when he was sensible that the +desire of life was making a few fierce struggles in his own breast. + +"You seem to look forward to death with great cheerfulness, +Mademoiselle." + +The large eyes were raised to him with a look of surprise at the +irritation of his tone. + +"I think," she said, gently, "that one does not look forward _to_, but +_beyond_ it." She stopped and hesitated, still watching his face, and +then spoke hurriedly and diffidently:-- + +"Monsieur, it seems impertinent to make such suggestions to you, who +have doubtless a full fund of consolation; but I remember, when a +child, going to hear the preaching of a monk who was famous for his +eloquence. He said that his text was from the Scriptures--it has been +in my mind all to-day--'_There the wicked cease from troubling, and +there the weary be at rest._' The man is becoming impatient. Adieu! +Monsieur. A thousand thanks and a thousand blessings." + +She offered her cheek, on which there was not a ray of increased +colour, and Monsieur the Viscount stooped and kissed it, with a thick +mist gathering in his eyes, through which he could not see her face. + +"Adieu! Valerie!" + +"Adieu! Louis!" + +So they met, and so they parted; and as Monsieur the Viscount went +back to his prison, he flattered himself that the last link was broken +for him in the chain of earthly interests. + +When he reached the cell he was tired, and lay down, and in a few +seconds a soft scrambling over the floor announced the return of +Monsieur Crapaud from his hiding-place. With one wrinkled leg after +another he clambered on to the stone, and Monsieur the Viscount +started when he saw him. + +"Friend Crapaud! I had actually forgotten thee. I fancied I had said +adieu for the last time;" and he gave a choked sigh, which Monsieur +Crapaud could not be expected to understand. In about five minutes he +sprang up suddenly. "Monsieur Crapaud, I have not long to live, and no +time must be lost in making my will." Monsieur Crapaud was too wise to +express any astonishment; and his master began to hunt for a +tidy-looking stone (paper and cambric were both at an end). They were +all rough and dirty; but necessity had made the Viscount inventive, +and he took a couple and rubbed them together till he had polished +both. Then he pulled out the little pencil, and for the next half hour +composed and wrote busily. When it was done he lay down, and read it +to his friend. This was Monsieur the Viscount's last will and +Testament:-- + +"_To my successor in this cell._ + +"To you whom Providence has chosen to be the inheritor of my sorrows +and my captivity, I desire to make another bequest. There is in this +prison a toad. He was tamed by a man (peace to his memory!) who +tenanted this cell before me. He has been my friend and companion for +nearly two years of sad imprisonment. He has sat by my bedside, fed +from my hand, and shared all my confidence. He is ugly, but he has +beautiful eyes; he is silent, but he is attentive; he is a brute, but +I wish the men of France were in this respect more his superiors! He +is very faithful. May you never have a worse friend! He feeds upon +insects, which I have been accustomed to procure for him. Be kind to +him; he will repay it. Like other men, I bequeath what I would take +with me if I could. + +"Fellow-sufferer, adieu! GOD comfort you as He has comforted +me! The sorrows of this life are sharp but short; the joys of the next +life are eternal. Think sometimes on him who commends his friend to +your pity, and himself to your prayers. + +"This is the last will and testament of Louis Archambaud Jean-Marie +Arnaud, Vicomte de B----." + +Monsieur the Viscount's last will and testament was with difficulty +squeezed into the surface of the larger of the stones. Then he hid it +where the priest had hidden _his_ bequest long ago, and then lay down +to dream of Monsieur the Preceptor, and that they had met at last. + +The next day was one of anxious suspense. In the evening, as usual, a +list of those who were to be guillotined next morning, was brought +into the prison; and Monsieur the Viscount begged for a sight of it. +It was brought to him. First on the list was Antoine! Halfway down was +his own name, "Louis de B----," and a little lower his fascinated +gaze fell upon names that stirred his heart with such a passion of +regret as he had fancied it would never feel again, "Henri de St. +Claire, Valerie de St. Claire." + +Her eyes seemed to shine on him from the gathering twilight, and her +calm voice to echo in his ears. "_It has been in my mind all to-day. +There the wicked cease from troubling, and there the weary be at +rest._" + +_There_! He buried his face and prayed. + +He was disturbed by the unlocking of the door, and the new gaoler +appeared with Antoine! The poor wretch seemed overpowered by terror. +He had begged to be imprisoned for this last night with Monsieur the +Viscount. It was only a matter of a few hours, as they were to die at +daybreak, and his request was granted. + +Antoine's entrance turned the current of Monsieur the Viscount's +thoughts. No more selfish reflections now. He must comfort this poor +creature, of whose death he was to be the unintentional cause. +Antoine's first anxiety was that Monsieur the Viscount should bear +witness that the gaoler had treated him kindly, and so earned the +blessing and not the curse of Monsieur le Cure, whose powerful +presence seemed to haunt him still. On this score he was soon set at +rest, and then came the old, old story. He had been but a bad man. If +his life were to come over again, he would do differently. Did +Monsieur the Viscount think that there was any hope? + +Would Monsieur the Viscount have recognized himself, could he, two +years ago, have seen himself as he was now? Kneeling by that rough, +uncultivated figure, and pleading with all the eloquence that he could +master to that rough uncultivated heart, the great Truths of +Christianity--so great and few and simple in their application to our +needs! The violet eyes had never appealed more tenderly, the soft +voice had never been softer than now, as he strove to explain to this +ignorant soul, the cardinal doctrines of Faith and Repentance, and +Charity, with an earnestness that was perhaps more effectual than his +preaching. + +Monsieur the Viscount was quite as much astonished as flattered by the +success of his instructions. The faith on which he had laid hold with +such mortal struggles, seemed almost to "come natural" (as people say) +to Antoine. With abundant tears he professed the deepest penitence for +his past life, at the same time that he accepted the doctrine of the +Atonement as a natural remedy, and never seemed to have a doubt in the +Infinite Mercy that should cover his infinite guilt. + +It was all so orthodox that even if he had doubted (which he did not) +the sincerity of the gaoler's contrition and belief, Monsieur the +Viscount could have done nothing but envy the easy nature of Antoine's +convictions. He forgot the difference of their respective +capabilities! + +When the night was far advanced the men rose from their knees, and +Monsieur the Viscount persuaded Antoine to lie down on his pallet, and +when the gaoler's heavy breathing told that he was asleep, Monsieur +the Viscount felt relieved to be alone once more--alone, except for +Monsieur Crapaud, whose round fiery eyes were open as usual. + +The simplicity with which he had been obliged to explain the truths of +Divine Love to Antoine, was of signal service to Monsieur the Viscount +himself. It left him no excuse for those intricacies of doubt, with +which refined minds too often torture themselves; and as he paced +feebly up and down the cell, all the long-withheld peace for which he +had striven since his imprisonment seemed to flood into his soul. How +blessed--how undeservedly blessed--was his fate! Who or what was he +that after such short, such mitigated sufferings, the crown of victory +should be so near? The way had seemed long to come, it was short to +look back upon, and now the golden gates were almost reached, the +everlasting doors were open. A few more hours, and then--! and as +Monsieur the Viscount buried his worn face in his hands, the tears +that trickled from his fingers were literally tears of joy. + +He groped his way to the stone, pushed some straw close to it, and lay +down on the ground to rest, watched by Monsieur's Crapaud's fiery +eyes. And as he lay, faces seemed to him to rise out of the darkness, +to take the form and features of the face of the priest, and to gaze +at him with unutterable benediction. And in his mind, like some +familiar piece of music, awoke the words that had been written on the +fly-leaf of the little book; coming back, sleepily and dreamily, over +and over again-- + +"_Souvenez-vous du Sauveur! Souvenez-vous du Sauveur_!" + +(Remember the Saviour!) + +In that remembrance he fell asleep. + +Monsieur the Viscount's sleep for some hours was without a dream. Then +it began to be disturbed by that uneasy consciousness of sleeping too +long, which enables some people to awake at whatever hour they have +resolved upon. At last it became intolerable, and wearied as he was, +he awoke. It was broad daylight, and Antoine was snoring beside him. +Surely the cart would come soon, the executions were generally at an +early hour. But time went on, and no one came, and Antoine awoke. The +hours of suspense passed heavily, but at last there were steps and a +key rattled into the lock. The door opened, and the gaoler appeared +with a jug of milk and a loaf. With a strange smile he set them down. + +"A good appetite to you, citizens." + +Antoine flew on him. "Comrade! we used to be friends. Tell me, what is +it? Is the execution deferred?" + +"The execution has taken place at last," said the other, +significantly; "_Robespierre is dead!_" and he vanished. + +Antoine uttered a shriek of joy. He wept, he laughed, he cut capers, +and flinging himself at Monsieur the Viscount's feet, he kissed them +rapturously. When he raised his eyes to Monsieur the Viscount's face, +his transports moderated. The last shock had been too much, he seemed +almost in a stupor. Antoine got him on to the pallet, dragged the +blanket over him, broke the bread into the milk, and played the nurse +once more. + +On that day thousands of prisoners in the city of Paris alone awoke +from the shadow of death to the hope of life. The Reign of Terror was +ended! + + + + +CHAPTER III. + + +It was a year of Grace early in the present century. + +We are again in the beautiful country of beautiful France. It is the +chateau once more. It is the same, but changed. The unapproachable +elegance, the inviolable security, have witnessed invasion. The right +wing of the chateau is in ruins, with traces of fire upon the +blackened walls; while here and there, a broken statue or a roofless +temple are sad memorials of the Revolution. Within the restored part +of the chateau, however, all looks well. Monsieur the Viscount has +been fortunate, and if not so rich a man as his father, has yet +regained enough of his property to live with comfort, and, as he +thinks, luxury. The long rooms are little less elegant than in former +days, and Madame the present Viscountess's boudoir is a model of +taste. Not far from it is another room, to which it forms a singular +contrast. This room belongs to Monsieur the Viscount. It is small, +with one window. The floor and walls are bare, and it contains no +furniture; but on the floor is a worn-out pallet, by which lies a +stone, and on that a broken pitcher, and in a little frame against the +wall is preserved a crumpled bit of paper like the fly-leaf of some +little book, on which is a half-effaced inscription, which can be +deciphered by Monsieur the Viscount if by no one else. Above the +window is written in large letters, a date and the word REMEMBER. +Monsieur the Viscount is not likely to forget, but he is afraid of +himself and of prosperity lest it should spoil him. + +It is evening, and Monsieur the Viscount is strolling along the +terrace with Madame on his arm. He has only one to offer her, for +where the other should be an empty sleeve is pinned to his breast, on +which a bit of ribbon is stirred by the breeze. Monsieur the Viscount +has not been idle since we saw him last; the faith that taught him to +die, has taught him also how to live--an honourable, useful life. + +It is evening, and the air comes up perfumed from a bed of violets by +which Monsieur the Viscount is kneeling. Madame (who has a fair face +and ashen hair) stands by him with her little hand on his shoulder, +and her large eyes upon the violets. + +"My friend! my friend! my friend!" It is Monsieur the Viscount's +voice, and at the sound of it, there is a rustle among the violets +that sends the perfume high into the air. Then from the parted leaves +come forth first a dirty wrinkled leg, then a dirty wrinkled head with +gleaming eyes, and Monsieur Crapaud crawls with self-satisfied dignity +on to Monsieur the Viscount's outstretched hand. + +So they stay laughing and chatting, and then Monsieur the Viscount +bids his friend good-night, and holds him towards Madame that she may +do the same. But Madame (who did not enjoy Monsieur Crapaud's society +in prison) cannot be induced to do more than scratch his head +delicately with the tip of her white finger. But she respects him +greatly, at a distance, she says. Then they go back along the terrace, +and are met by a man-servant in Monsieur the Viscount's livery. Is it +possible that this is Antoine, with his shock head covered with +powder? + +Yes; that grating voice, which no mental change avails to subdue, is +his, and he announces that Monsieur le Cure has arrived. It is the old +Cure of the village (who has survived the troubles of the Revolution), +and many are the evenings he spends at the chateau, and many the times +in which the closing acts of a noble life are recounted to him, the +life of his old friend whom he hopes ere long to see--of Monsieur the +Preceptor. He is kindly welcomed by Monsieur and by Madame, and they +pass on together into the chateau. And when Monsieur the Viscount's +steps have ceased to echo from the terrace, Monsieur Crapaud buries +himself once more among the violets. + + * * * * * + +Monsieur the Viscount is dead, and Madame sleeps also at his side; +and their possessions have descended to their son. + +Not the least valued among them is a case with a glass front and +sides, in which, seated upon a stone is the body of a toad stuffed +with exquisite skill, from whose head gleam eyes of genuine topaz. +Above it in letters of gold is a date, and this inscription:-- + + "MONSIEUR THE VISCOUNT'S FRIEND." + + ADIEU! + + + + +THE YEW-LANE GHOSTS + +CHAPTER I. + + "Cowards are cruel." OLD PROVERB. + + +This story begins on a fine autumn afternoon when, at the end of a +field over which the shadows of a few wayside trees were stalking like +long thin giants, a man and a boy sat side by side upon a stile. They +were not a happy-looking pair. The boy looked uncomfortable, because +he wanted to get away and dared not go. The man looked uncomfortable +also; but then no one had ever seen him look otherwise, which was the +more strange as he never professed to have any object in life but his +own pleasure and gratification. Not troubling himself with any +consideration of law or principle--of his own duty or other people's +comfort--he had consistently spent his whole time and energies in +trying to be jolly; and though now a grown-up young man, had so far +had every appearance of failing in the attempt. From this it will be +seen that he was not the most estimable of characters, and we shall +have no more to do with him than we can help; but as he must appear in +the story, he may as well be described. + +If constant self-indulgence had answered as well as it should have +done, he would have been a fine-looking young man; as it was, the +habits of his life were fast destroying his appearance. His hair would +have been golden if it had been kept clean. His figure was tall and +strong; but the custom of slinking about places where he had no +business to be, and lounging in corners where he had nothing to do, +had given it such a hopeless slouch that for the matter of beauty he +might almost as well have been knock-kneed. His eyes would have been +handsome if the lids had been less red; and if he had ever looked you +in the face, you would have seen that they were blue. His complexion +was fair by nature and discoloured by drink. His manner was something +between a sneak and a swagger, and he generally wore his cap +a-one-side, carried his hands in his pockets and a short stick under +his arm, and whistled when any one passed him. His chief +characteristic, perhaps, was the habit he had of kicking. Indoors he +kicked the furniture, in the road he kicked the stones, if he lounged +against a wall he kicked it; he kicked all animals and such human +beings as he felt sure would not kick him again. + +It should be said here that he had once announced his intention of +"turning steady, and settling, and getting wed." The object of his +choice was the prettiest girl in the village, and was as good as she +was pretty. To say the truth, the time had been when Bessy had not +felt unkindly towards the yellow-haired lad; but his conduct had long +put a gulf between them, which only the conceit of a scamp would have +attempted to pass. However, he flattered himself that he "knew what +the lasses meant when they said no;" and on the strength of this +knowledge he presumed far enough to elicit a rebuff so hearty and +unmistakable that for a week he was the laughing stock of the village. +There was no mistake this time as to what "no" meant; his admiration +turned to a hatred almost as intense, and he went faster "to the bad" +than ever. + +It was Bessy's little brother who sat by him on the stile; "Beauty +Bill," as he was called, from the large share he possessed of the +family good looks. The lad was one of those people who seem born to be +favourites. He was handsome, and merry, and intelligent; and, being +well brought up, was well-conducted and amiable--the pride and pet of +the village. Why did Mother Muggins of the shop let the goody side of +her scales of justice drop the lower by one lollipop for Bill than for +any other lad, and exempt him by unwonted smiles from her general +anathema on the urchin race? There were other honest boys in the +parish, who paid for their treacle-sticks in sterling copper of the +realm! The very roughs of the village were proud of him, and would +have showed their good nature in ways little to his benefit had not +his father kept a somewhat severe watch upon his habits and conduct. +Indeed, good parents and a strict home counterbalanced the evils of +popularity with Beauty Bill, and, on the whole, he was little spoilt, +and well deserved the favour he met with. It was under cover of +friendly patronage that his companion was now detaining him; but, all +the circumstances considered, Bill felt more suspicious than +gratified, and wished Bully Tom anywhere but where he was. + +The man threw out one leg before him like the pendulum of a clock. + +"Night school's opened, eh?" he inquired; and back swung the pendulum +against Bill's shins. + +"Yes;" and the boy screwed his legs on one side. + +"You don't go, do you?" + +"Yes, I do," said Bill, trying not to feel ashamed of the fact, +"Father can't spare me to the day-school now, so our Bessy persuaded +him to let me go at nights." + +Bully Tom's face looked a shade darker, and the pendulum took a swing +which it was fortunate the lad avoided; but the conversation continued +with every appearance of civility. + +"You come back by Yew-lane, I suppose?" + +"Yes." + +"Why, there's no one lives your way but old Johnson; you must come +back alone?" + +"Of course, I do," said Bill, beginning to feel vaguely uncomfortable. + +"It must be dark now before school looses?" was the next inquiry; and +the boy's discomfort increased, he hardly knew why, as he answered-- + +"There's a moon." + +"So there is," said Bully Tom, in a tone of polite assent; "and +there's a weathercock on the church-steeple but I never heard of +either of 'em coming down to help a body, whatever happened." + +Bill's discomfort had become alarm. + +"Why, what could happen?" he asked. "I don't understand you." + +His companion whistled, looked up in the air, and kicked vigorously, +but said nothing. Bill was not extraordinarily brave, but he had a +fair amount both of spirit and sense; and having a shrewd suspicion +that Bully Tom was trying to frighten him, he almost made up his mind +to run off then and there. Curiosity, however, and a vague alarm which +he could not throw off, made him stay for a little more information. + +"I wish you'd out with it!" he exclaimed, impatiently. "What could +happen? No one ever comes along Yew-lane; and if they did they +wouldn't hurt me." + +"I know no one ever comes near it when they can help it," was the +reply; "so, to be sure, you couldn't get set upon. And a pious lad of +your sort wouldn't mind no other kind. Not like ghosts, or anything of +that." + +And Bully Tom looked round at his companion; a fact disagreeable from +its rarity. + +"I don't believe in ghosts," said Bill, stoutly. + +"Of course you don't," sneered his tormentor; "you're too well +educated. Some people does, though. I suppose them that has seen them +does. Some people thinks that murdered men walk. P'raps some people +thinks the man as was murdered in Yew-lane walks." + +"What man?" gasped Bill, feeling very chilly down the spine. + +"Him that was riding by the cross-roads and dragged into Yew-lane, and +his head cut off and never found, and his body buried in the +churchyard," said Bully Tom, with a rush of superior information; +"and all I know is, if I thought he walked in Yew-lane, or any other +lane, I wouldn't go within five mile of it after dusk--that's all. But +then I'm not book-larned." + +The two last statements were true if nothing else was that the man had +said; and after holding up his feet and examining his boots with his +head a-one-side, as if considering their probable efficiency against +flesh and blood, he slid from his perch, and "loafed" slowly up the +street, whistling and kicking the stones as he went along. As to +Beauty Bill, he fled home as fast as his legs would carry him. By the +door stood Bessy, washing some clothes; who turned her pretty face as +he came up. + +"You're late, Bill," she said. "Go in and get your tea, it's set out. +It's night-school night, thou knows, and Master Arthur always likes +his class to time." He lingered, and she continued--"John Gardener was +down this afternoon about some potatoes, and he says Master Arthur is +expecting a friend." + +Bill did not heed this piece of news, any more than the slight flush +on his sister's face as she delivered it; he was wondering whether +what Bully Tom said was mere invention to frighten him, or whether +there was any truth in it. + +"Bessy!" he said, "was there a man ever murdered in Yew-lane?" + +Bessy was occupied with her own thoughts, and did not notice the +anxiety of the question. + +"I believe there was," she answered carelessly, "somewhere about +there. It's a hundred years ago or more. There's an old gravestone +over him in the churchyard by the wall, with an odd verse on it. They +say the parish clerk wrote it. But get your tea, or you'll be late, +and father'll be angry;" and Bessy took up her tub and departed. + +Poor Bill! Then it was too true. He began to pull up his trousers and +look at his grazed legs; and the thoughts of his aching shins, Bully +Tom's cruelty, the unavoidable night-school, and the possible ghost, +were too much for him, and he burst into tears. + + + + +CHAPTER II. + + "There are birds out on the bushes, + In the meadows lies the lamb, + How I wonder if they're ever + Half as frightened as I am?" + +C.F. ALEXANDER. + + +The night-school was drawing to a close. The attendance had been good, +and the room looked cheerful. In one corner the Rector was teaching a +group of grown-up men, who (better late than never) were zealously +learning to read; in another the schoolmaster was flourishing his +stick before a map as he concluded his lesson in geography. By the +fire sat Master Arthur, the Rector's son, surrounded by his class, and +in front of him stood Beauty Bill. Master Arthur was very popular with +the people, especially with his pupils. The boys were anxious to get +into his class, and loath to leave it. They admired his great height, +his merry laugh, the variety of walking-sticks he brought with him, +and his very funny way of explaining pictures. He was not a very +methodical teacher, and was rather apt to give unexpected lessons on +subjects in which he happened just then to be interested himself; but +he had a clear simple way of explaining anything, which impressed it +on the memory, and he took a great deal of pains in his own way. Bill +was especially devoted to him. He often wished that Master Arthur +could get very rich, and take him for his man-servant; he thought he +should like to brush his clothes and take care of his sticks. He had a +great interest in the growth of his moustache and whiskers. For some +time past Master Arthur had had a trick of pulling at his upper lip +whilst he was teaching; which occasionally provoked a whisper of +"Moostarch, guvernor!" between two unruly members of his class; but +never till to-night had Bill seen anything in that line which +answered his expectations. Now, however, as he stood before the young +gentleman, the fire-light fell on such a distinct growth of hair, that +Bill's interest became absorbed to the exclusion of all but the most +perfunctory attention to the lesson on hand. Would Master Arthur grow +a beard? Would his moustache be short like the pictures of Prince +Albert, or long and pointed like that of some other great man whose +portrait he had seen in the papers? He was calculating on the probable +effect of either style, when the order was given to put away books, +and then the thought which had been for a time diverted came back +again--his walk home. + +Poor Bill! his fears returned with double force from having been for +awhile forgotten. He dawdled over the books, he hunted in wrong places +for his cap and comforter, he lingered till the last boy had clattered +through the doorway, and left him with a group of elders who closed +the proceedings and locked up the school. But after this further delay +was impossible. The whole party moved out into the moonlight, and the +Rector and his son, the schoolmaster and the teachers, commenced, a +sedate parish gossip, whilst Bill trotted behind, wondering whether +any possible or impossible business would take one of them his way. +But when the turning point was reached, the Rector destroyed all his +hopes. + +"None of us go your way, I think," said he, as lightly as if there +were no grievance in the case; "however, it's not far. Good-night, my +boy!" + +And so with a volley of good-nights, the cheerful voices passed on up +the village. Bill stood till they had quite died away, and then when +all was silent, he turned into the lane. + +The cold night-wind crept into his ears, and made uncomfortable noises +among the trees, and blew clouds over the face of the moon. He almost +wished that there were no moon. The shifting shadows under his feet, +and the sudden patches of light on unexpected objects, startled him, +and he thought he should have felt less frightened if it had been +quite dark. Once he ran for a bit, then he resolved to be brave, then +to be reasonable; he repeated scraps of lessons, hymns, and last +Sunday's Collect, to divert and compose his mind; and as this plan +seemed to answer, he determined to go through the Catechism, both +question and answer, which he hoped might carry him to the end of his +unpleasant journey. He had just asked himself a question with +considerable dignity, and was about to reply, when a sudden gleam of +moonlight lit up a round object in the ditch. Bill's heart seemed to +grow cold, and he thought his senses would have forsaken him. Could +this be the head of ----? No! on nearer inspection it proved to be +only a turnip; and when one came to think of it, that would have been +rather a conspicuous place for the murdered man's skull to have been +lost in for so many years. + +My hero must not be ridiculed too much for his fears. The terrors that +visit childhood are not the less real and overpowering from being +unreasonable; and to excite them is wanton cruelty. Moreover, he was +but a little lad, and had been up and down Yew-lane both in daylight +and dark without any fears, till Bully Tom's tormenting suggestions +had alarmed him. Even now, as he reached the avenue of yews from which +the lane took its name, and passed into their gloomy shade, he tried +to be brave. He tried to think of the good GOD Who takes care of His +children, and to Whom the darkness and the light are both alike. He +thought of all he had been taught about angels, and wondered if one +were near him now, and wished that he could see him, as Abraham and +other good people had seen angels. In short, the poor lad did his best +to apply what he had been taught to the present emergency, and very +likely had he not done so he would have been worse; but as it was, he +was not a little frightened, as we shall see. + +Yew-lane--cool and dark when the hottest sunshine lay beyond it--a +loitering place for lovers--the dearly-loved play-place of +generations of children on sultry summer days--looked very grim and +vault-like, with narrow streaks of moonlight peeping in at rare +intervals to make the darkness to be felt! Moreover, it was really +damp and cold, which is not favourable to courage. At a certain point +Yew-lane skirted a corner of the churchyard, and was itself crossed by +another road, thus forming a "four-want-way," where suicides were +buried in times past. This road was the old high-road, where the mail +coach ran, and along which, on such a night as this, a hundred years +ago, a horseman rode his last ride. As he passed the church on his +fatal journey did anything warn him how soon his headless body would +be buried beneath its shadow? Bill wondered. He wondered if he were +old or young--what sort of a horse he rode--whose cruel hands dragged +him into the shadow of the yews and slew him, and where his head was +hidden, and why. Did the church look just the same, and the moon shine +just as brightly, that night a century ago? Bully Tom was right. The +weathercock and moon sit still, whatever happens. The boy watched the +gleaming high road as it lay beyond the dark aisle of trees, till he +fancied he could hear the footfalls of the solitary horse--and yet, +no! The sound was not upon the hard road, but nearer; it was not the +clatter of hoofs, but something--and a rustle--and then Bill's blood +seemed to freeze in his veins, as he saw a white figure, wrapped in +what seemed to be a shroud, glide out of the shadow of the yews and +move slowly down the lane. When it reached the road it paused, raised +a long arm warningly towards him for a moment, and then vanished in +the direction of the churchyard. + +What would have been the consequence of the intense fright the poor +lad experienced is more than anyone can say, if at that moment the +church clock had not begun to strike nine. The familiar sound, close +in his ears, roused him from the first shock, and before it had ceased +he contrived to make a desperate rally of his courage, flew over the +road, and crossed the two fields that now lay between him and home +without looking behind him. + + + + +CHAPTER III. + + "It was to her a real _grief of heart_, acute, as children's + sorrows often are. + + "We beheld this from the opposite windows--and, seen thus + from a little distance, how many of our own and of other + people's sorrows might not seem equally trivial, and equally + deserving of ridicule!" + +HANS CHRISTIAN ANDERSEN. + + +When Bill got home he found the household busy with a much more +practical subject than that of ghosts and haunted yew-trees. Bessy +was ill. She had felt a pain in her side all the day, which towards +night had become so violent that the doctor was sent for, who had +pronounced it pleurisy, and had sent her to bed. He was just coming +downstairs as Bill burst into the house. The mother was too much +occupied about her daughter to notice the lad's condition; but the +doctor's sharp eyes saw that something was amiss, and he at once +inquired what it was. Bill hammered and stammered, and stopped short. +The doctor was such a tall, stout, comfortable-looking man, he looked +as if he couldn't believe in ghosts. A slight frown, however, had come +over his comfortable face, and he laid two fingers on Bill's wrist as +he repeated his question. + +"Please, sir," said Bill, "I've seen--" + +"A mad dog?" suggested the doctor. + +"No, sir." + +"A mad bull?" + +"No, sir," said Bill, desperately, "I've seen a ghost." + +The doctor exploded into a fit of laughter, and looked more +comfortable than ever. + +"And _where_ did we see the ghost?" he inquired, in a professional +voice, as he took up his coat-tails and warmed himself at the fire. + +"In Yew-lane, sir; and I'm sure I did see it," said Bill, half +crying; "it was all in white, and beckoned me." + +"That's to say you saw a white gravestone, or a tree in the moonlight, +or one of your classmates dressed up in a table-cloth. It was all +moonshine, depend upon it," said the doctor, with a chuckle at his own +joke; "take my advice, my boy, and don't give way to foolish fancies." + +At this point the mother spoke-- + +"If his father knew, sir, as he'd got any such fads in his head, he'd +soon flog 'em out of him." + +"His father is a very good one," said the doctor; "a little too fond +of the stick, perhaps. There," he added, good-naturedly, slipping +sixpence into Bill's hand, "get a new knife, my boy, and cut a good +thick stick, and the next ghost you meet, lay hold of him and let him +taste it." + +Bill tried to thank him, but somehow his voice was choked, and the +doctor turned to his mother. + +"The boy has been frightened," he said, "and is upset. Give him some +supper, and put him to bed." And the good gentleman departed. + +Bill was duly feasted and sent to rest. His mother did not mention the +matter to her husband, as she knew he would be angry; and occupied +with real anxiety for her daughter, she soon forgot it herself. +Consequently, the next night-school night she sent Bill to "clean +himself," hurried on his tea, and packed him off, just as if nothing +had happened. + +The boy's feelings since the night of the apparition had not been +enviable. He could neither eat nor sleep. As he lay in bed at night, +he kept his face covered with the clothes, dreading that if he peeped +out into the room the phantom of the murdered horseman would beckon to +him from the dark corners. Lying so till the dawn broke and the cocks +began to crow, he would then look cautiously forth, and seeing by the +grey light that the corners were empty, and that the figure by the +door was not the Yew-lane Ghost, but his mother's faded print dress +hanging on a nail, would drop his head and fall wearily asleep. The +day was no better, for each hour brought him nearer to the next night +school; and Bessy's illness made his mother so busy, that he never +could find the right moment to ask her sympathy for his fears, and +still less could he feel himself able to overcome them. And so the +night-school came round again, and there he sat, gulping down a few +mouthfuls of food, and wondering how he should begin to tell his +mother that he neither dare, could, nor would, go down Yew-lane again +at night. He had just opened his lips when the father came in, and +asked in a loud voice "Why Bill was not off." This effectually put a +stop to any confidences, and the boy ran out of the house. Not, +however, to school. He made one or two desperate efforts at +determination, and then gave up altogether. He _could_ not go! + +He was wondering what he should do with himself, when it struck him +that he would go whilst it was daylight and look for the grave with +the odd verse of which Bessy had spoken. He had no difficulty in +finding it. It was marked by a large ugly stone, on which the +inscription was green and in some places almost effaced. + + SACRED TO THE MEMORY + + OF + + EPHRAIM GARNETT-- + +He had read so far when a voice close by him said-- + +"You'll be late for school, young chap." + +Bill looked up, and to his horror beheld Bully Tom standing in the +road and kicking the churchyard wall. + +"Aren't you going?" he asked, as Bill did not speak. + +"Not to-night," said Bill, with crimson cheeks. + +"Larking, eh?" said Bully Tom. "My eyes, won't your father give it +you!" and he began to move off. + +"Stop!" shouted Bill in an agony; "don't tell him, Tom. That would be +a dirty trick. I'll go next time, I will indeed; I can't go to-night. +I'm not larking, I'm scared. You won't tell?" + +"Not this time, maybe," was the reply; "but I wouldn't be in your +shoes if you play this game next night;" and off he went. + +Bill thought it well to quit the churchyard at once for some place +where he was not likely to be seen; he had never played truant before, +and for the next hour or two was thoroughly miserable as he slunk +about the premises of a neighbouring farm, and finally took refuge in +a shed, and began to consider his position. He would remain hidden +till nine o'clock, and then go home. If nothing were said, well and +good; unless some accident should afterwards betray him. But if his +mother asked any questions about the school? He dared not, and he +would not, tell a lie; and yet what would be the result of the truth +coming out? There could be no doubt that his father would beat him. +Bill thought again, and decided that he could bear a thrashing, but +not the sight of the Yew-lane Ghost; so he remained where he was, +wondering how it would be, and how he should get over the next +school-night when it came. The prospect was so hopeless, and the poor +lad so wearied with anxiety and wakeful nights, that he was almost +asleep when he was startled by the church clock striking nine; and, +jumping up, he ran home. His heart beat heavily as he crossed the +threshold; but his mother was still absorbed by thoughts of Bessy, and +he went to bed unquestioned. The next day too passed over without any +awkward remarks, which was very satisfactory; but then night-school +day came again, and Bill felt that he was in a worse position than +ever. He had played truant once with success; but he was aware that it +would not do a second time. Bully Tom was spiteful, and Master Arthur +might come to "look up" his recreant pupil, and then Bill's father +would know all. + +On the morning of the much-dreaded day, his mother sent him up to the +Rectory to fetch some little delicacy that had been promised for +Bessy's dinner. He generally found it rather amusing to go there. He +liked to peep at the pretty garden, to look out for Master Arthur, and +to sit in the kitchen and watch the cook, and wonder what she did with +all the dishes and bright things that decorated the walls. To-day all +was quite different. He avoided the gardens, he was afraid of being +seen by his teacher, and though cook had an unusual display of pots +and pans in operation, he sat in the corner of the kitchen indifferent +to everything but the thought of the Yew-lane Ghost. The dinner for +Bessy was put between two saucers, and as cook gave it into his hands +she asked kindly after his sister, and added-- + +"You don't look over-well yourself, lad! What's amiss?" + +Bill answered that he was quite well, and hurried out of the house to +avoid further inquiries. He was becoming afraid of everyone! As he +passed the garden he thought of the gardener, and wondered if he would +help him. He was very young and very good-natured; he had taken of +late to coming to see Bessy, and Bill had his own ideas upon that +point; finally, he had a small class at the night-school. Bill +wondered whether if he screwed up his courage to-night to go, John +Gardener would walk back with him for the pleasure of hearing the +latest accounts of Bessy. But all hopes of this sort were cut off by +Master Arthur's voice shouting to him from the garden-- + +"Hi, there! I want you, Willie! Come here, I say." + +Bill ran through the evergreens, and there among the flower-beds in +the sunshine he saw--first, John Gardener driving a mowing-machine +over the velvety grass under Master Arthur's very nose, so there was +no getting a private interview with him. Secondly, Master Arthur +himself, sitting on the ground with his terrier in his lap, directing +the proceedings by means of a donkey-headed stick with elaborately +carved ears; and thirdly, Master Arthur's friend. + +Now little bits of gossip will fly; and it had been heard in the +dining-room, and conveyed by the parlour-maid to the kitchen, and +passed from the kitchen into the village, that Master Arthur's friend +was a very clever young gentleman; consequently Beauty Bill had been +very anxious to see him. As, however, the clever young gentleman was +lying on his back on the grass, with his hat flattened over his face +to keep out the sun, and an open book lying on its face upon his +waistcoat to keep the place, and otherwise quite immovable, and very +like other young gentlemen, Bill did not feel much the wiser for +looking at him. He had a better view of him soon, however, for Master +Arthur began to poke his friend's legs with the donkey-headed stick, +and to exhort him to get up. + +"Hi! Bartram, get up! Here's my prime pupil. See what we can turn out. +You may examine him if you like. Willie: this gentleman is a very +clever gentleman, so you must keep your wits about you. _He'll_ put +questions to you, I can tell you! There's as much difference between +his head and mine, as between mine and the head of this stick." And +Master Arthur flourished his "one-legged donkey," as he called it, in +the air, and added, "Bartram! you lazy lout! _will_ you get up and +take an interest in my humble efforts for the good of my +fellow-creatures?" + +Thus adjured, Mr. Bartram sat up with a jerk which threw his book on +to his boots, and his hat after it, and looked at Bill. Now Bill and +the gardener had both been grinning, as they always did at Master +Arthur's funny speeches, but when Bill found the clever gentleman +looking at him, he straightened his face very quickly. The gentleman +was not at all like his friend ("nothing near so handsome," Bill +reported at home), and he had such a large prominent forehead that he +looked as if he were bald. When he sat up, he suddenly screwed up his +eyes in a very peculiar way, pulled out a double gold eye-glass, fixed +it on his nose, and stared through it for a second; after which his +eyes unexpectedly opened to their full extent (they were not small +ones), and took a sharp survey of Bill over the top of his spectacles; +and this ended, he lay back on his elbow without speaking. Bill then +and there decided that Mr. Bartram was very proud, rather mad, and the +most disagreeable gentleman he ever saw; and he felt sure could see as +well as he (Bill) could, and only wore spectacles out of a peculiar +kind of pride and vain-glory which he could not exactly specify. +Master Arthur seemed to think, at any rate, that he was not very +civil, and began at once to talk to the boy himself. + +"Why were you not at school last time, Willie? couldn't your mother +spare you?" + +"Yes, Sir." + +"Then why didn't you come?" said Master Arthur, in evident +astonishment. + +Poor Bill! He stammered as he had stammered before the doctor, and +finally gasped-- + +"Please, Sir, I was scared." + +"Scared? What of?" + +"Ghosts," murmured Bill in a very ghostly whisper. Mr. Bartram raised +himself a little. Master Arthur seemed confounded. + +"Why, you little goose! How is it you never were afraid before?" + +"Please, Sir, I saw one the other night." + +Mr. Bartram took another look over the top of his eye-glass and sat +bolt upright, and John Gardener stayed his machine and listened, while +poor Bill told the whole story of the Yew-lane Ghost. + +When it was finished, the gardener, who was behind Master Arthur, +said-- + +"I've heard something of this, Sir, in the village," and then added +more which Bill could not hear. + +"Eh, what?" said Master Arthur. "Willie, take the machine and drive +about the garden a-bit wherever you like. Now, John." + +Willie did not at all like being sent away at this interesting point. +Another time he would have enjoyed driving over the short grass, and +seeing it jump up like a little green fountain in front of him; but +now his whole mind was absorbed by the few words he caught at +intervals of the conversation going on between John and the young +gentlemen. What could it mean? Mr. Bartram seemed to have awakened to +extraordinary energy, and was talking rapidly. Bill heard the words +"lime-light" and "large sheet," and thought they must be planning a +magic-lantern exhibition, but was puzzled by catching the word +"turnip." At last, as he was rounding the corner of a bed of +geraniums, he distinctly heard Mr. Bartram ask-- + +"They cut the man's head off, didn't they?" + +Then they were talking about the ghost, after all! Bill gave the +machine a jerk, and to his dismay sliced a branch off one of the +geraniums. What was to be done? He must tell Master Arthur, but he +could not interrupt him just now; so on he drove, feeling very much +dispirited, and by no means cheered by hearing shouts of laughter from +the party on the grass. When one is puzzled and out of spirits, it is +no consolation to hear other people laughing over a private joke; +moreover, Bill felt that if they were still on the subject of the +murdered man and his ghost, their merriment was very unsuitable. +Whatever was going on, it was quite evident that Mr. Bartram was the +leading spirit of it, for Bill could see Master Arthur waving the one +legged donkey in an ecstasy, as he clapped his friend on the back till +the eye-glass danced upon his nose. At last Mr. Bartram threw himself +back as if closing a discussion, and said loud enough for Bill to +hear-- + +"You never heard of a bully who wasn't a coward." + +Bill thought of Bully Tom, and how he had said he dared not risk the +chance of meeting with a ghost, and began to think that this was a +clever young gentleman, after all. Just then Master Arthur called to +him; and he took the bit of broken geranium and went. + +"Oh, Willie!" said Master Arthur, "we've been talking over your +misfortunes--geranium? fiddle-sticks! put it in your button-hole--your +misfortunes, I say, and for to-night at any rate we intend to help you +out of them. John--ahem!--will be--ahem!--engaged to-night, and unable +to take his class as usual; but this gentleman has kindly consented to +fill his place ("Hear, hear," said the gentleman alluded to), and if +you'll come to-night, like a good lad, he and I will walk back with +you; so if you do see the ghost, it will be in good company. But, +mind, this is on one condition. You must not say anything about +it--about our walking back with you, I mean--to anybody. Say nothing; +but get ready and come to school as usual. You understand?" + +"Yes, Sir," said Bill; "and I'm very much obliged to you, Sir, and the +other gentleman as well." + +Nothing more was said, so Bill made his best bow and retired. As he +went he heard Master Arthur say to the gardener-- + +"Then you'll go to the town at once, John. We shall want the things as +soon as possible. You'd better take the pony, and we'll have the list +ready for you." + +Bill heard no more words; but as he left the grounds the laughter of +the young gentlemen rang out into the road. + +What did it all mean? + + + + +CHAPTER IV + + "The night was now pitmirk; the wind soughed amid the + headstones and railings of the gentry (for we all must die), + and the black corbies in the steeple-holes cackled and + crawed in a fearsome manner." + + MANSIE WAUGH. + + +Bill was early at the night-school. No other of his class had arrived, +so he took the corner by the fire sacred to first-comers, and watched +the gradual gathering of the school. Presently Master Arthur appeared, +and close behind him came his friend. Mr. Bartram Lindsay looked more +attractive now than he had done in the garden. When standing, he was +an elegant though plain-looking young man, neat in his dress, and with +an admirable figure. He was apt to stand very still and silent for a +length of time, and had a habit of holding his chin up in the air, +which led some people to say that he "held himself very high." This +was the opinion that Bill had formed, and he was rather alarmed by +hearing Master Arthur pressing his friend to take his class instead of +the more backward one, over which the gardener usually presided; and +he was proportionably relieved when Mr. Bartram steadily declined. + +"To say the truth, Bartram," said the young gentleman, "I am much +obliged to you, for I am used to my own boys, and prefer them." + +Then up came the schoolmaster. + +"Mr. Lindsay going to take John's class? Thank you, Sir. I've put out +the books; if you want anything else, Sir, p'raps you'll mention it. +When they have done reading, perhaps, Sir, you will kindly draft them +off for writing, and take the upper classes in arithmetic, if you +don't object, Sir." + +Mr. Lindsay did not object. + +"If you have a picture or two," he said. "Thank you. Know their +letters? All right. Different stages of progression. Very good. I've +no doubt we shall get on together." + +"Between ourselves, Bartram," whispered Master Arthur into his +friend's ear, "the class is composed of boys who ought to have been to +school, and haven't; or who have been, and are none the better for it. +Some of them can what they call 'read in the Testament,' and all of +them confound b and d when they meet with them. They are at one point +of general information--namely, they all know what you have just told +them, and will none of them know it by next time. I call it the +rag-tag and bob-tail class. John says they are like forced tulips. +They won't blossom simultaneously. He can't get them all to one +standard of reading." + +Mr. Lindsay laughed and said-- + +"He had better read less, and try a little general oral instruction. +Perhaps they don't remember because they can't understand;"--and the +Rector coming in at that moment, the business of the evening +commenced. + +Having afterwards to cross the school for something, Bill passed the +new teacher and his class, and came to the conclusion that they did +"get on together," and very well too. The rag-tag and bob-tail shone +that night, and afterwards were loud in praises of the lesson. "It was +so clear," and "He was so patient." Indeed, patience was one great +secret of Mr. Lindsay's teaching; he waited so long for an answer that +he generally got it. His pupils were obliged to exert themselves when +there was no hope of being passed over, and everybody was waiting. +Finally, Bill's share of the arithmetic lesson converted him to Master +Arthur's friend. He _was_ a clever young gentleman, and a kind one +too. + +The lesson had been so interesting--the clever young gentleman, +standing (without his eye-glass) by the blackboard, had been so strict +and yet so entertaining, was so obviously competent, and so pleasantly +kind, that Bill, who liked arithmetic, and (like all intelligent +children) appreciated good teaching, had had no time to think of the +Yew-lane Ghost till the lesson was ended. It was not till the hymn +began (they always ended the night-school with singing), then he +remembered it. Then, while he was shouting with all his might Bishop +Ken's glorious old lines-- + + "Keep me, oh keep me, King of kings," + +he caught Mr. Lindsay's eyes fixed on him, and back came the thoughts +of his terrible fright, with a little shame too at his own timidity. +Which of us trusts as we should do in the "defence of the Most High?" + +Bill lingered as he had done the last time, and went out with the +"grown-ups." It had been raining, and the ground was wet and sludgy, +though it was fair overhead. The wind was cold, too, and Mr. Lindsay +began to cough so violently, that Bill felt rather ashamed of taking +him so far out of his way, through the damp chilly lane, and began to +wonder whether he could not summon up courage to go alone. The result +was, that with some effort he said-- + +"Please, Mr. Lindsay, Sir, I think you won't like to come so far this +cold night. I'll try and manage, if you like." + +Mr. Lindsay laid one hand on Bill's shoulder, and said quietly-- + +"No, thank you, my boy, we'll come with you, Thank you, all the same." + +"Nevertheless, Bartram," said Master Arthur, "I wish you could keep +that cough of yours quiet--it will spoil everything. A boy was eating +peppermints in the shade of his copy-book this very night. I did box +his ears; but I wish I had seized the goodies, they might have kept +you quiet." + +"Thank you," was the reply, "I abhor peppermint; but I have got some +lozenges, if that will satisfy you. And when I smell ghosts, I can +smother myself in my pocket-handkerchief." + +Master Arthur laughed boisterously. + +"We shall smell one if brimstone will do it. I hope he won't set +himself on fire, or the scenic effect will be stronger than we +bargained for." + +This was the beginning of a desultory conversation carried on at +intervals between the two young gentlemen, of which, though Bill heard +every sentence, he couldn't understand one. He made one effort to +discover what Master Arthur was alluding to, but with no satisfactory +result, as we shall see. + +"Please, Master Arthur," he said desperately, "you don't think +there'll be two ghosts, do you, Sir?" + +"I should say," said Master Arthur, so slowly and with such gravity +that Bill felt sure he was making fun of him, "I should say, Bill, +that if a place is haunted at all there is no limit to the number of +ghosts--fifty quite as likely as one. What do you say, Bartram?" + +"Quite so," said Bartram. + +Bill made no further attempts to understand the mystery. He listened, +but only grew more and more bewildered at the dark hints he heard, and +never understood what it all meant until the end came; when (as is not +uncommon) he wondered how he could have been so stupid, and why he had +not seen it all from the very first. + +They had now reached the turning-point, and as they passed into the +dark lane, where the wind was shuddering and shivering among the +trees, Bill shuddered and shivered too, and felt very glad that the +young gentlemen were with him, after all. + +Mr. Lindsay pulled out his watch. + +"Well?" said his friend. + +"Ten minutes to nine." + +Then they walked on in silence, Master Arthur with one arm through his +friend's, and the one-legged donkey under the other; and Mr. Lindsay +with his hand on Bill's shoulder. + +"I _should_ like a pipe!" said Master Arthur presently; "it's so +abominably damp." + +"What a fellow you are," said Mr. Lindsay. "Out of the question! With +the wind setting down the lane too! you talk of my cough--which is +better, by-the-bye." + +"What a fellow _you_ are!" retorted the other. "Bartram, you are the +oddest creature I know. What ever you take up, you do drive at so. Now +I have hardly got a lark afloat before I'm sick of it. I wish you'd +tell me two things--first, why are you so grave to-night? and, +secondly, what made you take up our young friend's cause so warmly?" + +"One answer will serve both questions," said Mr. Lindsay. "The truth +is, old fellow, our young friend--[and Bill felt certain that the +'young friend' was himself]--has a look of a little chap I was chum +with at school--Regy Gordon. I don't talk about it often, for I can't +very well; but he was killed--think of it, man!--_killed_ by such a +piece of bullying as this! When they found him, he was quite stiff and +speechless; he lived a few hours, but he only said two words--my name, +and amen." + +"Amen?" said Master Arthur, inquiringly. + +"Well, you see when the surgeon said it was no go, they telegraphed +for his friends; but they were a long way off, and he was sinking +rapidly; and the old Doctor was in the room, half heart-broken, and he +saw Gordon move his hands together, and he said, 'If any boy knows +what prayers Gordon minor has been used to say, let him come and say +them by him;' and I did. So I knelt by his bed and said them, the old +Doctor kneeling too and sobbing like a child; and when I had done, +Regy moved his lips and said 'Amen;' and then he said 'Lindsay!' and +smiled, and then--" + +Master Arthur squeezed his friend's arm tightly, but said nothing, and +both the young men were silent; but Bill could not restrain his tears. +It seemed the saddest story he had ever heard, and Mr. Lindsay's hand +upon his shoulder shook so intolerably whilst he was speaking, that he +had taken it away, which made Bill worse, and he fairly sobbed. + +"What are you blubbering about, young 'un?" said Mr. Lindsay. "He is +better off than any of us, and if you are a good boy you will see him +some day;" and the young gentleman put his hand back again, which was +steady now. + +"What became of the other fellow?" said Master Arthur. + +"He was taken away, of course. Sent abroad, I believe. It was hushed +up. And now you know," added Mr. Lindsay, "why my native indolence has +roused itself to get this cad taught a lesson, which many a time I +wished to GOD when wishes were too late, that that other bully had +been taught _in time_. But no one could thrash him; and no one durst +complain. However, let's change the subject, old fellow! I've got over +it long since: though sometimes I think the wish to see Regy again +helps to keep me a decent sort of fellow. But when I saw the likeness +this morning, it startled me; and then to hear the story, it seemed +like a dream--the Gordon affair over again. I suppose rustic nerves +are tougher; however, your village blackguard shan't have the chance +of committing murder if we can cure him!" + +"I believe you half wanted to undertake the cure yourself," said +Master Arthur. + +Mr. Lindsay laughed. + +"I did for a minute. Fancy your father's feelings if I had come home +with a black eye from an encounter with a pot-house bully! You know I +put my foot into a tender secret of your man's, by offering to be the +performer!" + +"How?" + +Mr. Lindsay lowered his voice, but not so that Bill could not hear +what he said, and recognize the imitation of John Gardener. + +"He said, 'I'd rather do it, if _you_ please, Sir. The fact is, I'm +partial to the young woman myself!' After that, I could but leave John +to defend his young woman's belongings." + +"Gently!" exclaimed Master Arthur. "There is the Yew Walk." + +From this moment the conversation was carried on in whispers, to +Bill's further mystification. The young gentlemen recovered their +spirits, and kept exploding in smothered chuckles of laughter. + +"Cold work for him if he's been waiting long!" whispered one. + +"Don't know. His head's under cover, remember!" said the other: and +they laughed. + +"Bet you sixpence he's been smearing his hand with brimstone for the +last half hour." + +"Don't smell him yet, though." + +"He'll be a patent aphis-destroyer in the rose-garden for months to +come." + +"Sharp work for the eyelids if it gets under the sheet." + +They were now close by the Yews, out of which the wind came with a +peculiar chill, as if it had been passing through a vault. Mr. Bartram +Lindsay stooped down, and whispered in Bill's ear. "Listen, my lad. We +can't go down the lane with you, for we want to see the ghost, but we +don't want the ghost to see us. Don't be frightened, but go just as +usual. And mind--when you see the white figure, point with your own +arm _towards the Church_, and scream as loud as you like. Can you do +this?" + +"Yes, Sir," whispered Bill. + +"Then off with you. We shall creep quietly on behind the trees; and +you shan't be hurt, I promise you." + +Bill summoned his courage, and plunged into the shadows. What could be +the meaning of Mr. Lindsay's strange orders? Should he ever have +courage to lift his arm towards the church in the face of that awful +apparition of the murdered man? And if he did, would the unquiet +spirit take the hint, and go back into the grave, which Bill knew was +at that very corner to which he must point? Left alone, his terrors +began to return; and he listened eagerly to see if, amid the +ceaseless soughing of the wind among the long yew branches, he could +hear the rustle of the young men's footsteps as they crept behind. But +he could distinguish nothing. The hish-wishing of the thin leaves was +so incessant, the wind was so dexterous and tormenting in the tricks +it played and the sounds it produced, that the whole place seemed +alive with phantom rustlings and footsteps; and Bill felt as if Master +Arthur was right, and that there was "no limit" to the number of +ghosts! + +At last he could see the end of the avenue. There among the few last +trees was the place where the ghost had appeared. There beyond lay the +white road, the churchyard corner, and the tall grey tomb-stone +glimmering in the moonlight. A few steps more, and slowly from among +the yews came the ghost as before, and raised its long white arm. Bill +determined that, if he died for it, he would do as he had been told; +and lifting his own hand he pointed towards the tomb-stone, and gave a +shout. As he pointed, the ghost turned round, and then--rising from +behind the tomb-stone, and gliding slowly to the edge of the wall, +which separated the churchyard from the lower level of the road--there +appeared a sight so awful, that Bill's shout merged into a prolonged +scream of terror. + +Truly Master Arthur's anticipations of a "scenic effect" were amply +realized. The walls and buttresses of the old Church stood out dark +against the sky; the white clouds sailed slowly by the moon, which +reflected itself on the damp grass, and shone upon the flat wet +tomb-stones till they looked like pieces of water. It was not less +bright upon the upright ones, upon quaint crosses, short headstones, +and upon the huge ungainly memorial of the murdered Ephraim Garnett. +But _the_ sight on which it shone that night was the figure now +standing by Ephraim Garnett's grave, and looking over the wall. An +awful figure, of gigantic height, with ghostly white garments clinging +round its headless body, and carrying under its left arm the head that +should have been upon its shoulders. On this there was neither flesh +nor hair. It seemed to be a bare skull, with fire gleaming through the +hollow eye-sockets and the grinning teeth. The right hand of the +figure was outstretched as if in warning; and from the palms to the +tips of the fingers was a mass of lambent flame. When Bill saw this +fearful apparition he screamed with hearty good will; but the noise he +made was nothing to the yell of terror that came from beneath the +shroud of the Yew-lane Ghost, who, on catching sight of the rival +spectre, fled wildly up the lane, kicking the white sheet off as he +went, and finally displaying, to Bill's amazement, the form and +features of Bully Tom. But this was not all. No sooner had the first +ghost started, than the second (not to be behind-hand) jumped nimbly +over the wall, and gave chase. But fear had put wings on to Bully +Tom's feet; and the second ghost being somewhat encumbered by his +costume, judged it wisdom to stop; and then taking the fiery skull in +its flaming hands, shied it with such dexterity, that it hit Bully Tom +in the middle of his back, and falling on to the wet ground, went out +with a hiss. This blow was an unexpected shock to the Bully, who +thought the ghost must have come up to him with supernatural rapidity, +and falling on his knees in the mud, began to roar most lustily: + +"Lord, have mercy upon me! I'll never do it no more!" + +Mr. Lindsay was not likely to alter his opinion on the subject of +bullies. This one, like others, was a mortal coward. Like other men, +who have no fear of GOD before their eyes, he made up for it by having +a very hearty fear of sickness, death, departed souls, and one or two +other things, which the most self-willed sinner knows well enough to +be in the hands of a Power which he cannot see, and does not wish to +believe in. Bully Tom had spoken the truth when he said that if he +thought there was a ghost in Yew-lane he wouldn't go near it. If he +had believed the stories with which he had alarmed poor Bill, the +lad's evening walk would never have been disturbed, as far as he was +concerned. Nothing but his spite against Bessy would have made him +take so much trouble to vex the peace, and stop the schooling, of her +pet brother; and as it was, the standing alone by the churchyard at +night was a position so little to his taste, that he had drunk pretty +heavily in the public-house for half an hour beforehand, to keep up +his spirits. And now he had been paid back in his own coin, and lay +grovelling in the mud, and calling profanely on the Lord, Whose mercy +such men always cry for in their trouble, if they never ask it for +their sins. He was so confused and blinded by drink and fright, that +he did not see the second ghost divest himself of his encumbrances, or +know that it was John Gardener, till that rosy-cheeked worthy, his +clenched hands still flaming with brimstone, danced round him, and +shouted scornfully, and with that vehemence of aspiration, in which he +was apt to indulge when excited: + +"Get hup, yer great cowardly booby, will yer? So you thought you was +coming hout to frighten a little lad, did ye? And you met with one of +your hown size, did ye? Now _will_ ye get hup and take it like a man, +or shall I give it you as ye lie there?" + +Bully Tom chose the least of two evils, and staggering to his feet +with an oath, rushed upon John. But in his present condition he was no +match for the active little gardener, inspired with just wrath, and +thoughts of Bessy; and he then and there received such a sound +thrashing as he had not known since he first arrogated the character +of village bully. He was roaring loudly for mercy, and John Gardener +was giving him a harmless roll in the mud by way of conclusion, when +he caught sight of the two young gentlemen in the lane--Master Arthur +in fits of laughter at the absurd position of the ex-Yew-lane Ghost +and Mr. Lindsay standing still and silent, with folded arms, set lips, +and the gold eye-glass on his nose. As soon as he saw them, he began +to shout, "Murder! help!" at the top of his voice. + +"I see myself," said Master Arthur, driving his hands contemptuously +into his pockets--"I see myself helping a great lout who came out to +frighten a child, and can neither defend his own eyes and nose, nor +take a licking with a good grace when he deserves it!" + +Bully Tom appealed to Mr. Lindsay. + +"Yah! yah!" he howled: "will you see a man killed for want of help?" + +But the clever young gentleman seemed even less inclined to give his +assistance. + +"Killed!" he said contemptuously; "I _have_ seen a lad killed on such +a night as this, by such a piece of bullying! Be thankful you have +been stopped in time! I wouldn't raise my little finger to save you +from twice such a thrashing. It has been fairly earned! Give the ghost +his shroud, Gardener, and let him go; and recommend him not to haunt +Yew-lane in future." + +John did so, with a few words of parting advice on his own account. + +"Be hoff with you," he said. "Master Lindsay, he speaks like a book. +You're a disgrace to your hage and sect, you are! I'd as soon fight +with an old charwoman. Though, bless you, young gentlemen," he added, +as Bully Tom slunk off muttering, "he _is_ the biggest blackguard in +the place; and what the Rector'll say, when he comes to know as you've +been mingled up with him, passes me." + +"He'll forgive us, I dare say," said Master Arthur. "I only wish he +could have seen you emerge from behind that stone! It was a sight for +a century! I wonder what the youngster thought of it! Hi, Willie, +here, Sir! What did you think of the second ghost?" + +Bill had some doubts as to the light in which he ought to regard that +apparition; but he decided on the simple truth. + +"I thought it looked very horrid, Sir." + +"I should hope it did! The afternoon's work of three able-bodied men +has been marvellously wasted if it didn't. However, I must say you +halloed out loud enough!" + +Bill coloured, the more so as Mr. Lindsay was looking hard at him over +the top of his spectacles. + +"Don't you feel rather ashamed of all your fright, now you've seen the +ghosts without their sheets?" inquired the clever young gentleman. + +"Yes, Sir," said Bill, hanging his head. "I shall never believe in +ghosts again, Sir, though." + +Mr. Bartram Lindsay took off his glasses, and twiddled them in his +fingers. + +"Well, well," he said in a low hurried voice; "I'm not the parson, and +I don't pretend to say what you should believe and what you shouldn't. +We know precious little as to how much the spirits of the dead see and +know of what they have left behind. But I think you may venture to +assure yourself that when a poor soul has passed the waves of this +troublesome world, by whatever means, it doesn't come back kicking +about under a white sheet in dark lanes, to frighten little boys from +going to school." + +"And that's very true, Sir," said John Gardener, admiringly. + +"So it is," said Master Arthur. "I couldn't have explained that +myself, Willie; but those are my sentiments and I beg you'll attend to +what Mr. Lindsay has told you." + +"Yes, Sir," said Bill. + +Mr. Lindsay laughed, though not quite merrily, and said-- + +"I could tell him something more, Arthur, though he's too young to +understand it: namely, that if he lives, the day will come, when he +would be only too happy if the dead might come back and hold out their +hands to us, anywhere, and for however short a time." + +The young gentleman stopped abruptly; and the gardener heaved a +sympathetic sigh. + +"I tell you what it is, Bartram," muttered Master Arthur, "I suppose +I'm too young, too, for I've had quite enough of the melancholies for +one night. As to you, you're as old as the hills; but it's time you +came home; and if I'd known before what you told me to night, old +fellow, you shouldn't have come out on this expedition. Now, for you, +Willie," added the young gentleman, whirling sharply round, "if you're +not a pattern Solomon henceforth, it won't be the fault of your +friends. And if wisdom doesn't bring you to school after this, I shall +try the argument of the one-legged donkey." + +"I don't think I shall miss next time, Sir." + +"I hope you won't. Now, John, as you've come so far, you may as well +see the lad safe home; but don't shake hands with the family in the +present state of your fists, or you might throw somebody into a fit. +Good-night!" + +Yew-lane echoed a round of "Good-nights;" and Bill and the gardener +went off in high spirits. As they crossed the road, Bill looked round, +and under the trees saw the young gentlemen strolling back to the +Rectory, arm in arm. Mr. Bartram Lindsay with his chin high in the +air, and Master Arthur vehemently exhorting him on some topic, of +which he was pointing the moral with flourishes of the one-legged +donkey. + + * * * * * + +For those who like to know "what became of" everybody, these facts are +added: + +The young gentlemen got safely home; and Master Arthur gave such a +comical account of their adventure, that the Rector laughed too much +to scold them, even if he had wished. + +Beauty Bill went up and down Yew-lane on many a moonlight night after +this one, but he never saw another ghost, or felt any more fears in +connection with Ephraim Garnett. To make matters more entirely +comfortable, however, John kindly took to the custom of walking home +with the lad after night-school was ended. In return for this +attention, Bill's family were apt to ask him in for an hour; and by +their fire-side he told the story of the two ghosts so often--from the +manufacture in the Rectory barn to the final apparition at the +cross-roads--that the whole family declare they feel just as if they +had seen it. + +Bessy, under the hands of the cheerful doctor, got quite well, and +eventually married. As her cottage boasts the finest window plants in +the village, it is shrewdly surmised that her husband is a gardener. + +Bully Tom talked very loudly for some time of "having the law of" the +rival ghost; but finding, perhaps, that the story did not redound to +his credit, was unwilling to give it further publicity, and changed +his mind. + +Winter and summer, day and night, sunshine and moonlight, have passed +over the lane and the churchyard, and the wind has had many a ghostly +howl among the yews, since poor Bill learnt the story of the murder; +but he knows now that the true Ephraim Garnett has never been seen on +the cross-roads since a hundred years ago, and will not be till the +Great Day. + +In the ditch by the side of Yew-lane shortly after the events I have +been describing, a little lad found a large turnip, in which someone +had cut eyes, nose, and mouth, and put bits of stick for teeth. The +turnip was hollow, and inside it was fixed a bit of wax candle. He +lighted it up, and the effect was so splendid, that he made a show of +it to his companions at the price of a marble each, who were well +satisfied. And this was the last of the Yew-lane Ghosts. + + + + +A BAD HABIT. + +CHAPTER I. + + "Oh, how much more doth beauty beauteous seem + By that sweet ornament which truth doth give! + The rose looks fair, but fairer we it deem + For that sweet odour which doth in it live." + + SHAKESPEARE. + + +My godmother, Lady Elizabeth, used to say, "Most things are matters of +habit. Good habits and bad habits." And she generally added, "_Your_ +bad habit, Selina, is a habit of grumbling." + +I was always accustomed to seeing great respect paid to anything my +godmother said or did. In the first place, she was what Mrs. Arthur +James Johnson called "a fine lady," and what the maids called "a real +lady." She was an old friend and, I think, a relative of my father, +who had married a little below his own rank--my mother being the +daughter of a rich manufacturer. My father had died before I can +remember things, and Joseph and I lived with our mother and her +friends. At least, we were with our mother when she could bear the +noise; and for the rest of our time, when we were tired of playing +games together, we sat with the maids. + +"That is where you learned your little _toss_ and your trick of +grumbling, my dear," my godmother said, planting her gold eye-glasses +on her high nose; "and that is why your mouth is growing out of shape, +and your forehead getting puckered, and your chin poked, and--and your +boots bulged crooked." + +"_My boots_, godmother?" + +"Your boots, my dear. No boots will keep in shape if you shake your +hips and kick with your heels like a servant out Sunday walking. When +little girls flounce on the high road, it only looks ridiculous; but +when you grow up, you'll never have a clean petticoat, or be known for +a well-bred woman behind your back, unless you learn to walk as if +your legs and your feelings were under your own control. That is why +the sergeant is coming to-morrow and every week-day morning to drill +you and Joseph from ten to eleven whilst you remain here." + +And my godmother pressed the leaves of the journal on her lap, and cut +them quite straight and very decisively with a heavy ivory +paper-knife. + +I had never been taught that it is bad manners to mutter--nurse +always talked to herself when she was "put out"--and, as I stood in +much awe of Lady Elizabeth, I did not like to complain aloud of her +arrangements. So I turned my doll with a sharp flounce in my arms, and +muttered behind her tarlatan skirts that "I did think we were to have +had whole holidays out visiting." + +I believe my godmother heard me; but she only looked at me for a +moment over the top of her gold eye-glasses, and then went on reading +the paper through them. + +After a few moments, she laid it down on her lap with her left hand, +and with her right hand took off her eye-glasses and held them between +her fingers. + +"I shall be sorry if you don't grow up nice-looking, Selina," she +said. "It's a great advantage to a woman--indeed, to anyone--to be +good-looking. Your mother was a pretty woman, too; and your father--" + +Lady Elizabeth stopped, and then, seeming suddenly to see that I was +watching her and waiting, put her glasses before her eyes again, and +continued-- + +"Your father was a very good-looking gentleman, with a fine face and a +fine figure, beautiful eyes and mouth, very attractive hands, and most +fascinating manners. It will be a pity if you don't grow up +nice-looking." + +I grew crimson, partly with mortification and partly with +astonishment. I had a strong natural desire to be pretty, but I felt +sure I had been taught somehow that it was much more meritorious not +to care about it. It certainly did not please me when (if I had +offended them) the maids said I should never be as pretty as Maud Mary +Ibbetson, my bosom friend; but when nurse took the good looking-glass +out of the nursery, and hung up the wavy one which used to be in her +room instead, to keep me from growing vain, I did not dispute her +statement that "the less little girls looked in the glass the better." +And when I went to see Maud Mary (who was the only child of rich +parents, and had a cheval-glass in her own bed-room), it was a just +satisfaction to me to feel that if she was prettier, and could see +herself full length, she was probably vainer than I. + +It was very mortifying, therefore, to find that my godmother not only +thought me plain, but gave me no credit for not minding it. I grew +redder and redder, and my eyes filled with tears. + +Lady Elizabeth was very nice in one way--she treated us with as much +courtesy and consideration as if we were grown up. People do not think +about being polite to children, but my godmother was very polite. + +"My dear child," she said, holding out her hand, "I am very sorry if I +have hurt your feelings. I beg your pardon." + +I put my hot and rather dirty little paw among her cool fingers and +diamond rings. I could not mutter to her face, but I said rather under +my sobs that "it seemed such a thing" to be blamed for not being +pretty. + +"My dear Selina, I never said anything about your being pretty. I said +I should be sorry if you did not grow up nice-looking, which is quite +another thing. It will depend on yourself whether you are nice-looking +or not." + +I began to feel comforted, but I bridled my chin in an aggrieved +manner, which I know I had caught from Mrs. Marsden, the charwoman, +when she took tea in the nursery and told long tales to nurse; and I +said I "was sure it wasn't for want of speaking to" nurse that my hair +did not wave like Maud Mary's, but that when I asked her to crimp it, +she only said, "Handsome is that handsome does, and that ought to be +enough for you, Miss Selina, without _my_ slaving to damp-plait your +hair every night." + +I repeated nurse's speech pretty volubly, and with her sharp accent +and accompanying toss. My godmother heard me out, and then she said-- + +"Nurse quoted a very good proverb, which is even truer than it is +allowed to be. Those who do well grow to look well. My little +goddaughter, that soft child's face of yours can be pinched and pulled +into a nice shape or an ugly shape, very much as you pull and pinch +that gutta-percha head I gave you, and, one way or another, it is +being shaped all along." + +"But people can't give themselves beautiful figures, and eyes, and +mouths, and hands, as you said papa had, unless they are born so," I +objected. + +"Your father's figure, my dear," said Lady Elizabeth, "was beautiful +with the grace and power which comes of training. He was a military +man, and you have only to look at a dozen common men in a marching +regiment and compare them with a dozen of the same class of men who go +on plodding to work and loafing at play in their native villages, to +see what people can do for their own figures. His eyes, Selina, were +bright with intelligence and trained powers of observation; and they +were beautiful with kindliness, and with the well-bred habit of giving +complete attention to other people and their affairs when he talked +with them. He had a rare smile, which you may not inherit, but the +real beauty of such mouths as his comes from the lips being restrained +into firm and sensitive lines, through years of self-control and fine +sympathies." + +I do not quite understand. "Do you mean that I can practise my mouth +into a nice shape?" I asked. + +"Certainly not, my dear, any more than you can pinch your nose into +shape with your finger and thumb; but your lips, and all the lines of +your face, will take shape of themselves, according to your temper and +habits. + +"There are two things," my godmother continued, after turning round to +look at me for a minute, "there are two things, Selina, against your +growing up good-looking. One is that you have caught so many little +vulgarisms from the servants; and the other is your little bad habit +of grumbling, which, for that matter, is a very ill-bred habit as +well, and would spoil the prettiest eyes, nose, mouth, and chin that +ever were inherited. Under-bred and ill-educated women are, as a +general rule, much less good-looking than well-bred and +highly-educated ones, especially in middle life; not because good +features and pretty complexions belong to one class more than to +another, but because nicer personal habits and stricter discipline of +the mind do. A girl who was never taught to brush her teeth, to +breathe through the nostrils instead of the lips, and to chew with the +back teeth instead of the front, has a very poor chance of growing up +with a pretty mouth, as anyone may see who has observed a middle-aged +woman of that class munching a meat pie at a railway-station. And if, +into the bargain, she has nothing to talk about but her own and her +neighbour's everyday affairs, and nothing to think about to keep her +from continually talking, life, my dear child, is so full of little +rubs, that constant chatter of this kind must almost certainly be +constant grumbling. And constant grumbling, Selina, makes an ugly +under-lip, a forehead wrinkled with frowning, and dull eyes that see +nothing but grievances. There is a book in the library with some +pictures of faces that I must show you. Do you draw at all, my dear?" + +"Mamma gave me a drawing-slate on my birthday," I replied, "but Joseph +bothered me to lend it to him, and now he's broken the glass. It _is_ +so tiresome! But it's always the way if you lend things." + +"What makes you think that it is always the way if you lend things?" +my godmother gently inquired. + +"It seems as if it was, I'm sure," was my answer. "It was just the +same with the fish-kettle when cook lent it to the Browns. They kept +it a fortnight, and let it rust, and the first time cook put a drop of +water into it it leaked; and she said it always _was_ the way; you +might lend everything you had, and people had no conscience, but if +it came to borrowing a pepperpot--" + +My godmother put up both her long hands with an impatient gesture. + +"That will do, my dear. I don't care to hear all that your mother's +cook said about the fish-kettle." + +I felt uncomfortable, and was glad that Lady Elizabeth went on +talking. + +"Have you and Joseph any collections? When I was your age, I remember +I made a nice collection of wafers. They were quite as pretty as +modern monograms." + +"Joseph collected feathers out of the pillows once," I said, laughing. +"He got a great many different sorts, but nurse burned them, and he +cried." + +"I'm sorry nurse burned them. I daresay they made him very happy. I +advise you to begin a collection, Selina. It is a capital cure for +discontent. Anything will do. A collection of buttons, for instance. +There are a great many kinds; and if ever some travelled friend crowns +your collection with a mandarin's button, for one day at least you +won't feel a grievance worth speaking of." + +I was feeling very much aggrieved as Lady Elizabeth spoke, and +thinking to myself that "it seemed so hard to be scolded out visiting, +and when one had not got into any scrape." But I only said that +"nobody at home ever said that I grumbled so much;" and that I "didn't +know that our servants complained more than other people's." + +"I do not suppose they do," said my godmother. "I have told you +already that I consider it a foible of ill-educated people, whose +interests are very limited, and whose feelings are not disciplined. +You know James, the butler, Selina, do you not?" + +"Oh, yes, godmamma!" + +I knew James well. He was very kind to me, and always liberal when, by +Lady Elizabeth's orders, he helped me to almonds and raisins at +dessert. + +"My mother died young," said Lady Elizabeth, "and at sixteen I was +head of my father's household. I had been well trained, and I tried to +do my duty. Amid all the details of providing for and entertaining +many people, my duty was to think of everything, and never to seem as +if I had anything on my mind. I should have been fairly trained _for a +kitchen-maid_, Selina, if I had done what I was told when it was +bawled at me, and had talked and seemed more overwhelmed with work +than the Prime Minister. Well, most of our servants had known me from +babyhood, and it was not a light matter to have the needful authority +over them without hurting the feelings of such old and faithful +friends. But, on the whole, they respected my efforts, and were proud +of my self-possession. I had more trouble with the younger ones, who +were too young to help me, and whom I was too young to overawe. I was +busy one morning writing necessary letters, when James--who was then +seventeen, and the under-footman--came to the drawing room and wished +to speak to me. When he had wasted a good deal of my time in +describing his unwillingness to disturb me, and the years his father +had lived in my father's service, I said, 'James, I have important +letters to write, and very little time to spare. If you have any +complaint to make, will you kindly put it as shortly as you can?' 'I'm +sure, my lady, I have no wish to complain,' was James's reply; and +thereon his complaints poured forth in a continuous stream. I took out +my watch (unseen by James, for I never insult people), and gave him +five minutes for his grievances. He got on pretty fast with them. He +had mentioned the stone floor of his bed-room, a draught in the pantry, +the overbearingness of the butler, the potatoes for the servants' hall +being under-boiled when the cook was out of temper, the inferior +quality of the new plate-powder, the insinuations against his father's +honesty by servants who were upstarts by comparison, his hat having +been spoilt by the rain, and that he never was so miserable in his +life--when the five minutes expired, and I said 'Then, James, you want +to go?' He coloured, and I really think tears stood in his eyes. He +was a good-hearted lad. + +"When he began to say that he could never regard any other place as he +looked on this, and that he felt towards his lordship and me as he +could feel towards no other master and mistress, I gave him another +five minutes for what he was pleased with. To do him justice, the list +was quite as long as that of his grievances. No people were like us, +and he had never been so happy in his life. So I said, 'Then, James, +you want to stay?' + +"James began a fresh statement, in which his grievances and his +satisfactions came alternately, and I cut this short by saying, 'Well, +James, the difficulty seems to be that you have not made up your mind +what you do want. I have no time to balance matters for you, so you +had better go downstairs and think it well over, and let me know what +you decide.' + +"He went accordingly, and when he was driven to think for himself by +being stopped from talking to me, I suppose he was wise enough to +perceive that it is easier to find crosses in one's lot than to feel +quite sure that one could change it for a better. I have no doubt that +he had _not_ got all he might lawfully have wished for, but, different +as our positions were, no more had I, and we both had to do our duty +and make the best of life as we found it. It's a very good thing, dear +child, to get into the habit of saying to oneself, 'One can't have +everything.' I suppose James learned to say it, for he has lived with +me ever since." + +At this moment Joseph called to me through the open window which led +into the garden-- + +"Oh, Selina! I am so sorry; but when I got to the shop I couldn't +remember whether it was a quarter of a yard of ribbon or +three-quarters that you wanted for the doll's hat." + +Joseph was always doing stupid things like this. It vexed me very +much, and I jumped up and hastily seized my doll to go out and speak +to him, saying, as I did so, that "boys were enough to drive one wild, +and one might as well ask the poodle to do anything as Joseph." And it +was not till I had flounced out of the drawing-room that I felt rather +hot and uncomfortable to remember that I had tossed my head, and +knitted my brows, and jerked my chin, and pouted my lips, and shaken +my skirts, and kicked up my heels, as I did so, and that my godmother +had probably been observing me through her gold eye-glasses. + + + + +CHAPTER II. + +"It is easier to prevent ill habits than to break them."--OLD +PROVERB. + + +I must say that Joseph _was_ rather a stupid boy. He was only a year +younger than me, but I never could make him understand exactly what I +wanted him to do when we played together; and he was always saying, +"Oh, I say, look here, Selina!" and proposing some silly plan of his +own. But he was very good-natured, and when we were alone I let him be +uncle to the dolls. When we spent the day with Maud Mary, however, we +never let him play with the baby-house; but we allowed him to be the +postman and the baker, and people of that sort, who knock and ring, +and we sent him messages. + +During the first week of our visit to Lady Elizabeth, the weather was +so fine that Joseph and I played all day long in the garden. Then it +became rainy, and we quarrelled over the old swing and the imperfect +backgammon board in the lumber-room, where we were allowed to amuse +ourselves. But one morning when we went to our play-room, after +drilling with Sergeant Walker, Joseph found a model fortress and +wooden soldiers and cannon in one corner of the room; and I found a +Dutch market, with all kinds of wooden booths, and little tables to +have tea at in another. They were presents from my godmother; and +they were far the best kind of toys we had ever had, you could do so +many things with them. + +Joseph was so happy with his soldiers that he never came near the +Dutch fair; and at other times he was always bothering to be allowed +to play with the dolls. At first I was very glad, for I was afraid he +would be coming and saying, "Oh, I say, Selina," and suggesting +things; and I wanted to arrange the shops my own way. But when they +were done, and I was taking the dolls from one booth to another to +shop, I did think it seemed very odd that Joseph should not even want +to walk through the fair. And when I gave him leave to be a +shopkeeper, and to stand in front of each booth in turn, he did not +seem at all anxious to come; and he would bring a cannon with him, and +hide it behind his back when I came to buy vegetables for the dolls' +dinners. + +We quarrelled about the cannon. I said no one ever heard of a +greengrocer with a cannon in his shop; and Joseph said it couldn't +matter if the greengrocer stood in front of the cannon so as to hide +it. So I said I wouldn't have a cannon in my fair at all; and Joseph +said he didn't want to come to my fair, for he liked his fortress much +better, and he rattled out, dragging his cannon behind him, and +knocked down Adelaide Augusta, the gutta-percha doll, who was leaning +against the fishmonger's slab, with her chin on the salmon. + +It was very hard, and I said so; and then Joseph said there were +plenty of times when I wouldn't let him play with the dolls; and I +said that was just it--when I didn't want him to he wanted, and when I +wanted him to he wouldn't, and that he was very selfish. + +So at last he put away his cannon, and came and played at shops; but +he was very stupid, and would look over his shoulder at the fortress +when he ought to have been pretending to sell; and once, when I had +left the fair, he got his cannon back and shot peas out of it, so that +all the fowls fell off the real hooks in the poulterer's shop, and +said he was bombarding the city. + +I was very angry, and said, "I shall go straight down, and complain to +godmamma," and I went. + +The worst of it was that only that very morning Lady Elizabeth had +said to me, "Remember one thing, my dear. I will listen to no +complaints whatever. No grumbles either from you or from Joseph. If +you want anything that you have not got, and will ask for it, I will +do my best for you, as my little guests; and if it is right and +reasonable, and fair to both, you shall have what you want. But you +must know your own mind when you ask, and make the best of what I can +do for you. I will hear no general complaints whatever." + +Remembering this, I felt a little nervous when I was fairly in the +drawing-room, and Lady Elizabeth had laid down her glasses to hear +what I had to say. + +"Do you want anything, my dear?" said she. + +I began to complain--that Joseph was so stupid; that it seemed so +provoking; that I did think it was very unkind of him, etc.; but Lady +Elizabeth put up her hand. + +"My dear Selina, you have forgotten what I told you. If there is +anything that an old woman like me can do to make your father's child +happy, do not be afraid to ask for it, but I will not have grumbling +in the drawing-room. By all means make up your mind as to what you +want, and don't be afraid to ask your old godmother. But if she thinks +it right to refuse, or you do not think it right to ask, you must make +the best of matters as they stand, and keep your good humour and your +good manners like a lady." + +I felt puzzled. When I complained to nurse that Joseph "was so +tiresome," she grumbled back again that "she never knew such +children," and so forth. It is always easy to meet grievance with +grievance, but I found that it was not so easy to make up my mind and +pluck up my courage to ask in so many words for what I wanted. + +"Shall I ask Joseph to put away his cannon and come and play at your +game for an hour now, my dear? I will certainly forbid him to fire +into your shop." + +This did not quite satisfy me. As a matter of fact, Joseph had left +his fortress to play with me; and I did not really think he would +discharge his cannon at the poulterer's again. But I thought myself +hardly used, and I wanted my godmother to think so too, and to scold +Joseph. What else I wanted, I did not feel quite sure. + +"I wish you would speak to Joseph," I said. "He would attend to you if +you told him how selfish and stupid he is." + +"My dear, I never offered to complain to Joseph, but I will order him +not to molest you, and I will ask him to play with you." + +"I'm sure I don't want him to play with me, unless he can play nicely, +and invent things for the dolls to say, as Maud Mary would," was my +reply; for I was getting thoroughly vexed. + +"Then I will tell him that unless he can play your game as you wish +it, he had better amuse himself with his own toys. Is there anything +else that you want, my dear?" + +I could not speak, for I was crying, but I sobbed out that "I missed +Maud Mary so." + +"Who is Maud Mary, Selina?" + +"Maud Mary Ibbetson, my particular friend--my _very_ particular +friend," I explained. + +I spoke warmly, for at that moment the memory of Maud Mary seemed +adorable, and I longed to pour my complaints into her sympathetic ear. +Besides, I had another reason for regretting that she was not with me. +When we were together, it was she, as a rule, who had new and handsome +toys to exhibit, whilst I played the humbler part of admirer. But if +she had been with me, then, what would not have been my triumph in +displaying the Dutch fair! The longer I thought of her the faster my +tears fell, but they did not help me to think of anything definite to +ask for; and when Lady Elizabeth said, "would you like to go home, my +dear? or do you want me to ask your friend to stay with you?" I had +the grace to feel ashamed of my peevishness, and to thank my godmother +for her kindness, and to protest against wanting anything more. I only +added, amid my subsiding sobs, that "it did seem such a thing," when I +had got a Dutch fair to play at dolls in, that Joseph should be so +stupid, and that dear Maud Mary, who would have enjoyed it so much, +should not be able to see it. + + + + +CHAPTER III. + + "Nous aurons aussi la fete dans notre rue."--RUSSIAN + PROVERB. + + +Next day, when our drill in the long corridor was over, Lady Elizabeth +told Joseph to bring his fortress, guns, and soldiers into the +library, and to play at the Thirty Years' War in the bay-window from a +large book with pictures of sieges and battles, which she lent him. + +To me my godmother turned very kindly and said, "I have invited your +little friend Maud to come and stay here for a week. I hope she will +arrive to-day, so you had better prepare your dolls and your shops for +company." + +Maud Mary coming! I danced for joy, and kissed my godmother, and +expressed my delight again and again. I should have liked to talk +about it to Joseph, but he had plunged into the Thirty Years' War, and +had no attention to give me. + +It was a custom in the neighbourhood where my mother lived to call +people by double Christian names, John Thomas, William Edward, and so +forth; but my godmother never called Maud Mary anything but Maud. + +It was possible that my darling friend might arrive by the twelve +o'clock train, and the carriage was sent to meet her, whilst I danced +up and down the big hall with impatience. When it came back without +her my disappointment knew no bounds. I felt sure that the Ibbetsons' +coachman had been unpunctual, or dear Maud Mary's nurse had been +cross, as usual, and had not tried to get her things packed. I rushed +into the library full of my forebodings, but my godmother only said, +"No grumbling, my dear!" and Joseph called out, "Oh, I say, Selina, I +wish you wouldn't swing the doors so: you've knocked down Wallenstein, +and he's fallen on the top of Gustavus Adolphus;" and I had to compose +myself as best I could till the five o'clock train. + +Then she came. Darling Maud Mary! + +Perhaps it was because I crushed her new feather in kissing her (and +Maud Mary was very particular about her clothes); perhaps it was +because she was tired with travelling, which I forgot; or perhaps it +was because she would rather have had tea first, that Maud Mary was +not quite so nice about the Dutch fair as I should have liked her to +be. + +She said she rather wondered that Lady Elizabeth had not given me a +big dolls' house like hers instead; that she had come away in such a +hurry that she forgot to lock hers up, and she should not be the least +surprised if the kitten got into it and broke something, but "it did +seem rather odd" to be invited in such a very hurried way; that just +when she _was_ going to a big house to pay a grand visit, of course +the dressmaker "disappointed" Mrs. Ibbetson, but "that was the way +things always did happen;" that the last time Mr. Ibbetson was in +Paris he offered to bring her a dolls' railway train, with real +first-class carriages really stuffed, but she said she would rather +have a locket, and that was the very one which was hanging round her +neck, and which was much handsomer than Lucy Jane Smith's, which cost +five pounds in London. + +Maud Mary's inattention to the fair and the dolls was so obvious that +I followed my godmother's advice, and "made the best of it" by saying, +"I'm afraid you're very much tired, darling?" + +Maud Mary tossed her chin and frowned. + +It was "enough to tire anybody," she said, to travel on that +particular line. The railway of which her papa was a director was very +differently managed. + +I think my godmother's courtesy to us, and her thoughtful kindness, +had fixed her repeated hints about self-control and good manners +rather firmly in my head. I distinctly remember making an effort to +forget my toys and think of Maud Mary's comfort. + +I said, "Will you come and take off your things, darling?" and she +said, "Yes, darling;" and then we had tea. + +But next day, when she was quite rested, and had really nothing to +complain of, I did think she might have praised the Dutch fair. + +She said it "seemed such a funny thing" to have to play in an old +garret; but she need not have wanted to alter the arrangement of all +the shops, and have everything her own way, as she always had at home, +because, if her dolls' house was hers, my Dutch fair was mine. I did +think, for a moment, of getting my godmother to speak to her, but I +knew it would be of no use to complain unless I had something to ask +for. When I came to think of it, I found that what I wanted was that +Maud Mary should let me manage my own toys and direct the game, and I +resolved to ask her myself. + +"Look here, darling," said I, "when I come and play with you, I always +play dolls as you like, because the dolls' house is yours; I wish you +would play my game to-day, as the Dutch fair is mine." + +Maud Mary flounced to her feet, and bridled with her wavy head, and +said she was sure she did not want to play if I didn't like her way of +playing; and as to my Dutch fair, her papa could buy her one any day +for her very own. + +I was nettled, for Maud Mary was a little apt to flourish Mr. +Ibbetson's money in my face; but if her father was rich, my godmother +was a lady of rank, and I said that "my godmother, Lady Elizabeth, +said it was very vulgar to flounce and toss one's head if one was put +out." + +Maud Mary crimsoned, and, exclaiming that she did not care what Lady +Elizabeth or Lady Anybody Else said, she whisked over three shops with +the ends of her sash, and kicked the wax off Josephine Esmeralda's +nose with the heel of her Balmoral boot. + +I don't like confessing it, but I did push Maud Mary, and Maud Mary +slapped me. + +And when we both looked up, my godmother was standing before us, with +her gold spectacles on her nose. + + * * * * * + +Lady Elizabeth was very kind, and even then I knew that she was very +right. + +When she said, "I have asked your friend for a week, and for that +week, my dear, she is your guest, and you must try to please, and +_make the best of it_," I not only did not dispute it; I felt a spirit +of self-suppression and hospitable pride awake within me to do as she +had said. + +I think the hardest part of it was that, whatever I did and whatever I +gave up, Maud Mary recognized no effort on my part. What she got she +took as her due, and what she did not get she grumbled about. + +I sometimes think that it was partly because, in all that long week, +she never ceased grumbling, that I did; I hope for life. + +Only once I said, "O godmamma! how glad I shall be when I am alone +with Joseph again!" And with sudden remorse, I added, "But I beg your +pardon, that's grumbling; and you _have_ been so kind!" + +Lady Elizabeth took off her eye-glasses, and held out her hands for +mine. + +"Is it grumbling, little woman?" she said. "Well, I'm not sure." + +"_I'm_ not sure," I said, smiling; "for you know I only said I should +be so _glad_ to be alone with Joseph, and to try to be good to him; +for he is a very kind boy, and if he is a little awkward with the +dolls, I mean to make the best of it. _One can't have everything_," I +added, laughing. + +Lady Elizabeth drew my head towards her, and stroked and kissed it. + +"GOD bless you, child," she said. "You _have_ inherited your +father's smile." + + * * * * * + +"But, I say, Selina," whispered Joseph, when I went to look at his +fortress in the bay-window. "Do you suppose it's because he's dead +that she cried behind her spectacles when she said you had got his +smile?" + + + + +A HAPPY FAMILY. + +CHAPTER I. + + "If solid happiness we prize, + Within our breast this jewel lies. + + * * * * * + + From our own selves our joys must flow, + And peace begins at home." + + COTTON. + + +The family--our family, not the Happy Family--consisted of me and my +brothers and sisters. I have a father and mother, of course. + +I am the eldest, as I remind my brothers; and of the more worthy +gender, which my sisters sometimes forget. Though we live in the +village, my father is a gentleman, as I shall be when I am grown up. I +have told the village boys so more than once. One feels mean in +boasting that one is better born than they are; but if I did not tell +them, I am not sure that they would always know. + +Our house is old, and we have a ghost--the ghost of my +great-great-great-great-great-aunt. + +She "crossed her father's will," nurse says, and he threatened to flog +her with his dog-whip, and she ran away, and was never heard of more. +He would not let the pond be dragged, but he never went near it again; +and the villagers do not like to go near it now. They say you may meet +her there, after sunset, flying along the path among the trees, with +her hair half down, and a knot of ribbon fluttering from it, and +parted lips, and terror in her eyes. + +The men of our family (my father's family, my mother is Irish) have +always had strong wills. I have a strong will myself. + +People say I am like the picture of my great-grandfather (the +great-great-great-nephew of the ghost). He must have been a wonderful +old gentleman by all accounts. Sometimes nurse says to us, "Have your +own way, and you'll live the longer," and it always makes me think of +great-grandfather, who had so much of his own way, and lived to be +nearly a hundred. + +I remember my father telling us how his sisters had to visit their old +granny for months at a time, and how he shut the shutters at three +o'clock on summer afternoons, and made them play dummy whist by candle +light. + +"Didn't you and your brothers go?" asked Uncle Patrick, across the +dinner-table. My father laughed. + +"Not we! My mother got us there once--but never again." + +"And did your sisters like it?" + +"Like it? They used to cry their hearts out. I really believe it +killed poor Jane. She was consumptive and chilly, but always craving +for fresh air; and granny never would have open windows, for fear of +draughts on his bald head; and yet the girls had no fires in their +room, because young people shouldn't be pampered." + +"And ye never-r offer-r-ed--neither of ye--to go in the stead of +them?" + +When Uncle Patrick rolls his R's in a discussion, my mother becomes +nervous. + +"One can't expect boys to consider things," she said. "Boys will be +boys, you know." + +"And what would you have 'em be?" said my father. Uncle Patrick turned +to my mother. + +"Too true, Geraldine. Ye don't expect it. Worse luck! I assure ye, I'd +be aghast at the brutes we men can be, if I wasn't more amazed that +we're as good as we are, when the best and gentlest of your sex--the +moulders of our childhood, the desire of our manhood--demand so little +for all that you alone can give. There were conceivable uses in women +preferring the biggest brutes of barbarous times, but it's not so now; +and boys will be civilised boys, and men will be civilised men, sweet +sister, when you _do_ expect it, and when your grace and favours are +the rewards of nobleness, and not the easy prize of selfishness and +savagery." + +My father spoke fairly. + +"There's some truth in what you say, Pat." + +"And small grace in my saying it. Forgive me, John." + +That's the way Uncle Patrick flares up and cools down, like a straw +bonfire. But my father makes allowances for him; first, because he is +an Irishman, and, secondly, because he's a cripple. + + * * * * * + +I love my mother dearly, and I can do anything I like with her. I +always could. When I was a baby, I would not go to sleep unless she +walked about with me, so (though walking was bad for her) I got my own +way, and had it afterwards. + +With one exception. She would never tell me about my godfather. I +asked once, and she was so distressed that I was glad to promise never +to speak of him again. But I only thought of him the more, though all +I knew about him was his portrait--such a fine fellow--and that he +had the same swaggering, ridiculous name as mine. + +How my father allowed me to be christened Bayard I cannot imagine. But +I was rather proud of it at one time--in the days when I wore long +curls, and was so accustomed to hearing myself called "a perfect +picture," and to having my little sayings quoted by my mother and her +friends, that it made me miserable if grown-up people took the liberty +of attending to anything but me. I remember wriggling myself off my +mother's knee when I wanted change, and how she gave me her watch to +keep me quiet, and stroked my curls, and called me her fair-haired +knight, and her little Bayard; though, remembering also, how +lingeringly I used just not to do her bidding, ate the sugar when she +wasn't looking, tried to bawl myself into fits, kicked the +nurse-girl's shins, and dared not go upstairs by myself after dark--I +must confess that a young chimpanzee would have as good claims as I +had to represent that model of self-conquest and true chivalry, "the +Knight without fear and without reproach." + +However, the vanity of it did not last long. I wonder if that +grand-faced godfather of mine suffered as I suffered when he went to +school and said his name was Bayard? I owe a day in harvest to the +young wag who turned it into Backyard. I gave in my name as Backyard +to every subsequent inquirer, and Backyard I modestly remained. + + + + +CHAPTER II. + + "The lady with the gay macaw." + +LONGFELLOW. + + +My sisters are much like other fellows' sisters, excepting Lettice. +That child is like no one but herself. + +I used to tease the other girls for fun, but I teased Lettice on +principle--to knock the nonsense out of her. She was only eight, and +very small, but, from the top row of her tight little curls to the +rosettes on her best shoes, she seemed to me a mass of affectation. + +Strangers always liked Lettice. I believe she was born with a company +voice in her mouth; and she would flit like a butterfly from one +grown-up person to another, chit-chattering, whilst some of us stood +pounding our knuckles in our pockets, and tying our legs into knots, +as we wished the drawing-room carpet would open and let us through +into the cellar to play at catacombs. + +That was how Cocky came. Lettice's airs and graces bewitched the old +lady who called in the yellow chariot, and was so like a cockatoo +herself--a cockatoo in a citron velvet bonnet, with a bird of Paradise +feather. When that old lady put up her eye-glass, she would have +frightened a yard-dog; but Lettice stood on tip-toes and stroked the +feather, saying, "What a love-e-ly bird!" And next day came +Cocky--perch and all complete--_for the little girl who loves birds_. +Lettice was proud of Cocky, but Edward really loved him, and took +trouble with him. + +Edward is a good boy. My mother called him after the Black Prince. + +He and I disgraced ourselves in the eyes of the Cockatoo lady, and it +cost the family thirty thousand pounds, which we can ill afford to +lose. It was unlucky that she came to luncheon the very day that +Edward and I had settled to dress up as Early Britons, in blue woad, +and dine off earth-nuts in the shrubbery. As we slipped out at the +side door, the yellow chariot drove up to the front. We had doormats +on, as well as powder-blue, but the old lady was terribly shocked, and +drove straight away, and did not return. Nurse says she is my father's +godmother, and has thirty thousand pounds, which she would have +bequeathed to us if we had not offended her. I take the blame +entirely, because I always made the others play as I pleased. + +We used to play at all kinds of things--concerts, circuses, +theatricals, and sometimes conjuring. Uncle Patrick had not been to +see us for a long time, when one day we heard that he was coming, and +I made up my mind at once that I would have a perfectly new +entertainment for him. + +We like having entertainments for Uncle Patrick, because he is such a +very good audience. He laughs, and cries, and claps, and thumps with +his crutch, and if things go badly, he amuses the rest. + +Ever since I can remember anything, I remember an old print, called +"The Happy Family," over our nursery fire-place, and how I used to +wonder at that immovable cat, with sparrows on her back, sitting +between an owl and a magpie. And it was when I saw Edward sitting with +Benjamin the cat, and two sparrows he had brought up by hand, +struggling and laughing because Cocky would push itself, crest first, +under his waistcoat, and come out at the top to kiss him--that an idea +struck me; and I resolved to have a Happy Family for Uncle Patrick, +and to act Showman myself. + +Edward can do anything with beasts. He was absolutely necessary as +confederate, but it was possible Lettice might want to show off with +Cocky, and I did not want a girl on the stage, so I said very little +to her. But I told Edward to have in the yard-dog, and practise him in +being happy with the rest of the family pets. Fred, the farm-boy, +promised to look out for an owl. Benjamin, the cat, could have got +mice enough; but he would have eaten them before Edward had had time +to teach him better, so I set a trap. I knew a village-boy with a +magpie, ready tamed. + +Bernard, the yard-dog, is a lumbering old fellow, with no tricks. We +have tried. We took him out once, into a snow-drift, with a lantern +round his neck, but he rescued nothing, and lost the lantern--and then +he lost himself, for it was dark. + +But he is very handsome and good, and I knew, if I put him in the +middle, he would let anything sit upon him. He would not feel it, or +mind if he did. He takes no notice of Cocky. + +Benjamin never quarrels with Cocky, but he dare not forget that Cocky +is there. And Cocky sometimes looks at Benjamin's yellow eyes as if it +were thinking how very easily they would come out. But they are quite +sufficiently happy together for a Happy Family. + +The mice gave more trouble than all the rest, so I settled that +Lettice should wind up the mechanical mouse, and run that on as the +curtain rose. + + + + +CHAPTER III. + + "Memor esto majorum." + +OLD MOTTO. + + " . . . . + + All my fears are laid aside, + If I but remember only + Such as these have lived and died!" + +LONGFELLOW. + + +Do you wish to avoid vexations? Then never have a Happy Family! Mine +were countless. + +Fred could not get me an owl. Lettice _did_ want to show off with +Cocky. I had my own way, but she looked sulky and spiteful. I got Tom +Smith's magpie; but I had to have him, too. However, my costume as +Showman was gorgeous, and Edward kept our Happy Family well together. +We arranged that Tom should put Mag on at the left wing, and then run +round behind, and call Mag softly from the right. Then she would hop +across the stage to him, and show off well. Lettice was to let mother +know when the spectators might take their places, and to tell the +gardener when to raise the curtain. + +I really think one magpie must be "a sign of sorrow," as nurse says; +but what made Bernard take it into his beautiful foolish head to give +trouble I cannot imagine. He wouldn't lie down, and when he did, it +was with a _grump_ of protest that seemed to forbode failure. However, +he let Cocky scold him and pull his hair, which was a safety-valve for +Cocky. Benjamin dozed with dignity. He knew Cocky wasn't watching for +his yellow eyes. + +I don't think Lettice meant mischief when she summoned the spectators, +for time was up. But her warning the curtain to rise when it did was +simple malice and revenge. + +I never can forget the catastrophe, but I do not clearly remember how +Tom Smith and I _began_ to quarrel. He was excessively impudent, and +seemed to think we couldn't have had a Happy Family without him and +his chattering senseless magpie. + +When I told him to remember he was speaking to a gentleman, he grinned +at me. + +"A gentleman? Nay, my sakes! Ye're not civil enough by half. More like +a new policeman, if ye weren't such a Guy Fawkes in that finery." + +"Be off," said I, "and take your bird with you." + +"What if I won't go?" + +"I'll make you!" + +"Ye darsen't touch me." + +"Daren't I?" + +"Ye darsen't." + +"I dare." + +"Try." + +"_Are_ you going?" + +"Noa." + +I only pushed him. He struck first. He's bigger than me, but he's a +bigger coward, and I'd got him down in the middle of the stage, and +had given him something to bawl about, before I became conscious that +the curtain was up. I only realised it then, because civil, stupid +Fred, arrived at the left wing, panting and gasping-- + +"Measter Bayard! Here's a young wood-owl for ye." + +As he spoke, it escaped him, fluff and feathers flying in the effort, +and squawking, plunging, and fluttering, made wildly for the darkest +corner of the stage, just as Lettice ran on the mechanical mouse in +front. + +Bernard rose, and shook off everything, and Cocky went into screaming +hysterics; above which I now heard the thud of Uncle Patrick's crutch, +and the peals upon peals of laughter with which our audience greeted +my long-planned spectacle of a Happy Family! + + * * * * * + +Our Irish uncle is not always nice. He teases and mocks, and has an +uncertain temper. But one goes to him in trouble. I went next morning +to pour out my woes, and defend myself, and complain of the others. + +I spoke seriously about Lettice. It is not pleasant for a fellow to +have a sister who grows up peculiar, as I believe Lettice will. Only +the Sunday before, I told her she would be just the sort of woman men +hate, and she said she didn't care; and I said she ought to, for women +were made for men, and the Bible says so; and she said grandmamma said +that every soul was made for GOD and its own final good. She +was in a high-falutin mood, and said she wished she had been +christened Joan instead of Lettice, and that I would be a true Bayard; +and that we could ride about the world together, dressed in armour, +and fighting for the right. And she would say all through the list of +her favourite heroines, and asked me if I minded _their_ being +peculiar, and I said of course not, why should you mind what women do +who don't belong to you? So she said she could not see that; and I +said that was because girls can't see reason; and so we quarrelled, +and I gave her a regular lecture, which I repeated to Uncle Patrick. + +He listened quite quietly till my mother came in, and got fidgetty, +and told me not to argue with my uncle. Then he said-- + +"Ah! let the boy talk, Geraldine, and let me hear what he has to say +for himself. There's a sublime audacity about his notions, I tell ye. +Upon me conscience, I believe he thinks his grandmother was created +for his particular convenience." + +That's how he mocks, and I suppose he meant my Irish grandmother. He +thinks there's nobody like her in the wide world, and my father says +she is the handsomest and wittiest old lady in the British Isles. But +I did not mind. I said, + +"Well, Uncle Patrick, you're a man, and I believe you agree with me, +though you mock me." + +"Agree with ye?" He started up, and pegged about the room. "Faith! if +the life we live is like the globe we inhabit--if it revolves on its +own axis, _and you're that axis_--there's not a flaw in your +philosophy; but IF--Now perish my impetuosity! I've frightened your +dear mother away. May I ask, by the bye, if _she_ has the good fortune +to please ye, since the Maker of all souls made her, for all eternity, +with the particular object of mothering you in this brief patch of +time?" + +He had stopped under the portrait--my godfather's portrait. All his +Irish rhodomontade went straight out of my head, and I ran to him. + +"Uncle, you know I adore her! But there's one thing she won't do, and, +oh, I wish you would! It's years since she told me never to ask, and +I've been on honour, and I've never even asked nurse; but I don't +think it's wrong to ask you. Who is that man behind you, who looks +such a wonderfully fine fellow? My Godfather Bayard." + +I had experienced a shock the night before, but nothing to the shock +of seeing Uncle Patrick's face then, and hearing him sob out his +words, instead of their flowing like a stream. + +"Is it possible? Ye don't know? She can't speak of him yet? Poor +Geraldine!" + +He controlled himself, and turned to the picture, leaning on his +crutch. I stood by him and gazed too, and I do not think, to save my +life, I could have helped asking-- + +"Who is he?" + +"Your uncle. Our only brother. Oh, Bayard, Bayard!" + +"Is he dead?" + +He nodded, speechless; but somehow I could not forbear. + +"What did he die of?" + +"Of unselfishness. He died--for others." + +"Then he _was_ a hero? That's what he looks like. I am glad he is my +godfather. Dear Uncle Pat, do tell me all about it." + +"Not now--hereafter. Nephew, any man--with the heart of man and not +of a mouse--is more likely than not to behave well at a pinch; but no +man who is habitually selfish can be _sure_ that he will, when the +choice comes sharp between his own life and the lives of others. The +impulse of a supreme moment only focusses the habits and customs of a +man's soul. The supreme moment may never come, but habits and customs +mould us from the cradle to the grave. His were early disciplined by +our dear mother, and he bettered her teaching. Strong for the weak, +wise for the foolish--tender for the hard--gracious for the +surly--good for the evil. Oh, my brother, without fear and without +reproach! Speak across the grave, and tell your sister's son that vice +and cowardice become alike impossible to a man who has never--cradled +in selfishness, and made callous by custom--learned to pamper himself +at the expense of others!" + +I waited a little before I asked-- + +"Were you with him when he died?" + +"I was." + +"Poor Uncle Patrick! What _did_ you do?" + +He pegged away to the sofa, and threw himself on it. + +"Played the fool. Broke an arm and a thigh, and damaged my spine, +and--_lived_. Here rest the mortal remains." + +And for the next ten minutes, he mocked himself, as he only can. + + * * * * * + +One does not like to be outdone by an uncle, even by such an uncle; +but it is not very easy to learn to live like Godfather Bayard. + +Sometimes I wish my grandmother had not brought up her sons to such a +very high pitch, and sometimes I wish my mother had let that unlucky +name become extinct in the family, or that I might adopt my nickname. +One could live up to _Backyard_ easily enough. It seems to suit being +grumpy and tyrannical, and seeing no further than one's own nose, so +well. + +But I do try to learn unselfishness; though I sometimes think it would +be quite as easy for the owl to learn to respect the independence of a +mouse, or a cat to be forbearing with a sparrow! + +I certainly get on better with the others than I used to do; and I +have some hopes that even my father's godmother is not finally +estranged through my fault. + +Uncle Patrick went to call on her whilst he was with us. She is very +fond of "that amusing Irishman with the crutch," as she calls him; and +my father says he'll swear Uncle Patrick entertained her mightily +with my unlucky entertainment, and that she was as pleased as Punch +that her cockatoo was in the thick of it. + +I am afraid it is too true; and the idea made me so hot, that if I had +known she was really coming to call on us again, I should certainly +have kept out of the way. But when Uncle Patrick said, "If the yellow +chariot rolls this way again, Bayard, ye need not be pursuing these +archaeological revivals of yours in a too early English costume," I +thought it was only his chaff. But she did come. + +I was pegging out the new gardens for the little ones. We were all +there, and when she turned her eye over us (just like a cockatoo), and +said, in a company voice-- + + "What a happy little family!" + +I could hardly keep my countenance, and I heard Edward choking in +Benjamin's fur, where he had hidden his face. + +But Lettice never moved a muscle. She clasped her hands, and put her +head on one side, and said--in _her_ company voice--"But you know +brother Bayard _is_ so good to us now, and _that_ is why we are such A +HAPPY FAMILY." + + * * * * * + + +_The present Series of Mrs. Ewing's Works is the only authorized, +complete, and uniform Edition published._ + +_It will consist of 18 volumes, Small Crown 8vo, at 2s. 6d. per vol., +issued, as far as possible, in chronological order, and these will +appear at the rate of two volumes every two months, so that the Series +will be completed within 18 months. The device of the cover was +specially designed by a Friend of Mrs. Ewing._ + +_The following is a list of the books included in the Series--_ + + +1. MELCHIOR'S DREAM, AND OTHER TALES. + +2. MRS. OVERTHEWAY'S REMEMBRANCES. + +3. OLD-FASHIONED FAIRY-TALES. + +4. A FLAT-IRON FOR A FARTHING. + +5. THE BROWNIES, AND OTHER TALES. + +6. SIX TO SIXTEEN. + +7. LOB-LIE-BY-THE-FIRE, AND OTHER TALES. + +8. JAN OF THE WINDMILL. + +9. VERSES FOR CHILDREN, AND SONGS. + +10. THE PEACE EGG--A CHRISTMAS MUMMING PLAY--HINTS FOR PRIVATE +THEATRICALS, &c. + +11. A GREAT EMERGENCY, AND OTHER TALES. + +12. BROTHERS OF PITY, AND OTHER TALES OF BEASTS AND MEN. + +13. WE AND THE WORLD, Part I + +14. WE AND THE WORLD, Part II. + +15. JACKANAPES--DADDY DARWIN'S DOVECOTE--THE STORY OF A SHORT LIFE. + +16. MARY'S MEADOW, AND OTHER TALES OF FIELDS AND FLOWERS. + +17. MISCELLANEA, including The Mystery of the Bloody Hand--Wonder +Stories--Tales of the Khoja, and other translations. + +18. JULIANA HORATIA EWING AND HER BOOKS, with a selection from Mrs. +Ewing's Letters. + + * * * * * + +S.P.C.K., NORTHUMBERLAND AVENUE, LONDON, W.C. + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Melchior's Dream and Other Tales +by Juliana Horatia Ewing + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK MELCHIOR'S DREAM AND OTHER TALES *** + +***** This file should be named 16540.txt or 16540.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + https://www.gutenberg.org/1/6/5/4/16540/ + +Produced by Juliet Sutherland, Sankar Viswanathan and the +Online Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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