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- The Project Gutenberg eBook of Amaryllis at the Fair, by Richard Jefferies.
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-<body>
-<div>*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 30087 ***</div>
-
-<div class="figcenter" style="width: 319px;">
-<img src="images/cover.jpg" width="319" height="500" alt="Cover" title="" />
-</div><hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_ii" id="Page_ii">[ii]</a></span></p>
-
-
-<div class="figcenter" style="width: 300px;">
-<img src="images/title-a.png" width="300" height="47" alt="decoration" title="" />
-</div>
-<h1>AMARYLLIS AT THE FAIR</h1>
-<div class="figcenter" style="width: 100px;">
-<img src="images/title-b.png" width="100" height="31" alt="decoration" title="" />
-</div>
-<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_iii" id="Page_iii">[iii]</a></span></p>
-
-
-<h2>THE READERS' LIBRARY</h2>
-
-
-<div class='center'><i>Uniform with this Volume</i><br /><br /></div>
-
-
-
-<div class='center'>
-<table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" summary="Reader's Library">
-<tr><td align='center'><br /><span class="smcap">Belloc, H.</span></td></tr>
-<tr><td align='left'>AVRIL. Essays on the Poetry of the French Renaissance</td></tr>
-<tr><td align='center'><br /><span class="smcap">Birrell, Augustine</span></td></tr>
-<tr><td align='left'>ORBITER DICTA</td></tr>
-<tr><td align='center'><br /><span class="smcap">Bourne, George</span></td></tr>
-<tr><td align='left'>MEMOIRS OF A SURREY LABOURER</td></tr>
-<tr><td align='center'><br /><span class="smcap">Brooks, Stopford A.</span></td></tr>
-<tr><td align='left'>STUDIES IN POETRY. Essays on Blake, Scott, Shelley, Keats, etc.</td></tr>
-<tr><td align='center'><br /><span class="smcap">Everett, W.</span></td></tr>
-<tr><td align='left'>ITALIAN POETS SINCE DANTE</td></tr>
-<tr><td align='center'><br /><span class="smcap">Galsworthy, John</span></td></tr>
-<tr><td align='left'>A COMMENTARY</td></tr>
-<tr><td align='center'><br /><span class="smcap">Hudson, W. H.</span></td></tr>
-<tr><td align='left'>GREEN MANSIONS. A Romance of the Tropical Forest</td></tr>
-<tr><td align='left'>THE PURPLE LAND. Descriptive Romance</td></tr>
-<tr><td align='center'><br /><span class="smcap">Jefferies, Richard</span></td></tr>
-<tr><td align='left'>AMARYLLIS AT THE FAIR</td></tr>
-<tr><td align='left'>BEVIS. The Story of a Boy</td></tr>
-<tr><td align='left'>AFTER LONDON</td></tr>
-<tr><td align='center'><br /><span class="smcap">McCabe, Joseph</span></td></tr>
-<tr><td align='left'>ST. AUGUSTINE AND HIS AGE</td></tr>
-<tr><td align='center'><br /><span class="smcap">Nevinson, H. W.</span></td></tr>
-<tr><td align='left'>ESSAYS IN FREEDOM</td></tr>
-<tr><td align='center'><br /><span class="smcap">Stephen, Sir Leslie</span></td></tr>
-<tr><td align='left'>ENGLISH LITERATURE AND SOCIETY</td></tr>
-<tr><td align='left'>IN THE EIGHTEENTH CENTURY</td></tr>
-<tr><td align='left'>STUDIES OF A BIOGRAPHER. First Series. Two Volumes</td></tr>
-<tr><td align='left'>STUDIES OF A BIOGRAPHER. Second Series. Two Volumes</td></tr>
-<tr><td align='center'><br /><span class="smcap">Witte, Dr. Carl</span></td></tr>
-<tr><td align='left'>ESSAYS ON DANTE</td></tr>
-<tr><td align='center'><br /><span class="smcap">Roosevelt, Theodore</span></td></tr>
-<tr><td align='left'>THE STRENUOUS LIFE. Essays and Addresses</td></tr>
-<tr><td align='center'><br /><span class="smcap">Eckenstein, Lina</span></td></tr>
-<tr><td align='left'><div class='hang1'>COMPARATIVE STUDIES IN NURSERY RHYMES: Essays<br />in a Branch of Folklore</div></td></tr>
-<tr><td align='center'><br /><span class="smcap">Cunninghame Graham, R. B.</span></td></tr>
-<tr><td align='left'>PROGRESS, and other Sketches</td></tr>
-</table></div>
-<div class='center'><br /><i>Additional Volumes will be announced from time to time</i></div>
-
-<hr style="width: 65%;" />
-<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_iv" id="Page_iv">[iv]</a></span></p>
-
-
-
-
-
-<h1>AMARYLLIS AT THE FAIR</h1>
-
-<h3>BY</h3>
-
-<h2>RICHARD JEFFERIES</h2>
-
-<div class='center'><small>AUTHOR OF "THE GAMEKEEPER AT HOME," "AFTER LONDON,"
-"WOOD MAGIC; A FABLE," "BEVIS," ETC.</small></div>
-
-<div class='poem'><br /><br /><br />
-"Our day is but a finger: bring large cups."<br />
-
-
-<div class='sig'>
-<span class="smcap">Alcæus</span>.<br /><br /><br /><br />
-</div></div>
-
-<div class="figcenter" style="width: 187px;">
-<img src="images/logo.png" width="187" height="200" alt="Emblem" title="" />
-</div>
-
-<div class='center'><br /><br /><br />
-LONDON<br />
-DUCKWORTH AND CO.<br />
-<span class="smcap">3, Henrietta Street, Covent Garden, W.C.</span><br />
-</div>
-<hr style="width: 65%;" />
-<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_v" id="Page_v">[v]</a></span></p>
-
-
-<div class='unindent'>
-<span style="margin-left: 12em;">Reissued 1904</span><br />
-<br />
-<span style="margin-left: 12em;">Reprinted in Readers Library 1911</span><br />
-<br /><br /><br /><br /></div><div class='copyright'>
-<i>All rights reserved</i><br /></div>
-
-
-<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_vi" id="Page_vi">[vi]</a></span></p>
-
-
-<div class='center'>
-<b>Dedicated</b><br />
-<br />
-TO<br />
-<br />
-CHARLES PRESTWICH SCOTT.<br /></div>
-
-
-
-<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_vii" id="Page_vii">[vii]</a></span></p>
-
-<div class="figcenter" style="width: 500px;">
-<img src="images/i-029.png" width="500" height="88" alt="Decoration" title="" />
-</div>
-
-
-
-
-<h2>INTRODUCTION.<a name="FNanchor_1_1" id="FNanchor_1_1"></a><a href="#Footnote_1_1" class="fnanchor">[1]</a></h2>
-
-
-<div class="figleft" style="width: 146px;">
-<img src="images/t-quote.png" width="146" height="120" alt=""T" title=""T" />
-</div><div class='unindent'>HE book is not a novel" is a phrase
-often in the mouth of critics, who on
-second thoughts might, perhaps, add
-with less emphasis, "It does not conform
-to the common type of novel." Fortified, however,
-with that sense of rectitude that dictates conformity
-to our neighbours and a safe acquiescence
-in the mysterious movements of public taste, the
-critics have exclaimed with touching unanimity—"What
-a pity Jefferies tried to write novels! Why
-didn't he stick to essays in natural history!"</div>
-
-<p>What a pity Jefferies should have given us
-"Amaryllis at the Fair," and "After London"!—this
-opinion has been propagated with such fervency
-that it seems almost a pity to disturb it by inquiring
-into the nature of these his achievements. Certainly
-the critics, and their critical echoes, are united. "He
-wrote some later novels of indifferent merit," says
-a critic in "Chambers' Encyclopædia." "Has anyone
-ever been able to write with free and genuine<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_viii" id="Page_viii">[viii]</a></span>
-appreciation of even the later novels?" asks or
-echoes a lady, Miss Grace Toplis, writing on Jefferies.
-"In brief, he was an essayist and not a novelist at
-all," says Mr. Henry Salt. "It is therefore certain
-that his importance for posterity will dwindle, if it
-has not already dwindled, to that given by a bundle
-of descriptive selections. But these will occupy a
-foremost place on their particular shelf, the shelf at
-the head of which stands Gilbert White and Gray,"
-says Mr. George Saintsbury. "He was a reporter
-of genius, and he never got beyond reporting. Mr.
-Besant has the vitalising imagination which Jefferies
-lacked," says Mr. Henley in his review of Walter
-Besant's "Eulogy of Richard Jefferies"; and again,
-"They are not novels as he (Walter Besant) admits,
-they are a series of pictures. . . . That is the way
-he takes Jefferies at Jefferies' worst." Yes, it is very
-touching this unanimity, and it is therefore a pleasure
-for this critic to say that in his <ins title="Transcriber's Note: original reads 'judgement'">judgment</ins> "Amaryllis
-at the Fair" is one of the very few later-day novels
-of English country life that are worth putting on
-one's shelf, and that to make room for it he would
-turn out certain highly-praised novels by Hardy
-which do not ring quite true, novels which the critics
-and the public, again with touching unanimity, have
-voted to be of high rank. But what is a novel? the
-reader may ask. A novel, says the learned Charles
-Annandale, is "a fictitious prose narrative, involving
-some plot of greater or less intricacy, and professing
-to give a picture of real life, generally exhibiting
-the passions and sentiments, in a state of<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_ix" id="Page_ix">[ix]</a></span>
-great activity, and especially the passion of love."
-Well, "Amaryllis at the Fair" is a fictitious prose
-narrative professing to give a picture of real life,
-and involving a plot of little intricacy. Certainly it
-exhibits the passions and sentiments in a state of
-great activity. But Mr. Henry Salt, whose little
-book on Jefferies is the best yet published, further
-remarks: "Jefferies was quite unable to give any
-vivid dramatic life to his stories . . . his instinct
-was that of the naturalist who observes and moralizes
-rather than that of the novelist who penetrates and
-interprets; and consequently his rustic characters,
-though strongly and clearly drawn, do not live, as,
-for example, those of Thomas Hardy live. . . . Men
-and animals are alike mere figures in his landscapes."</p>
-
-<hr style="width: 45%;" />
-
-<p>So far the critics. Jefferies being justly held to
-be "no ordinary novelist," it is inferred by most
-that something is wrong with "Amaryllis the Fair,"
-and the book has been passed over in silence. But we
-do not judge every novel by the same test. We do
-not judge "Tristram Shandy," for example, by its
-intricate plot, or by its "vivid drama," we judge it
-simply as an artistic revelation of human life and by
-its humorous insight into human character. And
-judged by the same simple test "Amaryllis at the
-Fair," we contend, is a living picture of life, a
-creative work of imagination of a high order. Iden,
-the unsuccessful farmer who "built for all time, and
-not for the circumstances of the hour," is a masterly
-piece of character drawing. But Iden is a personal<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_x" id="Page_x">[x]</a></span>
-portrait, the reader may object, Well, what about
-Uncle Toby? From what void did he spring? Iden,
-to our mind, is almost as masterly a conception,
-as broadly human a figure as Uncle Toby. And
-Mrs. Iden, where will you find this type of nervous,
-irritable wife, full of spiteful disillusioned love for
-her dilatory husband better painted than by Jefferies?
-But Mrs. Iden is a type, not an individual, the
-reader may say. Excellent reader! and what about
-the Widow Wadman? She is no less and no more
-of an individual than is Mrs. Iden. It was a great
-feat of Sterne to create so cunningly the atmosphere
-of the Shandy household, but Jefferies has accomplished
-an artistic feat also in drawing the relations
-of the Idens, father, mother, and daughter. How
-true, how unerringly true to human nature is this
-picture of the Iden household; how delicately felt
-and rendered to a hair is his picture of the father's
-sluggish, masculine will, pricked ineffectually by the
-waspish tongue of feminine criticism. Further, we
-not only have the family's idiosyncrasies, their habits,
-mental atmosphere, and domestic story brought before
-us in a hundred pages, easily and instinctively
-by the hand of the artist, but we have the whole book
-steeped in the breath of English spring, the restless
-ache of spring that thrills through the nerves, and
-stirs the sluggish winter blood; we have the spring
-feeling breaking from the March heavens and the
-March earth in copse, meadow, and ploughland, as it
-has scarcely been rendered before by English novelist.
-The description of Amaryllis running out into the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_xi" id="Page_xi">[xi]</a></span>
-March wind to call her father from his potato planting
-to see the daffodil; the picture of Iden pretending
-to sleep in his chair that he may watch the mice;
-the description of the girl Amaryllis watching the
-crowd of plain, ugly men of the countryside flocking
-along the road to the fair; the description of Amadis
-the invalid, in the old farm kitchen among the stalwart
-country folk—all these pictures and a dozen
-others in the book are painted with a masterly hand.
-Pictures! the critical reader may complain. Yes,
-pictures of living men and women. What does it
-matter whether a revelation of human life is conveyed
-to us by pictures or by action so long as it is
-conveyed? Mr. Saintsbury classes Jefferies with
-Gray, presumably because both writers have written
-of the English landscape. With Gray! Jefferies in
-his work as a naturalist and observer of wild life
-may be classed merely for convenience with Gilbert
-White. But this classification only applies to one half
-of Jefferies' books. By his "Wild Life in a Southern
-County" he stands beside Gilbert White; by his
-"Story of My Heart" he stands by himself, a little
-apart from the poets, and by "Amaryllis at the Fair"
-he stands among the half-dozen country writers of
-the century whose work is racy of the English soil
-and of rural English human nature. We will name
-three of these writers, Barnes, Cobbett, Waugh, and
-our attentive readers can name the other three.</p>
-
-<p>To come back to "Amaryllis at the Fair," why is
-it so masterly, or, further, wherein is it so masterly,
-the curious reader may inquire? "Is it not full of<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_xii" id="Page_xii">[xii]</a></span>
-digressions? Granted that the first half of the 'novel'
-is beautiful in style, does not Jefferies suddenly
-break his method, introduce his own personality,
-intersperse abrupt disquisitions on food, illness, and
-Fleet Street? Is not that description of Iden's
-dinner a little—well, a little unusual? In short, is
-not the book a disquisition on life from the standpoint
-of Jefferies' personal experiences? And if this
-is so, how can the book be so fine an achievement?"
-Oh, candid reader, with the voice of authority
-sounding in your ears (and have we not Mr. Henley
-and Mr. Saintsbury bound in critical amity against
-us), a book may break the formal rules, and yet it
-may yield to us just that salt of life which we may
-seek for vainly in the works of more faultless writers.
-The strength of "Amaryllis at the Fair" is that its
-beauty springs naturally from the prosaic earthly
-facts of life it narrates, and that, in the natural
-atmosphere breathed by its people, the prose and the
-poetry of their life are one. In the respect of the
-artistic naturalness of its homely picture, the book
-is very superior to, say "The Mayor of Casterbridge,"
-where we are conscious that the author has been at
-work arranging and rearranging his charming studies
-and impressions of the old-world people of Casterbridge
-into the pattern of an exciting plot. Now it
-is precisely in the artificed dramatic story of "The
-Mayor of Casterbridge"—and we cite this novel as
-characteristic, both in its strength and weakness, of
-its distinguished author,—that we are brought to
-feel that we have not been shown the characters of<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_xiii" id="Page_xiii">[xiii]</a></span>
-Casterbridge going their way in life naturally, but
-that they have been moved about, kaleidoscopically,
-to suit the exigencies of the plot, and that the more
-this is so the less significance for us have their
-thoughts and actions. Watching the quick whirling
-changes of Farfrae and Lucetta, Henchard and
-Newson in the matrimonial mazes of the story, and
-listening to the chorus of the rustics in the wings, we
-perceive indeed whence comes that atmosphere of
-stage crisis and stage effect which suddenly introduces
-a disillusioning sense of unreality, and mars
-the artistic unity of this charming picture, so truthful
-in other respects to English rural life. Plot is
-Mr. Hardy's weakness, and perfect indeed and convincing
-would have been his pictures, if he could
-have thrown his plots and his rustic choruses to the
-four winds. May we not be thankful, therefore, that
-Jefferies was no hand at elaborating a plot, and that
-in "Amaryllis at the Fair," the scenes, the descriptions,
-the conversations are spontaneous as life, and
-that Jefferies' commentary on them is like Fielding's
-commentary, a medium by which he lives with his
-characters. The author's imagination, memory, and
-instinctive perception are, indeed, all working together;
-and so his picture of human life in
-"Amaryllis" brings with it as convincing and as
-fresh a breath of life as we find in Cobbett's,
-Waugh's and Barnes' country writings. When a
-writer arrives at being perfectly natural in his atmosphere,
-his style and his subject seem to become
-one. He moves easily and surely. Out of the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_xiv" id="Page_xiv">[xiv]</a></span>
-splintered mass of ideas and emotions, out of the
-sensations, the observations and revelations of his
-youth, and the atmosphere familiar to him through
-long feeling, he builds up a subtle and cunning
-picture for us, a complete illusion of life more true
-than the reality. For what prosaic people call the
-reality is merely the co-ordination in their own minds
-of perhaps a thousandth part of aspects of the life
-around them; and only this thousandth part they
-have noticed. But the creative mind builds up a
-living picture out of the thousands of aspects most
-of us are congenitally blind to. This is what Jefferies
-has done in "Amaryllis at the Fair." The book is
-rich in the contradictory forces of life, in its quick
-twists and turns: we feel in it there is nature working
-alike in the leaves of grass outside the Idens'
-house, in the blustering winds round the walls, and
-in the minds of the characters indoors; and the style
-has the freshness of the April wind. Everything is
-growing, changing, breathing in the book. But the
-accomplished critics do not notice these trivial
-strengths. It is enough for them that Jefferies was
-not a novelist! Indeed, Mr. Saintsbury apparently
-thinks that Jefferies made a mistake in drawing his
-philosophy from an open-air study of nature, for he
-writes: "Unfortunately for Jefferies his philosophic
-background was not like Wordsworth's clear and
-cheerful, but wholly vague and partly gloomy." It
-was neither vague nor gloomy, we may remark,
-parenthetically, but we may admit that Jefferies saw
-too deeply into nature's workings, and had too<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_xv" id="Page_xv">[xv]</a></span>
-sensuous a joy in life to interpret all Nature's doings,
-à la Wordsworth, and lend them a portentously
-moral significance.</p>
-
-<p>The one charge that may with truth be brought
-against "Amaryllis at the Fair" is that its digressions
-damage the artistic illusion of the whole. The
-book shows the carelessness, the haste, the roughness
-of a sketch, a sketch, moreover, which Jefferies
-was not destined to carry to the end he had planned,
-but we repeat, let us be thankful that its artistic
-weaknesses are those of a sketch direct from nature,
-rather than those of an ambitious studio picture.
-And these digressions are an integral part of the
-book's character, just as the face of a man has its
-own blemishes: they are one with the spirit of the
-whole, and so, if they break somewhat the illusion
-of the scenes, they do not damage its spiritual unity.
-It is this spiritual unity on which we must insist,
-because "Amaryllis" is indeed Jefferies' last and
-complete testament on human life. He wrote it, or
-rather dictated it to his wife, as he lay in pain,
-slowly dying, and he has put into it the frankness of
-a dying man. How real, how solid, how deliciously
-sweet seemed those simple earthly joys, those human
-appetites of healthy, vigorous men to him! how intense
-is his passion and spiritual hunger for the
-beauty of earth! Like a flame shooting up from the
-log it is consuming, so this passion for the green
-earth, for the earth in wind and rain and sunshine,
-consumes the wasted, consumptive body of the dying
-man. The reality, the solidity of the homely farmhouse<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_xvi" id="Page_xvi">[xvi]</a></span>
-life he describes spring from the intensity
-with which he clings to all he loves, the cold March
-wind buffeting the face, the mating cries of the
-birds in the hot spring sunshine. Life is so terribly
-strong, so deliciously real, so full of man's unsatisfied
-hungry ache for happiness; and sweet is the craving,
-bitter the knowledge of the unfulfilment. So, inspiring
-and vivifying the whole, in every line of
-"Amaryllis" is Jefferies' philosophy of life. Jefferies
-"did not understand human nature," say the accomplished
-critics. Did he not? "Amaryllis at the Fair"
-is one of the truest criticisms of human life, oh
-reader, you are likely to meet with. The mixedness
-of things, the old, old human muddle, the meanness
-and stupidity and shortsightedness of humanity, the
-good salty taste of life in the healthy mouth, the
-spirituality of love, the strong earthy roots of
-appetite, man's lust of life, with circumstances awry,
-and the sharp wind blowing alike on the just and
-the unjust—all is there on the printed page of
-"Amaryllis at the Fair." The song of the wind and
-the roar of London unite and mingle therein for
-those who do not bring the exacting eye of superiority
-to this most human book.</p>
-
-<div class='sig'>
-<span class="smcap">Edward Garnett</span>.<br />
-</div>
-
-<div class="figcenter" style="width: 130px;">
-<img src="images/i-031.png" width="130" height="76" alt="Decoration" title="" />
-<br /><br /></div>
-<div class="footnotes"><h3>FOOTNOTE:</h3>
-
-<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_1_1" id="Footnote_1_1"></a><a href="#FNanchor_1_1"><span class="label">[1]</span></a> Reprinted in part from "The Academy" of April 4th,
-1903.</p></div>
-</div>
-
-
-<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_xvii" id="Page_xvii">[xvii]</a></span></p>
-
-
-<div class="figcenter" style="width: 300px;">
-<img src="images/title2-a.png" width="300" height="42" alt="Decoration" title="" />
-</div>
-
-<h2>AMARYLLIS AT THE FAIR</h2>
-
-<div class="figcenter" style="width: 90px;">
-<img src="images/title2-b.png" width="90" height="31" alt="decoration" title="" />
-</div>
-
-
-
-<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_1" id="Page_1">[1]</a></span></p>
-<div class="figcenter" style="width: 500px;">
-<img src="images/i-033.png" width="500" height="174" alt="decoration" title="" />
-</div>
-
-
-<h2>AMARYLLIS AT THE FAIR.</h2>
-
-
-
-<h2>CHAPTER I.</h2>
-
-
-<div class="figleft" style="width: 120px;">
-<img src="images/a.png" width="120" height="120" alt="A" title="" />
-</div><div class='unindent'>MARYLLIS found the first daffodil
-flowering by the damask rose, and
-immediately ran to call her father to
-come and see it.</div>
-
-<p>There are no damask roses now, like
-there used to be in summer at Coombe Oaks. I
-have never seen one since I last gathered one from
-that very bush. There are many grand roses, but
-no fragrance—the fragrance is gone out of life.
-Instinctively as I pass gardens in summer I look
-under the shade of the trees for the old roses, but
-they are not to be found. The dreary nurseries of
-evergreens and laurels—cemeteries they should be
-called, cemeteries in appearance and cemeteries of
-taste—are innocent of such roses. They show
-you an acre of what they call roses growing out of
-dirty straw, spindly things with a knob on the top,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_2" id="Page_2">[2]</a></span>
-which even dew can hardly sweeten. "No call
-for damask roses—wouldn't pay to grow they.
-Single they was, I thinks. No good. These be
-cut every morning and fetched by the flower-girls
-for gents' button-holes and ladies' jackets. You
-won't get no damask roses; they be died out."</p>
-
-<p>I think in despite of the nurseryman, or cemetery-keeper,
-that with patience I could get a
-damask rose even now by inquiring about from
-farmhouse to farmhouse. In time some old farmer,
-with a good old taste for old roses and pinks,
-would send me one; I have half a mind to try.
-But, alas! it is no use, I have nowhere to put it;
-I rent a house which is built in first-rate modern
-style, though small, of course, and there is a
-"garden" to it, but no place to put a damask rose.
-No place, because it is not "home," and I cannot
-plant except round "home." The plot or "patch"
-the landlord calls "the garden"—it is about as
-wide as the border round a patch, old style—is
-quite vacant, bare, and contains nothing but mould.
-It is nothing to me, and I cannot plant it.</p>
-
-<p>Not only are there no damask roses, but there
-is no place for them now-a-days, no "home," only
-villas and rented houses. Anything rented in a
-town can never be "home."</p>
-
-<p>Farms that were practically taken on a hundred
-and twenty, or fifty, or perhaps two hundred years'
-leases were "homes." Consequently they had
-damask roses, bees, and birds about them.</p>
-
-<p>There had been daffodils in that spot at least a<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_3" id="Page_3">[3]</a></span>
-century, opening every March to the dry winds
-that shrivel up the brown dead leaves of winter,
-and carry them out from the bushes under the
-trees, sending them across the meadow—fleeing
-like a routed army before the bayonets of the East.
-Every spring for a century at least the daffodils
-had bloomed there.</p>
-
-<p>Amaryllis did not stay to think of the century,
-but ran round the corner of the house, and came
-face to face with the east wind, which took her
-with such force as to momentarily stay her progress.
-Her skirts were blown out horizontally,
-her ankles were exposed, and the front line of her
-shape (beginning to bud like spring) was sketched
-against the red brick wall. She laughed, but the
-strong gale filled her throat as if a hand had been
-thrust down it; the wind got its edge like a knife
-under her eyelids, between them and the eyeballs,
-and seemed as if it would scoop them out; her
-eyes were wet with involuntary tears; her lips
-dried up and parched in a moment. The wind
-went through her thick stockings as if the wool
-was nothing. She lifted her hand to defend her
-eyes, and the skin of her arm became "goosey"
-directly. Had she worn hat or bonnet it would
-have flown. Stooping forwards, she pushed step
-by step, and gradually reached the shelter of the
-high garden wall; there she could stand upright,
-and breathe again.</p>
-
-<p>Her lips, which had been whitened by the keen
-blast, as if a storm of ice particles had been driven<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_4" id="Page_4">[4]</a></span>
-against them, now resumed their scarlet, but her
-ears were full of dust and reddened, and her curly
-dark hair was dry and rough and without gloss.
-Each separate hair separated itself from the next,
-and would not lie smooth—the natural unctuous
-essence which usually caused them to adhere was
-dried up.</p>
-
-<p>The wind had blown thus round that corner
-every March for a century, and in no degree
-abated its bitter force because a beautiful human
-child, full of the happiness of a flower, came carelessly
-into its power. Nothing ever shows the
-least consideration for human creatures.</p>
-
-<p>The moss on the ridge of the wall under which
-she stood to breathe looked shrivelled and thin,
-the green tint dried out of it. A sparrow with a
-straw tried hard to reach the eaves of the house to
-put it in his nest, but the depending straw was
-caught by the breeze as a sail, and carried him
-past.</p>
-
-<p>Under the wall was a large patch recently dug,
-beside the patch a grass path, and on the path a
-wheelbarrow. A man was busy putting in
-potatoes; he wore the raggedest coat ever seen
-on a respectable back. As the wind lifted the
-tails it was apparent that the lining was loose and
-only hung by threads, the cuffs were worn through,
-there was a hole beneath each arm, and on each
-shoulder the nap of the cloth was gone; the colour,
-which had once been grey, was now a mixture of
-several soils and numerous kinds of grit. The hat<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_5" id="Page_5">[5]</a></span>
-he had on was no better; it might have been made
-of some hard pasteboard, it was so bare. Every
-now and then the wind brought a few handfuls of
-dust over the wall from the road, and dropped it
-on his stooping back.</p>
-
-<p>The way in which he was planting potatoes was
-wonderful, every potato was placed at exactly the
-right distance apart, and a hole made for it in the
-general trench; before it was set it was looked at
-and turned over, and the thumb rubbed against it
-to be sure that it was sound, and when finally put
-in, a little mould was delicately adjusted round to
-keep it in its right position till the whole row was
-buried. He carried the potatoes in his coat
-pocket—those, that is, for the row—and took them
-out one by one; had he been planting his own
-children he could not have been more careful.
-The science, the skill, and the experience brought
-to this potato-planting you would hardly credit;
-for all this care was founded upon observation, and
-arose from very large abilities on the part of the
-planter, though directed to so humble a purpose at
-that moment.</p>
-
-<p>So soon as Amaryllis had recovered breath, she
-ran down the grass path and stood by the wheelbarrow,
-but although her shadow fell across the
-potato row, he would not see her.</p>
-
-<p>"Pa," she said, not very loud. "Pa," growing
-bolder. "Do come—there's a daffodil out, the very,
-very first."</p>
-
-<p>"Oh," a sound like a growl—"oh," from the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_6" id="Page_6">[6]</a></span>
-depth of a vast chest heaving out a doubtful
-note.</p>
-
-<p>"It is such a beautiful colour!"</p>
-
-<p>"Where is your mother?" looking at her
-askance and still stooping.</p>
-
-<p>"Indoors—at least—I think—no——"</p>
-
-<p>"Haven't you got no sewing? Can't you help
-her? What good be you on?"</p>
-
-<p>"But this is such a lovely daffodil, and the very
-first—now do come!"</p>
-
-<p>"Flowers bean't no use on; such trumpery as
-that; what do'ee want a-messing about arter
-thaay? You'll never be no good on; you ain't
-never got a apron on."</p>
-
-<p>"But—just a minute now."</p>
-
-<p>"Go on in, and be some use on."</p>
-
-<p>Amaryllis' lip fell; she turned and walked slowly
-away along the path, her head drooping forward.</p>
-
-<p>Did ever anyone have a beautiful idea or feeling
-without being repulsed?</p>
-
-<p>She had not reached the end of the path, however,
-when the father began to change his attitude;
-he stood up, dropped his "dibbler," scraped his
-foot on his spade, and, grumbling to himself, went
-after her. She did not see or hear him till he
-overtook her.</p>
-
-<p>"Please, I'll go and do the sewing," she said.</p>
-
-<p>"Where be this yer flower?" gruffly.</p>
-
-<p>"I'll show you," taking his ragged arm, and
-brightening up immediately. "Only think, to
-open in all this wind, and so cold—isn't it beautiful?<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_7" id="Page_7">[7]</a></span>
-It's much more beautiful than the flowers
-that come in the summer."</p>
-
-<p>"Trumpery rubbish—mean to dig 'em all up—would
-if I had time," muttered the father. "Have
-'em carted out and drowed away—do for ashes to
-drow on the fields. Never no good on to nobody,
-thaay thengs. You can't eat 'em, can you, like
-you can potatoes?"</p>
-
-<p>"But it's lovely. Here it is," and Amaryllis
-stepped on the patch tenderly, and lifted up the
-drooping face of the flower.</p>
-
-<p>"Ah, yes," said Iden, putting his left hand to
-his chin, a habit of his when thinking, and suddenly
-quite altering his pronunciation from that of the
-country folk and labourers amongst whom he dwelt
-to the correct accent of education. "Ah, yes;
-the daffodil was your great-uncle's favourite
-flower."</p>
-
-<p>"Richard?" asked Amaryllis.</p>
-
-<p>"Richard," repeated Iden. And Amaryllis,
-noting how handsome her father's intellectual face
-looked, wandered in her mind from the flower as
-he talked, and marvelled how he could be so rough
-sometimes, and why he talked like the labourers,
-and wore a ragged coat—he who was so full of
-wisdom in his other moods, and spoke, and thought,
-and indeed acted as a perfect gentleman.</p>
-
-<p>"Richard's favourite flower," he went on. "He
-brought the daffodils down from Luckett's; every
-one in the garden came from there. He was
-always reading poetry, and writing, and sketching,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_8" id="Page_8">[8]</a></span>
-and yet he was such a capital man of business; no
-one could understand that. He built the mill, and
-saved heaps of money; he bought back the old
-place at Luckett's, which belonged to us before
-Queen Elizabeth's days; indeed, he very nearly
-made up the fortunes Nicholas and the rest of
-them got rid of. He was, indeed, a man. And
-now it is all going again—faster than he made it.
-He used to take you on his knee and say you would
-walk well, because you had a good ankle."</p>
-
-<p>Amaryllis blushed and smoothed her dress with
-her hands, as if that would lengthen the skirt and
-hide the ankles which Richard, the great-uncle,
-had admired when she was a child, being a man,
-but which her feminine acquaintances told her
-were heavy.</p>
-
-<p>"Here, put on your hat and scarf; how foolish
-of you to go out in this wind without them!" said
-Mrs. Iden, coming out. She thrust them into
-Amaryllis' unwilling hands, and retired indoors
-again immediately.</p>
-
-<p>"He was the only one of all the family," continued
-her father, "who could make money; all
-the rest could do nothing but spend it. For ten
-generations he was the only money-maker and
-saver, and yet he was as free and liberal as possible.
-Very curious, wasn't it?—only one in ten generations—difficult
-to understand why none of the
-others—why——" He paused, thinking.</p>
-
-<p>Amaryllis, too, was silent, thinking—thinking
-how easily her papa could make money, great<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_9" id="Page_9">[9]</a></span>
-heaps of money. She was sure he could if he
-tried, instead of planting potatoes.</p>
-
-<p>"If only another Richard would rise up like
-him!" said Iden.</p>
-
-<p>This was a very unreasonable wish, for, having
-had one genius in the family, and that, too, in the
-memory of man, they could not expect another.
-Even vast empires rarely produce more than one
-great man in all the course of their history. There
-was but one Cæsar in the thousand years of
-Rome; Greece never had one as a nation, unless
-we except Themistocles, or unless we accept
-Alexander, who was a Macedonian; Persia had a
-Cyrus; there was a Tamerlane somewhere, but few
-people know anything of the empire he overshadows
-with his name; France has had two
-mighty warriors, Charlemagne and Napoleon—unfortunate
-France! As for ourselves, fortunate
-islanders! we have never had a great man so
-immensely great as to overtop the whole, like
-Charlemagne in his day. Fortunate for us, indeed,
-that it has been so. But the best example to the
-point is the case of the immense empire of Russia,
-which has had one Peter the Great, and one only.
-Great-uncle Richard was the Peter the Great of
-his family, whose work had been slowly undone by
-his successors.</p>
-
-<p>"I wonder whether any of us will ever turn out
-like Richard," continued Iden. "No one could
-deny him long; he had a way of persuading and
-convincing people, and always got his own will in<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_10" id="Page_10">[10]</a></span>
-the end. Wonderful man!" he pondered, returning
-towards his work.</p>
-
-<p>Suddenly the side door opened, and Mrs. Iden
-just peered out, and cried, "Put your hat and scarf
-on directly."</p>
-
-<p>Amaryllis put the hat on, and wound the scarf
-very loosely about her neck. She accompanied
-her father to the potato patch, hoping that he
-would go on talking, but he was quickly absorbed
-in the potatoes. She watched him stooping till his
-back was an arch; in fact, he had stooped so much
-that now he could not stand upright, though still
-in the prime of life; if he stood up and stretched
-himself, still his back was bowed at the shoulders.
-He worked so hard—ever since she could remember
-she had seen him working like this; he was up in
-the morning while it was yet dark tending the
-cattle; sometimes he was up all night with them,
-wind or weather made no difference. Other people
-stopped indoors if it rained much, but it made no
-difference to her father, nor did the deep snow or
-the sharp frosts. Always at work, and he could
-talk so cleverly, too, and knew everything, and yet
-they were so short of money. How could this be?</p>
-
-<p>What a fallacy it is that hard work is the making
-of money; I could show you plenty of men who
-have worked the whole of their lives as hard as ever
-could possibly be, and who are still as far off independence
-as when they began. In fact, that is the
-rule; the winning of independence is rarely the result
-of work, else nine out of ten would be well-to-do.</p>
-
-
-
-<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_11" id="Page_11">[11]</a></span></p>
-<div class="figcenter" style="width: 500px;">
-<img src="images/i-034.png" width="500" height="85" alt="Decoration" title="" />
-</div>
-
-
-<h2>CHAPTER II.</h2>
-
-
-<div class="figleft" style="width: 117px;">
-<img src="images/p.png" width="117" height="120" alt="P" title="" />
-</div><div class='unindent'>RESENTLY Amaryllis wandered indoors,
-and was met in the hall by her
-mother.</div>
-
-<p>"What has he been talking to you
-about?" she said, angrily. "Don't
-listen to him. He will never do any good. Just
-look at his coat; it's a disgrace, a positive disgrace.
-Telling you about the old people? What's
-the use of talking of people who have been dead
-all this time? Why doesn't he do something himself?
-Don't listen to his rubbish—wasting his
-time there with potatoes, it is enough to make one
-wild! Why doesn't he go in to market and buy
-and sell cattle, and turn over money in that way?
-Not he! he'd rather muddle with a few paltry
-potatoes, as if it mattered an atom how they were
-stuck in the ground."</p>
-
-<p>Not liking to hear her father abused, Amaryllis
-went upstairs, and when she was alone lifted her
-skirt and looked at the ankles which great-uncle
-Richard had admired. Other girls had told her
-they were thick, and she was ashamed of them.</p>
-
-<p>Instead of the slender things which seem as if a<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_12" id="Page_12">[12]</a></span>
-sudden strain would snap them, and are nothing
-but mere bone, she had a pair of well-shaped
-ankles, justly proportioned to what would soon be
-a fine form; strong, but neither thick, nor coarse,
-nor heavy, ankles that would carry her many a
-mile without weariness, that ended good legs with
-plenty of flesh on them. The stupidity of calling
-such coarse or heavy! They were really ideal
-ankles, such as a sculptor would carve. Yet these
-ill-instructed girls called them coarse! It was not
-their fault, it was the lack of instruction; as they
-did not know what was physically perfect, of course
-they could not recognize it.</p>
-
-<p>Let every girl who has such ankles be proud of
-them, for they will prove a blessing to her for the
-whole of her life.</p>
-
-<p>Amaryllis could not get her hair smooth, though
-she brushed it for some time; it would not lie close,
-so much had the east wind dried it. She opened
-a drawer, and took out a little bottle of macassar,
-and held it in her hand, balancing probabilities.
-Would her father see it if she used it, or might he,
-perhaps, fail to notice? She dared not leave the
-bottle on the dressing-table, for if he had chanced
-to pass through the room he would certainly have
-thrown it out of window, so bitter was his antagonism
-to all oils and perfumes, scents, pomades, and
-other resources of the hairdresser, which he held
-defiled the hair and ruined it, to the deception of
-woman and the disgust of man. Not one drop of
-scent did Amaryllis dare to sprinkle on her handkerchief,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_13" id="Page_13">[13]</a></span>
-not one drop of oil did she dare put on
-her beautiful hair unless surreptitiously, and then
-she could not go near him, for he was certain to
-detect it and scorch her with withering satire.</p>
-
-<p>Yet, however satirized, feminine faith in perfumes
-and oils and so forth is like a perennial
-spring, and never fails.</p>
-
-<p>Such splendid hair as Amaryllis possessed needed
-no dressing—nothing could possibly improve it,
-and the chances therefore were that whatever she
-used would injure—yet in her heart she yearned to
-rub it with oil.</p>
-
-<p>But the more she considered the more probable
-it seemed that her father would detect her; she
-had better wait till he went out for the afternoon
-somewhere, an event that seldom occurred, for Iden
-was one of those who preferred working at home to
-rambling abroad. He was, indeed, too attached to
-his home work. So she returned the bottle to the
-drawer, and hid it under some stockings.</p>
-
-<p>Immediately afterwards it was dinner-time. At
-all meals the rule was that there must be no talking,
-but at dinner the law was so strict that even to
-ask for anything, as a piece of bread, or to say so
-much as "Give me the salt, please," was a deadly
-sin. There must be absolute silence while the
-master ate. The least infringement was visited
-with a severe glance from his keen and brilliant
-blue eyes—there are no eyes so stern as blue eyes
-when angry—or else he uttered a deep sigh like a
-grunt, and sat rigidly upright for a moment. For<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_14" id="Page_14">[14]</a></span>
-he usually stooped, and to sit upright showed
-annoyance. No laws of the Medes and Persians
-were ever obeyed as was this law of silence in that
-house.</p>
-
-<p>Anything that disturbed the absolute calm of the
-dinner hour was worse than sacrilege; anything
-that threatened to disturb it was watched intently
-by that repressive eye. No one must come in or
-go out of the room; if anyone knocked at the
-door (there are no bells in old country houses)
-there was a frown immediately, it necessitated someone
-answering it, and then Mrs. Iden or Amaryllis
-had to leave the table, to go out and open and
-shut the sitting-room door as they went, and again
-as they returned. Amaryllis dreaded a knock at
-the door, it was so awful to have to stir once they
-had sat down to dinner, and the servant was certain
-not to know what reply to give. Sometimes it
-happened—and this was very terrible—that the
-master himself had to go, some one wanted him
-about some hay or a horse and cart, and no one
-could tell what to do but the master. A dinner
-broken up in this way was a very serious matter
-indeed.</p>
-
-<p>That day they had a leg of mutton—a special
-occasion—a joint to be looked on reverently. Mr.
-Iden had walked into the town to choose it himself
-some days previously, and brought it home on foot
-in a flag basket. The butcher would have sent it,
-and if not, there were men on the farm who could
-have fetched it, but it was much too important to be<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_15" id="Page_15">[15]</a></span>
-left to a second person. No one could do it right
-but Mr. Iden himself. There was a good deal of
-reason in this personal care of the meat, for it is a
-certain fact that unless you do look after such
-things yourself, and that persistently, too, you
-never get it first-rate. For this cause people in
-grand villas scarcely ever have anything worth
-eating on their tables. Their household expenses
-reach thousands yearly, and yet they rarely have
-anything eatable, and their dinner-tables can never
-show meat, vegetables, or fruit equal to Mr. Iden's.
-The meat was dark brown, as mutton should be,
-for if it is the least bit white it is sure to be poor;
-the grain was short, and ate like bread and butter,
-firm, and yet almost crumbling to the touch; it was
-full of juicy red gravy, and cut pleasantly, the
-knife went through it nicely; you can tell good
-meat directly you touch it with the knife. It was
-cooked to a turn, and had been done at a wood fire
-on a hearth; no oven taste, no taint of coal gas
-or carbon; the pure flame of wood had browned it.
-Such emanations as there may be from burning
-logs are odorous of the woodland, of the sunshine,
-of the fields and fresh air; the wood simply gives
-out as it burns the sweetness it has imbibed through
-its leaves from the atmosphere which floats above
-grass and flowers. Essences of this order, if they
-do penetrate the fibres of the meat, add to its
-flavour a delicate aroma. Grass-fed meat, cooked
-at a wood fire, for me.</p>
-
-<p>Wonderful it is that wealthy people can endure<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_16" id="Page_16">[16]</a></span>
-to have their meat cooked over coal or in a shut-up
-iron box, where it kills itself with its own steam,
-which ought to escape. But then wealthy villa
-people do do odd things. <i>Les Misérables</i> who
-have to write like myself must put up with anything
-and be thankful for permission to exist; but
-people with mighty incomes from tea, or crockery-ware,
-or mud, or bricks and mortar—why on earth
-these happy and favoured mortals do not live like
-the gods passes understanding.</p>
-
-<p>Parisian people use charcoal: perhaps Paris
-will convert some of you who will not listen to a
-farmer.</p>
-
-<p>Mr. Iden had himself grown the potatoes that
-were placed before him. They were white, floury,
-without a drop of water in the whole dish of them.
-They were equal to the finest bread—far, far superior
-to the bread with which the immense city of
-London permits itself to be poisoned. (It is not
-much better, for it destroys the digestion.) This,
-too, with wheat at thirty shillings the quarter, a
-price which is in itself one of the most wonderful
-things of the age. The finest bread ought to be
-cheap.</p>
-
-<p>"They be forty-folds," said Mr. Iden, helping
-himself to half a dozen. "Look at the gravy go
-up into um like tea up a knob of sugar."</p>
-
-<p>The gravy was drawn up among the dry, floury
-particles of the potatoes as if they had formed
-capillary tubes.</p>
-
-<p>"Forty-folds," he repeated; "they comes forty<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_17" id="Page_17">[17]</a></span>
-to one. It be an amazing theng how thengs do
-that; forty grows for one. Thaay be an old-fashioned
-potato; you won't find many of thaay, not true forty-folds.
-Mine comes true, 'cause I saves um every
-year a' purpose. Better take more than that (to
-Amaryllis)—you haven't got but two" (to Mrs.
-Iden).</p>
-
-<p>What he ate other people at his table must eat,
-and the largest quantity possible. No one else
-must speak, hardly to say "Yes" or "No," but
-the master could talk, talk, talk without end. The
-only talking that might be done by others was in
-praise of the edibles on the table by Iden so carefully
-provided. You might admire the potatoes or
-the mutton, but you must not talk on any other
-subject. Nor was it safe even to do that, because
-if you said, "What capital potatoes!" you were
-immediately helped to another plateful, and had to
-finish them, want them or not. If you praised the
-mutton several thick slices were placed on your
-plate, and woe to you if you left a particle. It was
-no use to try and cover over what you could not
-manage with knife and fork; it was sure to be seen.
-"What bean't you going to yet (eat) up that there
-juicy bit, you?"</p>
-
-<p>Amaryllis and Mrs. Iden, warned by previous
-experience, discreetly refrained from admiring either
-mutton or potatoes.</p>
-
-
-
-<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_18" id="Page_18">[18]</a></span></p>
-<div class="figcenter" style="width: 500px;">
-<img src="images/i-036.png" width="500" height="91" alt="Decoration" title="" />
-</div>
-
-
-<h2>CHAPTER III.</h2>
-
-
-<div class="figleft" style="width: 120px;">
-<img src="images/f.png" width="120" height="121" alt="F" title="" />
-</div><div class='unindent'>ORTY-FOLDS," went on the master,
-"be the best keeping potatoes. Thur
-be so many new sorts now, but they
-bean't no good; they be very good for
-gentlefolk as doan't know no better,
-and poor folk as can't help theirselves. They won't
-grow everywhere neither; there bean't but one
-patch in our garden as ull grow 'um well. It's
-that's big middle patch. Summat different in the
-soil thur. There's a lot, bless you! to be learned
-before you can grow a potato, for all it looks such
-a simple thing. Farty-folds——"</div>
-
-<p>"Farty-folds!" said Mrs. Iden, imitating his
-provincial pronunciation with extreme disgust in
-her tone.</p>
-
-<p>"Aw, yes, too," said Iden. "Varty-volds be
-ould potatoes, and thur bean't none as can beat
-um."</p>
-
-<p>The more she showed her irritation at his speech
-or ways, the more he accentuated both language and
-manner.</p>
-
-<p>"Talking with your mouth full," said Mrs. Iden.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_19" id="Page_19">[19]</a></span>
-It was true, Iden did talk with his mouth full, very
-full indeed, for he fed heartily. The remark annoyed
-him; he grunted and spluttered and choked
-a little—floury things are choky. He got it down
-by taking a long draught at his quart of strong ale.
-Splendid ale it was, too, the stuff to induce you to
-make faces at Goliath. He soon began to talk
-again.</p>
-
-<p>"Th' ould shepherd fetched me these swede
-greens; I axed un three days ago; I know'd we
-was going to have this yer mutton. You got to
-settle these yer things aforehand."</p>
-
-<p>"Axed," muttered Mrs. Iden.</p>
-
-<p>"Th' pigeons have been at um, they be 'mazing
-fond of um, so be the larks. These be the best
-as thur was. They be the best things in the world
-for the blood. Swede greens be the top of all
-physic. If you can get fresh swede tops you don't
-want a doctor within twenty miles. Their's
-nothing in all the chemists' shops in England
-equal to swede greens"—helping himself to a
-large quantity of salt.</p>
-
-<p>"What a lot of salt you <i>do</i> eat!" muttered Mrs.
-Iden.</p>
-
-<p>"Onely you must have the real swedes—not
-thuck stuff they sells in towns; greens they was
-once p'rhaps, but they be tough as leather, and
-haven't got a drop of sap in um. Swedes is onely
-to be got about March."</p>
-
-<p>"Pooh! you can get them at Christmas in
-London," said Mrs. Iden.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_20" id="Page_20">[20]</a></span></p>
-
-<p>"Aw, can 'ee? Call they swede tops? They
-bean't no good; you might as well eat dried
-leaves. I tell you these are the young fresh green
-shoots of spring"—suddenly changing his pronunciation
-as he became interested in his subject and
-forgot the shafts of irritation shot at him by his
-wife. "They are full of sap—fresh sap—the juice
-which the plant extracts from the earth as the
-active power of the sun's rays increases. It is this
-sap which is so good for the blood. Without it
-the vegetable is no more than a woody fibre. Why
-the sap should be so powerful I cannot tell you;
-no one knows, any more than they know <i>how</i> the
-plant prepares it. This is one of those things
-which defy analysis—the laboratory is at fault, and
-can do nothing with it." ("More salt!" muttered
-Mrs. Iden. "How can you eat such a quantity of
-salt?") "There is something beyond what the
-laboratory can lay hands on; something that cannot
-be weighed, or seen, or estimated, neither by
-quantity, quality, or by any means. They analyse
-champagne, for instance; they find so many parts
-water, so much sugar, so much this, and so much
-that; but out of the hundred parts there remain
-ten—I think it is ten—at all events so many parts
-still to be accounted for. They escape, they are
-set down as volatile—the laboratory has not even a
-distinct name for this component; the laboratory
-knows nothing at all about it, cannot even name it.
-But this unknown constituent is the real champagne.
-So it is with the sap. In spring the sap<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_21" id="Page_21">[21]</a></span>
-possesses a certain virtue; at other times of the
-year the leaf is still green, but useless to us."</p>
-
-<p>"I shall have some vinegar," said Mrs. Iden,
-defiantly, stretching out her hand to the cruet.</p>
-
-<p>Mr. Iden made a wry face, as if the mere mention
-of vinegar had set his teeth on edge. He
-looked the other way and ate as fast as he could, to
-close his eyes to the spectacle of any one spoiling
-the sappy swede greens with nauseous vinegar.
-To his system of edible philosophy vinegar was
-utterly antagonistic—destructive of the sap-principle,
-altogether wrong, and, in fact, wicked, as
-destroying good and precious food.</p>
-
-<p>Amaryllis would not have dared to have taken
-the vinegar herself, but as her mother passed the
-cruet to her, she, too, fell away, and mixed vinegar
-with the green vegetables. All women like
-vinegar.</p>
-
-<p>When the bottle was restored to the cruet-stand
-Mr. Iden deigned to look round again at the
-table.</p>
-
-<p>"Ha! you'll cut your thumb!" he shouted to
-Amaryllis, who was cutting a piece of bread. She
-put the loaf down with a consciousness of guilt.
-"Haven't I told you how to cut bread twenty
-times? Cutting towards your thumb like that!
-Hold your left hand lower down, so that if the knife
-slips it will go over. Here, like this. Give it
-to me."</p>
-
-<p>He cut a slice to show her, and then tossed the
-slice across the table so accurately that it fell<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_22" id="Page_22">[22]</a></span>
-exactly into its proper place by her plate. He
-had a habit of tossing things in that way.</p>
-
-<p>"Why ever couldn't you pass it on the tray?"
-said Mrs. Iden. "Flinging in that manner! I
-hate to see it."</p>
-
-<p>Amaryllis, as in duty bound, in appearance took
-the lesson in bread-cutting to heart, as she had
-done twenty times before. But she knew she
-should still cut a loaf in the same dangerous style
-when out of his sight. She could not do it in the
-safe way—it was so much easier in the other; and
-if she did cut her hand she did not greatly care.</p>
-
-<p>"Now perhaps you'll remember," said the
-master, getting up with his plate in his hand.</p>
-
-<p>"Whatever <i>are</i> you going to do now?" asked
-Mrs. Iden, who knew perfectly well.</p>
-
-<p>"Going to warm the plate." He went out into
-the kitchen, sat down by the fire, and carefully
-warmed his plate for a second helping.</p>
-
-<p>"I should think you couldn't want any more,"
-said Mrs. Iden when he came back. "You had
-enough the first time for three."</p>
-
-<p>But Iden, who had the appetite of a giant, and
-had never ruined his digestion with vinegar or
-sauces, piled another series of thick slices on his
-plate, now hot to liquefy the gravy, and added to
-the meat a just proportion of vegetables. In proportion
-and a just mixture the secret of eating
-successfully consisted, according to him.</p>
-
-<p>First he ate a piece of the dark brown mutton,
-this was immediately followed by a portion of floury<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_23" id="Page_23">[23]</a></span>
-potato, next by a portion of swede tops, and then,
-lest a too savoury taste should remain in the mouth,
-he took a fragment of bread, as it were to sweeten
-and cleanse his teeth. Finally came a draught of
-strong ale, and after a brief moment the same ingredients
-were mixed in the same order as before.
-His dinner was thus eaten in a certain order, and
-with a kind of rhythm, duly exciting each particular
-flavour like a rhyme in its proper position,
-and duly putting it out with its correct successor.
-Always the savour of meat and gravy and vegetables
-had to be toned down by the ultimate bread,
-a vast piece of which he kept beside him. He
-was a great bread eater—it was always bread after
-everything, and if there were two courses then bread
-between to prepare the palate, and to prevent the
-sweets from quarrelling with the acids. Organization
-was the chief characteristic of his mind—his
-very dinner was organized and well planned, and
-any break or disturbance was not so much an annoyance
-in itself as destructive of a clever design,
-like a stick thrust through the web of a geometrical
-spider.</p>
-
-<p>This order of mouthfuls had been explained over
-and over again to the family, and if they felt that
-he was in a more than usually terrible mood, and if
-they felt his gaze upon them, the family to some
-extent submitted. Neither Mrs. Iden nor Amaryllis,
-however, could ever educate their palates
-into this fixed sequence of feeding; and, if Iden
-was not in a very awful and Jovelike mood, they<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_24" id="Page_24">[24]</a></span>
-wandered about irregularly in their eating. When
-the dinner was over (and, indeed, before it began)
-they had a way of visiting the larder, and "picking"
-little fragments of pies, or cold fowl, even a cold
-potato, the smallest mug—a quarter of a pint of
-the Goliath ale between them, or, if it was to be
-had, a sip of port wine. These women were very
-irrational in their feeding; they actually put vinegar
-on cold cabbage; they gloated over a fragment of
-pickled salmon about eleven o'clock in the morning.
-They had a herring sometimes for tea—the smell of
-it cooking sent the master into fits of indignation,
-he abominated it so, but they were so hardened
-and lost to righteousness they always repeated the
-offence next time the itinerant fish-dealer called.
-You could not drum them into good solid, straightforward
-eating.</p>
-
-<p>They generally had a smuggled bit of pastry to
-eat in the kitchen after dinner, for Mr. Iden considered
-that no one could need a second course
-after first-rate mutton and forty-folds. A morsel
-of cheese if you liked—nothing more. In summer
-the great garden abounded with fruit; he would
-have nothing but rhubarb, rhubarb, rhubarb, day
-after day, or else black-currant pudding. He held
-that black currants were the most wholesome fruit
-that grew; if he fancied his hands were not quite
-clean he would rub them with black-currant leaves
-to give them a pleasant aromatic odour (as ladies
-use scented soap). He rubbed them with walnut-leaves
-for the same purpose.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_25" id="Page_25">[25]</a></span></p>
-
-<p>Of salad in its season he was a great eater,
-cucumber especially, and lettuce and celery; but
-a mixed salad (oil and a flash, as it were, of Worcester
-sauce) was a horror to him. A principle
-ran through all his eating—an idea, a plan and
-design.</p>
-
-<p>I assure you it is a very important matter this
-eating, a man's fortune depends on his dinner. I
-should have been as rich as Crœsus if I could only
-have eaten what I liked all my time; I am sure I
-should, now I come to look back.</p>
-
-<p>The soundest and most wholesome food in the
-world was set on Mr. Iden's table; you may differ
-from his system, but you would have enjoyed the
-dark brown mutton, the floury potatoes, the fresh
-vegetables and fruit and salad, and the Goliath ale.</p>
-
-<p>When he had at last finished his meal he took
-his knife and carefully scraped his crumbs together,
-drawing the edge along the cloth, first one way and
-then the other, till he had a little heap; for, eating
-so much bread, he made many crumbs. Having
-got them together, he proceeded to shovel them
-into his mouth with the end of his knife, so that
-not one was wasted. Sometimes he sprinkled a
-little moist sugar over them with his finger and
-thumb. He then cut himself a slice of bread and
-cheese, and sat down with it in his arm-chair by
-the fire, spreading his large red-and-yellow silk
-handkerchief on his knee to catch the fragments in
-lieu of a plate.</p>
-
-<p>"Why can't you eat your cheese at the table,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_26" id="Page_26">[26]</a></span>
-like other people?" said Mrs. Iden, shuffling her
-feet with contemptuous annoyance. A deep grunt
-in the throat was the answer she received; at the
-same time he turned his arm-chair more towards
-the fire, as much as to say, "Other people are
-nothing to me."</p>
-
-<div class="figcenter" style="width: 135px;">
-<img src="images/i-038.png" width="135" height="150" alt="decoration" title="" />
-</div>
-
-
-
-<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_27" id="Page_27">[27]</a></span></p>
-<div class="figcenter" style="width: 500px;">
-<img src="images/i-039.png" width="500" height="89" alt="decoration" title="" />
-</div>
-
-
-<h2>CHAPTER IV.</h2>
-
-
-<div class="figleft" style="width: 121px;">
-<img src="images/t.png" width="121" height="120" alt="T" title="" />
-</div><div class='unindent'>HIS arm-chair, of old-fashioned make,
-had lost an arm—the screw remained
-sticking up, but the woodwork on that
-side was gone. It had been accidentally
-broken some ten years since; yet,
-although he used the chair every day, the arm had
-never been mended. Awkward as it was, he let it
-alone.</div>
-
-<p>"Hum! where's <i>The Standard</i>, then?" he said
-presently, as he nibbled his cheese and sipped the
-ale which he had placed on the hob.</p>
-
-<p>"Here it is, Pa," said Amaryllis, hastening with
-the paper.</p>
-
-<p>"Thought you despised the papers?" said Mrs.
-Iden. "Thought there was nothing but lies and
-rubbish in them, according to you?"</p>
-
-<p>"No more thur bean't."</p>
-
-<p>"You always take good care to read them,
-though."</p>
-
-<p>"Hum!" Another deep grunt, and another
-slight turn of the chair. He could not answer this
-charge of inconsistency, for it was a fact that he<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_28" id="Page_28">[28]</a></span>
-affected to despise the newspaper and yet read it
-with avidity, and would almost as soon have missed
-his ale as his news.</p>
-
-<p>However, to settle with his conscience, he had a
-manner of holding the paper half aslant a good way
-from him, and every now and then as he read
-uttered a dissentient or disgusted grunt.</p>
-
-<p>The master's taking up his paper was a signal
-for all other persons to leave the room, and not to
-return till he had finished his news and his nap.</p>
-
-<p>Mrs. Iden and Amaryllis, as they went out, each
-took as many of the dishes as they could carry,
-for it was uncertain when they could come in again
-to clear the table. The cloth must not be moved,
-the door opened, or the slightest sound heard till
-the siesta was over.</p>
-
-<p>"Can't clear the dinner things till four o'clock,"
-said Mrs. Iden as she went, "and then you want
-your tea—senseless!" Amaryllis shut the door,
-and the master was left to himself.</p>
-
-<p>By-and-by, his cheese being finished, he dropped
-his newspaper, and arranged himself for slumber.
-His left elbow he carefully fitted to the remnant of
-the broken woodwork of the chair. The silk handkerchief,
-red and yellow, he gathered into a loose
-pad in his left hand for his cheek and temple to
-rest on. His face was thus supported by his hand
-and arm, while the side of his head touched and
-rested against the wainscot of the wall.</p>
-
-<p>Just where his head touched it the wainscot had
-been worn away by the daily pressure, leaving a<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_29" id="Page_29">[29]</a></span>
-round spot. The wood was there exposed—a
-round spot, an inch or two in diameter, being
-completely bare of varnish. So many nods—the
-attrition of thirty years and more of nodding—had
-gradually ground away the coat with which the
-painter had originally covered the wood. It even
-looked a little hollow—a little depressed—as if his
-head had scooped out a shallow crater; but this was
-probably an illusion, the eye being deceived by the
-difference in colour between the wood and the varnish
-around it.</p>
-
-<p>This human mark reminded one of the grooves
-worn by the knees of generations of worshippers in
-the sacred steps of the temple which they ascended
-on all-fours. It was, indeed, a mark of devotion,
-as Mrs. Iden and others, not very keen observers,
-would have said, to the god of Sleep; in truth, it
-was a singular instance of continued devotion at the
-throne of the god of Thought.</p>
-
-<p>It was to think that Mr. Iden in the commencement
-assumed this posture of slumber, and commanded
-silence. But thought which has been
-cultivated for a third of a century is apt to tone
-down to something very near somnolence.</p>
-
-<p>That panel of wainscot was, in fact, as worthy
-of preservation as those on which the early artists
-delineated the Madonna and Infant, and for which
-high prices are now paid. It was intensely—superlatively—human.
-Worn in slow time by a
-human head within which a great mind was working
-under the most unhappy conditions, it had the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_30" id="Page_30">[30]</a></span>
-deep value attaching to inanimate things which
-have witnessed intolerable suffering.</p>
-
-<p>I am not a Roman Catholic, but I must confess
-that if I could be assured any particular piece of
-wood had really formed a part of the Cross I
-should think it the most valuable thing in the world,
-to which Koh-i-noors would be mud.</p>
-
-<p>I am a pagan, and think the heart and soul above
-crowns.</p>
-
-<p>That panel was in effect a cross on which a heart
-had been tortured for the third of a century, that
-is, for the space of time allotted to a generation.</p>
-
-<p>That mark upon the panel had still a further
-meaning, it represented the unhappiness, the misfortunes,
-the Nemesis of two hundred years. This
-family of Idens had endured already two hundred
-years of unhappiness and discordance for no original
-fault of theirs, simply because they had once been
-fortunate of old time, and therefore they had to
-work out that hour of sunshine to the utmost depths
-of shadow.</p>
-
-<p>The panel of the wainscot upon which that mark
-had been worn was in effect a cross upon which a
-human heart had been tortured—and thought can,
-indeed, torture—for a third of a century. For
-Iden had learned to know himself, and despaired.</p>
-
-<p>Not long after he had settled himself and closed
-his eyes the handle of the door was very softly
-turned, and Amaryllis stole in for her book, which
-she had forgotten. She succeeded in getting it on
-tiptoe without a sound, but in shutting the door the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_31" id="Page_31">[31]</a></span>
-lock clicked, and she heard him kick the fender
-angrily with his iron-shod heel.</p>
-
-<p>After that there was utter silence, except the
-ticking of the American clock—a loud and distinct
-tick in the still (and in that sense vacant)
-room.</p>
-
-<p>Presently a shadow somewhat darkened the
-window, a noiseless shadow; Mrs. Iden had come
-quietly round the house, and stood in the March
-wind, watching the sleeping man. She had a shawl
-about her shoulders—she put out her clenched hand
-from under its folds, and shook her fist at him,
-muttering to herself, "Never <i>do</i> anything; nothing
-but sleep, sleep, sleep: talk, talk, talk; never <i>do</i>
-anything. That's what I hate."</p>
-
-<p>The noiseless shadow disappeared; the common
-American clock continued its loud tick, tick.</p>
-
-<p>Slight sounds, faint rustlings, began to be
-audible among the cinders in the fender. The dry
-cinders were pushed about by something passing
-between them. After a while a brown mouse
-peered out at the end of the fender under Iden's
-chair, looked round a moment, and went back to
-the grate. In a minute he came again, and ventured
-somewhat farther across the width of the
-white hearthstone to the verge of the carpet. This
-advance was made step by step, but on reaching
-the carpet the mouse rushed home to cover in one
-run—like children at "touch wood," going out
-from a place of safety very cautiously, returning
-swiftly. The next time another mouse followed,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_32" id="Page_32">[32]</a></span>
-and a third appeared at the other end of the fender.
-By degrees they got under the table, and helped
-themselves to the crumbs; one mounted a chair
-and reached the cloth, but soon descended, afraid
-to stay there. Five or six mice were now busy at
-their dinner.</p>
-
-<p>The sleeping man was as still and quiet as if
-carved.</p>
-
-<p>A mouse came to the foot, clad in a great rusty-hued
-iron-shod boot—the foot that rested on the
-fender, for he had crossed his knees. His ragged
-and dingy trouser, full of March dust, and earth-stained
-by labour, was drawn up somewhat higher
-than the boot. It took the mouse several trials to
-reach the trouser, but he succeeded, and audaciously
-mounted to Iden's knee. Another quickly followed,
-and there the pair of them feasted on the
-crumbs of bread and cheese caught in the folds of
-his trousers.</p>
-
-<p>One great brown hand was in his pocket, close
-to them—a mighty hand, beside which they were
-pigmies indeed in the land of the giants. What would
-have been the value of their lives between a finger
-and thumb that could crack a ripe and strong-shelled
-walnut?</p>
-
-<p>The size—the mass—the weight of his hand
-alone was as a hill overshadowing them; his broad
-frame like the Alps; his head high above as a vast
-rock that overhung the valley.</p>
-
-<p>His thumb-nail—widened by labour with spade
-and axe—his thumb-nail would have covered<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_33" id="Page_33">[33]</a></span>
-either of the tiny creatures as his shield covered
-Ajax.</p>
-
-<p>Yet the little things fed in perfect confidence.
-He was so still, so <i>very</i> still—quiescent—they
-feared him no more than they did the wall; they
-could not hear his breathing.</p>
-
-<p>Had they been gifted with human intelligence
-that very fact would have excited their suspicions.
-Why so very, <i>very</i> still? Strong men, wearied by
-work, do not sleep quietly; they breathe heavily.
-Even in firm sleep we move a little now and then, a
-limb trembles, a muscle quivers, or stretches itself.</p>
-
-<p>But Iden was so still it was evident he was really
-wide awake and restraining his breath, and exercising
-conscious command over his muscles, that
-this scene might proceed undisturbed.</p>
-
-<p>Now the strangeness of the thing was in this
-way: Iden set traps for mice in the cellar and the
-larder, and slew them there without mercy. He
-picked up the trap, swung it round, opening the
-door at the same instant, and the wretched captive
-was dashed to death upon the stone flags of the
-floor. So he hated them and persecuted them in
-one place, and fed them in another.</p>
-
-<p>A long psychological discussion might be held
-on this apparent inconsistency, but I shall leave
-analysis to those who like it, and go on recording
-facts. I will only make one remark. That nothing
-is consistent that is human. If it was not inconsistent
-it would have no association with a living
-person.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_34" id="Page_34">[34]</a></span></p>
-
-<p>From the merest thin slit, as it were, between
-his eyelids, Iden watched the mice feed and run
-about his knees till, having eaten every crumb, they
-descended his leg to the floor.</p>
-
-<div class="figcenter" style="width: 122px;">
-<img src="images/i-040.png" width="122" height="210" alt="decoration" title="" />
-</div>
-
-
-
-<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_35" id="Page_35">[35]</a></span></p>
-<div class="figcenter" style="width: 500px;">
-<img src="images/i-041.png" width="500" height="88" alt="decoration" title="" />
-</div>
-
-
-<h2>CHAPTER V.</h2>
-
-
-<div class="figleft" style="width: 118px;">
-<img src="images/h.png" width="118" height="120" alt="H" title="" />
-</div><div class='unindent'>E was not asleep—he was thinking.
-Sometimes, of course, it happened that
-slumber was induced by the position
-in which he placed himself; slumber,
-however, was not his intent. He liked
-to rest after his midday meal and think. There
-was no real loss of time in it—he had been at work
-since half-past five.</div>
-
-<p>His especial and striking characteristic was a
-very large, high, and noble forehead—the forehead
-attributed to Shakespeare and seen in his busts.
-Shakespeare's intellect is beyond inquiry, yet he
-was not altogether a man of action. He was, indeed,
-an actor upon the stage; once he stole the
-red deer (delightful to think of that!), but he did
-not sail to the then new discovered lands of America,
-nor did he fight the Spaniards. So much intellect
-is, perhaps, antagonistic to action, or rather
-it is averse to those arts by which a soldier climbs
-to the position of commander. If Shakespeare by
-the chance of birth, or other accident, had had the
-order of England's forces, we should have seen<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_36" id="Page_36">[36]</a></span>
-generalship such as the world had not known since
-Cæsar.</p>
-
-<p>His intellect was too big to climb backstairs till
-opportunity came. We have great thoughts instead
-of battles.</p>
-
-<p>Iden's forehead might have been sculptured for
-Shakespeare's. There was too much thought in it
-for the circumstances of his life. It is possible to
-think till you cannot act.</p>
-
-<p>After the mice descended Iden did sleep for a
-few minutes. When he awoke he looked at the
-clock in a guilty way, and then opening the oven
-of the grate, took out a baked apple. He had one
-there ready for him almost always—always, that is,
-when they were not ripe on the trees.</p>
-
-<p>A baked apple, he said, was the most wholesome
-thing in the world; it corrected the stomach, prevented
-acidity, improved digestion, and gave tone
-to all the food that had been eaten previously. If
-people would only eat baked apples they would not
-need to be for ever going to the chemists' shops
-for drugs and salines to put them right. The
-women were always at the chemists' shops—you
-could never pass the chemists' shops in the town
-without seeing two or three women buying something.</p>
-
-<p>The apple was the apple of fruit, the natural
-medicine of man—and the best flavoured. It was
-compounded of the sweetest extracts and essences
-of air and light, put together of sunshine and wind
-and shower in such a way that no laboratory could<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_37" id="Page_37">[37]</a></span>
-imitate: and so on in a strain and with a simplicity
-of language that reminded you of Bacon and his
-philosophy of the Elizabethan age.</p>
-
-<p>Iden in a way certainly had a tinge of the Baconian
-culture, naturally, and not from any study of
-that author, whose books he had never seen. The
-great Bacon was, in fact, a man of orchard and
-garden, and gathered his ideas from the fields.</p>
-
-<p>Just look at an apple on the tree, said Iden.
-Look at a Blenheim orange, the inimitable mixture
-of colour, the gold and bronze, and ruddy tints,
-not bright colours—undertones of bright colours—smoothed
-together and polished, and made the
-more delightful by occasional roughness in the rind.
-Or look at the brilliant King Pippin. Now he was
-getting older he found, however, that the finest of
-them all was the russet. For eating, at its proper
-season, it was good, but for cooking it was simply
-the Imperial Cæsar and Sultan of apples; whether
-for baking, or pies, or sauce, there was none to
-equal it. Apple-sauce made of the real true russet
-was a sauce for Jove's own table. It was necessary
-that it should be the real russet. Indeed in apple
-trees you had to be as careful of breeding and
-pedigree as the owners of racing stables were about
-their horses.</p>
-
-<p>Ripe apples could not be got all the year round
-in any variety; besides which, in winter and cold
-weather the crudity of the stomach needed to be
-assisted with a little warmth; therefore bake
-them.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_38" id="Page_38">[38]</a></span></p>
-
-<p>People did not eat nearly enough fruit now-a-days;
-they had too much butcher's meat, and not
-enough fruit—that is, home-grown fruit, straight
-from orchard or garden, not the half-sour stuff sold
-in the shops, picked before it was ready.</p>
-
-<p>The Americans were much wiser (he knew a
-good deal about America—he had been there in
-his early days, before thought superseded action)—the
-Americans had kept up many of the fine old
-English customs of two or three hundred years
-since, and among these was the eating of fruit.
-They were accused of being so modern, so very,
-very modern, but, in fact, the country Americans,
-with whom he had lived (and who had taught him
-how to chop) maintained much of the genuine
-antique life of old England.</p>
-
-<p>They had first-rate apples, yet it was curious that
-the same trees produced an apple having a slightly
-different flavour to what it had in this country.
-You could always distinguish an American apple
-by its peculiar piquancy—a sub-acid piquancy, a
-wild strawberry piquancy, a sort of woodland,
-forest, backwoods delicacy of its own. And so
-on, and so on—"talk, talk, talk," as Mrs. Iden
-said.</p>
-
-<p>After his baked apple he took another guilty
-look at the clock, it was close on four, and went
-into the passage to get his hat. In farmhouses
-these places are called passages; in the smallest of
-villas, wretched little villas not fit to be called
-houses, they are always "halls."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_39" id="Page_39">[39]</a></span></p>
-
-<p>In the passage Mrs. Iden was waiting for him,
-and began to thump his broad though bowed back
-with all her might.</p>
-
-<p>"Sleep, sleep, sleep!" she cried, giving him a
-thump at each word. "You've slept two hours.
-(Thump.) You sleep till you stupefy yourself
-(thump), and then you go and dig. What's the
-use of digging? (Thump.) Why don't you make
-some money? (Thump.) Talk and sleep! (Thump.)
-I hate it. (Thump.) You've rubbed the paint off
-the wainscot with your sleep, sleep, sleep (thump)—there's
-one of your hairs sticking to the paint
-where your head goes. (Thump.) Anything
-more hateful—sleep (thump), talk (thump), sleep
-(thump). Go on!"</p>
-
-<p>She had thumped him down the passage, and
-across the covered-in court to the door opening on
-the garden. There he paused to put on his hat—an
-aged, battered hat—some sort of nondescript
-bowler, broken, grey, weather-stained, very battered
-and very aged—a pitiful hat to put above that
-broad, Shakespearian forehead. While he fitted
-it on he was thumped severely: when he opened
-the door he paused, and involuntarily looked up at
-the sky to see about the weather—a habit all
-country people have—and so got more thumping,
-ending as he started out with a tremendous push.
-He did not seem to resent the knocks, nor did the
-push accelerate his pace; he took it very much as
-he took the March wind.</p>
-
-<p>Mrs. Iden slammed the door, and went in to<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_40" id="Page_40">[40]</a></span>
-clear the dinner things, and make ready for tea.
-Amaryllis helped her.</p>
-
-<p>"He'll want his tea in half an hour," said Mrs.
-Iden. "What's the use of his going out to work
-for half an hour?"</p>
-
-<p>Amaryllis was silent. She was very fond of her
-father; he never did anything wrong in her eyes,
-and she could have pointed out that when he sat
-down to dinner at one he had already worked as
-many hours as Mrs. Iden's model City gentleman
-in a whole day. His dinner at one was, in effect,
-equivalent to their dinner at seven or eight, over
-which they frequently lingered an hour or two. He
-would still go on labouring, almost another half day.
-But she held her peace, for, on the other hand, she
-could not contradict and argue with her mother,
-whom she knew had had a wearisome life and
-perpetual disappointments.</p>
-
-<p>Mrs. Iden grumbled on to herself, working herself
-into a more fiery passion, till at last she put
-down the tea-pot, and rushed into the garden.
-There as she came round the first thing she saw was
-the daffodil, the beautiful daffodil Amaryllis had
-discovered. Beside herself with indignation—what
-was the use of flowers or potatoes?—Mrs.
-Iden stepped on the border and trampled the flower
-under foot till it was shapeless. After this she
-rushed indoors again and upstairs to her bedroom,
-where she locked herself in, and fumbled about in
-the old black oak chest of drawers till she found a
-faded lavender glove.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_41" id="Page_41">[41]</a></span></p>
-
-<p>That glove had been worn at the old "Ship"
-at Brighton years and years ago in the honeymoon
-trip: in those days bridal parties went down
-by coach. Faded with years, it had also faded
-from the tears that had fallen upon it. She turned
-it over in her hands, and her tears spotted it once
-more.</p>
-
-<p>Amaryllis went on with the tea-making; for her
-mother to rush away in that manner was nothing
-new. She toasted her father a piece of toast—he
-affected to despise toast, but he always ate it if it
-was there, and looked about for it if it was not,
-though he never said anything. The clock struck
-five, and out she went to tell him tea was ready.
-Coming round the house she found her daffodil
-crushed to pieces.</p>
-
-<p>"Oh!" The blood rushed to her forehead;
-then her beautiful lips pouted and quivered; tears
-filled her eyes, and her breast panted. She knew
-immediately who had done it; she ran to her bedroom
-to cry and to hide her grief and indignation.</p>
-
-<div class="figcenter" style="width: 100px;">
-<img src="images/i-043.png" width="100" height="59" alt="decoration" title="" />
-</div>
-
-
-
-<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_42" id="Page_42">[42]</a></span></p>
-<div class="figcenter" style="width: 500px;">
-<img src="images/i-044.png" width="500" height="91" alt="decoration" title="" />
-</div>
-
-
-<h2>CHAPTER VI.</h2>
-
-
-<div class="figleft" style="width: 119px;">
-<img src="images/l.png" width="119" height="120" alt="L" title="" />
-</div><div class='unindent'>ADY-DAY Fair came round by and by,
-and Amaryllis, about eleven o'clock in
-the morning, went down the garden to
-the end of the orchard, where she could
-overlook the highway without being
-seen, and watch the folk go past. Just there the
-road began to descend into a hollow, while the
-garden continued level, so that Amaryllis, leaning
-her arm on the top of the wall, was much higher
-up than those who went along. The wall dropped
-quite fourteen feet down to the road, a rare red
-brick wall—thick and closely-built, the bricks close
-together with thin seams of mortar, so that the
-fibres of the whole mass were worked and compressed
-and bound firm, like the fibres of a piece of
-iron. The deep red bricks had a colour—a certain
-richness of stability—and at the top this good
-piece of workmanship was protected from the
-weather by a kind of cap, and ornamented with a
-projecting ridge. Within the wall Amaryllis could
-stand on a slight bank, and easily look over it.
-Without there was a sheer red precipice of fourteen<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_43" id="Page_43">[43]</a></span>
-feet down to the dusty sward and nettles beside
-the road.</div>
-
-<p>Some bare branches of a plum tree trained against
-the wall rose thin and tapering above it in a bunch,
-a sign of bad gardening, for they ought to have
-been pruned, and the tree, indeed, had an appearance
-of neglect. One heavy bough had broken
-away from the nails and list, and drooped to the
-ground, and the shoots of last year, not having
-been trimmed, thrust themselves forward presumptuously.</p>
-
-<p>Behind the bunch of thin and tapering branches
-rising above the wall Amaryllis was partly hidden,
-but she relied a great deal more for concealment
-upon a fact Iden had taught her, that people very
-seldom look up; and consequently if you are only
-a little higher they will not see you. This she
-proved that morning, for not one of all who passed
-glanced up from the road. The shepherd kept his
-eye fixed on his sheep, and the drover on his
-bullocks; the boys were in a hurry to get to the
-fair and spend their pennies; the wenches had
-on a bit of blue ribbon or a new bonnet, and
-were perpetually looking at the traps that overtook
-them to see if the men admired their finery.
-No one looked up from the road they were pursuing.</p>
-
-<p>The photographer fixes the head of the sitter by
-a sort of stand at the back, which holds it steady
-in one position while the camera takes the picture.
-In life most people have their heads fixed in the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_44" id="Page_44">[44]</a></span>
-claws of some miserable pettiness, which interests
-them so greatly that they tramp on steadily forward,
-staring ahead, and there's not the slightest
-fear of their seeing anything outside the rut they
-are travelling.</p>
-
-<p>Amaryllis did not care anything about the fair
-or the people either, knowing very well what sort
-they would be; but I suspect, if it had been possible
-to have got at the cause which brought her
-there, it would have been traced to the unconscious
-influence of sex, a perfectly innocent prompting,
-quite unrecognised by the person who feels it, and
-who would indignantly deny it if rallied on the subject,
-but which leads girls of her age to seize
-opportunities of observing the men, even if of an
-uninteresting order. Still they are men, those
-curious beings, that unknown race, and little bits of
-knowledge about them may, perhaps, be picked up
-by a diligent observer.</p>
-
-<p>The men who drifted along the road towards the
-Fair were no "mashers, by Jove!" Some of them,
-though young, were clad antiquely enough in
-breeches and gaiters—not sportsmen's breeches
-and gaiters, but old-fashioned "granfer" things;
-the most of them were stout and sturdy, in drab
-and brown suits of good cloth, cut awry. Hundreds
-of them on foot, in traps, gigs, fourwheels, and on
-horseback, went under Amaryllis: but, though they
-were all Christians, there was not one "worth a
-Jewess' eye."</p>
-
-<p>She scorned them all.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_45" id="Page_45">[45]</a></span></p>
-
-<p>This member of the unknown race was too
-thickly made, short set, and squat; this one too
-fair—quite white and moist-sugar looking; this
-one had a straight leg.</p>
-
-<p>Another went by with a great thick and long
-black beard—what a horrid thing, now, when
-kissing!—and as he walked he wiped it with his
-sleeve, for he had just washed down the dust with
-a glass of ale. His neck, too, was red and thick;
-hideous, yet he was a "stout knave," and a man
-all over, as far as body makes a man.</p>
-
-<p>But women are, like Shakespeare, better judges.
-"Care I for the thews and sinews of a man?" They
-look for something more than bulk.</p>
-
-<p>A good many of these fellows were more or less
-lame, for it is astonishing if you watch people go by
-and keep account of them what a number have
-game legs, both young and old.</p>
-
-<p>A young buck on a capital horse was at the first
-glance more interesting—paler, rakish, a cigar in
-his mouth, an air of viciousness and dash combined,
-fairly well dressed, pale whiskers and beard; in short,
-he knew as much of the billiard-table as he did of
-sheep and corn. When nearer Amaryllis disliked
-him more than all the rest put together; she shrank
-back a little from the wall lest he should chance to
-look up; she would have feared to have been alone
-with such a character, and yet she could not have
-said why. She would not have feared to walk side
-by side with the great black beard—hideous as he
-was—nor with any of the rest, not even with the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_46" id="Page_46">[46]</a></span>
-roughest of the labourers who tramped along. This
-gentleman alone alarmed her.</p>
-
-<p>There were two wenches, out for their Fair Day
-holiday, coming by at the same time; they had on
-their best dresses and hats, and looked fresh and
-nice. They turned round to watch him coming,
-and half waited for him; when he came up he
-checked his horse, and began to "cheek" them.
-Nothing loth, the village girls "cheeked" him,
-and so they passed on.</p>
-
-<p>One or two very long men appeared, unusually
-clumsy, even in walking they did not know exactly
-what to do with their legs. Amaryllis had no
-objection to their being tall—indeed, to be tall is
-often a passport to a "Jewess' eye"—but they
-were so clumsy.</p>
-
-<p>Of the scores who went by in traps and vehicles
-she could not see much but their clothes and their
-faces, and both the clothes and the faces were very
-much alike. Rough, good cloth, ill-fitting (the
-shoulders were too broad for the tailor, who wanted
-to force Bond Street measurements on the British
-farmer's back); reddish, speckled faces, and yellowish
-hair and whiskers; big speckled hands, and
-that was all. Scores of men, precisely similar,
-were driven down the road. If those broad speckled
-hands had been shown to Jacob's ewes he need not
-have peeled rods to make them bring forth speckled
-lambs.</p>
-
-<p>Against the stile a long way up the road there
-was a group of five or six men, who were there<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_47" id="Page_47">[47]</a></span>
-when she first peered over the wall, and made no
-further progress to the Fair. They were waiting
-till some acquaintance came by and offered a lift;
-lazy dogs, they could not walk. They had already
-been there long enough to have walked to the Fair
-and back, still they preferred to fold their hands
-and cross their legs, and stay on. So many people
-being anxious to get to the town, most of those
-who drove had picked up friends long before they
-got here.</p>
-
-<p>The worst walker of all was a constable, whose
-huge boots seemed to take possession of the width
-of the road, for he turned them out at right angles,
-working his legs sideways to do it, an extraordinary
-exhibition of stupidity and ugliness, for which the
-authorities who drilled him in that way were responsible,
-and not the poor fellow.</p>
-
-<p>Among the lowing cattle and the baaing sheep
-there drifted by a variety of human animals, tramps
-and vagrants, not nearly of so much value as the
-wool and beef.</p>
-
-<p>It is curious that these "characters"—as they
-are so kindly called—have a way of associating
-themselves with things that promise vast enjoyment
-to others. The number of unhappy, shirtless
-wretches who thread their path in and out the
-coaches at the Derby is wonderful. While the
-champagne fizzes above on the roof, and the footman
-between the shafts sits on an upturned hamper
-and helps himself out of another to pie with truffles,
-the hungry, lean kine of human life wander round<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_48" id="Page_48">[48]</a></span>
-about sniffing and smelling, like Adam and Eve
-after the fall at the edge of Paradise.</p>
-
-<p>There are such incredible swarms of vagrants at
-the Derby that you might think the race was got
-up entirely for their sakes. There would be thousands
-at Sandown, but the gate is locked with a
-half-crown bolt, and they cannot get a stare at the
-fashionables on the lawn. For all that, the true
-tramp, male or female, is so inveterate an attendant
-at races and all kinds of accessible entertainments
-and public events that the features of the fashionable
-are better known to him than to hundreds of
-well-to-do people unable to enter society.</p>
-
-<p>So they paddled along to the fair, slip-slop, in
-the dust, among the cattle and sheep, hands in
-pockets, head hanging down, most of them followed
-at a short distance by a Thing.</p>
-
-<p>This Thing is upright, and therefore, according
-to the old definition, ought to come within the genus
-Homo. It wears garments rudely resembling those
-of a woman, and there it ends. Perhaps it was a
-woman once; perhaps it never was, for many of
-them have never had a chance to enter the ranks
-of their own sex.</p>
-
-<p>Amaryllis was too young, and, as a consequence,
-too full of her own strength and youth and joy in
-life to think for long or seriously about these curious
-Things drifting by like cattle and sheep. Yet her
-brow contracted, and she drew herself together as
-they passed—a sort of shiver, to think that there
-should be such degradation in the world. Twice<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_49" id="Page_49">[49]</a></span>
-when they came along her side of the road she
-dropped pennies in front of them, which they picked
-up in a listless way, just glancing over the ear in
-the direction the money fell, and went on without
-so much as recognizing where it came from.</p>
-
-<p>If sheep were treated as unfortunate human
-beings are, they would take a bitter revenge; though
-they are the mildest of creatures, they would soon
-turn round in a venomous manner. If they did
-not receive sufficient to eat and drink, and were not
-well sheltered, they would take a bitter revenge:
-<i>they would die</i>. Loss of £ s. d.!</p>
-
-<p>But human beings have not even got the courage
-or energy to do that; they put up with anything,
-and drag on—miserables that they are.</p>
-
-<p>I said they were not equal in value to the sheep—why,
-they're not worth anything when they're
-dead. You cannot even sell the skins of the
-Things!</p>
-
-<p>Slip-slop in the dust they drive along to the
-fair, where there will be an immense amount of
-eating and a far larger amount of drinking all round
-them, in every house they pass, and up to midnight.
-They will see valuable animals, and men with well-lined
-pockets. What on earth can a tramp find to
-please him among all this? It is not for him; yet
-he goes to see it.</p>
-
-
-
-<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_50" id="Page_50">[50]</a></span></p>
-<div class="figcenter" style="width: 500px;">
-<img src="images/i-046.png" width="500" height="83" alt="decoration" title="" />
-</div>
-
-
-<h2>CHAPTER VII.</h2>
-
-
-<div class="figleft" style="width: 121px;">
-<img src="images/t.png" width="121" height="120" alt="T" title="" />
-</div><div class='unindent'>HE crowd began to pass more thickly,
-when Amaryllis saw a man coming up
-the road in the opposite direction to
-that in which the multitude was moving.
-They were going to the fair; he had
-his back to it, and a party in a trap rallied him
-smartly for his folly.</div>
-
-<p>"What! bean't you a-going to fair? Why,
-Measter Duck, what's up? Looking for a thunderstorm?"—which
-young ducks are supposed to
-enjoy. "Ha! ha! ha!"</p>
-
-<p>Measter Duck, with a broad grin on his face,
-nevertheless plodded up the hill, and passed beneath
-Amaryllis.</p>
-
-<p>She knew him very well, for he lived in the
-hamlet, but she would not have taken any notice
-of him had he not been so elaborately dressed.
-His high silk hat shone glossy; his black broadcloth
-coat was new and carefully brushed; he was
-in black all over, in contrast with the mass of
-people who had gone by that morning. A blue
-necktie, bright and clean, spotless linen, gloves<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_51" id="Page_51">[51]</a></span>
-rolled up in a ball in one hand, whiskers brushed,
-boots shining, teeth clean, Johnny was off to the
-fair!</p>
-
-<p>The coat fitted him to a nicety; it had, in fact,
-no chance to do otherwise, for his great back and
-shoulders stretched it tight, and would have done
-so had it been made like a sack. Of all the big
-men who had gone by that day Jack Duck was the
-biggest; his back was immense, and straight, too,
-for he walked upright for a farmer, nor was his
-bulk altogether without effect, for he was not over-burdened
-with abdomen, so that it showed to the
-best advantage. He was a little over the average
-height, but not tall; he had grown laterally.</p>
-
-<p>He could lift two sacks of wheat from the ground.
-You just try to lift <i>one</i>.</p>
-
-<p>His sleeves were too long, so that only the great
-knuckles of his speckled hands were visible. Red
-whiskers, red hair, blue eyes, speckled face, straight
-lips, thick, like the edge of an earthenware pitcher,
-and of much the same coarse red hue, always a
-ready grin, a round, hard head, which you might have
-hit safely with a mallet; and there is the picture.</p>
-
-<p>For some reason, very big men do not look well
-in glossy black coats and silk hats; they seem to
-want wideawakes, bowlers, caps, anything rather
-than a Paris hat, and some loose-cut jacket of a
-free-and-easy colour, suitable for the field, or
-cricket, or boating. They do not belong to the
-town and narrow doorways; Nature grew them for
-hills and fields.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_52" id="Page_52">[52]</a></span></p>
-
-<p>Compared with the Continental folk, most Englishmen
-are big, and therefore, as their "best"
-suits do not fit in with their character as written
-in limbs and shoulders, the Continent thinks us
-clumsy. The truth is, it is the Continent that is
-little.</p>
-
-<p>"Isn't he ugly?" thought Amaryllis, looking
-down on poor John Duck. "Isn't he ugly?"
-Now the top of the wall was crusted with moss,
-which has a way of growing into bricks and mortar,
-and attaching particles of brick to its roots. As
-she watched the people she unconsciously trifled
-with a little piece of moss—her hand happened at
-the moment to project over the wall, and as John
-Duck went under she dropped the bit of moss
-straight on his glossy hat. Tap! the fragment of
-brick adhering to the moss struck the hollow hat
-smartly like a drum.</p>
-
-<p>She drew back quickly, laughing and blushing,
-and angry with herself all at the same time, for she
-had done it without a thought.</p>
-
-<p>Jack pulled off his hat, saw nothing, and put it
-on again, suspecting that some one in a passing gig
-had "chucked" something at him.</p>
-
-<p>In a minute Amaryllis peeped over the wall,
-and, seeing his broad back a long way up the road,
-resumed her stand.</p>
-
-<p>"How ever could I do such a stupid thing?"
-she thought. "But isn't he ugly? Aren't they
-<i>all</i> ugly? All of them—horridly ugly."</p>
-
-<p>The entire unknown race of Man was hideous.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_53" id="Page_53">[53]</a></span>
-So coarse in feature—their noses were thick, half
-an inch thick, or enormously long and knobbed at
-the end like a walking-stick, or curved like a
-reaping-hook, or slewed to one side, or flat as if
-they had been smashed, or short and stumpy and
-incomplete, or spotted with red blotches, or turned
-up in the vulgarest manner—nobody had a good
-nose.</p>
-
-<p>Their eyes were goggles, round and staring—like
-liquid marbles—they had no eyelashes,
-and their eyebrows were either white and invisible,
-or shaggy, as if thistles grew along their
-foreheads.</p>
-
-<p>Their cheeks were speckled and freckled and red
-and brick-dust and leather-coloured, and enclosed
-with scrubby whiskers, like a garden hedge.</p>
-
-<p>Upon the whole, those who shaved and were
-smooth looked worse than those who did not, for
-they thus exposed the angularities of their chins
-and jaws.</p>
-
-<p>They wore such horrid hats on the top of these
-roughly-sketched faces—sketched, as it were, with
-a bit of burnt stick. Some of them had their hats
-on the backs of their heads, and some wore them
-aslant, and some jammed over their brows.</p>
-
-<p>They went along smoking and puffing, and talking
-and guffawing in the vulgarest way, <i>en route</i> to
-swill and smoke and puff and guffaw somewhere
-else.</p>
-
-<p>Whoever could tell what they were talking
-about? these creatures.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_54" id="Page_54">[54]</a></span></p>
-
-<p>They had no form or grace like a woman—no
-lovely sloped shoulders, no beautiful bosom, no
-sweeping curve of robe down to the feet. No
-softness of cheek, or silky hair, or complexion, or
-taper fingers, or arched eyebrows; no sort of style
-whatever. They were mere wooden figures; and,
-in short, sublimely ugly.</p>
-
-<p>There was a good deal of truth in Amaryllis'
-reflections; it was a pity a woman was not taken
-into confidence when the men were made.</p>
-
-<p>Suppose the women were like the men, and we
-had to make love to such a set of bristly, grisly
-wretches!—pah! shouldn't we think them ugly!
-The patience of the women, putting up with us so
-long!</p>
-
-<p>As for the muscles on which we pride ourselves
-so much, in a woman's eyes (though she prefers a
-strong man) they simply increase our extraordinary
-ugliness.</p>
-
-<p>But if we look pale, and slim, and so forth, then
-they despise us, and there is no doubt that altogether
-the men were made wrong.</p>
-
-<p>"And Jack's the very ugliest of the lot,"
-thought Amaryllis. "He just <i>is</i> ugly."</p>
-
-<p>Pounding up the slope, big John Duck came
-by-and-by to the gateway, and entering without
-ceremony, as is the custom in the country, found
-Mr. Iden near the back door talking to a farmer
-who had seated himself on a stool.</p>
-
-<p>He was a middle-aged man, stout and florid,
-rough as a chunk of wood, but dressed in his best<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_55" id="Page_55">[55]</a></span>
-brown for the fair. Tears were rolling down his
-vast round cheeks as he expatiated on his grievances
-to Mr. Iden:—</p>
-
-<p>"Now, just you see how I be helped up with
-this here 'ooman," he concluded as Duck arrived.
-Mr. Iden, not a little glad of an opportunity to
-escape a repetition of the narrative, to which he
-had patiently listened, took Jack by the arm, and
-led him indoors. As they went the man on the
-stool extended his arm towards them hopelessly:—"Just
-you see how I be helped up with this here
-'ooman!"</p>
-
-<p>A good many have been "helped up" with a
-woman before now.</p>
-
-<p>Mrs. Iden met Jack with a gracious smile—she
-always did—yet there could not have been imagined
-a man less likely to have pleased her.</p>
-
-<p>A quick, nervous temperament, an eye sharp to
-detect failings or foolishness, an admirer of briskness
-and vivacity, why did she welcome John Duck,
-that incarnation of stolidity and slowness, that
-enormous mountain of a man? Because extremes
-meet? No, since she was always complaining of
-Iden's dull, motionless life; so it was not the contrast
-to her own disposition that charmed her.</p>
-
-<p>John Duck was Another Man—not Mr. Iden.</p>
-
-<p>The best of matrons like to see Another Man
-enter their houses; there's no viciousness in it, it
-is simply nature, which requires variety. The best
-of husbands likes to have another woman—or two,
-or three—on a visit; there's nothing wrong, it is<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_56" id="Page_56">[56]</a></span>
-innocent enough, and but gives a spice to the
-monotony of existence.</p>
-
-<p>Besides, John Duck, that mountain of slowness
-and stolidity, was not perhaps a fool, notwithstanding
-his outward clumsiness. A little attention is
-appreciated even by a matron of middle age.</p>
-
-<p>"Will you get us some ale?" said Iden; and
-Mrs. Iden brought a full jug with her own hands—a
-rare thing, for she hated the Goliath barrel as
-Iden enjoyed it.</p>
-
-<p>"Going to the fair, Mr. Duck?"</p>
-
-<p>"Yes, m'm," said John, deep in his chest and
-gruff, about as a horse might be expected to speak
-if he had a voice. "You going, m'm? I just come
-up to ask if you'd ride in my dog-trap?"</p>
-
-<p>John had a first-rate turn-out.</p>
-
-<p>Mrs. Iden, beaming with smiles, replied that she
-was not going to the fair.</p>
-
-<p>"Should be glad to take you, you know," said
-John, dipping into the ale. "Shall you be going
-presently?"—to Mr. Iden. "Perhaps you'd have
-a seat?"</p>
-
-<p>"Hum!" said Iden, fiddling with his chin, a
-trick he had when undecided. "I don't zactly
-know; fine day, you see; want to see that hedge
-grubbed; want to fill up the gaps; want to go over
-to the wood meads; thought about——"</p>
-
-<p>"There, take and go!" said Mrs. Iden. "Sit
-there thinking—take and go."</p>
-
-<p>"I can't say zactly, John; don't seem to have
-anything to go vor."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_57" id="Page_57">[57]</a></span></p>
-
-<p>"What do other people go for?" said Mrs. Iden,
-contemptuously. "Why can't you do like other
-people? Get on your clean shirt, and go. Jack
-can wait—he can talk to Amaryllis while you
-dress."</p>
-
-<p>"Perhaps Miss would like to go," suggested
-John, very quietly, and as if it was no consequence
-to him; the very thing he had called for, to see if
-he could get Amaryllis to drive in with him. He
-knew that Mrs. Iden never went anywhere, and
-that Mr. Iden could not make up his mind in a
-minute—he would require three or four days at
-least—so that it was quite safe to ask them first.</p>
-
-<p>"Of course she would," said Mrs. Iden. "She
-is going—to dine with her grandfather; it will save
-her a long walk. You had better go and ask
-her; she's down at Plum Corner, watching the
-people."</p>
-
-<p>"So I wull," said Jack, looking out of the great
-bow window at the mention of Plum Corner—he
-could just see the flutter of Amaryllis' dress in the
-distance between the trees. That part of the
-garden was called Plum Corner because of a famous
-plum tree—the one that had not been pruned and
-was sprawling about the wall.</p>
-
-<p>Mr. Iden had planted that plum tree specially for
-Mrs. Iden, because she was so fond of a ripe
-luscious plum. But of late years he had not
-pruned it.</p>
-
-<p>"Vine ale!" said John, finishing his mug.
-"Extra vine ale!"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_58" id="Page_58">[58]</a></span></p>
-
-<p>"It be, bean't it?" said Mr. Iden.</p>
-
-<p>It really was humming stuff, but John well knew
-how proud Iden was of it, and how much he liked
-to hear it praised.</p>
-
-<p>The inhabitants of the City of London conceitedly
-imagine that no one can be sharp-witted
-outside the sound of Bow Bells—country people
-are stupid. My opinion is that clumsy Jack Duck,
-who took about half an hour to write his name, was
-equal to most of them.</p>
-
-<div class="figcenter" style="width: 172px;">
-<img src="images/i-047.png" width="172" height="160" alt="decoration" title="" />
-</div>
-
-
-
-<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_59" id="Page_59">[59]</a></span></p>
-<div class="figcenter" style="width: 500px;">
-<img src="images/i-048.png" width="500" height="84" alt="decoration" title="" />
-</div>
-
-
-<h2>CHAPTER VIII.</h2>
-
-
-<div class="figleft" style="width: 121px;">
-<img src="images/t.png" width="121" height="120" alt="T" title="" />
-</div><div class='unindent'>HE ale being ended, Iden walked with
-him through the orchard.</div>
-
-<p>"Famous wall that," said John, presently,
-nodding towards the great red
-brick wall which adorned that side of
-the place. "Knowed how to build walls in those
-days."</p>
-
-<p>"No such wall as that anywhere about here,"
-said Iden, as proud of his wall as his ale. "No
-such bricks to be got. Folk don't know how to
-put up a wall now—you read in the papers how the
-houses valls down in Lunnon."</p>
-
-<p>"Sort of cracks and comes in like—jest squashes
-up," said John.</p>
-
-<p>"Now, that's a real bit of brickwork," said Iden.
-"That'll last—ah, last——"</p>
-
-<p>"No end to it," said John, who had admired the
-wall forty times before, thinking to himself as he
-saw Amaryllis leaning over the corner, "Blessed if
-I don't think as 'twas she as dropped summat on my
-hat." This strengthened his hopes; he had a tolerably
-clear idea that Mr. and Mrs. Iden were not<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_60" id="Page_60">[60]</a></span>
-averse to his suit; but he was doubtful about
-Amaryllis herself.</p>
-
-<p>Amaryllis had not the slightest idea Duck had
-so much as looked at her—he called often, but
-seemed absorbed in the ale and gossip. Fancy her
-scorn if she had guessed!</p>
-
-<p>John Duck was considered one of the most eligible
-young men thereabouts, for though by no means
-born in the purple of farming, it was believed he
-was certain to be very "warm" indeed when his
-father died. Old Duck, the son of a common
-labourer, occupied two or three of the finest farms
-in the neighbourhood. He made his money in a
-waggon—a curious place, you will say; why so?
-Have you ever seen the dingy, dark china-closets
-they call offices in the City? Have you ever ascended
-the dirty, unscrubbed, disgraceful staircase that leads
-to a famous barrister's "chambers"? These are
-far less desirable, surely, than a seat in a waggon
-in a beautiful meadow or cornfield. Old Duck,
-being too ponderous to walk, was driven about in a
-waggon, sitting at the rear with his huge, short
-legs dangling down; and, the waggon being halted
-in a commanding position, he overlooked his men
-at work.</p>
-
-<p>One day he was put in a cart instead, and the
-carter walking home beside the horse, and noting
-what a pull it was for him up the hills, and drawling
-along half asleep, quite forgot his master, and
-dreamed he had a load of stones. By-and-by, he
-pulled out the bar, and shot Old Duck out. "A<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_61" id="Page_61">[61]</a></span>
-shot me out," grumbled the old man, "as if I'd a
-been a load of flints."</p>
-
-<p>Riding about in this rude chariot the old fellow
-had amassed considerable wealth—his reputation
-for money was very great indeed—and his son
-John would, of course, come in for it.</p>
-
-<p>John felt sure of Mr. and Mrs. Iden, but about
-Amaryllis he did not know. The idea that she
-had dropped "summat" on his hat raised his
-spirits immensely.</p>
-
-<p>Now Amaryllis was not yet beautiful—she was
-too young; I do not think any girl is really
-beautiful so young—she was highly individualized,
-and had a distinct character, as it were, in her face
-and figure. You saw at a glance that there was
-something about her very different from other girls,
-something very marked, but it was not beauty
-yet.</p>
-
-<p>Whether John thought her handsome, or saw
-that she would be, or what, I do not know; or
-whether he looked "forrard," as he would have
-said.</p>
-
-<div class='center'>
-"Heigh for a lass with a tocher!"<br />
-</div>
-
-<p>John had never read Burns, and would not have
-known that tocher meant dowry; nor had he seen
-the advice of Tennyson—</p>
-
-<div class='poem'>
-"Doesn't thee marry for money,<br />
-<span style="margin-left: 0.5em;">But go where money lies."</span><br />
-</div>
-
-<div class='unindent'>but his native intelligence needed no assistance
-from the poets, coronetted or otherwise.</div><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_62" id="Page_62">[62]</a></span></p>
-
-<p>It was patent to everyone that her father, Iden,
-was as poor as the raggedest coat in Christendom
-could make him; but it was equally well known and
-a matter of public faith, that her grandfather, the
-great miller and baker, Lord Lardy-Cake, as the
-boys called him derisively, had literally bushels
-upon bushels of money. He was a famous stickler
-for ancient usages, and it was understood that there
-were twenty thousand spade guineas in an iron
-box under his bed. Any cottager in the whole
-country side could have told you so, and would
-have smiled at your ignorance; the thing was as
-well known as that St. Paul's is in the City.</p>
-
-<p>Besides which there was another consideration,
-old Granfer Iden was a great favourite at Court—Court
-meaning the mansion of the Hon. Raleigh
-Pamment, the largest landowner that side of the
-county. Granfer Iden entered the Deer Park
-(which was private) with a special key whenever
-he pleased, he strolled about the gardens, looked
-in at the conservatory, chatted familiarly with the
-royal family of Pamment when they were at home,
-and when they were away took any friend he chose
-through the galleries and saloons.</p>
-
-<p>"Must be summat at the bottom on't," said
-John Duck to himself many a time and oft. "They
-stuck-up proud folk wouldn't have he there if there
-wasn't summat at the bottom on't." A favourite
-at Court could dispense, no doubt, many valuable
-privileges.</p>
-
-<p>Amaryllis heard their talk as they came nearer,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_63" id="Page_63">[63]</a></span>
-and turned round and faced them. She wore a
-black dress, but no hat; instead she had carelessly
-thrown a scarlet shawl over her head, mantilla
-fashion, and held it with one hand. Her dark
-ringlets fringed her forehead, blown free and wild;
-the fresh air had brought a bright colour into her
-cheeks. As is often the case with girls whose
-figure is just beginning to show itself, her dress
-seemed somewhat shortened in front—lifted up
-from her ankles, which gave the effect of buoyancy
-to her form, she seemed about to walk though
-standing still. There was a defiant light in her
-deep brown eyes, that sort of "I don't care" disposition
-which our grandmothers used to say
-would take us to the gallows. Defiance, wilfulness,
-rebellion, was expressed in the very way she stood
-on the bank, a little higher than they were, and
-able to look over their heads.</p>
-
-<p>"Marning," said John, rocking his head to one
-side as a salute.</p>
-
-<p>"Marning," repeated Amaryllis, mocking his
-broad pronunciation.</p>
-
-<p>As John could not get any further Iden helped
-him.</p>
-
-<p>"Jack's going to the fair," he said, "and
-thought you would like to ride with him. Run in
-and dress."</p>
-
-<p>"I shan't ride," said Amaryllis, "I shall walk."</p>
-
-<p>"Longish way," said John. "Mor'n two mile."</p>
-
-<p>"I shall walk," said Amaryllis, decidedly.</p>
-
-<p>"Lot of cattle about," said John.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_64" id="Page_64">[64]</a></span></p>
-
-<p>"Better ride," said Iden.</p>
-
-<p>"No," said Amaryllis, and turned her back on
-them to look over the wall again.</p>
-
-<p>She was a despot already. There was nothing
-left for them but to walk away.</p>
-
-<p>"However," said Iden, always trying to round
-things off and make square edges smooth, "very
-likely you'll overtake her and pick her up."</p>
-
-<p>"Her wull go across the fields," said John.
-"Shan't see her."</p>
-
-<p>As he walked down the road home for his dog-trap
-he looked up at the corner of the wall, but she
-was not looking over then. Mrs. Iden had fetched
-her in, as it was time to dress.</p>
-
-<p>"I don't want to go," said Amaryllis, "I hate
-fairs—they are so silly."</p>
-
-<p>"But you must go," said Mrs. Iden. "Your
-grandfather sent a message last night; you know
-it's his dinner-day."</p>
-
-<p>"He's such a horrid old fellow," said Amaryllis,
-"I can't bear him."</p>
-
-<p>"How dare you speak of your grandfather like
-that? you are getting very rude and disrespectful."</p>
-
-<p>There was no depending on Mrs. Iden. At one
-time she would go on and abuse Granfer Iden for
-an hour at a time, calling him every name she could
-think of, and accusing him of every folly under the
-sun. At another time she would solemnly inform
-Amaryllis that they had not a farthing of money,
-and how necessary it was that they should be
-attentive and civil to him.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_65" id="Page_65">[65]</a></span></p>
-
-<p>Amaryllis very slowly put her hat on and the
-first jacket to hand.</p>
-
-<p>"What! aren't you going to change your
-dress?"</p>
-
-<p>"No, that I'm not."</p>
-
-<p>"Change it directly."</p>
-
-<p>"What, to go in and see that musty old——"</p>
-
-<p>"Change it directly; I <i>will</i> be obeyed."</p>
-
-<p>Amaryllis composedly did as she was bid.</p>
-
-<p>One day Mrs. Iden humoured her every whim
-and let her do just as she pleased; the next she
-insisted on minute obedience.</p>
-
-<p>"Make haste, you'll be late; now, then, put your
-things on—come."</p>
-
-<p>So Amaryllis, much against her will, was bustled
-out of the house and started off. As John had
-foreseen, she soon quitted the road to follow the
-path across the fields, which was shorter.</p>
-
-<p>An hour or so later Iden came in from work as
-usual, a few minutes before dinner, and having
-drawn his quart of ale, sat down to sip it in the
-bow window till the dishes were brought.</p>
-
-<p>"You're not gone, then?" said Mrs. Iden, irritatingly.</p>
-
-<p>"Gone—wur?" said Iden, rather gruffly for
-him.</p>
-
-<p>"To fair, of course—like other people."</p>
-
-<p>"Hum," growled Iden.</p>
-
-<p>"You know your father expects all the family to
-come in to dinner on fair day; I can't think how
-you can neglect him, when you know we haven't got<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_66" id="Page_66">[66]</a></span>
-a shilling—why don't you go in and speak to
-him?"</p>
-
-<p>"You can go if you like."</p>
-
-<p>"I go!" cried Mrs. Iden. "I go!" in shrill
-accents of contempt. "I don't care a button for
-all the lardy-cake lot! Let him keep his money.
-I'm as good as he is any day. My family go about,
-and do some business——"</p>
-
-<p>"<i>Your</i> family," muttered Iden. "The Flammas!"</p>
-
-<p>"Yes, <i>my</i> family—as good as yours, I should
-think! What's your family then, that you should
-be so grand? You're descended from a lardy-cake!"</p>
-
-<p>"You be descended from a quart pot," said
-Iden.</p>
-
-<p>This was an allusion to Mrs. Iden's grandfather,
-who had kept a small wayside public.
-There was no disgrace in it, for he was a very
-respectable man, and laid the foundation of his
-family's fortune, but it drove Mrs. Iden into
-frenzy.</p>
-
-<p>"You talk about a quart pot—<i>you</i>," she
-shrieked. "Why, your family have drunk up thousands
-of pounds—you know they have. Where's
-the Manor? they swilled it away. Where's
-Upper Court? they got it down their throats.
-They built a house to drink in and nothing else.
-You know they did. You told me yourself.
-The most disgraceful set of drunkards that ever
-lived!"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_67" id="Page_67">[67]</a></span></p>
-
-<p>"Your family don't drink, then, I suppose?"
-said Iden.</p>
-
-<p>"Your lot's been drinking two hundred years—why,
-you're always talking about it."</p>
-
-<p>"Your family be as nervous as cats—see their
-hands shake in the morning."</p>
-
-<p>"They go to business in the City and do something;
-they don't mess about planting rubbishing
-potatoes." Mrs. Iden was London born.</p>
-
-<p>"A pretty mess they've made of their business,
-as shaky as their hands. Fidgetty, miserable,
-nervous set they be."</p>
-
-<p>"They're not stocks and stones like yours, anyhow,
-as stolid, and slow, and stupid; why, you do
-nothing but sleep, sleep, sleep, and talk, talk, talk.
-You've been talking with the lazy lot over at the
-stile, and you've been talking with that old fool at
-the back door, and talking with Jack Duck—and
-that's your second mug! You're descended from a
-nasty, greasy lardy-cake! There!"</p>
-
-<p>Iden snatched a piece of bread from the table and
-thrust it in one pocket, flung open the oven-door,
-and put a baked apple in the other pocket, and so
-marched out to eat what he could in quiet under a
-tree in the fields.</p>
-
-<p>In the oratory of abuse there is no resource so
-successful as raking up the weaknesses of the opponent's
-family, especially when the parties are
-married, for having gossiped with each other for
-so long in the most confidential manner, they know
-every foible. How Robert drank, and Tom bet,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_68" id="Page_68">[68]</a></span>
-and Sam swore, and Bill knocked his wife about,
-and Joseph did as Potiphar's spouse asked him, and
-why your uncle had to take refuge in Spain; and
-so on to an indefinite extent, like the multiplication
-table.</p>
-
-<div class="figcenter" style="width: 143px;">
-<img src="images/i-050.png" width="143" height="270" alt="decoration" title="" />
-</div>
-
-
-
-<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_69" id="Page_69">[69]</a></span></p>
-<div class="figcenter" style="width: 500px;">
-<img src="images/i-051.png" width="500" height="88" alt="decoration" title="" />
-</div>
-
-
-<h2>CHAPTER IX.</h2>
-
-
-<div class="figleft" style="width: 121px;">
-<img src="images/t.png" width="121" height="120" alt="T" title="" />
-</div><div class='unindent'>HIS discordance between her father and
-mother hurt Amaryllis' affectionate
-heart exceedingly. It seemed to be
-always breaking out all the year round.</div>
-
-<p>Of a summer's eve, when the day's
-work among the hot hay was done, Iden would
-often go out and sit under the russet apple till the
-dew had filled the grass like a green sea. When
-the tide of the dew had risen he would take off his
-heavy boots and stockings, and so walk about in
-the cool shadows of eve, paddling in the wet grass.
-He liked the refreshing coolness and the touch of the
-sward. It was not for washing, because he was scrupulously
-clean under the ragged old coat; it was
-because he liked the grass. There was nothing
-very terrible in it; men, and women, too, take off
-their shoes and stockings, and wade about on the
-sands at the sea, and no one thinks that it is anything
-but natural, reasonable, and pleasant. But,
-then, you see, <i>everybody</i> does it at the seaside, and
-Iden alone waded in the dew, and that was his
-crime—that he alone did it.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_70" id="Page_70">[70]</a></span></p>
-
-<p>The storm and rage of Mrs. Iden whenever she
-knew he was paddling in the grass was awful.
-She would come shuffling out—she had a way of
-rubbing her shoes along the ground when irritated
-with her hands under her apron, which she twisted
-about—and pelt him with scorn.</p>
-
-<p>"There, put your boots on—do, and hide your
-nasty feet!" (Iden had a particularly white skin, and
-feet as white as a lady's.) "Disgusting! Nobody
-ever does it but you, and you ought to be ashamed
-of yourself! Anything more disgusting I never
-heard of. Nobody else but you would ever think
-of such a thing; makes me feel queer to see you."</p>
-
-<p>Shuffling about, and muttering to herself, "Nobody
-else"—that was the sin and guilt of it—by-and-by
-Mrs. Iden would circle round to where he
-had left his boots, and, suddenly seizing them,
-would fling them in the ditch.</p>
-
-<p>And I verily believe, in the depth of her indignation,
-if she had not been afraid to touch firearms,
-she would have brought out the gun, and had
-a shot at him.</p>
-
-<p>After a time Iden left his old post at the russet
-apple, and went up the meadow to the horse-chestnut
-trees that he himself had planted, and there, in
-peace and quietness and soft cool shadow, waded
-about in the dew, without any one to grumble at him.</p>
-
-<p>How crookedly things are managed in this
-world!</p>
-
-<p>It is the modern fashion to laugh at the East,
-and despise the Turks and all their ways, making<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_71" id="Page_71">[71]</a></span>
-Grand Viziers of barbers, and setting waiters in
-high places, with the utmost contempt for anything
-reasonable—all so incongruous and chance-ruled.
-In truth, all things in our very midst go on in the
-Turkish manner; crooked men are set in straight
-places, and straight people in crooked places, just
-the same as if we had all been dropped promiscuously
-out of a bag and shook down together on the earth
-to work out our lives, quite irrespective of our
-abilities and natures. Such an utter jumble!</p>
-
-<p>Here was Iden, with his great brain and wonderful
-power of observation, who ought to have
-been a famous traveller in unexplored Africa or
-Thibet, bringing home rarities and wonders; or,
-with his singular capacity for construction, a leading
-engineer, boring Mont Cenis Tunnels and making
-Panama Canals; or, with his Baconian intellect,
-forming a new school of philosophy—here was Iden,
-tending cows, and sitting, as the old story goes,
-undecidedly on a stile—sitting astride—eternally
-sitting, and unable to make up his mind to get off
-on one side or the other.</p>
-
-<p>Here was Mrs. Iden, who had had a beautiful
-shape and expressive eyes, full in her youth of life
-and fire, who ought to have led the gayest life in
-London and Paris alternately, riding in a carriage,
-and flinging money about in the most extravagant,
-joyous, and good-natured manner—here was Mrs.
-Iden making butter in a dull farmhouse, and wearing
-shoes out at the toes.</p>
-
-<p>So our lives go on, rumble-jumble, like a carrier's<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_72" id="Page_72">[72]</a></span>
-cart over ruts and stones, thumping anyhow instead
-of running smoothly on new-mown sward like a
-cricket-ball.</p>
-
-<p>It all happens in the Turkish manner.</p>
-
-<p>Another time there would come a letter from one
-of the Flammas in London. Could they spare a
-little bag of lavender?—they grew such lovely
-sweet lavender at Coombe Oaks. Then you might
-see Mr. and Mrs. Iden cooing and billing, soft as
-turtle-doves, and fraternising in the garden over
-the lavender hedge. Here was another side, you
-see, to the story.</p>
-
-<p>Mrs. Iden was very fond of lavender, the scent,
-and the plant in every form. She kept little bags
-of it in all her drawers, and everything at Coombe
-Oaks upstairs in the bedrooms had a faint, delicious
-lavender perfume. There is nothing else that
-smells so sweet and clean and dry. You cannot
-imagine a damp sheet smelling of lavender.</p>
-
-<p>Iden himself liked lavender, and used to rub it
-between his finger and thumb in the garden, as he
-did, too, with the black-currant leaves and walnut-leaves,
-if he fancied anything he had touched
-might have left an unpleasant odour adhering to
-his skin. He said it cleaned his hands as much as
-washing them.</p>
-
-<p>Iden liked Mrs. Iden to like lavender because
-his mother had been so fond of it, and all the sixteen
-carved oak-presses which had been so familiar to him
-in boyhood were full of a thick atmosphere of the
-plant.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_73" id="Page_73">[73]</a></span></p>
-
-<p>Long since, while yet the honeymoon bouquet
-remained in the wine of life, Iden had set a hedge
-of lavender to please his wife. It was so carefully
-chosen, and set, and watched, that it grew to be the
-finest lavender in all the country. People used to
-come for it from round about, quite certain of a
-favourable reception, for there was nothing so sure
-to bring peace at Coombe Oaks as a mention of
-lavender.</p>
-
-<p>But the letter from the Flammas was the great
-event—from London, all that way, asking for some
-Coombe Oaks lavender! Then there was billing
-and cooing, and fraternising, and sunshine in the
-garden over the hedge of lavender. If only it
-could have lasted! Somehow, as people grow
-older there seems so much grating of the wheels.</p>
-
-<p>In time, long time, people's original feelings get
-strangely confused and overlaid. The churchwardens
-of the eighteenth century plastered the
-fresco paintings of the fourteenth in their churches—covered
-them over with yellowish mortar. The
-mould grows up, and hides the capital of the fallen
-column; the acanthus is hidden in earth. At the
-foot of the oak, where it is oldest, the bark becomes
-dense and thick, impenetrable, and without
-sensitiveness; you may cut off an inch thick without
-reaching the sap. A sort of scale or caking in
-long, long time grows over original feelings.</p>
-
-<p>There was no one in the world so affectionate
-and loving as Mrs. Iden—no one who loved a father
-so dearly; just as Amaryllis loved <i>her</i> father.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_74" id="Page_74">[74]</a></span></p>
-
-<p>But after they had lived at Coombe Oaks thirty
-years or so, and the thick dull bark had grown,
-after the scales or caking had come upon the heart,
-after the capital of the column had fallen, after the
-painting had been blurred, it came about that old
-Flamma, Mrs. Iden's father, died in London.</p>
-
-<p>After thirty years of absolute quiet at Coombe
-Oaks, husband and wife went up to London to the
-funeral, which took place at one of those fearful
-London cemeteries that strike a chill at one's very
-soul. Of all the horrible things in the world there
-is nothing so calmly ghastly as a London cemetery.</p>
-
-<p>In the evening, after the funeral, Mr. and Mrs.
-Iden went to the theatre.</p>
-
-<p>"How frivolous! How unfeeling!" No, nothing
-of the sort; how truly sad and human, for to be
-human is to be sad. That men and women should
-be so warped and twisted by the pressure of the
-years out of semblance to themselves; that circumstances
-should so wall in their lives with insurmountable
-cliffs of granite facts, compelling them
-to tread the sunless gorge; that the coldness of
-death alone could open the door to pleasure.</p>
-
-<p>They sat at the theatre with grey hearts. With
-the music and the song, the dancing, the colours
-and gay dresses, it was sadder there than in the
-silent rooms at the house where the dead had been.
-Old Flamma alone had been dead <i>there</i>; they were
-dead here. Dead in life—at the theatre.</p>
-
-<p>They had used to go joyously to the theatre
-thirty years before, when Iden came courting to<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_75" id="Page_75">[75]</a></span>
-town; from the edge of the grave they came back
-to look on their own buried lives.</p>
-
-<p>If you will only <i>think</i>, you will see it was a most
-dreadful and miserable incident, that visit to the
-theatre after the funeral.</p>
-
-<div class="figcenter" style="width: 192px;">
-<img src="images/i-052.png" width="192" height="150" alt="decoration" title="" />
-</div>
-
-
-
-<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_76" id="Page_76">[76]</a></span></p>
-<div class="figcenter" style="width: 500px;">
-<img src="images/i-053.png" width="500" height="85" alt="decoration" title="" />
-</div>
-
-
-<h2>CHAPTER X.</h2>
-
-
-<div class="figleft" style="width: 120px;">
-<img src="images/w.png" width="120" height="120" alt="W" title="" />
-</div><div class='unindent'>HEN Mrs. Iden threw his lardy-cake
-descent in Iden's face she alluded to
-Grandfather Iden's being a baker and
-miller, and noted for the manufacture
-of these articles. A lardy, or larded,
-cake is a thing, I suppose, unknown to most of this
-generation; they were the principal confectionery
-familiar to country folk when Grandfather Iden was
-at the top of his business activity, seventy years
-since, in the Waterloo era.</div>
-
-<p>A lardy-cake is an oblong, flat cake, crossed with
-lines, and rounded at the corners, made of dough,
-lard, sugar, and spice. Our ancestors liked something
-to gnaw at, and did not go in for lightness in
-their pastry; they liked something to stick to their
-teeth, and after that to their ribs. The lardy-cake
-eminently fulfilled these conditions; they put a
-trifle of sugar and spice in it, to set it going as it
-were, and the rest depended on the strength of the
-digestion. But if a ploughboy could get a new,
-warm lardy-cake, fresh from the oven, he thought
-himself blessed.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_77" id="Page_77">[77]</a></span></p>
-
-<p>Grandfather Iden had long since ceased any
-serious business, but he still made a few of these
-renowned cakes for his amusement, and sold a good
-few at times to the carters' lads who came in to
-market.</p>
-
-<p>Amaryllis knew the path perfectly, but if she
-had not, the tom-tomming of drums and blowing of
-brass, audible two miles away, would have guided
-her safely to the fair. The noise became prodigious
-as she approached—the ceaseless tomtom, the beating
-of drums and gongs outside the show vans, the
-shouting of the showmen, the roar of a great
-crowd, the booing of cattle, the baaing of sheep,
-the neighing of horses—altogether the "rucket"
-was tremendous.</p>
-
-<p>She looked back from the hill close to the town
-and saw the people hurrying in from every quarter—there
-was a string of them following the path she
-had come, and others getting over distant stiles. A
-shower had fallen in the night, but the ceaseless
-wheels had ground up the dust again, and the lines
-of the various roads were distinctly marked by the
-clouds hanging above them. For one on business,
-fifty hastened on to join the uproar.</p>
-
-<p>Suppose the Venus de Medici had been fetched
-from Florence and had been set up in the town of
-Woolhorton, or the Laocoon from Rome, or the
-Milo from Paris, do you think all these people
-would have scurried in such haste to admire these
-beautiful works? Nothing of the sort; if you
-want a crowd you must make a row. It is really<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_78" id="Page_78">[78]</a></span>
-wonderful how people do thoroughly and unaffectedly
-enjoy a fearful disturbance; if the cannon
-could be shot off quietly, and guns made no noise,
-battles would not be half so popular to read about.
-The silent arrow is uninteresting, and if you describe
-a mediæval scramble you must put in plenty
-of splintering lances, resounding armour, shrieks
-and groans, and so render it lively.</p>
-
-<p>"This is the patent age of new inventions," and
-some one might make a profit by starting a fête
-announcing that a drum or a gong would be provided
-for every individual, to be beaten in a grand
-universal chorus.</p>
-
-<p>Amaryllis had no little difficulty in getting
-through the crowd till she found her way behind
-the booths and slipped along the narrow passage
-between them and the houses. There was an
-arched entrance, archæologically interesting, by
-which she paused a moment, half inclined to go up
-and inquire for her boots. The shoemaker who
-lived there had had them since Christmas, and all
-that wanted doing was a patch on one toe; they
-were always just going to be done, but never
-finished. She read the inscription over his door,
-"Tiras Wise, Shoemaker; Established 1697." A
-different sort of shoemaker to your lively Northampton
-awls; a man who has been in business two
-hundred years cannot be hurried. She sighed, and
-passed on.</p>
-
-<p>The step to Grandfather Iden's door consisted
-of one wide stone of semi-circular shape, in which<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_79" id="Page_79">[79]</a></span>
-the feet of three generations of customers had
-worn a deep grove. The venerable old gentleman,
-for he was over ninety, was leaning on the hatch
-(or lower half of the door), in the act of handing
-some of his cakes to two village girls who had
-called for them. These innocent, hamlet girls, supposed
-to be so rurally simple, had just been telling
-him how they never forgot his nice cakes, but always
-came every fair day to buy some. For this they
-got sixpence each, it being well known that the
-old gentleman was so delighted with anybody who
-bought his cakes he generally gave them back their
-money, and a few coppers besides.</p>
-
-<p>He took Amaryllis by the arm as she stood on
-the step and pulled her into the shop, asked her if
-her father were coming, then walked her down by
-the oven-door, and made her stand up by a silver-mounted
-peel, to see how tall she was. The peel
-is the long wooden rod, broad at one end, with
-which loaves are placed in the baker's oven. Father
-Iden being proud of his trade, in his old age had
-his favourite peel ornamented with silver.</p>
-
-<p>"Too fast—too fast," he said, shaking his head,
-and coughing; "you grow too fast; there's the
-notch I cut last year, and now you're two inches
-taller." He lowered the peel, and showed her
-where his thumb was—quite two inches higher than
-the last year's mark.</p>
-
-<p>"I want to be tall," said Amaryllis.</p>
-
-<p>"I daresay—I daresay," said the old man, in the
-hasty manner of feeble age, as he cut another notch<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_80" id="Page_80">[80]</a></span>
-to record her height. The handle of the peel was
-notched all round, where he had measured his
-grandchildren; there were so many marks it was
-not easy to see how he distinguished them.</p>
-
-<p>"Is your father coming?" he asked, when he
-had finished with the knife.</p>
-
-<p>"I don't know." This was Jesuitically true—she
-did not <i>know</i>—she could not be certain; but in
-her heart she was sure he would not come. But she
-did not want to hear any hard words said about him.</p>
-
-<p>"Has he sent anything? Have you brought
-anything for me? No. No. Hum!—ha!"—fit
-of coughing—"Well, well—come in; dinner's late,
-there's time to hear you read—you're fond of books,
-you read a great deal at home,"—and so talking,
-half to himself and half to her, he led the way into
-the parlour by the shop.</p>
-
-<p>Bowed by more than ninety years, his back
-curved over forwards, and his limbs curved in the
-opposite direction, so that the outline of his form
-resembled a flattened capital S. For his chin hung
-over his chest, and his knees never straightened
-themselves, but were always more or less bent as
-he stood or walked. It was much the attitude of
-a strong man heavily laden and unable to stand
-upright—such an attitude as big Jack Duck in his
-great strength might take when carrying two sacks
-of wheat at once. There was as heavy a load on
-Grandfather Iden's back, but Time is invisible.</p>
-
-<p>He wore a grey suit, as a true miller and baker
-should, and had worn the same cut and colour for<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_81" id="Page_81">[81]</a></span>
-years and years. In the shop, too, he always had
-a grey hat on, perhaps its original hue was white,
-but it got to appear grey upon him; a large grey
-chimney-pot, many sizes too big for his head apparently,
-for it looked as if for ever about to descend
-and put out his face like an extinguisher.
-Though his boots were so carefully polished, they
-quickly took a grey tint from the flour dust as he
-pottered about the bins in the morning. The ends
-of his trousers, too long for his antique shanks,
-folded and creased over his boots, and almost hid
-his grey cloth under-gaiters.</p>
-
-<p>A great knobbed old nose—but stay, I will not
-go further, it is not right to paint too faithfully the
-features of the very aged, which are repellent in
-spite of themselves; I mean, they cannot help their
-faces, their sentiments and actions are another
-matter; therefore I will leave Father Iden's face
-as a dim blot on the mirror; you look in it and it
-reflects everywhere, except one spot.</p>
-
-<p>Amaryllis followed him jauntily,—little did she
-care, reckless girl, for the twenty thousand guineas
-in the iron box under his bed.</p>
-
-<p>The cottage folk, who always know so much, had
-endless tales of Iden's wealth; how years ago
-bushels upon bushels of pennies, done up in five-shilling
-packets, had been literally carted like potatoes
-away from the bakehouse to go to London; how
-ponies were laden with sacks of silver groats, all
-paid over that furrowed counter for the golden flour,
-dust more golden than the sands of ancient Pactolus.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_82" id="Page_82">[82]</a></span></p>
-
-<p>Reckless Amaryllis cared not a pin for all the
-spade guineas in the iron box.</p>
-
-<p>The old man sat down by the fire without removing
-his hat, motioning to her to shut the door,
-which she was loth to do, for the little room was
-smothered with smoke. Troubled with asthma,
-he coughed incessantly, and mopped his mouth
-with a vast silk handkerchief, but his dull blood
-craved for warmth, and he got his knees close to
-the grate, and piled up the coal till it smoked and
-smoked, and filled the close apartment with a
-suffocating haze of carbon. To be asked into
-Father Iden's sanctuary was an honour, but, like
-other honours, it had to be paid for.</p>
-
-<p>Amaryllis gasped as she sat down, and tried to
-breathe as short as possible, to avoid inhaling more
-than she could bear.</p>
-
-<p>"Books," said her grandfather, pointing to the
-bookcases, which occupied three sides of the room.
-"Books—you like books; look at them—go and see."</p>
-
-<p>To humour him, Amaryllis rose, and appeared to
-look carefully along the shelves which she had
-scanned so many times before. They contained
-very good books indeed, such books as were not to
-be found elsewhere throughout the whole town of
-Woolhorton, and perhaps hardly in the county, old
-and rare volumes of price, such as Sotheby, Wilkinson,
-and Co. delight to offer to collectors, such as
-Bernard Quaritch, that giant of the modern auction
-room, would have written magnificent cheques for.</p>
-
-<p>Did you ever see the Giant Quaritch in the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_83" id="Page_83">[83]</a></span>
-auction-room bidding for books? It is one of the
-sights of London, let me tell you, to any one who
-thinks or is alive to the present day. Most sights
-are reputations merely—the pale reflection of things
-that were real once. This sight is something of
-the living time, the day in which we live. Get an
-<i>Athenæum</i> in the season, examine the advertisements
-of book auctions, and attend the next great
-sale of some famous library.</p>
-
-<p>You have a recollection of the giant who sat by
-the highway and devoured the pilgrims who
-passed? This giant sits in the middle of the ring
-and devours the books set loose upon their travels
-after the repose of centuries.</p>
-
-<p>What prices to give! No one can withstand
-him. From Paris they send agents with a million
-francs at their back; from Berlin and Vienna come
-the eager snappers-up of much considered trifles,
-but in vain. They only get what the Giant chooses
-to leave them.</p>
-
-<p>Books that nobody ever heard of fetch £50, £60,
-£100, £200; wretched little books never opened
-since they were printed; dull duodecimos on the
-course of the river Wein; nondescript indescribable
-twaddling local books in Italian, Spanish, queer
-French, written and printed in some unknown
-foreign village; read them—you might as well try
-to amuse yourself with a Chinese pamphlet! What
-earthly value they are of cannot be discovered.
-They were composed by authors whose names are
-gone like the sand washed by the Nile into the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_84" id="Page_84">[84]</a></span>
-sea before Herodotus. They contain no beautiful
-poetry, no elevated thought, no scientific discovery;
-they are simply so much paper, printing, and binding,
-so many years old, and it is for that age,
-printing, and binding that the money is paid.</p>
-
-<p>I have read a good many books in my time—I
-would not give sixpence for the whole lot.</p>
-
-<p>They are not like a block-book—first efforts at
-printing; nor like the first editions of great authors;
-there is not the slightest intrinsic value in them
-whatever.</p>
-
-<p>Yet some of them fetch prices which not long
-ago were thought tremendous even for the Shakespeare
-folio.</p>
-
-<p>Hundreds and hundreds of pounds are paid for
-them. Living and writing authors of the present
-day are paid in old songs by comparison.</p>
-
-<p>Still, this enormous value set on old books is one
-of the remarkable signs of the day. If any one
-wishes to know what To-Day is, these book-auctions
-are of the things he should go to see.</p>
-
-<p>Such books as these lined Grandfather Iden's
-shelves; among them there were a few that I call
-<i>real</i> old books, an early translation or two, an early
-Shakespeare, and once there had been a very
-valuable Boccaccio, but this had gone into Lord
-Pamment's library, "Presented by James Bartholomew
-Iden, Esq."</p>
-
-<p>The old man often went to look at and admire
-his Boccaccio in my Lord's library.</p>
-
-
-
-<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_85" id="Page_85">[85]</a></span></p>
-<div class="figcenter" style="width: 500px;">
-<img src="images/i-055.png" width="500" height="98" alt="decoration" title="" />
-</div>
-
-
-<h2>CHAPTER XI.</h2>
-
-
-<div class="figleft" style="width: 121px;">
-<img src="images/t.png" width="121" height="120" alt="T" title="" />
-</div><div class='unindent'>HERE was one peculiarity in all the
-books on Grandfather Iden's shelves,
-they were all very finely bound in the
-best style of hand-art, and they all bore
-somewhere or other a little design of
-an ancient Roman lamp.</div>
-
-<p>Hand-art is a term I have invented for the workmanship
-of good taste—it is not the sculptor's art,
-nor the painter's—not the art of the mind, but the
-art of the hand. Some furniture and cabinet work,
-for instance, some pottery, book-binding like this,
-are the products of hand-art.</p>
-
-<p>"Do you see the Lamp?" asked the old man,
-when Amaryllis had stared sufficiently at the backs
-of the books.</p>
-
-<p>"Yes, I can see the Lamp."</p>
-
-<p>"House of Flamma," said old Iden.</p>
-
-<p>"House of Flamma," repeated Amaryllis, hastily,
-eager to show that she understood all about it. She
-feared lest he should enter into the history of the
-House of Flamma and of his connection with it;
-she had heard it all over and over again; her<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_86" id="Page_86">[86]</a></span>
-mother was a Flamma; she had herself some of
-the restless Flamma blood in her. When anything
-annoyed her or made her indignant her foot used
-to tap the floor, and her neck flush rosy, and her
-face grow dusky like the night. Then, striving to
-control herself, she would say to herself, "I <i>will</i> not
-be a Flamma."</p>
-
-<p>Except her dear mother and one other, Amaryllis
-detested and despised the whole tribe of the Flammas,
-the nervous, excitable, passionate, fidgetty,
-tipsy, idle, good-for-nothing lot; she hated them
-all, the very name and mention of them; she sided
-with her father as an Iden against her mother's
-family, the Flammas. True they were almost all
-flecked with talent like white foam on a black horse,
-a spot or two of genius, and the rest black guilt
-or folly. She hated them; she would not be a
-Flamma.</p>
-
-<p>How should she at sixteen understand the wear
-and tear of life, the pressure of circumstances, the
-heavy weight of difficulties—there was something to
-be said even for the miserable fidgetty Flammas,
-but naturally sixteen judged by appearances. Shut
-up in narrow grooves and working day after day,
-year after year, in a contracted way, by degrees
-their constitutional nervousness became the chief
-characteristic of their existence. It was Intellect
-overcome—over-burdened—with two generations of
-petty cares; Genius dulled and damped till it went
-to the quart pot.</p>
-
-<p>Sixteen could scarcely understand this. Amaryllis<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_87" id="Page_87">[87]</a></span>
-detested the very name; she would not be a
-Flamma.</p>
-
-<p>But she was a Flamma for all that; a Flamma in
-fire of spirit, in strength of indignation, in natural
-capacity; she drew, for instance, with the greatest
-ease in pencil or pen-and-ink, drew to the life; she
-could write a letter in sketches.</p>
-
-<p>Her indignation sometimes at the wrongfulness
-of certain things seemed to fill her with a consuming
-fire. Her partizanship for her father made her
-sometimes inwardly rage for the lightning, that she
-might utterly erase the opposer. Her contempt of
-sycophancy, and bold independence led her constantly
-into trouble.</p>
-
-<p>Flamma means a flame.</p>
-
-<p>Yet she was gentleness itself too; see her at the
-bookshelves patiently endeavouring to please the
-tiresome old man.</p>
-
-<p>"Open that drawer," said he, as she came to it.</p>
-
-<p>Amaryllis did so, and said that the coins and
-medals in it were very interesting, as they really
-were. The smoke caught her in the throat, and
-seemed to stop the air as she breathed from reaching
-her chest. So much accustomed to the open
-air, she felt stifled.</p>
-
-<p>Then he asked her to read to him aloud, that he
-might hear how she enunciated her words. The
-book he gave her was an early copy of Addison, the
-page a pale yellow, the type old-fount, the edges
-rough, but where in a trim modern volume will
-you find language like his and ideas set forth with<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_88" id="Page_88">[88]</a></span>
-such transparent lucidity? How easy to write
-like that!—so simple, merely a letter to an intimate
-friend; but try!</p>
-
-<p>Trim modern volumes are so very hard to read,
-especially those that come to us from New York,
-thick volumes of several hundred pages, printed on
-the thinnest paper in hard, unpleasant type. You
-cannot read them; you <i>work</i> through them.</p>
-
-<p>The French have retained a little of the old style
-of book in their paper bound franc novels, the rough
-paper, thick black type, rough edges are pleasant
-to touch and look at—they feel as if they were done
-by hand, not turned out hurriedly smooth and trim
-by machinery.</p>
-
-<p>Docile to the last degree with him, Amaryllis
-tried her utmost to read well, and she succeeded,
-so far as the choking smoke would let her. By
-grunting between his continuous fits of coughing
-the old man signified his approval.</p>
-
-<p>Amaryllis would have been respectful to any of
-the aged, but she had a motive here; she wanted
-to please him for her father's sake. For many
-years there had been an increasing estrangement
-between the younger and the elder Iden; an estrangement
-which no one could have explained, for
-it could hardly be due to money matters if Grandfather
-Iden was really so rich. The son was his
-father's tenant—the farm belonged to Grandfather
-Iden—and perhaps the rent was not paid regularly.
-Still that could not have much mattered—a mere
-trifle to a man of old Iden's wealth. There was<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_89" id="Page_89">[89]</a></span>
-something behind, no one knew what; possibly they
-scarcely knew themselves, for it is a fact that people
-frequently fall into a quarrel without remembering
-the beginning.</p>
-
-<p>Amaryllis was very anxious to please the old
-man for her father's sake; her dear father, whom
-she loved so much. Tradesmen were for ever
-worrying him for petty sums of money; it made
-her furious with indignation to see and hear it.</p>
-
-<p>So she read her very best, and swallowed the
-choking smoke patiently.</p>
-
-<p>Among the yellow pages, pressed flat, and still
-as fresh as if gathered yesterday, Amaryllis found
-bright petals and coloured autumn leaves. For it
-was one of the old man's ways to carry home such
-of these that pleased him and to place them in his
-books. This he had done for half a century, and
-many of the flower petals and leaves in the grey
-old works of bygone authors had been there a
-generation. It is wonderful how long they will
-endure left undisturbed and pressed in this way;
-the paper they used in old books seems to have
-been softer, without the hard surface of our present
-paper, more like blotting paper, and so keeps them
-better. Before the repulsion between father and
-son became so marked, Amaryllis had often been
-with her grandfather in the garden and round the
-meadows at Coombe Oaks, and seen him gather
-the yellow tulips, the broad-petalled roses, and in
-autumn the bright scarlet bramble leaves. The
-brown leaves of the Spanish chestnut, too, pleased<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_90" id="Page_90">[90]</a></span>
-him; anything with richness of colour. The old
-and grey, and withered man gathered the brightest
-of petals for his old and grey, and forgotten books.</p>
-
-<p>Now the sight of these leaves and petals between
-the yellow pages softened her heart towards him;
-he was a tyrant, but he was very, very old, they
-were like flowers on a living tomb.</p>
-
-<p>In a little while Grandfather Iden got up, and
-going to a drawer in one of the bookcases, took from
-it some scraps of memoranda; he thrust these between
-her face and the book, and told her to read
-them instead.</p>
-
-<p>"These are your writing."</p>
-
-<p>"Go on," said the old man, smiling, grunting,
-and coughing, all at once.</p>
-
-<p>"In 1840," read Amaryllis, "there were only
-two houses in Black Jack Street." "Only <i>two</i>
-houses!" she interposed, artfully.</p>
-
-<p>"Two," said the grandfather.</p>
-
-<p>"One in 1802," went on Amaryllis, "while in
-1775 the site was covered with furze." "How it
-has changed!" she said. He nodded, and coughed,
-and smiled; his great grey hat rocked on his head
-and seemed about to extinguish him.</p>
-
-<p>"There's a note at the bottom in pencil, grandpa.
-It says, 'A hundred voters in this street,
-1884.'"</p>
-
-<p>"Ah!" said the old man, an ah! so deep it fetched
-his very heart up in coughing. When he finished,
-Amaryllis read on—</p>
-
-<p>"In 1802 there were only ten voters in the town."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_91" id="Page_91">[91]</a></span></p>
-
-<p>"Ah!" His excitement caused such violent
-coughing Amaryllis became alarmed, but it did him
-no harm. The more he coughed and choked the
-livelier he seemed. The thought of politics roused
-him like a trumpet—it went straight to his ancient
-heart.</p>
-
-<p>"Read that again," he said. "How many voters
-now?"</p>
-
-<p>"A hundred voters in this street, 1884."</p>
-
-<p>"We've got them all"—coughing—"all in my
-lord's houses, everyone; vote Conservative, one
-and all. What is it?" as some one knocked.
-Dinner was ready, to Amaryllis's relief.</p>
-
-<p>"Perhaps you would like to dine with me?"
-asked the grandfather, shuffling up his papers.
-"There—there," as she hesitated, "you would like
-to dine with young people, of course—of course."</p>
-
-<div class="figcenter" style="width: 141px;">
-<img src="images/i-056.png" width="141" height="110" alt="decoration" title="" />
-</div>
-
-
-
-<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_92" id="Page_92">[92]</a></span></p>
-<div class="figcenter" style="width: 500px;">
-<img src="images/i-057.png" width="500" height="84" alt="decoration" title="" />
-</div>
-
-
-<h2>CHAPTER XII.</h2>
-
-
-<div class="figleft" style="width: 119px;">
-<img src="images/o.png" width="119" height="120" alt="O" title="" />
-</div><div class='unindent'>LD Grandfather Iden always dined alone
-in the parlour, with his housekeeper to
-wait on him; they were just bringing
-in his food. The family and visitors
-had their meals in a separate and much
-more comfortable apartment in another part of the
-house, which was large. Sometimes, as a great
-favour and special mark of approval, the old Pacha
-would invite you to eat with him.</div>
-
-<p>Amaryllis, though anxious to please him, hesitated,
-not only because of the smoke, but because
-she knew he always had pork for dinner.</p>
-
-<p>The rich juices of roast pork sustained his dry
-and withered frame—it was a sort of Burgundy of
-flesh to him. As the good wine of Burgundy fills
-the blood with iron and strengthens the body, so
-the rich juice of the pork seemed to supply the oil
-necessary to keep the sinews supple and to prevent
-the cartilages from stiffening.</p>
-
-<p>The scientific people say that it is the ossification
-of the cartilages—the stiffening of the firmer
-tissues—that in time interferes with the processes<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_93" id="Page_93">[93]</a></span>
-of life. The hinges rust, as if your tricycle had
-been left out in the rain for a week—and the delicate
-watchwork of the human frame will not run.</p>
-
-<p>If suppleness could only be maintained there is
-no reason why it should not continue to work for a
-much longer period, for a hundred and fifty, two
-hundred years—as long as you fancy. But nothing
-has yet been devised to keep up the suppleness.</p>
-
-<p>Grandfather Iden found the elixir of life in roast
-pork. The jokers of Woolhorton—there are always
-jokers, very clever they think themselves—considered
-the reason it suited him so well was because
-of the pig-like obstinacy of his disposition.</p>
-
-<p>Anything more contrary to common sense than
-for an old man of ninety to feed on pork it would
-be hard to discover—so his friends said.</p>
-
-<p>"Pork," said the physician, had down from London
-to see him on one occasion, "pork is the first
-on the list of indigestible articles of food. It takes
-from six to eight hours for the gastric apparatus to
-reduce its fibres. The stomach becomes overloaded—acidity
-is the result; nightmares, pains, and innumerable
-ills are the consequence. The very
-worst thing Mr. Iden could eat."</p>
-
-<p>"Hum," growled the family doctor, a native of
-Woolhorton, when he heard of this. "Hum!"
-low in his throat, like an irate bulldog. If in the
-least excited, like most other country folk, he used
-the provincial pronunciation. "Hum! A' have
-lived twenty years on pork. Let'n yet it!"</p>
-
-<p>Grandfather Iden intended to eat it, and did<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_94" id="Page_94">[94]</a></span>
-eat it six days out of seven, not, of course, roast
-pork every dinner; sometimes boiled pork; sometimes
-he baked it himself in the great oven. Now
-and then he varied it with pig-meat—good old
-country meat, let me tell you, pig-meat—such as
-spare-rib, griskin, blade-bone, and that mysterious
-morsel, the "mouse." The chine he always sent
-over for Iden junior, who was a chine eater—a
-true Homeric diner—and to make it even, Iden
-junior sent in the best apples for sauce from his
-favourite russet trees. It was about the only
-amenity that survived between father and son.</p>
-
-<p>The pig-meat used to be delicious in the old
-house at home, before we all went astray along the
-different paths of life; fresh from the pigs fed and
-killed on the premises, nutty, and juicy to the
-palate. Much of it is best done on a gridiron—here's
-heresy! A gridiron is flat blasphemy to
-the modern school of scientific cookery. Scientific
-fiddlestick! Nothing like a gridiron to set your
-lips watering.</p>
-
-<p>But the "mouse,"—what was the "mouse?"
-The London butchers can't tell me. It was a titbit.
-I suppose it still exists in pigs; but London
-folk are so ignorant.</p>
-
-<p>Grandfather Iden ate pig in every shape and
-form, that is, he mumbled the juice out of it, and
-never complained of indigestion.</p>
-
-<p>He was up at five o'clock every morning of his
-life, pottering about the great oven with his baker's
-man. In summer if it was fine he went out at six<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_95" id="Page_95">[95]</a></span>
-for a walk in the Pines—the promenade of Woolhorton.</p>
-
-<p>"If you wants to get well," old Dr. Butler used
-to say, "you go for a walk in the marning afore
-the aair have been braathed auver."</p>
-
-<p>Before the air has been breathed over—inspired
-and re-inspired by human crowds, while it retains
-the sweetness of the morning, like water fresh
-from the spring; that was when it possessed its
-value, according to bluff, gruff, rule-of-thumb old
-Butler. Depend upon it, there is something in his
-dictum, too.</p>
-
-<p>Amaryllis hesitated at the thought of the pork,
-for he often had it underdone, so the old gentleman
-dismissed her in his most gracious manner to dine
-with the rest.</p>
-
-<p>She went down the corridor and took the seat
-placed for her. There was a posy of primroses
-beside her napkin—posies of primroses all round
-the table.</p>
-
-<p>This raging old Tory of ninety years would give
-a shilling for the earliest primrose the boys could
-find for him in the woods. Some one got him
-a peacock's feather which had fallen from Beaconsfield's
-favourites—a real Beaconsfield peacock-feather—which
-he had set in the centre of a splendid
-screen of feathers that cost him twenty guineas.
-The screen was upstairs in the great drawing-room
-near a bow window which overlooked the fair.</p>
-
-<p>People, you see, took pains to get him feathers
-and anything he fancied, on account of the twenty<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_96" id="Page_96">[96]</a></span>
-thousand spade guineas in the iron box under the
-bed.</p>
-
-<p>His daughters, elderly, uninteresting married
-folk, begged him not to keep a peacock's feather in
-the house—it would certainly bring misfortune.
-The superstition was so firmly rooted in their minds
-that they actually argued with him—<i>argued</i> with
-Grandfather Iden!—pointing out to him the fearful
-risk he was running. He puffed and coughed, and
-grew red in the face—the great grey hat shook
-and tottered with anger; not for all the Powers of
-Darkness would he have given up that feather.</p>
-
-<p>The chairs round the large table were arranged
-in accordance with the age of the occupants. There
-were twenty-one grandchildren, and a number of
-aunts, uncles, and so on; a vague crowd that does
-not concern us. The eldest sat at the head of the
-table, the next in age followed, and so all round
-the dishes. This arrangement placed Amaryllis
-rather low down—a long way from the top and
-fountain of honour—and highly displeased her.
-She despised and disliked the whole vague crowd
-of her relations, yet being there, she felt that she
-ought to have had a position above them all. Her
-father—Iden, junior—was old Iden's only son and
-natural heir; therefore her father's chair ought to
-have been at the top of the table, and hers ought to
-have been next to his.</p>
-
-<p>Instead of which, as her father was not the
-eldest, his seat was some distance from the top, and
-hers again, was a long way from his.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_97" id="Page_97">[97]</a></span></p>
-
-<p>All the other chairs were full, but her father's
-chair was empty.</p>
-
-<p>The vague crowd were so immensely eager to
-pay their despicable court to the Spade-Guinea
-Man, not one of them stopped away; the old, the
-young, the lame, the paralytic, all found means to
-creep in to Grandfather Iden's annual dinner. His
-only son and natural heir was alone absent. How
-eagerly poor Amaryllis glanced from time to time
-at that empty chair, hoping against hope that her
-dear father would come in at the Psalms, or even at
-the sermon, and disappoint the venomous, avaricious
-hearts of the enemies around her.</p>
-
-<p>For well she knew how delighted they were to
-see his chair empty, as a visible sign and token of
-the gulf between father and son, and well she knew
-how diligently each laboured to deepen the misunderstanding
-and set fuel to the flame of the quarrel.
-If the son were disinherited, consider the enormous
-profit to the rest of them!</p>
-
-<p>Grandfather Iden made no secret of the fact that
-he had not signed a will. It was believed that
-several rough drafts had been sketched out for him,
-but, in his own words—and he was no teller of
-falsehoods—he had not decided on his will. If
-only they could persuade him to make his will they
-might feel safe of something; but suppose he went
-off pop, all in a moment, as these extraordinarily
-healthy old people are said to do, and the most of his
-estate in land! Consider what a contingency—almost<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_98" id="Page_98">[98]</a></span>
-all of it would go to his own son. Awful
-thing!</p>
-
-<p>Amaryllis was aware how they all stared at her
-and quizzed her over and over; her hair, her face,
-her form, but most of all her dress. They were so
-poor at home she had not had a new dress this
-twelvemonth past; it was true her dress was decent
-and comfortable, and she really looked very nice in
-it to any man's eye; but a girl does not want a
-comfortable dress, she wants something in the style
-of the day, and just sufficiently advanced to make
-the women's eyes turn green with envy. It is not
-the men's eyes; it is the women's eyes.</p>
-
-<p>Amaryllis sat up very quiet and unconcerned,
-trying with all her might to make them feel she was
-the Heiress, not only an only son's only daughter,
-but the only son's only offspring—doubly the
-Heiress of Grandfather Iden.</p>
-
-<p>The old folk, curious in such matters, had prophesied
-so soon as she was born that there
-would be no more children at Coombe Oaks, and so
-it fell out. For it had been noticed in the course
-of generations, that in the direct line of Iden when
-the first child was a daughter there were none to
-follow. And further, that there never was but one
-Miss Iden at a time.</p>
-
-<p>If the Direct Line had a daughter first, they
-never had any more children; consequently that
-daughter was the only Miss Iden.</p>
-
-<p>If the Direct Line had a son, they never had a
-second son, though they might have daughters;<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_99" id="Page_99">[99]</a></span>
-but then, in order that there should still be only one
-Miss Iden, it always happened that the first died,
-or was married early, before the second came into
-existence.</p>
-
-<p>Such was the tradition of the Iden family; they
-had a long pedigree, the Idens, reaching farther
-back than the genealogies of many a peer, and it
-had been observed that this was the rule of their
-descent.</p>
-
-<p>Amaryllis was the only Miss Iden, and the heiress,
-through her father, of the Spade-Guinea Man. She
-tried to make them feel that she knew it and felt it;
-that she was the Iden of the Idens. Her proud
-face—it was a very proud face naturally—darkened
-a little, and grew still more disdainful in its utter
-scorn and loathing of the vague crowd of enemies.</p>
-
-<div class="figcenter" style="width: 139px;">
-<img src="images/i-059.png" width="139" height="150" alt="decoration" title="" />
-</div>
-
-
-
-<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_100" id="Page_100">[100]</a></span></p>
-<div class="figcenter" style="width: 500px;">
-<img src="images/i-036.png" width="500" height="91" alt="decoration" title="" />
-</div>
-
-
-<h2>CHAPTER XIII.</h2>
-
-
-<div class="figleft" style="width: 121px;">
-<img src="images/t.png" width="121" height="120" alt="T" title="" />
-</div><div class='unindent'>O one, as it were, in the gallery, it was
-a delight to see her; her sweet cheeks,
-fresh as the dawn, reddening with suppressed
-indignation; her young brow
-bent; her eyes cast down—don't you
-think for a moment she would deign to look at them—pride
-in her heart, and resolute determination to
-fight for her dear father and mother.</div>
-
-<p>But she felt as she sat so unconcerned that there
-was a crack in her boot unmended, and it seemed
-as if everyone could see it though under the solid
-table. She had not had a really sound pair of
-boots for many, many months; they could not
-afford her a new pair at home, and the stupid shoemaker,
-"Established 1697," was such a time repairing
-her others.</p>
-
-<p>She would not look at them, but she knew that
-they were all dressed better than she was; there
-were some of them very poor, and very vulgar, too,
-but they were all dressed better than her, and
-without a doubt had sound boots on their feet.</p>
-
-<p>The cottagers in Coombe hamlet always had<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_101" id="Page_101">[101]</a></span>
-sound boots; she never had; nor, indeed, her
-mother. Her father had a pair, being compelled
-by the character of his work in the fields to take
-care of himself so far, though he wore a ragged
-coat. But neither mother nor daughter ever had
-a whole pair of boots—whole and sound as the very
-cottagers had.</p>
-
-<p>If Amaryllis had sat there with naked feet she
-would have been prouder than ever, and that is why
-I always loved her so; she was not to be put down
-by circumstances, she was above external things.</p>
-
-<p>But as time went on, and the dinner was nearly
-over—she had scarcely eaten anything—and as she
-glanced from time to time at her father's empty
-chair, and knew that he would not come, and that
-his defection would revive the old quarrel which
-might so easily have been mended, the Flamma
-blood began to rise and grow hotter and hotter,
-and the foot with the worn boot on it began to tap
-the floor.</p>
-
-<p>The Flamma blood would have liked to have
-swept the whole company over a precipice into the
-Red Sea as the herd of swine in old time. It was
-either the Red Sea or somewhere; geography is of
-no consequence.</p>
-
-<div class='poem'>
-Spain's an island near<br />
-Morocco, betwixt Egypt and Tangier.<br />
-</div>
-
-<p>The Flamma blood would have liked to have
-seen them all poisoned and dying on their seats.</p>
-
-<p>The Flamma blood would have been glad to stick
-a knife into each of them—only it would not have<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_102" id="Page_102">[102]</a></span>
-touched them with the longest hop-pole in Kent, so
-utter was its loathing of the crew gloating over that
-empty chair.</p>
-
-<p>And for once Amaryllis did not check it, and did
-not say to herself, "I <i>will</i> not be a Flamma."</p>
-
-<p>Towards the end of the tedious banquet the word
-was passed round that everyone was to sit still, as
-Grandfather Iden was coming to look at his descendants.</p>
-
-<p>There was not the least fear of any of them stirring,
-for they well knew his custom—to walk round,
-and speak a few words to everyone in turn, and to
-put a new golden sovereign into their hands.
-Thirty-two sovereigns it was in all—one for each—but
-the thirty-third was always a spade-guinea,
-which was presented to the individual who had best
-pleased him during the year.</p>
-
-<p>A genial sort of custom, no doubt, but fancy the
-emulation and the heart-burning over the spade-guinea!
-For the fortunate winner usually considered
-himself the nearest to the Will.</p>
-
-<p>Amaryllis' cheeks began to burn at the thought
-that she should have to take his horrible money.
-A hideous old monster he was to her at that moment—not
-that he had done anything to her personally—but
-he left her dear father to be worried
-out of his life by petty tradesmen, and her dear
-mother to go without a pair of decent boots, while
-he made this pompous distribution among these
-wretches. The hideous old monster!</p>
-
-<p>Out in the town the boys behind his back gave<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_103" id="Page_103">[103]</a></span>
-him endless nicknames: Granfer Iden, Floury Iden,
-My Lord Lardy-Cake, Marquis Iden, His Greasy
-Grace; and, indeed, with his whims and humours,
-and patronage, his caprices and ways of going on,
-if he had but had a patent of nobility, Grandfather
-Iden would have made a wonderfully good
-duke.</p>
-
-<p>By-and-by in comes the old Pacha, still wearing
-his great grey tottery hat, and proceeds from chair
-to chair, tapping folk on the shoulder, saying a
-gracious word or two, and dropping his new golden
-sovereigns in their eager palms. There was a loud
-hum of conversation as he went round; they all
-tried to appear so immensely happy to see him.</p>
-
-<p>Amaryllis did not exactly watch him, but of
-course knew what he was about, when suddenly
-there was a dead silence. Thirty-two people suddenly
-stopped talking as if the pneumatic <ins title="Transcriber's Note: original reads 'break'">brake</ins>
-had been applied to their lips by a sixty-ton locomotive.</p>
-
-<p>Dead, ominous silence. You could almost hear
-the cat licking his paw under the table.</p>
-
-<p>Amaryllis looked, and saw the old man leaning
-with both hands on the back of his son's empty
-chair.</p>
-
-<p>He seemed to cling to it as if it was a spar
-floating on the barren ocean of life and death into
-which his withered old body was sinking.</p>
-
-<p>Perhaps he really would have clung like that to
-his son had but his son come to him, and borne a
-little, and for a little while, with his ways.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_104" id="Page_104">[104]</a></span></p>
-
-<p>A sorrowful thing to see—the old man of ninety
-clinging to the back of his son's empty chair. His
-great grey tottery hat seemed about to tumble on
-the floor—his back bowed a little more—and he
-groaned deeply, three times.</p>
-
-<p>We can see, being out of the play and spectators
-merely, that there was a human cry for help in the
-old man's groan—his heart yearned for his son's
-strong arm to lean on.</p>
-
-<p>The crowd of relations were in doubt as to
-whether they should rejoice, whether the groan was
-a sign of indignation, of anger too deep ever to
-be forgotten, or whether they should be alarmed at
-the possibility of reconciliation.</p>
-
-<p>The Flamma blood was up too much in Amaryllis
-for her to feel pity for him as she would have
-done in any other mood; she hated him all the
-more; he was rich, the five-shilling fare was nothing
-to him, he could hire a fly from the "Lamb Inn,"
-and drive over and make friends with her father in
-half an hour. Groaning there—the hideous old
-monster! and her mother without a decent pair of
-boots.</p>
-
-<p>In a moment or two Grandfather Iden recovered
-himself, and continued the distribution, and by-and-by
-Amaryllis felt him approach her chair. She did
-not even turn to look at him, so he took her hand,
-and placed two coins in it, saying in his most
-gracious way that the sovereign was for her father,
-and the guinea—the spade-guinea—for herself.
-She muttered something—she knew not what—she<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_105" id="Page_105">[105]</a></span>
-could but just restrain herself from throwing the
-money on the floor.</p>
-
-<p>It was known in a moment that Amaryllis had
-the guinea. Conceive the horror, the hatred, the
-dread of the crowd of sycophants! That the
-Heiress Apparent should be the favourite!</p>
-
-<p>Yet more. Half-an-hour later, just after they
-had all got upstairs into the great drawing-room,
-and some were officiously and reverently admiring
-the peacock-feather in the screen, and some looking
-out of the bow window at the fair, there came a
-message for Amaryllis to put on her hat and go for
-a walk with her grandfather.</p>
-
-<p>There was not one among all the crowd in the
-drawing-room who had ever been invited to accompany
-Iden Pacha.</p>
-
-<p>Three days ago at home, if anyone had told
-Amaryllis that she would be singled out in this
-way, first to receive the Iden medal—the spade-guinea
-stamp of approval—and then, above all
-things, to be honoured by walking out with this
-"almighty" grandfather, how delighted she would
-have been at the thought of the triumph!</p>
-
-<p>But now it was just the reverse. Triumph over
-these people—pah! a triumph over rats and flies
-or some such creatures. She actually felt lowered
-in her own esteem by being noticed at all among
-them. Honoured by this old horror—she revolted
-at it. <i>He</i> honour her with his approval—she hated
-him.</p>
-
-<p>The other day a travelling piano was wheeled<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_106" id="Page_106">[106]</a></span>
-through Coombe and set up a tune in that lonesome
-spot. Though it was but a mechanical piece
-of music, with the cogs as it were of the mechanism
-well marked by the thump, thump, it seemed to
-cheer the place—till she went out to the gate to
-look at the Italian woman who danced about while
-the grinding was done, and saw that she had a
-sound pair of boots on. That very morning her
-mother in crossing the road had set the Flamma
-rheumatism shooting in her bones, for the dampness
-of the mud came through the crack in her boot.</p>
-
-<p>This miserable old Iden Pacha thought to honour
-her while he let her mother walk about with her
-stocking on the wet ground!</p>
-
-<p>The Flamma blood was up in her veins—what
-did she care for guineas!</p>
-
-<p>As she was putting her hat on in the bedroom
-before the glass she looked round to see that no one
-was watching, and then stooped down and put the
-spade-guinea in the dust of the floor under the
-dressing-table. She would have none of his hateful
-money. The sovereign she took care of because it
-was for her father, and he might buy something
-useful with it; he wanted a few shillings badly
-enough.</p>
-
-<p>So the spade-guinea remained in the dust of the
-floor for a week or two, till it pleased the housemaid
-to move the dressing-table to brush away the accumulation,
-when she found the shining one in the
-fluff.</p>
-
-<p>Being over thirty, she held her tongue, the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_107" id="Page_107">[107]</a></span>
-guinea henceforward travelled down the stream of
-Time fast enough though silently, but she took the
-first opportunity of examining the iron box under
-the Pacha's bed, thinking perhaps there might be a
-chink in it. And it was curious how for some time
-afterwards a fit of extraordinary industry prevailed
-in the house; there was not a table, a chair, or any
-piece of furniture that was not chivvied about under
-pretence of polishing. She actually had a day's
-holiday and a cast-off gown given to her as a reward
-for her labours.</p>
-
-<div class="figcenter" style="width: 163px;">
-<img src="images/i-060.png" width="163" height="200" alt="decoration" title="" />
-</div>
-
-
-
-<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_108" id="Page_108">[108]</a></span></p>
-<div class="figcenter" style="width: 500px;">
-<img src="images/i-061.png" width="500" height="89" alt="decoration" title="" />
-</div>
-
-
-<h2>CHAPTER XIV.</h2>
-
-
-<div class="figleft" style="width: 120px;">
-<img src="images/a.png" width="120" height="120" alt="A" title="" />
-</div><div class='unindent'>MARYLLIS did not look back as she
-walked beside her grandfather slowly
-up the street, or she would have seen
-the company of relations watching them
-from the bow-window.</div>
-
-<p>Iden went straight through the crowd without
-any hesitation on account of his age—angry as she
-was, Amaryllis feared several times lest the clumsy
-people should over-turn him, and tried her best to
-shield him. But he had a knack of keeping on his
-feet—the sort of knack you learn by skating—and did
-not totter much more than usual, despite the press.</p>
-
-<p>The world gets on with very little amusement
-somehow. Here were two or three thousand people
-packed in the street, and all they had to enliven
-their festive gathering was the same old toys their
-fathers' fathers' fathers had set before them.</p>
-
-<p>Rows of booths for the display of "fairings,"
-gingerbread, nuts, cakes, brandy-balls, and sugar-plums
-stood in the gutter each side.</p>
-
-<p>The "fairings" were sweet biscuits—they have
-been made every fair this hundred years.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_109" id="Page_109">[109]</a></span></p>
-
-<p>The nuts were dry and hard, just as Spanish nuts
-always are. The gingerbread was moulded in the
-same old shapes of clumsy horses outlined with gilt.</p>
-
-<p>There was the same old trumpeting and tootling,
-tom-tomming, and roaring of showmen's voices. The
-same old roundabouts, only now they were driven
-by steam, and short, quick whistles announced that
-the whirligig caravan was travelling round the
-world. The fat woman, the strong man, the
-smashers tapping the "claret," the "Pelican of the
-Wilderness," that mystic and melancholy bird, the
-rifle galleries, the popping for nuts—behold these
-are they our fathers have seen.</p>
-
-<p>There is nothing new under the sun—not even
-at Epsom. The first time I saw the wonderful
-crowd of the Derby Day—perhaps the largest crowd
-in the world—I could scarcely believe my eyes, for
-I found on passing through it that the hundreds of
-thousands of people there had nothing more to
-amuse them than they would have found at an
-ordinary country fair. Swings, roundabouts, cockshies
-at cocoa-nuts, rootletum, tootletum, and beer.
-That was all. No new amusement whatsoever: a
-very humdrum sort of world, my masters!</p>
-
-<p>The next finest crowd is the crowd on August
-bank-holiday all along the Brighton beach, and
-there it is just the same. Nothing for the folk
-but Punch, brass bands, and somersaulters—dull
-old stories in my grandmother's time.</p>
-
-<p>Xerxes offered a reward to anyone who could
-invent him a fresh pleasure—the multitude of the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_110" id="Page_110">[110]</a></span>
-Derby Day and Brighton beach should do the same.
-But indeed they do, for an immense fortune would
-certainly be the reward of such a discoverer. One gets
-tired of pitching sticks at cocoa-nuts all one's time.</p>
-
-<p>However, at Woolhorton nobody but the very
-rawest and crudest folk cared for the shows, all they
-did care was to alternately stand stock still and
-then shove. First they shoved as far as the "Lion"
-and had some beer, then they shoved back to the
-"Lamb" and had some beer, then they stood stock
-still in the street and blocked those who were shoving.
-Several thousand people were thus happily
-occupied, and the Lion and the Lamb laid down
-together peacefully that day.</p>
-
-<p>Amaryllis and old Iden had in like manner to
-shove, for there was no other way to get through,
-no one thought of moving, or giving any passage,
-if you wanted to progress you must shoulder them
-aside. As Grandfather Iden could not shove very
-hard they were frequently compelled to wait till the
-groups opened, and thus it happened that Amaryllis
-found herself once face to face with Jack Duck.</p>
-
-<p>He kind of sniggered in a foolish way at
-Amaryllis, and touched his hat to Iden. "You
-ain't a been over to Coombe lately, Mr. Iden," he
-said.</p>
-
-<p>"No," replied the old man sharply, and went on.</p>
-
-<p>Jack could hardly have struck a note more discordant
-to Amaryllis. The father had not been to
-visit his son for more than a year—she did not
-want unpleasant memories stirred up.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_111" id="Page_111">[111]</a></span></p>
-
-<p>Again in another group a sturdy labourer touched
-his hat and asked her if her father was at fair, as
-he was looking out for a job. Old Iden started
-and grunted like a snorting horse.</p>
-
-<p>Amaryllis, though put out, stayed to speak kindly
-to him, for she knew he was always in difficulties.
-Bill Nye was that contradiction a strong man without
-work. He wanted to engage for mowing. Bill
-Nye was a mower at Coombe, and his father, Bill
-Nye, before him, many a long year before he was
-discovered in California.</p>
-
-<p>When she overtook Iden he was struggling to
-pass the stream of the Orinoco, which set strongly
-at that moment out of the "Lamb" towards the
-"Lion." Strong men pushed out from the "Lamb"
-archway like a river into the sea, thrusting their
-way into the general crowd, and this mighty current
-cast back the tottering figure of old Iden as the
-swollen Orinoco swung the crank old Spanish caravels
-that tried to breast it.</p>
-
-<p>It was as much as Amaryllis and he together
-could do to hold their ground at the edge of the
-current. While they were thus battling she chanced
-to look up.</p>
-
-<p>A large window was open over the archway, and
-at this window a fellow was staring down at her.
-He stood in his shirt-sleeves with a billiard-cue in
-his hand waiting his turn to play. It was the
-same young fellow, gentleman if you like, whose
-pale face had so displeased her that morning as he
-rode under when she watched the folk go by to<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_112" id="Page_112">[112]</a></span>
-fair. He was certainly the most advanced in civilization
-of all who had passed Plum Corner, and yet
-there was something in that pale and rather delicate
-face which was not in the coarse lineaments of the
-"varmers" and "drauvers" and "pig-dealers"
-who had gone by under the wall. Something that
-insulted her.</p>
-
-<p>The face at the window was appraising her.</p>
-
-<p>It was reckoning her up—so much for eyes, so
-much for hair, so much for figure, and as this went
-on the fingers were filling a pipe from an elastic
-tobacco-pouch. There was no romance, no poetry
-in that calculation—no rapture or pure admiration
-of beauty; there was a billiard-cue and a tobacco-pouch,
-and a glass of spirits and water, and an
-atmosphere of smoke, and a sound of clicking ivory
-balls at the back of the thought. His thumb was
-white where he had chalked it to make a better
-bridge for the cue. His face was white; for he had
-chalked it with dissipation. His physical body was
-whitened—chalked—a whited sepulchre; his moral
-nature likewise chalked.</p>
-
-<p>At the back of his thought lay not the high
-esteem of the poet-thinker for beauty, but the
-cynical blackguardism of the XIXth century.</p>
-
-<p>The cynicism that deliberately reckons up things
-a Shakespeare would admire at their lowest possible
-sale value. A slow whiff of smoke from a
-corner of the sneering mouth, an air of intense
-knowingness, as much as to say, "You may depend
-upon me—I've been behind the scenes. All this is<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_113" id="Page_113">[113]</a></span>
-got up, you know; stage effect in front, pasteboard
-at the rear; nothing in it."</p>
-
-<p>In the sensuality of Nero there may still be found
-some trace of a higher nature; "What an artist the
-world has lost!" he exclaimed, dying.</p>
-
-<p>The empress Theodora craved for the applause
-of the theatre to which she exposed her beauty.</p>
-
-<p>This low, cynical nineteenth century blackguardism
-thinks of nothing but lowness, and has
-no ideal. The milliner even has an ideal, she looks
-to colour, shape, effect; though but in dress, yet it
-is an ideal. There was no ideal in Ned Marks.</p>
-
-<p>They called him from within to take his turn with
-the cue; he did not answer, he was so absorbed in his
-calculations. He was clever—in a way; he had
-quite sufficient penetration to see that this was no
-common girl. She was not beautiful—yet, she was
-not even pretty, and so plainly dressed; still there
-was something marked in her features. And she
-was with old Iden.</p>
-
-<p>Amaryllis did not understand the meaning of his
-glance, but she felt that it was an insult. She looked
-down quickly, seized her grandfather's arm, and
-drew him out from the pavement into the street,
-yielding a little to the current and so hoping to
-presently pass it.</p>
-
-<p>By this time, as Ned Marks did not answer, his
-companions had come to the window to discover what
-he was staring at. "Oho!" they laughed. "It's
-Miss Iden. Twenty thousand guineas in the iron
-box!"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_114" id="Page_114">[114]</a></span></p>
-
-<p>Iden's great white hat, which always seemed to
-sit loosely on his head, was knocked aside by the
-elbow of a burly butcher struggling in the throng;
-Amaryllis replaced it upright, and leading him this
-way, and pushing him that, got at last to the opposite
-pavement, and so behind the row of booths,
-between them and the houses where there was less
-crush. Taking care of him, she forgot to look to
-her feet and stepped in the gutter where there was
-a puddle. The cold water came through the crack
-in her boot.</p>
-
-<p>While these incidents were still further irritating
-her, the old Pacha kept mumbling and muttering
-to himself, nodding his head and smiling at each
-fresh mark of attention, for though he was so independent
-and fearless still he appreciated the trouble
-she took. The mumbling in his mouth was a sort
-of purring. Her dutiful spirit had stroked him up
-to a pleasant state of electric glow; she felt like a
-hound in a leash, ready to burst the bond that
-held her to his hand. Side by side, and arm in arm,
-neither of them understood the other; ninety and
-sixteen, a strange couple in the jostling fair.</p>
-
-<p>Iden turned down a passage near the end of the
-street, and in an instant the roar of the crowd which
-had boomed all round them was shut off by high
-walls up which it rose and hummed over their heads
-in the air. They walked on broad stone flags
-notched here and there at the edges, for the rest
-worn smooth by footsteps (the grave drives such a
-trade) like Iden's doorstep, they were in fact tombstones,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_115" id="Page_115">[115]</a></span>
-and the walled passage brought them to the
-porch of the Abbey church.</p>
-
-<p>There he stopped, muttering and mumbling, and
-wiped his forehead with his vast silk handkerchief.
-They were no longer incommoded by a crowd, but
-now and then folk came by hastening to the fair;
-lads with favours in their coats, and blue ribbons in
-their hats, girls in bright dresses, chiefly crude
-colours, who seemed out of accord with the heavy
-weight as it were of the great Abbey, the ponderous
-walls, the quiet gloom of the narrow space,
-and the shadows that lurked behind the buttresses.</p>
-
-<p>The aged man muttered and mumbled about the
-porch and took Amaryllis under it, making her look
-up at the groining, and note the spring of the arch,
-which formed a sort of carved crown over them.
-It was a fine old porch, deep and high, in some
-things reminding you of the porches that are to be
-seen in Spain; stone made to give a pleasant shade
-like trees, so cut and worked as to be soft to the
-eye.</p>
-
-<p>He pointed out to her the touches that rendered
-it so dear to those who value art in stone. He
-knew them, every one, the history and the dates,
-and the three stags' heads on a shield; there were
-broad folios in the smoky room at home, filled
-with every detail, Iden himself had subscribed forty
-pounds to the cost of illustrating one of them.
-Every scholar who visited the Abbey church, called
-and begged to see the baker's old books.</p>
-
-<p>Iden rubbed his old thumb in the grooves and<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_116" id="Page_116">[116]</a></span>
-went outside and hoisted himself, as it were, up from
-his crooked S position to look at the three stags'
-heads on the shield on the wall; dim stags' heads
-that to you, or at least to me, might have been
-fishes, or Jove's thunderbolts, or anything.</p>
-
-<p>Amaryllis was left standing alone a moment in
-the porch, the deep shadow within behind her, the
-curve of the arch over, a fine setting for a portrait.
-She stood the more upright because of the fire and
-temper suppressed in her.</p>
-
-<p>Just outside the human letter S—crooked S—clad
-in sad white-grey miller's garments, its old hat
-almost falling backwards off its old grey head,
-gazed up and pointed with its oaken cudgel at the
-coat of arms. Seven hundred years—the weight
-of seven hundred years—hung over them both in
-that old Abbey.</p>
-
-<p>Into that Past he was soon to disappear: she
-came out to the Future.</p>
-
-<p>Thence he took her to an arched door, nail-studded,
-in the passage wall, and giving her the key, told
-her to open it, and stood watching her in triumph,
-as if it had been the door to some immense treasury.
-She turned the lock, and he pushed her before
-him hastily, as if they must snatch so grand an
-opportunity.</p>
-
-
-
-
-
-<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_117" id="Page_117">[117]</a></span></p>
-<div class="figcenter" style="width: 500px;">
-<img src="images/i-041.png" width="500" height="88" alt="decoration" title="" />
-</div>
-
-
-<h2>CHAPTER XV.</h2>
-
-
-<div class="figleft" style="width: 120px;">
-<img src="images/w.png" width="120" height="120" alt="W" title="" />
-</div><div class='unindent'>ITHIN there was a gravel path, and
-glimpses between trees of wide pleasure-grounds.
-Amaryllis hesitated, and
-looked back; Iden drew her forward,
-not noticing her evident disinclination
-to proceed. If he had, he would have put it down
-to awe, instead of which it was dislike.</div>
-
-<p>For she guessed they were entering the lawns in
-front of the Hon. Raleigh Pamment's mansion. He
-was the largest owner of town and country; the
-streets, the market-place, the open spaces, in which
-the fair was being held, belonged to him; so did
-most of the farms and hamlets out of which the
-people had come. The Pamments were Tories;
-very important Tories indeed.</p>
-
-<p>The Idens, in their little way, were Tories, too,
-right to the centre of the cerebellum; the Flammas
-were hot Republicans. Now Amaryllis, being a
-girl, naturally loved her father most, yet she was a
-wilful and rebellious revolutionist. Amaryllis, who
-would not be a Flamma, had imbibed all the
-Flamma hatred of authority from her mother.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_118" id="Page_118">[118]</a></span></p>
-
-<p>To her the Pamments were the incarnation of
-everything detestable, of oppression, obstruction,
-and mediæval darkness. She knew nothing of
-politics; at sixteen you do not need to know to
-feel vehemently, you feel vehemently without knowing.
-Still, she had heard a good deal about the
-Pamments.</p>
-
-<p>She resented being brought there to admire the
-pleasure grounds and mansion, and to kow-tow to
-the grandeur of these mediæval tyrants.</p>
-
-<p>Old Iden led her on till they came to the smooth
-lawn before the front windows; three centuries of
-mowing had made it as smooth as the top of his
-own head, where the years had mown away merrily.</p>
-
-<p>There was not so much as a shrub—not a daisy—between
-them and the great windows of the
-house. They stood in full view.</p>
-
-<p>Amaryllis could scarcely endure herself, so keen
-was her vexation; her cheeks reddened. She was
-obliged to face the house, but her glance was
-downwards; she would not look at it.</p>
-
-<p>Grandfather Iden was in the height of his glory.
-In all Woolhorton town there was not another man
-who could do as he was doing at that moment.</p>
-
-<p>The Pamments were very exclusive people, exceptionally
-exclusive even for high class Tories. Their
-gardens, and lawns, and grounds were jealously
-surrounded with walls higher than the old-fashioned
-houses of the street beneath them. No one dared
-to so much as peer through a crevice of the mighty
-gates. Their persons were encircled with the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_119" id="Page_119">[119]</a></span>
-"divinity" that hedges the omnipotent landed
-proprietor. No one dared speak to a Pamment.
-They acknowledged no one in the town, not even
-the solicitors, not even the clergyman of the Abbey
-church; that was on account of ritual differences.</p>
-
-<p>It was, indeed, whispered—high treason must
-always be whispered—that young Pamment, the
-son and heir, was by no means so exclusive, and
-had been known to be effusive towards ladies of
-low birth—and manners.</p>
-
-<p>The great leaders of Greece—Alcibiades, Aristides,
-and so on—threw open their orchards to the
-people. Everyone walked in and did as he chose.
-These great leaders of England—the Pamments—shut
-up their lawns and pleasure-grounds, sealed
-them hermetically, you could hardly throw a stone
-over the walls if you tried.</p>
-
-<p>But Grandfather Iden walked through those
-walls as if there were none; he alone of all Woolhorton
-town and country.</p>
-
-<p>In that gossipy little town, of course, there
-were endless surmises as to the why and wherefore
-of that private key. Shrewd people said—"Ah!
-you may depend they be getting summat out of
-him. Lent 'em some of his guineas, a' reckon.
-They be getting summat out of him. Hoss-leeches,
-they gentlefolks."</p>
-
-<p>Grandfather Iden alone entered when he listed:
-he wandered about the lawns, he looked in at the
-conservatories, he took a bunch of grapes if it
-pleased him, or a bouquet of flowers; he actually<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_120" id="Page_120">[120]</a></span>
-stepped indoors occasionally and sat down on the
-carved old chairs, or pottered about the picture
-gallery. He had a private key to the nail-studded
-door in the wall by the Abbey church, and he
-looked upon that key very much as if it had been
-the key of Paradise.</p>
-
-<p>When Grandfather Iden stood on the lawn at
-Pamment House he was the proudest and happiest
-man in what they sarcastically call "God's creation."</p>
-
-<p>He was a peer at such moments; a grandee—the
-grandee who can wear his hat or sit down
-(which is it? it is most important to be accurate)
-in the presence of his deity, I mean his sovereign;
-he could actually step on the same sward pressed
-by the holy toes of the Pamments.</p>
-
-<p>In justice to him it must be said that he was
-most careful not to obtrude himself into the sight
-of their sacred majesties. If they were at home he
-rarely went in, if he did he crept round unfrequented
-paths, the byeways of the gardens, and hid himself
-under the fig trees, as it were. But if by chance a
-Pamment did light upon him, it was noteworthy
-that he was literally dandled and fondled like an
-infant, begged to come in, and take wine, and so
-so, and so so.</p>
-
-<p>In justice to old Iden let it be known that he
-was most careful not to obtrude himself; he hid
-himself under the fig trees.</p>
-
-<p>Hardly credible is it? that a man of ninety years—a
-man of no common intelligence—a man of<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_121" id="Page_121">[121]</a></span>
-books, and coins, and antiquities, should, in this
-nineteenth century, bend his aged knees in such a
-worship. Incredible as it may seem it is certainly
-true.</p>
-
-<p>Such loyalty in others of old time, remember,
-seems very beautiful when we read of the devotion
-that was shown towards Charles Stuart.</p>
-
-<p>With all his heart and soul he worshipped the
-very ground the Pamments trod on. He loved to
-see them in the Abbey church; when they were at
-home he never failed to attend service, rain, snow,
-thunder, ninety years notwithstanding, he always
-attended that he might bow his venerable head to
-them as they swept up the aisle, receiving the
-faintest, yet most gracious, smile of recognition in
-return.</p>
-
-<p>He was quite happy in his pew if he could see
-them at their carved desks in the chancel; the
-organ sounded very beautiful then; the light came
-sweetly through the painted windows; a sanctity
-and heavenly presence was diffused around.</p>
-
-<p>Rebellious Amaryllis knew all this, and hated
-it. Her Flamma foot tapped the sacred sward.</p>
-
-<p>Grandfather Iden, after mopping his mouth with
-his silk handkerchief, began to point with his
-cudgel—a big hockey stick—at the various parts of
-the building. This was Elizabethan, that dated
-from James II., that went back to Henry VII.,
-there were walls and foundations far more ancient
-still, out of sight.</p>
-
-<p>Really, it was a very interesting place archæologically,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_122" id="Page_122">[122]</a></span>
-if only you could have got rid of the
-Pamments.</p>
-
-<p>Amaryllis made no remark during this mumbling
-history. Iden thought she was listening intently.
-At the conclusion he was just moving her—for she
-was passive now, like a piece of furniture—when
-he spied some one at a window.</p>
-
-<p>Off came the great white hat, and down it swept
-till the top brushed the grass in the depth of his
-homage. It was a bow that would have delighted
-a lady, so evidently real in its intent, so full of the
-gentleman, so thoroughly courtier-like, and yet
-honest. There was nothing to smile at in that
-bow; there was not a young gentleman in Belgravia
-who could bow in that way, for, in truth, we have
-forgotten how to bow in this generation.</p>
-
-<p>A writing and talking is always going on about
-the high place woman occupies in modern society,
-but the fact is, we have lost our reverence for
-woman as woman; it is after-dinner speech, nothing
-more, mere sham. We don't venerate woman,
-and therefore we don't bow.</p>
-
-<p>Grandfather Iden's bow would have won any
-woman's heart had it been addressed to her, for
-there was veneration and courtesy, breeding, and
-desire to please in it.</p>
-
-
-
-<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_123" id="Page_123">[123]</a></span></p>
-<div class="figcenter" style="width: 500px;">
-<img src="images/i-034.png" width="500" height="85" alt="decoration" title="" />
-</div>
-
-
-<h2>CHAPTER XVI.</h2>
-
-
-<div class="figleft" style="width: 121px;">
-<img src="images/t.png" width="121" height="120" alt="T" title="" />
-</div><div class='unindent'>HE man he had seen at the window was
-young Raleigh Pamment, the son and
-heir.</div>
-
-<p>He had been sitting in an easy chair,
-one leg over the arm, busy with a
-memorandum book, a stump of pencil, and a disordered
-heap of telegrams, letters, and newspapers.</p>
-
-<p>Everybody writes to Mr. Gladstone, a sort of
-human lion's mouth for post-cards, but Raleigh
-junior had not got to manage the House of Commons,
-the revenue, the nation, the Turks, South
-Africa, the Nile, Ganges, Indus, Afghanistan, sugar,
-shipping, and Homer.</p>
-
-<p>Yet Raleigh junior had an occasional table beside
-him, from which the letters, telegrams, newspapers,
-and scraps of paper had overflowed on to the floor.
-In a company's offices it would have taken sixteen
-clerks to answer that correspondence; this idle
-young aristocrat answered it himself, entered it in
-his day book, "totted" it up, and balanced the—the
-residue.</p>
-
-<p>Nothing at all businesslike, either, about him—nothing<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_124" id="Page_124">[124]</a></span>
-in the least like those gentlemen who consider
-that to go in to the "office" every morning
-is the sum total of life. A most unbusinesslike
-young fellow.</p>
-
-<p>A clay pipe in his mouth, a jar of tobacco on
-another chair beside him, a glass of whiskey for a
-paper-weight on his telegrams. An idle, lounging,
-"bad lot;" late hours, tobacco, whiskey, and ballet-dancers
-writ very large indeed on his broad face.
-In short, a young "gent" of the latter half of the
-nineteenth century.</p>
-
-<p>Not the slightest sign of "blue blood" anywhere;
-not even in the cut of his coat, no Brummel-like
-elegance; hardly a Bond Street coat at all—rough,
-large, coarse cloth. If he had stood at the
-door of a shop he would have done very well indeed
-for a shopkeeper, the sort that drives about in a
-cart for orders.</p>
-
-<p>Of his character nothing could be learned from
-his features. His face was broad, rather flat, with
-a short but prominent nose; in spite of indulgence,
-he kept a good, healthy, country colour. His neck
-was thick, his figure stout, his hands big—a jovial,
-good-tempered looking man.</p>
-
-<p>His neck was <i>very</i> thick, tree-like; a drover's
-neck, no refinement or special intelligence indicated
-there; great power to eat, drink, and sleep—belly
-energy.</p>
-
-<p>But let no one, therefore, suppose that the members
-of the upper ten thousand are any thicker in
-the neck, or more abdominal in their proclivities,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_125" id="Page_125">[125]</a></span>
-or beneath the culture of the day. Take five
-hundred "blue bloods," and you will find among
-them a certain proportion of thick-necked people;
-take five hundred very common commoners, and
-you may count exactly the same number interspersed.</p>
-
-<p>The Pamments were simply Englishmen, and liable
-to be born big, with broad faces, thick necks, and
-ultimate livers. It was no disgrace to Raleigh, that
-jolly neck of his.</p>
-
-<p>Unless you are given to æsthetic crockery, or
-Francesco de Rimini, I think you would rather
-have liked him; a sort of fellow who would lend
-you his dogs, or his gun, or his horse, or his ballet-dancer,
-or his credit—humph!—at a moment's
-notice. But he was a very "bad lot;" they
-whispered it even in dutiful Woolhorton.</p>
-
-<p>He got rid of money in a most surprising way,
-and naturally had nothing to show for it. The
-wonderful manner in which coin will disappear in
-London, like water into deep sand, surpasses the
-mysteries of the skies. It slips, it slides, it glides,
-it sinks, it flies, it runs out of the pocket. The
-nimble squirrel is nothing to the way in which a
-sovereign will leap forth in town.</p>
-
-<p>Raleigh had a good allowance, often supplemented
-by soft aunts, yet he frequently walked for lack of
-a cab fare. <i>I</i> can't blame him; I should be just
-as bad, if fortune favoured me. How delicious now
-to walk down Regent Street, along Piccadilly, up
-Bond Street, and so on, in a widening circle, with
-a thousand pounds in one's pocket, just to spend,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_126" id="Page_126">[126]</a></span>
-all your own, and no need to worry when it was
-gone. To look in at all the shops and pick up
-something here and something yonder, to say, "I'll
-have that picture I admired ten years ago; I'll have
-a bit of real old oak furniture; I'll go to Paris—"
-but Paris is not a patch on London. To take a
-lady—<i>the</i> lady—to St. Peter Robinson's, and spread
-the silks of the earth before her feet, and see the
-awakening delight in her eyes and the glow on her
-cheek; to buy a pony for the "kids" and a diamond
-brooch for the kind, middle-aged matron who befriended
-you years since in time of financial need;
-to get a new gun, and inquire about the price of a
-deer-stalk in Scotland; whetting the road now
-and then with a sip of Moet—but only one sip, for
-your liver's sake—just to brighten up the imagination.
-And so onwards in a widening circle, as
-sun-lit fancy led: could Xerxes, could great Pompey,
-could Cæsar with all his legions, could Lucullus
-with all his oysters, ever have enjoyed such pleasure
-as this—just to spend money freely, with a jolly
-chuckle, in the streets of London? What is
-Mahomet's Paradise to <i>that</i>?</p>
-
-<p>The exquisite delight of utterly abandoned extravagance,
-no counting—anathemas on counting and
-calculation! If life be not a dream, what is the
-use of living?</p>
-
-<p>Say what you will, the truth is, we all struggle
-on in hope of living in a dream some day. This
-is my dream. Dreadfully, horribly wicked, is it
-not, in an age that preaches thrift and—twaddle?<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_127" id="Page_127">[127]</a></span>
-No joy like waste in London streets; happy
-waste, imaginative extravagance; to and fro like a
-butterfly!</p>
-
-<p>Besides, there's no entertainment in the world
-like the streets of London on a sunny day or a gas-lit
-night. The shops, the carriages, the people, the
-odds and ends of life one sees, the drifting to and
-fro of folk, the "bits" of existence, glimpses into
-shadowy corners, the dresses, the women; dear me,
-where shall we get to? At all events, the fact
-remains that to anyone with an eye the best entertainment
-in the world is a lounge in London streets.
-Theatres, concerts, séances, Albert Halls, museums,
-galleries, are but set and formal shows; a great
-weariness, for the most part, and who the deuce
-would care to go and gaze at them again who could
-lounge in Piccadilly?</p>
-
-<p>It is well worth a ten-pound note any day in
-May; fifty pounds sometimes at 1 p.m., merely to
-look on, I mean, it is worth it; but you can see
-this living show for nothing. Let the grandees go
-to the opera; for me, the streets.</p>
-
-<p>So I can't throw dirt at Raleigh, who often had
-a hatful of money, and could and did just what
-seemed pleasant in his sight. But the money went
-like water, and in order to get further supplies, the
-idle, good-for-nothing, lazy dog worked like a prime
-minister with telegrams, letters, newspapers, and
-so on, worked like a prime minister—at betting.
-Horse-racing, in short, was the explanation of the
-memorandum-book, the load of correspondence, and<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_128" id="Page_128">[128]</a></span>
-the telegrams, kept flat with a glass of whiskey as
-a paper-weight.</p>
-
-<p>While he wrote, and thought, and reckoned up
-his chances, a loud refrain of snoring arose from
-the sofa. It was almost as loud as the boom of
-the fair, but Raleigh had no nerves. His friend
-Freddie, becoming oppressed with so much labour,
-had dropped asleep, leaving his whiskey beside him
-on the sofa, so that the first time he moved over it
-went on the carpet. With one long leg stretched
-out, the other knee up, lying on his back, and his
-mouth wide open to the ceiling, Freddie was very
-happy.</p>
-
-<p>Raleigh puffed his clay pipe, sipped, and puffed
-again. Freddie boomed away on the sofa. The
-family was in London; Raleigh and Freddie got
-down here in this way: it happened one night there
-was a row at a superb bar, Haymarket trail. The
-"chuckers-out" began their coarse horse-play, and
-in the general melée Raleigh distinguished himself.
-Rolled about by the crowd, he chanced to find himself
-for a moment in a favourable position, and
-punished one of these gigantic brutes pretty
-severely.</p>
-
-<p>Though stout and short of breath, Raleigh was
-strong in the arm, he was "up," and he hit hard.
-The fellow's face was a "picture," coloured in
-cardinal. Such an opportunity does not occur
-twice in a lifetime; Raleigh's genius seized the
-opportunity, and he became great. Actium was
-a trifle to it.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_129" id="Page_129">[129]</a></span></p>
-
-<p>There were mighty men before Agamemnon, and
-there are mighty men who do not figure in the
-papers.</p>
-
-<p>Raleigh became at once an anaxandron—a King
-of Men. The history of his feat spread in ten
-minutes from one end of midnight London to the
-other: from the policeman in Waterloo Place to—everywhere.
-Never was such a stir; the fall of
-Sebastopol—dear me! I can remember it, look at
-the flight of time—was nothing to it. They would
-have chaired him, <i>fêted</i> him, got a band to play him
-about the place, literally crowned him with laurel.
-Ave, Cæsar! Evœ! Bacchus! But they could not
-find him.</p>
-
-<p>Raleigh was off with Freddie, who had been in
-at the death, and was well "blooded." Hansom to
-Paddington in the small hours; creep, creep, creep,
-through the raw morning mist, puff, whistle, broad
-gauge, and they had vanished.</p>
-
-<p>Raleigh was a man of his age; he lost not a
-moment; having got the glory, the next thing was
-to elude the responsibility; and, in short, he slipped
-out of sight till the hue-and-cry was over, and the
-excitement of the campaign had subsided.</p>
-
-<p>In case anyone should suppose I approve of midnight
-battle, I may as well label the account at
-once: "This is a goak."</p>
-
-<p>I do <i>not</i> approve of brawls at the bar, but I have
-set myself the task to describe a bit of human life
-exactly as it really is, and I can assure you as a
-honest fact that Raleigh by that lucky knock became<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_130" id="Page_130">[130]</a></span>
-a very great man indeed among people as
-they really are. People as they really are, are not
-all Greek scholars.</p>
-
-<p>As I don't wish you to look down upon poor
-Raleigh too much because he smoked a cutty,
-and hit a fellow twice as big as himself, and lent
-his money, and made bets, and drank whiskey, and
-was altogether wicked, I may as well tell you something
-in his favour: He was a hero to his valet.</p>
-
-<p>"No man is a hero to his valet," says the proverb,
-not even Napoleon, Disraeli, or Solomon.</p>
-
-<p>But Raleigh <i>was</i> a hero to his valet.</p>
-
-<p>He was not only a hero to Nobbs the valet; he
-had perfectly fascinated him. The instant he was off
-duty Nobbs began to be a Raleigh to himself. He
-put on a coat cut in the Raleigh careless style; in
-fact, he dressed himself Raleigh all over. His
-private hat was exactly like Raleigh's; so was his
-necktie, the same colour, shape, and bought at the
-same shop; so were his boots. He kept a sovereign
-loose in his waistcoat pocket, because that
-was where Raleigh carried his handy gold. He
-smoked a cutty-pipe, and drank endless whiskies—just
-like Raleigh, "the very ticket"—he had his
-betting-book, and his telegrams, and his money on
-"hosses," and his sporting paper, and his fine
-photographs of fine women. He swore in Raleigh's
-very words, and used to spit like him; Raleigh, if
-ever he chanced to expectorate, had an odd way of
-twisting up the corner of his mouth, so did Nobbs.
-In town Nobbs went to the very same bars (always,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_131" id="Page_131">[131]</a></span>
-of course, discreetly and out of sight), the very
-same theatres; a most perfect Raleigh to the
-tiniest detail. Why, Raleigh very rarely wound
-up his watch—careless Raleigh; accordingly, Nobbs'
-watch was seldom going. "And you just look
-here," said Nobbs to a great and confidential friend,
-after they had done endless whiskies, and smoked
-handfuls of Raleigh's tobacco, "you look here, if I
-was <i>he</i>, and had lots of chink, and soft old parties
-to get money out of as easy as filling yer pipe, by
-Jove! wouldn't <i>I</i> cut a swell! I'd do it, <i>I</i> would.
-I'd make that Whitechapel of his spin along, I
-rather guess I would. I'd liquor up. Wouldn't I
-put a thou on the Middle Park Plate? Ah!
-wouldn't I, Tommy, my boy! Just wouldn't I
-have heaps of wimmen; some in the trap, and some
-indoors, and some to go to the theatre with—respectable
-gals, I mean—crowds of 'em would come
-if Raleigh was to hold up his finger. Guess I'd
-fill this old shop (the Pamment mansion) choke full
-of wimmen! If I was only he! Shouldn't I like
-to fetch one of them waiter chaps a swop on the
-nose, like <i>he</i> did! Oh, my! Oh, Tommy!" And
-Nobbs very nearly wept at the happy vision of being
-"he."</p>
-
-<p>Why, Raleigh was not only a Hero, he was a
-Demi-god to his valet! Not only Nobbs, but the
-footmen, and the grooms, and the whole race of
-servants everywhere who had caught a glimpse of
-Raleigh looked upon him as the Ideal Man. So
-did the whole race of "cads" in the bars and at<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_132" id="Page_132">[132]</a></span>
-the races, and all over town and country, all of that
-sort who knew anything of Raleigh sighed to be
-like "he."</p>
-
-<p>The fellow who said that "No man is a hero to
-his valet" seemed to suppose that the world worships
-good and divine qualities only. Nothing of
-the sort; it is not the heroic, it is the low and
-coarse and blackguard part the mass of people
-regard with such deep admiration.</p>
-
-<p>If only Nobbs could have been "he," no doubt
-whatever he would have "done it" very big indeed.
-But he would have left out of his copy that part of
-Raleigh's nature which, in spite of the whiskey and
-the cutty, and the rest of it, made him still a perfect
-gentleman at heart. Nobbs didn't want to be a
-perfect gentleman.</p>
-
-<div class="figcenter" style="width: 235px;">
-<img src="images/i-063.png" width="235" height="200" alt="decoration" title="" />
-</div>
-
-
-
-<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_133" id="Page_133">[133]</a></span></p>
-<div class="figcenter" style="width: 500px;">
-<img src="images/i-051.png" width="500" height="88" alt="decoration" title="" />
-</div>
-
-
-<h2>CHAPTER XVII.</h2>
-
-
-<div class="figleft" style="width: 120px;">
-<img src="images/g.png" width="120" height="120" alt="G" title="" />
-</div><div class='unindent'>LANCING up from his betting-book,
-Raleigh caught sight of someone on the
-lawn, and went to the window to see
-who it was.</div>
-
-<p>It was then that Grandfather Iden
-raised his great grey hat, and brought it with so
-lowly a sweep down to the very ground before
-this demi-god of his.</p>
-
-<p>"Hullo! Fred, I say! Come, quick!" dragging
-him off the sofa. "Here's the Behemoth."</p>
-
-<p>"The Behemoth—the Deluge!" said Fred, incoherently,
-still half asleep.</p>
-
-<p>"Before that," said Raleigh. "I told you I'd
-show him to you some day. That's the Behemoth."</p>
-
-<p>Some grand folk keep a hump-backed cow, or
-white wild cattle, or strange creatures of that sort,
-in their parks as curiosities. The particular preserve
-of the Pamments was Grandfather Iden—antediluvian
-Iden—in short, the Behemoth.</p>
-
-<p>It is not everybody who has got a Behemoth on
-show.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_134" id="Page_134">[134]</a></span></p>
-
-<p>"There's a girl with him," said Fred.</p>
-
-<p>"Have her in," said Raleigh. "Wake us up,"
-ringing the bell. And he ordered the butler to
-fetch old Iden in.</p>
-
-<p>How thoroughly in character with Human Life
-it was that a man like Grandfather Iden—aged,
-experienced, clever, learned, a man of wise old
-books, should lower his ancient head, and do homage
-to Raleigh Pamment!</p>
-
-<div class='poem'>
-"Wherefore come ye not to court?<br />
-Skelton swears 'tis glorious sport.<br />
-Chattering fools and wise men listening."<br />
-</div>
-
-<p>Accordingly the butler went out bare-headed—his
-head was as bare as Mont Blanc—and, with
-many a gracious smile, conveyed his master's wishes.
-The Behemoth, mopping and mowing, wiping his
-slobbery old mouth in the excess of his glorification,
-takes Amaryllis by the arm, and proceeds to
-draw her towards the mansion.</p>
-
-<p>"But, grandpa—grandpa—really I'd rather not
-go. Please, don't make me go. No—no—I can't,"
-she cried, in a terror of disgust. She would not
-willingly have set foot on the Pamment threshold,
-no, not for a crown of gold, as the old song says
-unctuously.</p>
-
-<p>"Don't be afraid," said Iden. "Nothing to be
-afraid of"—mistaking her hesitation for awe.</p>
-
-<p>"Afraid!" repeated Amaryllis, in utter bewilderment.
-"Afraid! I don't want to go."</p>
-
-<p>"There's nothing to be afraid of, I'm sure," said<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_135" id="Page_135">[135]</a></span>
-the butler in his most insidious tones. "Mr. Pamment
-so very particularly wished to see you."</p>
-
-<p>"Come—come," said old Iden, "don't be silly,"
-as she still hung back. "It's a splendid place
-inside—there, lean on me, don't be afraid," and so
-the grandfather pulling her one side, and the butler
-very, very gently pressing her forward the other,
-they persuaded, or rather they moved Amaryllis
-onward.</p>
-
-<p>She glanced back, her heart beat quick, she had
-half a mind to break loose—easy enough to over-turn
-the two old fogies—but—how soon "but"
-comes, "but" came to Amaryllis at sixteen. She
-remembered her father. She remembered her
-mother's worn-out boots. By yielding yet a little
-further she could perhaps contrive to keep her
-grandfather in good humour and open the way to a
-reconciliation.</p>
-
-<p>So the revolutionary Amaryllis, the red-hot republican
-blood seething like molten metal in her
-veins, stepped across the hated threshold of the
-ancient and mediæval Pamments.</p>
-
-<p>But we have all heard about taking the horse to
-water and finding that he would not drink. If you
-cannot even make a horse, do you think you are
-likely to <i>make</i> a woman do anything?</p>
-
-<p>Amaryllis walked beside her grandfather quietly
-enough now, but she would not see or hear; he
-pointed out to her the old armour, the marble, the
-old oak; he mumbled on of the staircase where
-John Pamment, temp. Hen. VII., was seized for<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_136" id="Page_136">[136]</a></span>
-high treason; she kept her glance steadfastly on
-the ground.</p>
-
-<p>Iden construed it to be veneration, and was yet
-more highly pleased.</p>
-
-<p>Raleigh had taste enough to receive them in
-another room, not the whiskey-room; he met old
-Iden literally with open arms, taking both the old
-gentleman's hands in his he shook them till Iden
-tottered, and tears came into his eyes.</p>
-
-<p>Amaryllis scarcely touched his fingers, and would
-not raise her glance.</p>
-
-<p>"Raw," thought Freddie, who being tall looked
-over Raleigh's shoulder. "Very raw piece."</p>
-
-<p>To some young gentlemen a girl is a "piece."</p>
-
-<p>"My granddaughter," said Iden, getting his
-voice.</p>
-
-<p>"Ah, yes; like to see the galleries—fond of
-pictures——"</p>
-
-<p>Amaryllis was silent.</p>
-
-<p>"Answer," said Grandfather Iden graciously, as
-much as to say, "you may."</p>
-
-<p>"No," said Amaryllis.</p>
-
-<p>"Hum—let's see—books—library—carvings.
-Come, Mr. Iden, you know the place better than I
-do, you're an antiquarian and a scholar—I've forgotten
-my Greek. What would you like to show
-her?"</p>
-
-<p>"She <i>is</i> fond of pictures," said Iden, greatly
-flattered that he should be thought to know the
-house better than the heir. "She is fond of pictures;
-she's shy."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_137" id="Page_137">[137]</a></span></p>
-
-<p>Amaryllis' face became a dark red. The rushing
-blood seemed to stifle her. She could have cried
-out aloud; her pride only checked her utterance.</p>
-
-<p>Raleigh, not noticing the deep colour in her
-face, led on upstairs, down the corridors, and into
-the first saloon. There he paused and old Iden
-took the lead, going straight to a fine specimen of
-an old Master.</p>
-
-<p>Holding his great grey hat (which he would not
-give up to the butler) at arm's-length and pointing,
-the old man began to show Amaryllis the beauties
-of the picture.</p>
-
-<p>"A grand thing—look," said he.</p>
-
-<p>"I can't see," said Amaryllis, forced to reply.</p>
-
-<p>"Not see!" said Iden, in a doubtful tone.</p>
-
-<p>"Not a good light, perhaps," said Raleigh.
-"Come this side."</p>
-
-<p>She did not move.</p>
-
-<p>"Go that side," said Iden.</p>
-
-<p>No movement.</p>
-
-<p>"Go that side," he repeated, sharply.</p>
-
-<p>At last she moved over by Raleigh and stood
-there, gazing down still.</p>
-
-<p>"Look up," said Iden. She looked up hastily—above
-the canvas, and then again at the floor.</p>
-
-<p>Iden's dim old eyes rested a moment on the pair
-as they stood together; Amaryllis gazing downwards,
-Raleigh gazing at her. Thoughts of a possible
-alliance, perhaps, passed through Iden's mind;
-only consider, intermarriage between the Pamments
-and the Idens! Much more improbable<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_138" id="Page_138">[138]</a></span>
-things have happened; even without the marriage
-license the connection would be an immense honour.</p>
-
-<p>Grandfather Iden, aged ninety years, would most
-certainly have sacrificed the girl of sixteen, his own
-flesh and blood, joyously and intentionally to his
-worship of the aristocrat.</p>
-
-<p>If she could not have been the wife he would
-have forced her to be the mistress.</p>
-
-<p>There is no one so cruel—so utterly inhuman—as
-an old man, to whom feeling, heart, hope have
-long been dead words.</p>
-
-<p>"Now you can see," he said, softly and kindly.
-"Is it not noble?"</p>
-
-<p>"It looks smoky," said Amaryllis, lifting her
-large, dark eyes at last and looking her grandfather
-in the face.</p>
-
-<p>"Smoky!" he ejaculated, dropping his great
-white hat, his sunken cheeks flushing. It was not
-so much the remark as the tone of contemptuous
-rebellion.</p>
-
-<p>"Smoky," he repeated.</p>
-
-<p>"Smoky and—dingy," said Amaryllis. She
-had felt without actually seeing that Raleigh's gaze
-had been fixed upon her the whole time since they
-had entered, that emphatic look which so pleases or
-so offends a woman.</p>
-
-<p>Now there was nothing in Raleigh's manner to
-give offence—on the contrary he had been singularly
-pleasant, respectfully pleasant—but she remembered
-the fellow staring at her from the window at the
-"Lamb" and it biased her against him. She<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_139" id="Page_139">[139]</a></span>
-wished to treat him, and his pictures, and his place
-altogether with marked contempt.</p>
-
-<p>"I do not care for these pictures," she said. "I
-will leave now, if you please," and she moved towards
-the door.</p>
-
-<p>"Stop!" cried Iden, stretching out his hands
-and tottering after her. "Stop! I order you to
-stop! you rude girl!"</p>
-
-<p>He could not catch her, she had left the gallery—he
-slipped in his haste on the polished floor.
-Fred caught him by the arm or he would have
-fallen, and at the same time presented him with his
-great white hat.</p>
-
-<p>"Ungrateful!" he shrieked, and then choked
-and slobbered and mumbled, and I verily believe had
-it not been for his veneration of the place he would
-have spat upon the floor.</p>
-
-<p>Raleigh had rushed after Amaryllis, and overtook
-her at the staircase.</p>
-
-<p>"Pardon me, Miss Iden," he said, as she hastily
-descended. "Really I should have liked you to
-have seen the house—will you sit down a moment?
-Forgive me if I said or did——. No, do stay—please—"
-as she made straight for the hall. "I
-am so sorry—really sorry—unintentional"—in fact
-he had done nothing, and yet he was penitent. But
-she would not listen, she hurried on along the path,
-she began to run, or nearly, as he kept up with her,
-still begging her to pause; Amaryllis ran at last
-outright. "At least let me see you through the fair—rough
-people. Let me open the door——"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_140" id="Page_140">[140]</a></span></p>
-
-<p>The iron-studded door in the wall shut with a
-spring lock, and for a moment she could not unfasten
-it; she tore at it and grazed her hand, the
-blood started.</p>
-
-<p>"Good Heavens!" cried Raleigh, now thoroughly
-upset. "Let me bind it up," taking out his handkerchief.
-"I would not have had this happen for
-money"—short for any amount of money. "Let
-me——"</p>
-
-<p>"Do please leave me," cried Amaryllis, panting,
-not with the run, which was nothing to her, but
-pent-up indignation, and still trying to open the
-lock.</p>
-
-<p>Raleigh pressed the lock and the door swung
-open—he could easily have detained her there, but
-he did not. "One moment, pray—Miss Iden."
-She was gone down the passage between the Abbey
-church and the wall; he followed, she darted out
-into the crowd of the fair.</p>
-
-<div class="figcenter" style="width: 100px;">
-<img src="images/i-008.png" width="100" height="67" alt="decoration" title="" />
-</div>
-
-
-
-<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_141" id="Page_141">[141]</a></span></p>
-<div class="figcenter" style="width: 500px;">
-<img src="images/i-064.png" width="500" height="89" alt="" title="" />
-</div>
-
-
-<h2>CHAPTER XVIII.</h2>
-
-
-<div class="figleft" style="width: 120px;">
-<img src="images/w.png" width="120" height="120" alt="W" title="" />
-</div><div class='unindent'>HEN he stopped and turned, angry beyond
-measure, vexation biting deep
-lines like aquafortis on his broad, good-natured
-face.</div>
-
-<p>"That I should have been such a
-fool—an infernal blockheaded fool—" shutting the
-iron-studded door with a kick and a clang—"muddle-headed
-fool—I'll never touch a drop of
-whiskey again—and that jackass, Fred—why, she's—"
-a lady, he would have said, but did not dare
-admit to himself now that he had thought to ask
-her in to "wake us up." "But what did I do?
-Can't think what annoyed her. Must have been
-something between her and that tedious old Iden.
-Quite sure I didn't do or say——" but still he
-could not quiet his conscience, for if he had not by
-deed or word, he knew he had in thought.</p>
-
-<p>He had sent for her as he might have done for
-any of the vulgar wenches in the fair to amuse an
-idle hour, and he was ashamed of himself.</p>
-
-<p>In truth, Raleigh had never seen a woman like<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_142" id="Page_142">[142]</a></span>
-Amaryllis Iden. Her features were not beautiful,
-as general ideas go, nor had her form the grace of
-full increase; indeed words, and even a portrait by
-a master-hand, would have failed to carry the impression
-her nature had made upon him.</p>
-
-<p>It is not the particular cast of features that
-makes a man great, and gives him a pre-eminence
-among his fellows. It is the character—the mind.</p>
-
-<p>A great genius commands attention at once by
-his presence, and so a woman may equally impress
-by the power of her nature. Her moral strength
-asserts itself in subtle ways.</p>
-
-<p>I don't say for certain that it was her character
-that impressed Raleigh—it might have been nothing
-of the sort, it might have been <i>because it was
-so</i>, a woman's reason, and therefore appropriate.
-These things do not happen by "why and because."</p>
-
-<p>Some may say it is quite out of place to suppose
-a whiskey-sipping, cutty-pipe smoking, horse-racing,
-bar-frequenting fellow like Raleigh could
-by any possible means fall in love at first sight. But
-whiskey, cutty, horse, and bar were not the real
-man, any more than your hat is your head, they
-were mere outside chaff, he had a sound heart all
-the same, a great deal sounder and better, and infinitely
-more generous than some very respectable
-folk who are regularly seen in their pews, and grind
-down their clerks and dependents to the edge of
-starvation.</p>
-
-<p>Raleigh was capable of a good deal of heart, such
-as the pew-haunting Pharisee knows not of. Perhaps<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_143" id="Page_143">[143]</a></span>
-he was not in love: at all events he was highly
-excited.</p>
-
-<p>Fred had contrived to keep old Iden from following
-Amaryllis by representing that Raleigh would
-be sure to bring her back. The butler, who was
-very well acquainted with old Iden, hastily whipped
-out a bottle of champagne and handed him a
-brimming glass. The old gentleman, still mouthing
-and bubbling over with rage, spluttered and drank,
-and spluttered again, and refusing a second, would
-go, and so met Raleigh in the hall.</p>
-
-<p>Raleigh tried on his part to soothe the old man,
-and on his part the old man tried at one and the
-same moment to apologize for his granddaughter
-and to abuse her for her misconduct. Consequently
-neither of them heard or understood the other.</p>
-
-<p>But no sooner was Iden gone than Raleigh, remembering
-the rough crowd in the fair, despatched
-the butler after him to see him safe home. It was
-now growing dusky as the evening came on.</p>
-
-<p>Without more ado, this young gentleman then
-set to and swore at Fred for half an hour straight
-ahead. Fred at first simply stared and wondered
-what on earth had turned his brain; next, being
-equally hot-tempered, he swore in reply; then there
-followed some sharp recriminations (for each knew
-too much of the other's goings on not to have
-plenty of material), and finally they sparred. Two
-or three cuffs cooled their ardour, having nothing
-to quarrel about; sulks ensued; Raleigh buried
-himself in the papers; Fred lit a cigar and walked<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_144" id="Page_144">[144]</a></span>
-out into the fair. Thus there was tribulation in the
-great house of the Pamments.</p>
-
-<p>Grandfather Iden permitted the butler to steer
-him through the crowd quietly enough, because it
-flattered him to be thus taken care of before the
-world by a Pamment servitor. When they parted
-at the doorstep he slipped half-a-sovereign in the
-butler's hand—he could not offer less than gold to
-a Pamments' man—but once inside, his demeanour
-changed. He pushed away his housekeeper, went
-into his especial sitting-room, bolted the door,
-spread his hands and knees over the fire, and poked
-the coals, grunted, poked, and stirred till smoke
-and smuts filled the stuffy little place.</p>
-
-<p>By-and-by there was a banging of drawers—the
-drawers in the bureau and the bookcases were opened
-and shut sharply—writing-paper was flung on the
-table, and he sat down to write a letter with a
-scratchy quill pen. The letter written was ordered
-to post immediately, and the poking, and stirring,
-and grunting recommenced. Thus there was tribulation
-in the house of the head of the Idens.</p>
-
-<p>Amaryllis meantime had got through the town
-by keeping between the booths and the houses.
-Just as she left the last street Ned Marks rode up—he
-had been on the watch, thinking to talk with
-her as she walked home, but just as he drew rein to
-go slow and so speak, a heathen pig from the market
-rushed between his horse's legs and spoiled the
-game by throwing him headlong.</p>
-
-<p>She did not see, or at least did not notice, but<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_145" id="Page_145">[145]</a></span>
-hastening on, entered the fields. In coming to
-town that morning she had seen everything; now,
-returning in her anger and annoyance, she took no
-heed of anything; she was so absorbed that when
-a man—one of those she met going to the fair for
-the evening—turned back and followed her some
-way, she did not observe him. Finding that she
-walked steadily on, the fellow soon ceased to pursue.</p>
-
-<p>The gloom had settled when she reached home,
-and the candles were lit. She gave her father the
-sovereign, and was leaving the room, hoping to
-escape questioning, when Mrs. Iden asked who had
-the prize-guinea.</p>
-
-<p>"I did," said Amaryllis, very quietly and reluctantly.</p>
-
-<p>"Where is it? Why didn't you say so? Let me
-see," said Mrs. Iden.</p>
-
-<p>"I—I—I lost it," said Amaryllis.</p>
-
-<p>"You lost it! Lost a guinea! A spade-guinea!"</p>
-
-<p>"What!" said Iden in his sternest tones.
-"Show it immediately."</p>
-
-<p>"I can't; I lost it."</p>
-
-<p>"Lost it!"</p>
-
-<p>And they poured upon her a cross-fire of anger:
-a careless, wasteful hussy, an idle wretch; what
-did she do for her living that she could throw away
-spade-guineas? what would her grandfather say?
-how did she suppose they were to keep her, and she
-not earn the value of a bonnet-string? time she
-was apprenticed to a dressmaker; the quantity she
-ate, and never could touch any fat—dear me, so<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_146" id="Page_146">[146]</a></span>
-fine—bacon was not good enough for her—she could
-throw away spade-guineas.</p>
-
-<p>Poor Amaryllis stood by the half-open door, her
-hat in her hand, her bosom heaving, her lips apart
-and pouting, not with indignation but sheer misery;
-her head drooped, her form seemed to lose its firmness
-and sink till she stooped; she could not face
-them as she would have done others, because you
-see she loved them, and she had done her best that
-day till too sorely tried.</p>
-
-<p>The storm raged on; finally Iden growled
-"Better get out of sight." Then she went to her
-bedroom, and sat on the bed; presently she lay
-down, and sobbed silently on the pillow, after
-which she fell asleep, quite worn out, dark circles
-under her eyes. In the silence of the house, the
-tom-tom and blare of brazen instruments blown at
-the fair two miles away was audible.</p>
-
-<div class="figcenter" style="width: 150px;">
-<img src="images/i-009.png" width="150" height="107" alt="decoration" title="" />
-</div>
-
-
-<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_147" id="Page_147">[147]</a></span></p>
-
-<div class="figcenter" style="width: 500px;">
-<img src="images/i-057.png" width="500" height="84" alt="decoration" title="" />
-</div>
-<h2>CHAPTER XIX.</h2>
-
-
-<div class="figleft" style="width: 120px;">
-<img src="images/s.png" width="120" height="120" alt="S" title="" />
-</div><div class='unindent'>o there was tribulation in three houses.
-Next morning she scarcely dared come
-in to breakfast, and opened the door
-timidly, expecting heavy looks, and to
-be snapped up if she spoke. Instead of which, on
-taking her place, Iden carefully cut for her the
-most delicate slice of ham he could find, and removed
-the superfluous fat before putting it on her
-plate. Mrs. Iden had a special jug of cream ready
-for her—Amaryllis was fond of cream—and enriched
-the tea with it generously.</div>
-
-<p>"And what did you see at the fair?" asked
-Iden in his kindest voice, lifting up his saucer—from
-which he always drank—by putting his thumb
-under it instead of over, so that his thick little
-finger projected. He always sipped his tea in this
-way.</p>
-
-<p>"You had plenty of fun, didn't you?" said
-Mrs. Iden, still more kindly.</p>
-
-<p>"I—I don't know; I did not see much of the
-fair," said Amaryllis, at a loss to understand the
-change of manner.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_148" id="Page_148">[148]</a></span></p>
-
-<p>Iden smiled at his wife and nodded; Mrs. Iden
-picked up a letter from the tea-tray and gave it to
-her daughter:</p>
-
-<p>"Read."</p>
-
-<p>Amaryllis read—it was from Grandfather Iden,
-furiously upbraiding Iden for neglecting his
-daughter's education; she had no reverence, no
-manners—an undutiful, vulgar girl; she had better
-not show her face in his house again till she had
-been taught to know her position; her conduct was
-not fit for the kitchen; she had not the slightest
-idea how to behave herself in the presence of persons
-of quality.</p>
-
-<p>She put it down before she had finished the
-tirade of abuse; she did not look up, her face was
-scarlet.</p>
-
-<p>Iden laughed.</p>
-
-<p>"Horrid old wretch! Served him right!" said
-Mrs. Iden. "So glad you vexed him, dear!"</p>
-
-<p>Amaryllis last night a wretch was this morning
-a heroine. The grandfather's letter had done this.</p>
-
-<p>Iden never complained—never mentioned his
-father—but of course in his heart he bitterly felt
-the harsh neglect shown towards him and his wife
-and their child. He was a man who said the
-less the more he was moved; he gossiped freely
-with the men at the stile, or even with a hamlet
-old woman. Not a word ever dropped from him
-of his own difficulties—he kept his mind to himself.
-His wife knew nothing of his intentions—he
-was over-secretive, especially about money matters,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_149" id="Page_149">[149]</a></span>
-in which he affected the most profound mystery,
-as if everyone in Coombe was not perfectly aware
-they could hardly get a pound of sugar on credit.</p>
-
-<p>All the more bitterly he resented the manner
-in which Grandfather Iden treated him, giving
-away half-crowns, crown-pieces, shillings, and fourpenny
-bits to anyone who would flatter his peculiarities,
-leaving his own descendants to struggle
-daily with debt and insult.</p>
-
-<p>Iden was in reality a very proud man, and the
-insults of his petty creditors fretted him.</p>
-
-<p>He would have been glad if Amaryllis had become
-her grandfather's favourite; as the grandfather had
-thrown savage words at the girl, so much the more
-was added to the score against the grandfather.</p>
-
-<p>Mrs. Iden hated the grandfather with every drop
-of Flamma blood in her veins—hated him above
-all for his pseudo-Flamma relationship, for old Iden
-had in his youth been connected with the Flammas
-in business—hated him for his veneration of the
-aristocratic and mediæval Pamments.</p>
-
-<p>She was always impressing upon Amaryllis the
-necessity of cultivating her grandfather's goodwill,
-and always abusing him—contradicting herself in
-the most natural manner.</p>
-
-<p>This letter had given them such delight, because
-it showed how deeply Amaryllis had annoyed the
-old gentleman. Had he been whipped he could
-hardly have yelled more; he screamed through his
-scratchy quill. Suppose they did lose his money,
-he had had <i>one</i> good upset, that was something.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_150" id="Page_150">[150]</a></span></p>
-
-<p>They were eager to hear all about it. Amaryllis
-was at first very shy to tell, knowing that her
-father was a thick Tory and an upholder of the
-Pamments, and fearing his displeasure. But for
-various reasons both father and mother grew warmer
-in delight at every fresh incident of her story.</p>
-
-<p>Mrs. Flamma Iden—revolutionary Flamma—detested
-the Pamments enthusiastically, on principle
-first, and next, because the grandfather paid them
-such court.</p>
-
-<p>Iden was indeed an extra thick Tory, quite opaque,
-and had voted in the Pamment interest these thirty
-years, yet he had his secret reasons for disliking
-them personally.</p>
-
-<p>Both Mr. and Mrs. Iden agreed in their scorn of
-the grandfather's pottering about the grounds and
-in and out the conservatories, as if that was the
-highest honour on earth. Yet Mrs. Iden used
-often to accuse her husband of a desire to do the
-very same thing: "You're just as stupid," she
-would say; "you'd think it wonderful to have a
-private key—you're every bit as silly really, only
-you haven't got the chance."</p>
-
-<p>However, from a variety of causes they agreed in
-looking on Amaryllis' disgrace as a high triumph
-and glory.</p>
-
-<p>So she was petted all the morning by both
-parties—a rare thing—and in the afternoon Iden
-gave her the sovereign she had brought home, to
-buy her some new boots, and to spend the rest as
-she chose on herself.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_151" id="Page_151">[151]</a></span></p>
-
-<p>Away went Amaryllis to the town, happy and yet
-not without regret that she had increased the disagreement
-between her father and grandfather.
-She met the vans and gipsies slowly leaving the
-site of the fair, the children running along with
-bare brown feet. She went under the archæologically
-interesting gateway, and knocked at the door
-of Tiras Wise, shoemaker, "established 200 years."</p>
-
-<p>Tiras Wise of the present generation was thin
-and nervous, weary of the centuries, worn out, and
-miserable-looking. Amaryllis, strong in the possession
-of a golden sovereign, attacked him sharply
-for his perfidious promises; her boots promised at
-Christmas were not mended yet.</p>
-
-<p>Tiras, twiddling a lady's boot in one hand, and
-his foot measure in the other, very humbly and
-deprecatingly excused himself; there had been so
-much trouble with the workmen, some were so
-tipsy, and some would not work; they were always
-demanding higher wages, and just as he had a job
-in hand going off and leaving it half finished—shoemaker's
-tricks these. Sometimes, indeed, he could
-not get a workman, and then there was the competition
-of the ready-made boot from Northampton;
-really, it was most trying—it really was.</p>
-
-<p>"Well, and when am I going to have the boots?"
-said Amaryllis, amused at the poor fellow's distress.
-"When <i>are</i> they going to be finished?"</p>
-
-<p>"You see, Miss Iden," said the shoemaker's
-mother, coming to help her son, "the fact is, he's just
-worried out of his life with his men—and really—"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_152" id="Page_152">[152]</a></span></p>
-
-<p>"You don't seem to get on very well with your
-shoemaking, Mr. Wise," said the customer, smiling.</p>
-
-<p>"The fact is," said poor Wise, in his most melancholy
-manner, with a deep sigh, "the fact is, the
-men don't know their work as they used to, they
-spoil the leather and cut it wrong, and leave jobs
-half done, and they're always drinking; the leather
-isn't so good as it used to be; the fact is," with a
-still deeper sigh, "<i>we can't make a boot</i>."</p>
-
-<p>At which Amaryllis laughed outright, to think
-that people should have been in business two
-hundred years as shoemakers, and yet could not
-make a boot!</p>
-
-<p>Her experience of life as yet was short, and she
-saw things in their first aspect; it is not till much
-later we observe that the longer people do one
-thing, the worse they do it, till in the end they
-cannot do it at all.</p>
-
-<p>She presently selected a pair for herself, 9<i>s.</i>,
-and another pair for her mother, 10<i>s.</i> 6<i>d.</i>, leaving
-sixpence over; add sixpence discount for ready-money,
-and she was still rich with a shilling.
-Carrying the parcel, she went up the street and
-passed old Iden's door on elate instep, happy that
-she had not got to cross his threshold that day,
-happy to think she had the boots for her mother.
-Looking in at two or three dingy little shops, she
-fixed at last on one, and bought half-a-dozen of the
-very finest mild bloaters, of which Mrs. Iden was so
-fond. This finished the savings, and she turned
-quickly for home. The bloaters being merely bound<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_153" id="Page_153">[153]</a></span>
-round with one thin sheet of newspaper, soon imparted
-their odour to her hand.</p>
-
-<p>A lady whose hand smells of bloaters is not, I
-hope, too ideal; I hope you will see now that I am
-not imaginative, or given to the heroinesque.
-Amaryllis, I can tell you, was quite absorbed in the
-bloaters and the boots; a very sweet, true, and
-loving hand it was, in spite of the bloaters—one to
-kiss fervently.</p>
-
-<p>They soon had the bloaters on over a clear fire
-of wood-coals, and while they cooked the mother
-tried her new boots, naturally not a little pleased
-with the thoughtful present. The Flamma blood
-surged with gratitude; she would have given her
-girl the world at that moment. That she should
-have remembered her mother showed such a good
-disposition; there was no one like Amaryllis.</p>
-
-<p>"Pah!" said Iden, just then entering, "pah!"
-with a gasp; and holding his handkerchief to his
-nose, he rushed out faster than he came in, for the
-smell of bloaters was the pestilence to him.</p>
-
-<p>They only laughed all the merrier over their
-supper.</p>
-
-<div class="figcenter" style="width: 150px;">
-<img src="images/i-011.png" width="150" height="75" alt="decoration" title="" />
-</div>
-
-
-
-<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_154" id="Page_154">[154]</a></span></p>
-<div class="figcenter" style="width: 500px;">
-<img src="images/i-036.png" width="500" height="91" alt="decoration" title="" />
-</div>
-
-
-<h2>CHAPTER XX.</h2>
-
-
-<div class="figleft" style="width: 120px;">
-<img src="images/r.png" width="120" height="118" alt="R" title="" />
-</div><div class='unindent'>IGHT at the top of the house there
-was a large, unfurnished room, which
-Amaryllis had taken as her own long
-since. It was her study, her thinking-room,
-her private chapel and praying-room, her one
-place of solitude, silence, and retirement.</div>
-
-<p>The days had gone on, and it was near the end
-of April. Coming up the dark stairs one morning,
-she found them still darker, because she had just
-left the sunshine. They were built very narrow,
-as usual in old country-houses, and the landing
-shut off with a door, so that when you were in them
-you seemed to be in a box. There was no carpet—bare
-boards; old-fashioned folk did not carpet
-their stairs; no handrail; the edges of the steps
-worm-eaten and ragged, little bits apt to break off
-under sudden pressure, so that the board looked as
-if it had been nibbled by mice.</p>
-
-<p>Shutting the landing door behind her, Amaryllis
-was in perfect darkness, but her feet knew the
-well-remembered way, and she came quickly to
-the top.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_155" id="Page_155">[155]</a></span></p>
-
-<p>There were two great rooms running the whole
-length of the house: the first was a lumber-room,
-the second her own especial cell. Cell-like it was,
-in its monastic or conventual bareness. It was
-vague with bareness: a huge, square room, gaunt
-as a barn, the walls and ceiling whitewashed, the
-floor plain boards. Yonder, near the one small
-window, stood a table and tall-backed oaken chair,
-afar off, as it were, from the doorway—a journey to
-them across the creaking floor. On one side an
-old four-post bedstead of dark oak, much damaged,
-was placed by the wall; the sacking hung down in
-a loop, torn and decayed—a bedstead on which no
-one had slept these hundred years past. By the
-table there was, too, an ancient carved linen-press
-of black oak, Amaryllis' bookcase.</p>
-
-<p>These bits of rude furniture were lost in the
-vastness of space, as much as if you had thrown
-your hat into the sky.</p>
-
-<p>Amaryllis went straight to the window and knelt
-down. She brought a handful of violets, fresh-gathered,
-to place in the glass which she kept there
-for her flowers. The window was cut in the thick
-wall, and formed a niche, where she always had a
-tumbler ready—a common glass tumbler, she could
-not afford a vase.</p>
-
-<p>They were the white wild violets, the sweetest of
-all, gathered while the nightingale was singing his
-morning song in the April sunshine—a song the
-world never listens to, more delicious than his evening
-notes, for the sunlight helps him, and the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_156" id="Page_156">[156]</a></span>
-blue of the heavens, the green leaf, and the soft
-wind—all the soul of spring.</p>
-
-<p>White wild violets, a dewdrop as it were of
-flower, tender and delicate, growing under the
-great hawthorn hedge, by the mosses and among
-the dry, brown leaves of last year, easily overlooked
-unless you know exactly where to go for them.
-She had a bunch for her neck, and a large bunch
-for her niche. They would have sunk and fallen
-into the glass, but she hung them by their chins
-over the edge of the tumbler, with their stalks in
-the water. Then she sat down in the old chair at
-the table, and rested her head on her hand.</p>
-
-<p>Except where she did this every day, and so
-brushed it, a thin layer of dust had covered the
-surface (there was no cloth) and had collected on
-her portfolio, thrust aside and neglected. Dust on
-the indiarubber, dust on the cake of Indian ink,
-dust invisible on the smooth surface of the pencils,
-dust in the little box of vine charcoal.</p>
-
-<p>The hoarse baying of the hungry wolves around
-the house had shaken the pencil from her fingers—Siberian
-wolves they were, racing over the arid
-deserts of debt, large and sharp-toothed, ever increasing
-in number and ferocity, ready to tear the
-very door down. There are no wolves like those
-debt sends against a house.</p>
-
-<p>Every knock at the door, every strange footstep
-up the approach, every letter that came, was like
-the gnawing and gnashing of savage teeth.</p>
-
-<p>Iden could plant the potatoes and gossip at the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_157" id="Page_157">[157]</a></span>
-stile, and put the letters unopened on the mantelshelf—a
-pile of bills over his head where he slept
-calmly after dinner. Iden could plant potatoes,
-and cut trusses of hay, and go through <i>his</i> work
-to appearance unmoved.</p>
-
-<p>Amaryllis could not draw—she could not do it;
-her imagination refused to see the idea; the more
-she concentrated her mind, the louder she heard the
-ceaseless grinding and gnashing of teeth.</p>
-
-<p>Potatoes can be planted and nails can be hammered,
-bill-hooks can be wielded and faggots
-chopped, no matter what the inward care. The
-ploughman is deeply in debt, poor fellow, but he
-can, and does, follow the plough, and finds, perhaps,
-some solace in the dull monotony of his labour.
-Clods cannot feel. A sensitive mind and vivid
-imagination—a delicately-balanced organization,
-that almost lives on its ideas as veritable food—cannot
-do like this. The poet, the artist, the
-author, the thinker, cannot follow their plough;
-their work depends on a serene mind.</p>
-
-<p>But experience proves that they <i>do</i> do their
-work under such circumstances. They do; how
-greatly then they must be tortured, or for what a
-length of time they must have suffered to become
-benumbed.</p>
-
-<p>Amaryllis was young, and all her feelings unchecked
-of Time. She could not sketch—that
-was a thing of useless paper and pencil; what was
-wanted was money. She could not read, that was
-not real; what was wanted was solid coin.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_158" id="Page_158">[158]</a></span></p>
-
-<p>So the portfolio was thrust aside, neglected and
-covered with dust, but she came every day to her
-flowers in the window-niche.</p>
-
-<p>She had drawn up there in the bitter cold of
-February and March, without a fire, disdainful of
-ease in the fulness of her generous hope. Her
-warm young blood cared nothing for the cold, if
-only by enduring it she could assist those whom
-she loved.</p>
-
-<p>There were artists in the Flamma family in London
-who made what seemed to her large incomes,
-yet whose names had never been seen in a newspaper
-criticism, and who had never even sent a
-work to the Academy—never even tried to enter.
-Their work was not of an ambitious order, but it
-was well paid.</p>
-
-<p>Amaryllis did not for a moment anticipate success
-as an artist, nor think to take the world by storm
-with her talent. Her one only hope was to get a
-few pounds now and then—she would have sold
-twenty sketches for ten shillings—to save her father
-from insult, and to give her mother the mere necessities
-of dress she needed.</p>
-
-<p>No thought of possible triumph, nor was she
-sustained by an overmastering love of art; she was
-inspired by her heart, not her genius.</p>
-
-<p>Had circumstances been different she would not
-have earnestly practised drawing; naturally she
-was a passive rather than an active artist.</p>
-
-<p>She loved beauty for its own sake—she loved
-the sunlight, the grass and trees, the gleaming<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_159" id="Page_159">[159]</a></span>
-water, the colours of the fields and of the sky. To
-listen to the running water was to her a dear delight,
-to the wind in the high firs, or caught in the
-wide-stretching arms of the oak; she rested among
-these things, they were to her mind as sleep to the
-body. The few good pictures she had seen pleased
-her, but did not rouse the emotion the sunlight
-caused; artificial music was enjoyable, but not like
-the running stream. It said nothing—the stream
-was full of thought.</p>
-
-<p>No eager desire to paint like that or play like
-that was awakened by pictures or music; Amaryllis
-was a passive and not an active artist by nature.
-And I think that is the better part; at least, I
-know it is a thousand times more pleasure to me to
-see a beautiful thing than to write about it. Could
-I choose I would go on seeing beautiful things, and
-not writing.</p>
-
-<p>Amaryllis had no ambition whatever for name or
-fame; to be silent in the sunshine was enough for
-her. By chance she had inherited the Flamma
-talent—she drew at once without effort or consideration;
-it was not so much to her as it is to me
-to write a letter.</p>
-
-<p>The thought to make use of her power did not
-occur to her until the preceding Christmas. Roast
-beef and plum pudding were a bitter mockery at
-Coombe Oaks—a sham and cold delusion, cold as
-snow. A "merry Christmas"—holly berries,
-mistletoe—and behind these—debt. Behind the
-glowing fire, written in the flames—debt; in the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_160" id="Page_160">[160]</a></span>
-sound of the distant chimes—debt. Now be merry
-over the plum-pudding while the wolves gnash their
-teeth, wolves that the strongest bars cannot keep
-out.</p>
-
-<p>Immediately the sacred day was past they fell in
-all their fury upon Iden. Pay me that thou
-owest! The one only saying in the Gospel thoroughly
-engrained in the hearts of men. Pay me
-that thou owest! This is the message from the
-manger at Bethlehem of our modern Christmas.</p>
-
-
-<div class="figcenter" style="width: 125px;">
-<img src="images/i-013.png" width="125" height="164" alt="decoration" title="" />
-</div>
-<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_161" id="Page_161">[161]</a></span></p>
-<div class="figcenter" style="width: 500px;">
-<img src="images/i-014.png" width="500" height="102" alt="decoration" title="" />
-</div>
-
-
-<h2>CHAPTER XXI.</h2>
-
-
-<div class="figleft" style="width: 120px;">
-<img src="images/s.png" width="120" height="120" alt="S" title="" />
-</div><div class='unindent'>O Amaryllis went up into the gaunt,
-cold room at the top of the house, and
-bent herself seriously to drawing.
-There was no fireplace, and if there had
-been they could not have allowed her
-coals; coals were dear. It was quite an event
-when the horse and cart went to the wharf for coal.
-There was plenty of wood for the hearth—wood
-grew on the farm—but coal was money.</div>
-
-<p>The March winds howled round the corner of
-the old thatched house, and now and again tremendous
-rains blew up against the little western window
-near which she had placed her table. Through
-the silent cold of January, the moist cold of February,
-the east winds and hurricane rains of March,
-Amaryllis worked on in her garret, heedless of
-nipped fingers and chilled feet.</p>
-
-<p>Sometimes she looked out of the window and
-watched Iden digging in the garden underneath,
-planting his potatoes, pruning his trees and shrubs,
-or farther away, yonder in the meadow, clearing<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_162" id="Page_162">[162]</a></span>
-out the furrows that the water might flow better—"trenching,"
-as he called it.</p>
-
-<p>The harder it rained the harder he worked at
-this in the open, with a sack about his shoulders
-like a cloak; the labourers were under shelter, the
-master was out in the wet, hoping by guiding the
-water to the grass to get a larger crop of hay in
-June.</p>
-
-<p>Bowed under his sack, with his rotten old hat,
-he looked a woful figure as the heavy shower beat on
-his back. But to Amaryllis he was always her
-father.</p>
-
-<p>Sometimes she went into the next room—the
-lumber-room—only lighted by a window on a level
-with the floor, a window which had no glass, but
-only a wire network. Sitting on the floor there,
-she could see him at the stile across the road, his
-hands behind his back, gossiping now with another
-farmer or two, now with a labourer, now with an
-old woman carrying home a yoke of water from the
-brook.</p>
-
-<p>The gossiping hurt Amaryllis even more than
-the work in the cold rain; it seemed so incongruous,
-so out of character, so unlike the real Iden
-as she knew him.</p>
-
-<p>That he, with his great, broad and noble forehead,
-and his profile like Shakespeare, should stand
-there talk, talk, talking on the smallest hamlet
-topics with old women, and labourers, and thickheaded
-farmers, was to her a bewilderment and
-annoyance.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_163" id="Page_163">[163]</a></span></p>
-
-<p>She could not understand it, and she resented it.
-The real Iden she knew was the man of thought
-and old English taste, who had told her so much
-by the fireside of that very Shakespeare whom in
-features he resembled, and of the poets from Elizabethan
-days downwards. His knowledge seemed
-to be endless; there was no great author he had not
-read, no subject upon which he could not at least
-tell her where to obtain information. Yet she knew
-he had never had what is now called an education.
-How clever he must be to know all these things!
-You see she did not know how wonderful is the
-gift of observation, which Iden possessed to a degree
-that was itself genius. Nothing escaped him;
-therefore his store was great.</p>
-
-<p>No other garden was planted as Iden's garden
-was, in the best of old English taste, with old English
-flowers and plants, herbs and trees. In summer
-time it was a glory to see: a place for a poet, a
-spot for a painter, loved and resorted to by every
-bird of the air. Of a bare old farmhouse he had
-made a beautiful home.</p>
-
-<p>Questions upon questions her opening mind had
-poured upon him, and to all he had given her an
-answer that was an explanation. About the earth
-and about the sea, the rivers, and living things;
-about the stars and sun, the comet, the wonders of
-the firmament, of geology and astronomy, of science;
-there was nothing he did not seem to know.</p>
-
-<p>A man who had crossed the wide ocean as that
-Ulysses of whom he read to her, and who, like that<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_164" id="Page_164">[164]</a></span>
-Ulysses, enjoyed immense physical strength, why
-was he like this? Why was he so poor? Why
-did he work in the rain under a sack? Why did
-he gossip at the stile with the small-brained hamlet
-idlers?</p>
-
-<p>It puzzled her and hurt her at the same time.</p>
-
-<p>I cannot explain why it was so, any better than
-Amaryllis; I could give a hundred reasons, and
-then there would be no explanation—say partly
-circumstances, partly lack of a profession in which
-talent would tell, partly an indecision of character—too
-much thought—and, after all said and done,
-Fate.</p>
-
-<p>Watching him from the network window, Amaryllis
-felt her heart drooping, she knew not why,
-and went back to her drawing unstrung.</p>
-
-<p>She worked very hard, and worked in vain.
-The sketches all came back to her. Some of them
-had a torn hole at the corner where they had been
-carelessly filed, others a thumb-mark, others had
-been folded wrongly, almost all smelt of tobacco.
-Neither illustrated papers, periodicals: neither
-editors nor publishers would have anything to do
-with them. One or two took more care, and returned
-the drawings quite clean; one sent a note
-saying that they promised well.</p>
-
-<p>Poor Amaryllis! They promised well, and she
-wanted half a sovereign <i>now</i>. If a prophet assured
-a man that the picture he could not now dispose of
-would be worth a thousand pounds in fifty years,
-what consolation would that be to him?<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_165" id="Page_165">[165]</a></span></p>
-
-<p>They were all a total failure. So many letters
-could not be received in that dull place without
-others in the house seeing what was going on.
-Once now and then Amaryllis heard a step on the
-stairs—a shuffling, uncertain step—and her heart
-began to beat quicker, for she knew it was her
-mother. Somehow, although she loved her so
-dearly, she felt that there was not much sympathy
-between them. She did not understand her mother;
-the mother did not understand the daughter.
-Though she was working for her mother's sake,
-when she heard her mother's step she was ashamed
-of her work.</p>
-
-<p>Mrs. Iden would come in and shuffle round the
-room, drawing one foot along the floor in an aggravating
-way she had, she was not lame, and look out
-of window, and presently stand behind Amaryllis,
-and say—</p>
-
-<p>"Ah! you'll never do anything at that. Never
-do anything. I've seen too much of it. Better
-come down and warm yourself."</p>
-
-<p>Now this annoyed Amaryllis so much because it
-seemed so inconsistent. Mrs. Iden blew up her
-husband for having no enterprise, and then turned
-round and discouraged her daughter for being
-enterprising, and this, too, although she was constantly
-talking about the superiority of the art
-employments of the Flammas in London to the
-clodhopper work around her.</p>
-
-<p>Amaryllis could never draw a line till her mother
-had gone downstairs again, and then the words<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_166" id="Page_166">[166]</a></span>
-kept repeating themselves in her ear—"Never do
-no good at that, never do no good at that."</p>
-
-<p>If we were to stay to analyse deeply, perhaps we
-should find that Amaryllis was working for a mother
-of her own imagination, and not for the mother of
-fact.</p>
-
-<p>Anyone who sits still, writing, drawing, or sewing,
-feels the cold very much more than those who
-are moving indoors or out. It was bitterly cold in
-the gaunt garret, the more so because the wind
-came unchecked through the wire network of the
-window in the next room. But for that her
-generous young heart cared nothing, nor for the
-still colder wind of failure.</p>
-
-<p>She had no name—no repute, therefore had her
-drawings been equal to the finest ever produced
-they would not have been accepted. Until the
-accident of reputation arises genius is of no avail.</p>
-
-<p>Except an author, or an artist, or a musician, who
-on earth would attempt to win success by merit?
-That alone proves how correct the world is in its
-estimation of them; they must indeed be poor confiding
-fools. Succeed by merit!</p>
-
-<p>Does the butcher, or the baker, or the ironmonger,
-or the tallow-chandler rely on personal
-merit, or purely personal ability for making a business?
-They rely on a little capital, credit, and much
-push. The solicitor is first an articled clerk, and
-works next as a subordinate, his "footing" costs
-hundreds of pounds, and years of hard labour. The
-doctor has to "walk the hospitals," and, if he<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_167" id="Page_167">[167]</a></span>
-can, he buys a practice. They do not rely on
-merit.</p>
-
-<p>The three fools—the author, the artist, and the
-musician—put certain lines on a sheet of paper and
-expect the world to at once admire their clever
-ideas.</p>
-
-<p>In the end—but how far is it to the end!—it is
-true that genius is certain of recognition; the steed
-by then has grown used to starvation, waiting for
-the grass to grow. Look about you: Are the prosperous
-men of business men of merit? are they all
-clever? are they geniuses? They do not exactly
-seem to be so.</p>
-
-<p>Nothing so hard as to succeed by merit; no path
-so full of disappointments; nothing so incredibly
-impossible.</p>
-
-<p>I would infinitely rather be a tallow-chandler,
-with a good steady income and no thought, than an
-author; at the first opportunity I mean to go into
-the tallow business.</p>
-
-<p>Until the accident of reputation chanced to come
-to her, Amaryllis might work and work, and hope
-and sigh, and sit benumbed in her garret, and
-watch her father, Shakespeare Iden, clearing the
-furrows in the rain, under his sack.</p>
-
-<p>She had not even a diploma—a diploma, or a
-certificate, a South Kensington certificate! Fancy,
-without even a certificate! Misguided child!</p>
-
-<p>What a hideous collection of frumpery they have
-got there at the Museum, as many acres as Iden's
-farm, shot over with all the rubbish of the "periods."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_168" id="Page_168">[168]</a></span>
-What a mockery of true art feeling it is! They
-have not even a single statue in the place. They
-would shrivel up in horror at a nude model. <i>They</i>
-teach art—miserable sham, their wretched art
-culminates in a Christmas card.</p>
-
-<p>Amaryllis had not even been through the South
-Kensington "grind," and dared to send in original
-drawings without a certificate. Ignorance, you
-see, pure clodhopper ignorance.</p>
-
-<p>Failure waited on her labours; the postman
-brought them all back again.</p>
-
-<p>Yet in her untaught simplicity she had chosen
-the line which the very highest in the profession
-would probably have advised her to take. She
-drew what she knew. The great cart-horse, the old
-barn up the road, the hollow tree, the dry reeds,
-the birds, and chanticleer himself—</p>
-
-<div class='poem'>
-High was his comb, and coral red withal,<br />
-In dents embattled like a castle wall.<br />
-</div>
-
-<div class='unindent'>Hardly a circumstance of farm life she did not
-sketch; the fogger with his broad knife cutting
-hay; the ancient labourer sitting in the wheelbarrow
-munching his bread-and-cheese, his face a
-study for Teniers; the team coming home from
-plough—winter scenes, most of them, because it
-was winter time. There are those who would give
-fifty pounds for one of those studies now, crumpled,
-stained, and torn as they are.</div>
-
-<p>It was a complete failure. Once only she had a
-gleam of success. Iden picked up the sketch of<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_169" id="Page_169">[169]</a></span>
-the dry reeds in the brook, and after looking at it,
-put it in his "Farmer's Calendar," on the mantelshelf.
-Amaryllis felt like the young painter whose
-work is at last hung at the Academy. His opinion
-was everything to her. He valued her sketch.</p>
-
-<p>Still, that was not money. The cold wind and
-the chill of failure still entered her garret study.
-But it was neither of these that at length caused
-the portfolio to be neglected, she would have worked
-on and on, hoping against hope, undaunted, despite
-physical cold and moral check. It was the procession
-of creditors.</p>
-
-<div class="figcenter" style="width: 125px;">
-<img src="images/i-013.png" width="125" height="164" alt="decoration" title="" />
-</div>
-
-
-
-<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_170" id="Page_170">[170]</a></span></p>
-<div class="figcenter" style="width: 500px;">
-<img src="images/i-046.png" width="500" height="83" alt="decoration" title="" />
-</div>
-
-
-<h2>CHAPTER XXII.</h2>
-
-
-<div class="figleft" style="width: 120px;">
-<img src="images/s.png" width="120" height="120" alt="S" title="" />
-</div><div class='unindent'>TEADILY they came over from the town,
-dunning Iden and distracting Amaryllis
-in her garret. She heard the heavy footsteps
-on the path to the door, the thump,
-thump with the fist (there was neither
-knocker nor bell, country fashion); more thumping,
-and then her mother's excuses, so oft repeated, so
-wearisome, so profitless. "But where is he?" the
-creditor would persist. "He's up at the Hayes,"
-or "He's gone to Green Hills." "Well, when will
-he be in?" "Don't know." "But I wants to
-know when this yer little account is going to be
-settled." Then a long narration of his wrongs,
-threats of "doing summat," i.e., summoning,
-grumble, grumble, and so slow, unwilling steps
-departing.</div>
-
-<p>Very rude men came down from the villages
-demanding payment in their rough way—a raw,
-crude way, brutally insulting to a lady. Iden had
-long since exhausted his credit in the town; neither
-butcher, baker, draper, nor anyone else would let
-them have a shilling's-worth until the shilling had<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_171" id="Page_171">[171]</a></span>
-been placed on the counter. He had been forced
-lately to deal with the little men of the villages—the
-little butcher who killed once a fortnight; the
-petty cottagers' baker, and people of that kind.
-Inferior meat and inferior bread on credit first;
-coarse language and rudeness afterwards.</p>
-
-<p>One day, the village baker, having got inside
-the door as Mrs. Iden incautiously opened it, stood
-there and argued with her, while Amaryllis in the
-garret put down her trembling pencil to listen.</p>
-
-<p>"Mr. Iden will send it up," said her mother.</p>
-
-<p>"Oh, he'll send it up. When will he send it
-up?"</p>
-
-<p>"He'll send it up."</p>
-
-<p>"He've a' said that every time, but it beant
-come yet. You tell un I be come to vetch it."</p>
-
-<p>"Mr. Iden's not in."</p>
-
-<p>"I'll bide till he be in."</p>
-
-<p>"He'll only tell you he'll send it up."</p>
-
-<p>"I'll bide and see un. You've served I shameful.
-It's nothing but cheating—that's what I calls
-it—to have things and never pay for um. It's
-cheating."</p>
-
-<p>Amaryllis tore downstairs, flushed with passion.</p>
-
-<p>"How dare you say such a thing? How dare
-you insult my mother? Leave the house this
-moment!"</p>
-
-<p>And with both hands she literally pushed the
-man, unwilling, but not absolutely resisting, outside,
-grumbling as he moved that he never insulted
-nobody, only asked for his money.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_172" id="Page_172">[172]</a></span></p>
-
-<p>A pleasing preparation this for steadiness of
-hand, calculated to encourage the play of imagination!
-She could do nothing for hours afterwards.</p>
-
-<p>Just as often Iden was at home, and then it was
-worse, because it lasted longer. First they talked
-by the potato-patch almost under the window;
-then they talked on the path; then they came
-indoors, and then there were words and grumbling
-sounds that rose up the staircase. By-and-by
-they went out again and talked by the gate. At
-last the creditor departed, and Iden returned indoors
-to take a glass of ale and sit a moment till
-the freshness of the annoyance had left his mind.
-Mrs. Iden then had her turn at him: the old story—why
-didn't he do something? Amaryllis knew
-every word as well as if she had been sitting in the
-room.</p>
-
-<p>How Iden had patience with them Amaryllis
-could not think; how he could stand, and be argued
-with, and abused, and threatened, and yet not take
-the persecutor by the collar and quietly put him in
-the road, she could not understand.</p>
-
-<p>The truth was he could not help himself; violence
-would have availed nothing. But to youth it
-seems as if a few blows are all that is needed to
-overcome difficulties.</p>
-
-<p>Waller and Co., the tailor—he was his own Co.—walked
-over regularly once a week; very civil
-and very persistent, and persistent in vain. How
-he came to be a creditor was not easy to see, for
-Iden's coat was a pattern of raggedness, his<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_173" id="Page_173">[173]</a></span>
-trousers bare at the knee, and his shabby old hat
-rotten. But somehow or other there was a five-pound
-account two years overdue.</p>
-
-<p>Cobb, the butcher at Woolhorton, got off his
-trap as he went by, at least twice a week, to chivey
-Iden about his money. Though he would not let
-them have a mutton chop without payment, whenever
-there was five shillings to spare for meat it
-was always taken into his shop, as it was better to
-have good meat there, if you had to pay cash
-for meat, than inferior in the village. One day,
-Amaryllis was waiting for some steak, side by side
-with a poor woman, waiting for scraps, while
-Cobb served a grand lady of the town. "Yes,
-m'm—oh, yes, m'm, certainly, m'm," bows, and
-scrapes, and washing of hands, all the obsequiousness
-possible. When the fine lady had gone, "Lar,
-Mr. Cobb," says the poor woman, "how different
-you do speak to <i>they</i> to what you do speak to <i>me</i>."</p>
-
-<p>"Oh, yes," replied Cobb, not in the least abashed
-at having one manner for the poor and another for
-the rich. "Yes, you see, these ladies they require
-such a deal of <i>homage</i>."</p>
-
-<p>There was a long bill at Beavan's the grocer's,
-but that was not much pressed, only a large blue
-letter about once a month, as Beavan had a very
-good profit out of them through the butter. Mrs.
-Iden made excellent butter, which had a reputation,
-and Beavan took it all at about half-price. If it had
-been sold to anyone else he would have insisted on
-payment. So, by parting with the best butter in<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_174" id="Page_174">[174]</a></span>
-the county at half-price, they got their tea and
-sugar without much dunning.</p>
-
-<p>At one time Mrs. Iden became excited and
-strange in her manner, as if on the point of hysterics,
-from which Amaryllis divined something serious
-was approaching, though her mother would say
-nothing. So it turned out—a bailiff appeared, and
-took up his quarters in the kitchen. He was very
-civil and quiet; he sat by the great fire of logs, and
-offered to help in any way he could. Iden gave
-him plenty of beer, for one thing. Amaryllis could
-not go into the kitchen—the dear old place seemed
-deserted while he was there.</p>
-
-<p>This woke up Iden for the moment. First there
-was a rummaging about in his old bureau, and a
-laborious writing of letters, or adding up of figures.
-Next there was a great personal getting up, a bath,
-clean linen, shaving, and donning of clothes packed
-away these years past. In two hours or so Iden
-came down another man, astonishingly changed,
-quite a gentleman in every respect, and so handsome
-in Amaryllis's eyes. Indeed, he was really
-handsome still, and to her, of course, wonderfully so.
-If only he would always dress like that!</p>
-
-<p>Iden walked into Woolhorton, but all these preparations
-had so consumed the time that the bank
-was shut, the solicitor's offices closed, and there
-was no means of raising any money that evening.
-The son passed the father's doorstep—the worn
-stone step, ground by the generations of customers—he
-saw the light behind the blind in the little<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_175" id="Page_175">[175]</a></span>
-room where Grandfather Iden sat—he might, had
-he paused and listened, have heard the old man
-poke the fire, the twenty-thousand-guinea-man—the
-son passed on, and continued his lonely walk
-home, the home that held a bailiff.</p>
-
-<p>A makeshift bed had to be made up for the bailiff
-in the kitchen, and there he remained the night,
-and was up and had lit the fire for Luce the servant
-before she was down. The man was certainly very
-civil, but still there was the shock of it.</p>
-
-<p>Early in the morning Iden went into town again,
-saw his solicitor, and got a cheque—it was only
-five-and-twenty or thirty pounds, and the bailiff
-left.</p>
-
-<div class="figcenter" style="width: 184px;">
-<img src="images/i-015.png" width="184" height="225" alt="decoration" title="" />
-</div>
-
-
-
-<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_176" id="Page_176">[176]</a></span></p>
-<div class="figcenter" style="width: 500px;">
-<img src="images/i-034.png" width="500" height="85" alt="decoration" title="" />
-</div>
-
-
-<h2>CHAPTER XXIII.</h2>
-
-
-<div class="figleft" style="width: 122px;">
-<img src="images/b.png" width="122" height="120" alt="B" title="" />
-</div><div class='unindent'>UT his presence did not die out of the
-kitchen; they always seemed to feel as
-if he had been there. The hearth had
-been stained by a foreign foot, the very
-poker had been touched by a foreign
-hand, the rude form at the side by the wall had
-been occupied by an intruder. Amaryllis had
-always been so fond of the kitchen—the oldest part
-of the house, two centuries at least. The wide
-hearth and immense chimney, up which, when the
-fire was out, of a winter's night you could see the
-stars; over which of a windy night you could imagine
-the witches riding by, borne on the deep
-howling of the blast; the great beam and the gun
-slung to it; the heavy oaken table, unpolished,
-greyish oak; the window in the thick wall, set
-with yellowish glass; the stone floor, and the walls
-from which the whitewash peeled in flakes; the
-rude old place was very dear to her.</div>
-
-<p>Ofttimes they sat there in winter instead of the
-sitting-room, drawn by its antique homeliness.
-Mrs. Iden warmed elder wine, and Iden his great<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_177" id="Page_177">[177]</a></span>
-cup of Goliath ale, and they roasted chestnuts and
-apples, while the potatoes—large potatoes—Iden's
-selected specialities—were baking buried in the
-ashes. Looking over her shoulder Amaryllis could
-see the white drift of snow against the window,
-which was on a level with the ground outside, and
-so got Iden to tell her stories of the deep snow in
-the United States, and the thick ice, sawn with
-saws, or, his fancy roaming on, of the broad and
-beautiful Hudson River, the river he had so admired
-in his youth, the river the poets will sing some
-day; or of his clinging aloft at night in the gale on
-the banks of Newfoundland, for he had done duty
-as a sailor. A bold and adventurous man in his
-youth, why did he gossip at the stile now in his full
-and prime of manhood?</p>
-
-<p>It would be a long, long tale to tell, and even
-then only those who have lived in the country and
-had practical experience could fully comprehend
-the hopelessness of working a small farm, unless you
-are of a wholly sordid nature. Iden's nature was not
-sordid; the very reverse. The beginning, or one
-of the beginnings, of the quarrel between father
-and son arose because of this; Grandfather Iden
-could not forgive his son for making the place
-beautiful with trees and flowers.</p>
-
-<p>By-and-by the baked potatoes were done, and
-they had supper on the old and clumsy table, village
-made and unpolished, except in so far as the stains
-of cooking operations had varnished it, the same
-table at which "Jearje," the fogger, sat every<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_178" id="Page_178">[178]</a></span>
-morning to eat his breakfast, and every evening to
-take his supper. What matter? George worked
-hard and honestly all day, his great arms on the
-table, spread abroad as he ate, did not injure it.</p>
-
-<p>Great mealy potatoes, cracked open, white as the
-snow without, floury and smoking; dabs of Mrs.
-Iden's delicious butter, a little salt and pepper, and
-there was a dish for a king. The very skins were
-pleasant—just a taste.</p>
-
-<p>They were not always alone at these kitchen-feasts,
-sometimes a Flamma from London, sometimes
-an Iden from over the hill, or others were
-there. Iden was very hospitable—though most of
-his guests (family connections) were idle folk, no
-good to themselves or anybody, still they were
-made cordially welcome. But others, very high
-folk, socially speaking (for they had good connections,
-too, these poor Idens), who had dined at
-grand London tables, seemed to enjoy themselves
-most thoroughly on the rude Homeric fare.</p>
-
-<p>For it was genuine, and there was a breadth, an
-open-handed generosity, a sense of reality about it;
-something really to eat, though no finger-glasses;
-Homeric straightforwardness of purpose.</p>
-
-<p>Amaryllis was very fond of the old kitchen; it
-was the very centre of home. This strange man,
-this intruding bailiff, trod heavily on her dearest
-emotions. His shadow remained on the wall
-though he had gone.</p>
-
-<p>They all felt it, but Amaryllis most of all, and it
-was weeks before the kitchen seemed to resume its<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_179" id="Page_179">[179]</a></span>
-former appearance. Jearje was the one who restored
-it. He ate so heartily, and spoke so cheerily
-at breakfast and at supper, it almost made them
-forget their troubles to see anyone so grateful and
-pleased with all they did for him. "Thank you,
-ma'am; dest about a good bit a' bacon, this yer"—locally
-the "d" and "j" were often interchangable,
-dest for jest, or just—"That'll be a' plenty
-for I, ma'am, doan't want more'n I can yet"—don't
-want more than I can eat, don't want to be greedy—"Thank
-you, miss; dest about some ripping
-good ale, this yer; that it be."</p>
-
-<p>He so thoroughly enjoyed and appreciated the
-bacon, and the cheese, and the ale; he was like a
-great, big human dog; you know how we like to
-see a big dog wag his tail at his food, or put his
-paws on our knees and laugh, as it were, with his
-eyes in our face. They petted him, these two
-women, exactly as if he had been a dog, giving him
-all the bones, literally and metaphorically, the actual
-bones of the meat, and any scraps there were, to
-take home with him (besides his regular meals),
-and now and then some trifles of clothing for his
-aged mother. The dog most thoroughly appreciated
-this treatment; he rolled in it, revelled in it,
-grew shiny and fat, and glistened with happiness.</p>
-
-<p>Iden petted him, too, to some degree, out of
-doors, and for much the same reason; his cheery
-content and willingness, and the absence of the
-usual selfish niggardliness of effort. George worked
-willingly and fairly, and, if occasion needed, stayed<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_180" id="Page_180">[180]</a></span>
-another hour, or put his shoulder to the wheel of
-his own accord, and so, having a good employer,
-and not one minded to take advantage of him, was
-rewarded in many ways. Iden did not reduce his
-wages by a shilling or eighteenpence in winter,
-and gave him wood for firing, half a sack of potatoes,
-garden produce, or apples, and various other
-things from time to time.</p>
-
-<p>Living partly indoors, and being of this disposition,
-Jearje was more like a retainer than a servant,
-or labourer; a humble member of the family.</p>
-
-<p>It was a sight to see him eat. Amaryllis and
-Mrs. Iden used often to watch him covertly, just
-for the amusement it gave them. He went about
-it as steadily and deliberately as the horses go to
-plough; no attempt to caracole in the furrow, ready
-to stand still as long as you like.</p>
-
-<p>Bacon three inches thick with fat: the fat of
-beef; fat of mutton—anything they could not
-finish in the sitting-room; the overplus of cabbage
-or potatoes, savoury or unsavoury; vast slices
-of bread and cheese; ale, and any number of slop-basins
-full of tea—the cups were not large enough—and
-pudding, cold dumpling, hard as wood, no
-matter what, Jearje ate steadily through it.</p>
-
-<p>A more willing fellow never lived; if Mrs. Iden
-happened to want anything from the town ever so
-late, though George had worked hard the long day
-through from half-past five in the morning, off he
-would start, without sign of demur, five miles there
-and back, and come in singing with his burden.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_181" id="Page_181">[181]</a></span></p>
-
-<p>There are such, as George still among the labourer
-class, in despite of the change of circumstance and
-sentiment, men who would be as faithful as the
-faithfullest retainer who ever <ins title="Transcriber's Note: original reads 'acccompanied'">accompanied</ins> a
-knight of old time to the Crusade. But, observe,
-for a good man there must be a good master.
-Proud Iden was a good master, who never forgot
-that his man was not a piece of mechanism, but
-flesh and blood and feelings.</p>
-
-<p>Now this great human dog, sprawling his strong
-arms abroad on the oaken table, warming his
-heavily-booted feet at the hearth, always with a
-cheery word and smile, by his constant presence
-there slowly wore away the impression of the
-bailiff, and the dear old kitchen came to be itself
-again.</p>
-
-<div class="figcenter" style="width: 107px;">
-<img src="images/i-017.png" width="107" height="135" alt="decoration" title="" />
-</div>
-
-
-
-<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_182" id="Page_182">[182]</a></span></p>
-<div class="figcenter" style="width: 500px;">
-<img src="images/i-061.png" width="500" height="89" alt="decoration" title="" />
-</div>
-
-
-<h2>CHAPTER XXIV.</h2>
-
-
-<div class="figleft" style="width: 122px;">
-<img src="images/b.png" width="122" height="120" alt="B" title="" />
-</div><div class='unindent'>UT all these shocks and worries and
-trampling upon her emotions made the
-pencil tremble in the artist's hand as
-she worked in the gaunt garret.</div>
-
-<p>One day, as she was returning from
-Woolhorton, Iden's solicitor, from whom he had
-borrowed money, overtook her, walked his horse,
-and began to talk to her in his perky, affected,
-silly way. Of all the fools in Woolhorton town
-there was none equal in pure idiotcy to this
-namby-pamby fellow—it was wonderful how a man
-of Iden's intelligence could trust his affairs to such
-a man, the more so as there was at least one good
-lawyer in the place. This is very characteristic of
-the farming race; they will work like negroes in
-the field, and practise the utmost penury to save a
-little, and be as cautious over a groat as the keenest
-miser, and then go and trust their most important
-affairs to some perfect fool of a solicitor. His
-father, perhaps, or his uncle, or somebody connected
-with the firm, had a reputation about the era of
-Waterloo, and upon this tradition they carry their<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_183" id="Page_183">[183]</a></span>
-business to a man whom they admit themselves
-"doan't seem up to much, yon." In the same way,
-or worse, for there is no tradition even in this case,
-they will consign a hundred pounds' worth of milk
-to London on the mere word of a milkman's agent,
-a man of straw for aught they know, and never so
-much as go up to town to see if there is such a
-milk business in existence.</p>
-
-<p>This jackanapes began to talk to Amaryllis about
-her father. "Now, don't you think, Miss Iden,
-you could speak to your father about these money
-matters; you know he's getting into a pound, he
-really is (the jackanapes pretended to hunt); he'll
-be pounded. Now, don't you think you could talk
-to him, and persuade him to be more practical?"</p>
-
-<p>The chattering of this tom-tit upset Amaryllis
-more than the rudeness of the gruff baker who
-forced his way in, and would not go. That such a
-contemptible nincompoop should dare to advise her
-father to be practical! The cleverest man in the
-world—advise him to be practical; as if, indeed,
-he was not practical and hard-working to the very
-utmost.</p>
-
-<p>To her it was a bitter insult. The pencil
-trembled in her hand.</p>
-
-<p>But what shook it most of all was anxiety about
-her mother. Ever since the bailiff's intrusion Mrs.
-Iden had seemed so unsettled. Sometimes she
-would come downstairs after the rest had retired,
-and sit by the dying fire for hours alone, till Iden
-chanced to wake, and go down for her.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_184" id="Page_184">[184]</a></span></p>
-
-<p>Once she went out of doors very late, leaving
-the front door wide open, and Amaryllis found her
-at midnight wandering in an aimless way among
-the ricks.</p>
-
-<p>At such times she had a glazed look in her eyes,
-and did not seem to see what she gazed at. At
-others she would begin to cry without cause, and
-gave indications of hysteria. The nervous Flamma
-family were liable to certain affections of that kind,
-and Amaryllis feared lest her mother's system had
-been overstrained by these continual worries.</p>
-
-<p>Poor woman! she had, indeed, been worried
-enough to have shaken the strongest; and, having
-nothing stolid in her nature, it pressed upon her.</p>
-
-<p>After awhile these attacks seemed to diminish,
-and Amaryllis hoped that nothing would come of it,
-but it left her in a state of extreme anxiety lest
-some fresh trouble should happen to renew the
-strain.</p>
-
-<p>When she thought of her mother she could not
-draw—the sound of her shuffling, nervous footstep
-on the landing or the path outside under the
-window stopped her at once. These things disheartened
-her a thousand times more than the returned
-sketches the postman was always bringing.</p>
-
-<p>On butter-making mornings, once a week, there
-was always a great to-do; Mrs. Iden, like nervous
-people, was cross and peevish when she was exceptionally
-busy, and clapper-clawed Iden to some purpose.
-It chanced that Amaryllis one day was just
-opening an envelope and taking out a returned<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_185" id="Page_185">[185]</a></span>
-drawing, when Iden entered, angry and fresh from
-Mrs. Iden's tongue, and, seeing the letter, began
-to growl:—</p>
-
-<p>"Better drow that there fool stuff in the vire,
-and zee if you can't help your mother. Better do
-zummat to be some use on. Pity as you wasn't a
-boy chap to go out and yarn summat. Humph!
-humph!" growl, mutter, growl. "Drow" was
-local for throw, "summat" for something, "yarn"
-for earn. Unless I give you a vocabulary you may
-not be able to follow him.</p>
-
-<p>The contemptuous allusion to her sketches as fool
-stuff, contrasted with the benefit and advantage of
-earning something—something real and solid—hit
-the artist very hard. That was the thought that
-troubled her so much, and paralysed her imagination.
-They were unsaleable—she saw the worthlessness
-of them far more than Iden. They were
-less in value than the paper on which they were
-traced; fool stuff, fit for the fire only.</p>
-
-<p>That was the very thought that troubled her so,
-and Iden hit the nail home with his rude speech.
-That was the material view; unless a thing be
-material, or will fetch something material, it is good
-for the fire only.</p>
-
-<p>So it came about that the portfolio was pushed
-aside, and dust gathered on it, and on the pencils,
-and the india-rubber, and in the little box of vine
-charcoal. Amaryllis having arranged her violets
-in the tumbler of water in the window niche, sat
-down at the table and leant her head on her hand,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_186" id="Page_186">[186]</a></span>
-and tried to think what she could do, as she had
-thought these many, many days.</p>
-
-<p>The drawings were so unreal, and a sovereign so
-real. Nothing in all the world at these moments
-seemed to her to be so good and precious as the
-round disk of gold which rules everything. The
-good that she could do with it—with just one of
-those golden disks!</p>
-
-<p>Did you ever read Al Hariri? That accomplished
-scholar, the late Mr. Chenery (of <i>The Times</i>),
-translated twenty-six of his poems from the Arabic,
-and added most interesting notes. This curious
-book is a fusion of the Arabian Nights, Ecclesiastes,
-and Rabelais. There is the magical unexpectedness
-of the Arabian Nights, the vanity of vanities,
-all is vanity, of the Preacher, and the humour of
-the French satirist. Wisdom is scattered about it;
-at one moment you acknowledge a great thought,
-the next you are reproached for a folly, and presently
-laugh at a deep jest.</p>
-
-<p>Al Hariri has a bearing upon Amaryllis, because
-he sang of the dinar, the Arabian sovereign, the
-double-faced dinar, the reverse and the obverse,
-head and tail, one side giving everything good, and
-the other causing all evil. For the golden disk
-has two sides, and two Fates belong to it. First
-he chants its praises:—</p>
-
-<div class='poem2'>
-How noble is that yellow one, whose yellowness is pure,<br />
-Which traverses the regions, and whose journeying is afar.<br />
-Told abroad are its fame and repute:<br />
-<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_187" id="Page_187">[187]</a></span>Its lines are set as the secret sign of wealth;<br />
-Its march is coupled with the success of endeavours;<br />
-Its bright look is loved by mankind,<br />
-As though it had been molten of their hearts.<br />
-By its aid whoever has got it in his purse assails boldly,<br />
-Though kindred be perished or tardy to help.<br />
-Oh! charming are its purity and brightness;<br />
-Charming are its sufficiency and help.<br />
-How many a ruler is there whose rule has been perfected by it!<br />
-How many a sumptuous one is there whose grief, but for it, would be endless!<br />
-How many a host of cares has one charge of it put to flight!<br />
-How many a full moon has a sum of it brought down!<br />
-How many a one, burning with rage, whose coal is flaming,<br />
-Has it been secretly whispered to and then his anger has softened.<br />
-How many a prisoner, whom his kin had yielded,<br />
-Has it delivered, so that his gladness has been unmingled.<br />
-Now by the Truth of the Lord whose creation brought it forth,<br />
-Were it not for His fear, I should say its power is supreme.<br />
-</div>
-
-<p>The sovereign, our dinar, does it not answer
-exactly to this poem of the Arabian written in the
-days of the Crusades! It is yellow, it is pure, it
-travels vast distances, and is as valuable in India as
-here, it is famous and has a reputation, the inscription
-on it is the mark of its worth, it is the sinew
-of war, the world loves its brightness as if it was
-coined from their hearts, those who have it in their
-purses are bold, it helps every one who has it, it
-banishes all cares, and one might say, were it not for
-fear of the Lord, that the sovereign was all mighty.</p>
-
-<p>All mighty for good as it seemed to Amaryllis
-thinking in her garret, leaning her head on her<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_188" id="Page_188">[188]</a></span>
-hand, and gazing at her violets; all mighty for
-good—if only she could get the real solid, golden
-sovereign!</p>
-
-<p>But the golden coin has another side—the obverse—another
-Fate, for evil, clinging to it, and
-the poet, changing his tone, thunders:—</p>
-
-<div class='poem2'>
-Ruin on it for a deceiver and insincere,<br />
-The yellow one with two faces like a hypocrite!<br />
-It shows forth with two qualities to the eye of him that looks on it,<br />
-The adornment of the loved one, the colour of the lover.<br />
-Affection for it, think they who judge truly,<br />
-Tempts men to commit that which shall anger their Maker.<br />
-But for it no thief's right hand were cut off;<br />
-Nor would tyranny be displayed by the impious;<br />
-Nor would the niggardly shrink from the night-farer;<br />
-Nor would the delayed claimant mourn the delay of him that withholds;<br />
-Nor would men call to God from the envious who casts at them.<br />
-Moreover the worst quality that it possesses<br />
-Is that it helps thee not in straits,<br />
-Save by fleeing from thee like a runaway slave.<br />
-Well done he who casts it away from a hilltop,<br />
-And who, when it whispers to him with the whispering of a lover,<br />
-Says to it in the words of the truth-speaking, the veracious,<br />
-"I have no mind for intimacy with thee,—begone!"<br />
-</div>
-
-<p>"The worst quality that it possesses" remains to
-this day, and could Amaryllis have obtained the
-sovereign, still it would only have helped her by passing
-from her, from her hand to that of the creditor's,
-fleeing like a runaway slave.</p>
-
-<p>But Amaryllis surrounded with the troubles of
-her father and mother, saw only the good side of<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_189" id="Page_189">[189]</a></span>
-the golden sovereign, only that it was all powerful
-to bless.</p>
-
-<p>How unnatural it seems that a girl like this, that
-young and fresh and full of generous feelings as
-she was, her whole mind should perforce be taken
-up with the question of money; an unnatural and
-evil state of things.</p>
-
-<p>It seems to me very wicked that it should be so.</p>
-
-<div class="figcenter" style="width: 141px;">
-<img src="images/i-018.png" width="141" height="285" alt="decoration" title="" />
-</div>
-
-
-
-<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_190" id="Page_190">[190]</a></span></p>
-<div class="figcenter" style="width: 500px;">
-<img src="images/i-044.png" width="500" height="91" alt="decoration" title="" />
-</div>
-
-
-<h2>CHAPTER XXV.</h2>
-
-
-<div class="figleft" style="width: 121px;">
-<img src="images/t.png" width="121" height="120" alt="T" title="" />
-</div><div class='unindent'>HOUGH the portfolio was pushed aside
-and dust had gathered on the table, except
-where her arm touched it, Amaryllis
-came daily, and often twice a day,
-to her flowers to pray.</div>
-
-<p>From the woods she brought the delicate primrose
-opening on the mossy bank among the grey
-ash-stoles; the first tender green leaflet of hawthorn
-coming before the swallow; the garden
-crocus from the grass of the garden; the first green
-spikelet from the sward of the meadow; the beautiful
-white wild violets gathered in the sunlit April
-morning while the nightingale sang.</p>
-
-<p>With these she came to pray each day, at the
-window-niche. After she had sat awhile at the
-table that morning, thinking, she went and knelt
-at the window with her face in her hands; the scent
-of the violets filled her hair.</p>
-
-<p>Her prayer was deeper than words and was not
-put in language, but came rushing through her
-heart;—"That her dear mother might not suffer any
-more, that the strain of ceaseless trouble might be<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_191" id="Page_191">[191]</a></span>
-removed from her mind, that peace and rest might
-come to her in her old age. Let her step become
-firm, and the nervousness depart, and her eyes
-shine like they used to, so clear and bright, and do
-not let the grey hairs show more than they do
-now, or increase in number. Let her smile and be
-happy and talk cheerfully, and take an interest in
-the house and all the order of household things,
-and also see and understand that her husband
-meant to please her, even in such a little thing as
-splitting up useful wood for the fire, that he intended
-to please her, and that she might not misunderstand
-him any more. He intended to be
-kind in many ways, but misfortune had blinded her,
-and she took things the wrong way. And give
-her more change and friends to ask her out from
-home on visits, so that she might be amused, and
-make them come to see her and pass the time in
-contentment. Give her also enough money to buy
-good clothes so as to look nice as she ought to
-do, and if possible a conveyance of some kind—not
-a grand carriage, she did not wish for that—but a
-conveyance to drive about now and then, because
-she was not so strong as she used to be, and could
-not walk far. And let me, thought Amaryllis, let
-me be able to give her a watch, for other people
-have watches, and my mother has not got one, and
-it does seem so strange it should be so after all the
-hard work she has done. Let me, too, get her some
-nice things to eat, some fish and wine, for she cannot
-eat our plain bacon now every day, she has not got<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_192" id="Page_192">[192]</a></span>
-an appetite, and her teeth too are bad, and I should
-so like to give her a set of artificial teeth that her
-food might do her more good. But what I really
-want is that she may be happy, and be like my mother
-herself really is when she is herself. Give my
-father money enough to pay his creditors, for I know
-that though he is so quiet and says nothing, these
-debts are wearing him out, and I know he wishes
-to pay them, and does not willingly keep them
-waiting. He is so patient, and so good, and bears
-everything, I am sure no one was ever like him, and
-it is so dreadful to see him work, work, work, every
-day from five o'clock in the morning, and yet to be
-always worried with these debts and people that
-will not let him have peace one single day. Do,
-please, let him have less work to do, it makes
-me miserable to see him in the rain, and he is not
-young now, and sometimes carrying such heavy
-things, great pieces of timber and large trusses of
-hay, and making his back ache digging. Surely
-it must soon be time for him to leave off working,
-he has done such a lot, and I do not think he can
-see quite so well as he used to, because he holds the
-paper so close to his eyes. Please let him leave
-off working soon now and have some rest and
-change, and go about with my mother, and when
-he is at home not have anything more to do than
-his garden, because he is so fond of that; let him
-love the flowers again as he used to, and plant some
-more, and have nothing harder to do than to gather
-the fruit from the trees he has planted. And let<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_193" id="Page_193">[193]</a></span>
-me get him some new books to read, because I
-know he is so fond of books; he has not had a new
-book for so long. Let him go to London and see
-people and things, and life, because I know he is
-full of ideas and thoughts though he works and
-digs, and that is what would do him good. Give
-him some money now at last, now he has worked all
-these years, forty years on this farm, and ever so
-much work before that; do give him some money
-at last. Do make my grandfather kinder to him and
-not so harsh for the rent, let him give the place to
-my father now, for it can be no use to him; let my
-father have it for his very own, and then I think he
-would be happy after all, he does so like to improve
-things and make them beautiful, and if it was his
-very own there is so much that he could do. That
-would be nice work and work that he would enjoy
-doing, and not just to get a few wretched shillings
-to pay other people. I am sure he would never be
-cross then, and he would be so kind to my mother,
-and kind and good to everybody. There is nobody
-like him, as you know, in this place; they are not
-clever like him, and good to the labouring men and
-their families like he is (and so is my mother too);
-they are so rough, and so unkind and stupid; I do
-not mean anything against them, but they are not
-like he is. And if you were to help him he would
-soon help the poor people and give them food and
-more wages; you know how good he is in his heart.
-And he would do it, not because other people should
-praise him, but because he would like to do it; if<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_194" id="Page_194">[194]</a></span>
-he does not go to church his heart is very true, and
-it is because he likes to be true and genuine, and
-not make any false show. Do, please, help him,
-and give him some money, and do, please, let him
-have this place for his very own, for I do so fear lest
-those who set my grandfather against him, should
-have a will made, so that my father should not have
-this house and land as he ought to do, as the son.
-He has made it so beautiful with trees, and brought
-the fresh spring water up to the house, and done
-so many clever things, and his heart is here, and it
-is home to him, and no other place could be like it.
-I think it would kill him not to have it, and for me,
-I should be so—I cannot tell, I should be so miserable
-if he did not, but I will not think of myself.
-There are so many things I know he wants to do if
-only he was not so worried with debts, and if he
-could feel it was his own land; he wants to plant a
-copse, and to make a pond by the brook, and have
-trout in it, and to build a wall by the rick-yard.
-Think how my dear father has worked all these
-years, and do help him now, and give him some
-money, and this place, and please do not let him
-grow any more grey than his hair is now, and save
-his eyes, for he is so fond of things that are beautiful,
-and please make my mother happy with him."</p>
-
-<p>When Amaryllis rose from her knees her face
-was quite white, emotion had taken away her colour,
-and tears were thick on her cheek. She sat a little
-while by the table to recover herself, still thinking,
-and remembered that again last night she had<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_195" id="Page_195">[195]</a></span>
-dreamed the same dream about fire in the thatch.
-Somehow there seemed to be an alarm in the night,
-and they ran out of doors and found the corner of
-the roof on fire, over the window with the wire network
-instead of glass. It ran up from the corner
-towards the chimney, where the roof was mossy by
-the ridge. There was no flame, but a deep red
-seething heat, as if the straw burned inwardly, and
-was glowing like molten metal. Each straw seemed
-to lie in the furious heat, and a light to flicker up
-and down, as if it breathed fire. The thatch was
-very thick there, she knew, and recollected it quite
-well in her dream; Iden himself had laid on two
-thick coats in his time, and it was heavy enough
-before then. He talked about the thatching of it,
-because it was an argument with him that straw
-had a great power of endurance, and was equal to
-slates for lasting. This thickness, she saw, was
-the reason the fire did not blaze up quickly, and
-why, fortunately, it was slow in moving up the
-roof. It had not yet eaten through, so that there
-was no draught—once it got through, it would burn
-fast—if only they could put it out before then all
-might yet be saved. In the midst of her anxiety
-Iden came with the largest ladder in the rickyard,
-and mounted up, carrying a bucket of water. She
-tried to follow, holding on to the rungs of the
-ladder with one hand, and dragging up a heavy
-bucket with the other—the strain and effort to get
-up woke her.</p>
-
-<p>This dream had happened to her so many times,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_196" id="Page_196">[196]</a></span>
-and was so vivid and circumstantial—the fire
-seemed to glow in the thatch—that at last she
-began to dread lest it should come true. If it did
-not come true of the house itself, perhaps it would
-of the family, and of their affairs; perhaps it signified
-that the fire of debt, and poverty, and misfortune
-would burn them, as it were, to the ground.
-She tried to think whether in the dream they were
-getting the fire under before she woke, or whether
-they could not master it; it seemed dubious.</p>
-
-<p>She did not tell her mother of the dream, afraid
-lest it might excite her again; nor could she tell
-Iden, who would have laughed at her.</p>
-
-<p>Yet, though she knew it was but a dream, and
-dreams have ceased to come true, she did not like
-it; she felt uncertain, as if some indefinable danger
-was threatening round about. As she sat at the
-table she added to her prayer the supplication that
-the dear old house might not be burned down.</p>
-
-<p>Soon afterwards she went down stairs, and on
-the lower flight paused, to listen to voices—not
-those of her mother and Iden—creditors, doubtless,
-come to cry aloud, "Pay me that thou owest!"—the
-very sum and total of religion. Her heart
-beat quicker—the voices came again, and she
-thought she recognized them, and that they were
-not those of creditors. She entered the sitting-room,
-and found that two visitors, from widely
-separated places, had arrived; one with a portmanteau,
-the other with an old, many-coloured
-carpet-bag. They were Amadis Iden, from Iden<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_197" id="Page_197">[197]</a></span>
-Court, over the Downs, the Court Idens, as they
-were called, and Alere Flamma, from London; the
-Flammas were carpet-bag people.</p>
-
-<p>Her father was making them very welcome, after
-his wont, and they were talking of the house the
-Idens of yore had built in a lonely spot, expressly
-in order that they might drink, drink, drink <ins title="Transcriber's Note: original reads 'undiddisturbed'">undisturbed</ins>
-by their unreasonable wives.</p>
-
-<div class="figcenter" style="width: 184px;">
-<img src="images/i-015.png" width="184" height="225" alt="decoration" title="" />
-</div>
-
-
-
-<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_198" id="Page_198">[198]</a></span></p>
-<div class="figcenter" style="width: 500px;">
-<img src="images/i-046.png" width="500" height="83" alt="decoration" title="" />
-</div>
-
-
-<h2>CHAPTER XXVI.</h2>
-
-
-<div class="figleft" style="width: 121px;">
-<img src="images/t.png" width="121" height="120" alt="T" title="" />
-</div><div class='unindent'>HEY talked on and on, these three,
-Iden, Amadis Iden, and Alere Flamma,
-with Amaryllis listening, from the end
-of April till near the end of May; till
-"a month passed away," and still they
-were talking. For there is nothing so good to the
-human heart as well agreed conversation, when you
-know that your companion will answer to your
-thought as the anvil meets the hammer, ringing
-sound to merry stroke; better than wine, better
-than sleep, like love itself—for love is agreement
-of thought—"God listens to those who pray to
-him; let us eat and drink, and think of nothing,"
-says the Arabian proverb. So they ate and drank—very
-moderate the drinking—and thought of
-nothing, and talked, which should be added to complete
-felicity. Not, of course, all of them always
-together, sometimes all four, sometimes Alere,
-Amadis, and Amaryllis, sometimes only the last two.</div>
-
-<p>The round summer-house was their Parliament
-House whenever the east winds sank and the flowers
-shone forth like sunshine; as the sun shines when<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_199" id="Page_199">[199]</a></span>
-the clouds withdraw, so when the harsh east winds
-cease the May flowers immediately bloom and glow.</p>
-
-<p>It was a large round house, properly builded of
-brick, as a summer-house should be—put not thy
-faith in lath work—and therefore dry and warm;
-to sit in it was like sitting in a shell, warm and
-comfortable, with a sea of meadow-grass, smooth
-and coloured, stretching in front, islanded about
-with oak, and elm, and ash.</p>
-
-<p>The finches came to the boughs that hung over
-the ivy-grown thatch, and sang in the sycamore
-opposite the door, and in the apple-trees, whose
-bloom hung down almost to the ground.</p>
-
-<p>These apple-trees, which Iden had planted, flung
-sackfuls of bloom at his feet. They poured themselves
-out in abandoned, open-armed, spendthrift,
-wasteful—perfectly prodigal—quantities of rose-tinted
-petal; prodigal as a river which flows full to
-the brim, never questioning but what there will be
-plenty of water to follow.</p>
-
-<p>Flowers, and trees, and grass, seemed to spring
-up wherever Iden set down his foot: fruit and
-flowers fell from the air down upon him. It was
-his genius to make things grow—like sunshine and
-shower; a sort of Pan, a half-god of leaves and
-boughs, and reeds and streams, a sort of Nature in
-human shape, moving about and sowing Plenty and
-Beauty.</p>
-
-<p>One side of the summer-house was a thick holly-bush,
-Iden had set it there; he builded the summer-house
-and set the ivy; and the pippin at the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_200" id="Page_200">[200]</a></span>
-back, whose bloom was white; the copper-birch
-near by; the great sycamore alone had been there
-before him, but he set a seat under it, and got
-woodbine to flower there; the drooping-ash he
-planted, and if Amaryllis stood under it when
-the tree was in full leaf you could not see her,
-it made so complete an arbour; the Spanish oak
-in the corner; the box hedge along the ha-ha
-parapet; the red currants against the red wall; the
-big peony yonder; the damsons and pear; the
-yellow honey-bush; all these, and this was but one
-square, one mosaic of the garden, half of it sward,
-too, and besides these there was the rhubarb-patch
-at one corner; fruit, flowers, plants, and herbs,
-lavender, parsley, which has a very pleasant green,
-growing in a thick bunch, roses, pale sage—read
-Boccaccio and the sad story of the leaf of sage—ask
-Nature if you wish to know how many things
-more there were.</p>
-
-<p>A place to eat and drink, and think of nothing
-in, listening to the goldfinches, and watching them
-carry up the moss, and lichen, and slender fibres
-for their nest in the fork of the apple; listening to
-the swallows as they twittered past, or stayed on
-the sharp, high top of the pear tree; to the vehement
-starlings, whistling and screeching like Mrs.
-Iden herself, on the chimneys; chaffinches "chink,
-chink," thrushes, distant blackbirds, who like oaks;
-"cuckoo, cuckoo," "crake, crake," buzzing and
-burring of bees, coo of turtle-doves, now and then
-a neigh, to remind you that there were horses,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_201" id="Page_201">[201]</a></span>
-fulness and richness of musical sound; a world of
-grass and leaf, humming like a hive with voices.</p>
-
-<p>When the east wind ceases, and the sun shines
-above, and the flowers beneath, "a summer's day
-in lusty May," then is the time an Interlude in
-Heaven.</p>
-
-<p>And all this, summer-house and all, had dropped
-out of the pocket of Iden's ragged old coat.</p>
-
-<p>There was a magic power of healing in the influences
-of this place which Iden had created. Both
-Amadis and Alere Flamma had already changed
-for the better.</p>
-
-<p>That morning when Amaryllis had found them,
-just arrived, the one with a portmanteau, and the
-other with a carpet-bag, they were both pale to
-the last degree of paleness.</p>
-
-<p>Three years had gone by since Amadis had stayed
-at Coombe Oaks before, when Amaryllis was thirteen
-and he eighteen; fine romps they had then, a
-great girl, and a great boy, rowing on the water,
-walking over the hills, exploring the woods;
-Amadis shooting and fishing, and Amaryllis going
-with him, a kind of gamekeeper page in petticoats.
-They were of the same stock of Idens, yet no relations;
-he was of the older branch, Amaryllis of the
-younger.</p>
-
-<p>She had grown into a woman; Amadis Iden
-into a man.</p>
-
-<p>Sadly, indeed, he had altered. Looking at him,
-she could scarce believe he was the same; so pale,
-so thin, so drooping, and fireless—the spark of life<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_202" id="Page_202">[202]</a></span>
-sunk into the very ashes. He sat at the dinner-table
-that morning like a ghost. He was convalescent
-from low fever: that dread disease which has
-taken the place of ague in the country. At one
-time it was ague; in these times it is low fever.</p>
-
-<p>At Coombe Oaks they had heard of his illness
-in a far-off way, but had received no distinct particulars,
-for the news came in a roundabout way
-by word of mouth, country-folk never write. The
-distance between the two houses was less than ten
-miles, and might as well have been five hundred
-for all the communication.</p>
-
-<p>So that the ghastly paleness of his face came
-upon her as a spectre in daylight. You could see
-at a glance what was wrong—the vital energy had
-been sapped; as a tree fades without a branch
-broken, or bark scored, fades and withers from the
-lack of the mysterious force which brings forth
-fresh leaves, so he drooped in his chair. The body—the
-tree—was there, but the life was not in it.</p>
-
-<p>Alere Flamma, aged forty-nine, or nearly, was
-pale from other causes, and it was a different kind
-of paleness; not bloodlessness, like Amadis, but
-something lacking in the blood, a vitiated state.
-Too much Fleet Street, in short; too much of the
-Oracle—Pantagruel's Oracle of the Bottle.</p>
-
-<p>His hands shook as he held his knife and fork—oddly
-enough, the hands of great genius often do
-shake; now and then when he put his glass to his
-lips, his teeth snapped on it, and chinked.</p>
-
-<p>It seemed curious that such puffy, shaky hands<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_203" id="Page_203">[203]</a></span>
-could hold a pencil, and draw delicate lines without
-a flaw.</p>
-
-<p>Many who never resort to the Oracle have hands
-that tremble nearly as much—the nervous constitution—and
-yet execute artists' work of rare excellence.</p>
-
-<p>Alere's constitution, the Flamma constitution,
-naturally nervous, had been shaken as with dynamite
-by the bottle, and the glass chinked against
-his teeth. Every two or three years, when he felt
-himself toppling over like a tree half sawn through,
-Alere packed his carpet-bag, and ran down to Coombe
-Oaks. When the rats began to run up the wall as
-he sat at work in broad daylight, Alere put his slippers
-into his carpet-bag and looked out some collars.</p>
-
-<p>In London he never wore a collar, only a bright
-red scarf round his neck; the company he kept
-would have shunned him—they would have looked
-him up and down disdainfully:—"Got a collar on—had
-no breakfast." They would have scornfully
-regarded him as no better than a City clerk, the
-class above all others scorned by those who use
-tools.</p>
-
-<p>"Got a collar on—had no breakfast." The City
-clerk, playing the Masher on thirty shillings a
-week, goes without food to appear the gentleman.</p>
-
-<p>Alere, the artist, drank with the men who used
-hammer, and file, or set up type—a godless set, ye
-gods, how godless, these setters up of type at four
-o'clock in the morning; oysters and stout at 4 a.m.;
-special taverns they must have open for them—open<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_204" id="Page_204">[204]</a></span>
-before Aurora gleams in the east—Oh! Fleet
-Street, Fleet Street, what a place it is!</p>
-
-<p>By no possible means could Alere work himself
-into a dress-coat.</p>
-
-<p>Could he have followed the celebrated advice—"You
-put on a dress-coat and go into society"—he
-would soon have become a name, a fame, a taker
-of big fees, a maker of ten thousand yearly.</p>
-
-<p>To a man who could draw like Alere, possessed,
-too, of the still rarer talent—the taste to see what
-to draw—there really is no limit in our days; for
-as for colour, you do not require a genius for colour
-in an age of dinginess—why, the point, nowadays,
-is to avoid colour, and in a whole Academy you
-shall scarcely find as much as would tint a stick of
-sealing-wax.</p>
-
-<p>"You put on a black coat and go into society"—that
-is the secret of commissions, and commissions
-are fortune. Nothing so clever in the way of
-advice has been sent forth as that remark. The
-great Tichborne said something about folk that had
-money and no brains, and folk that had brains but
-no money; and they as has no brains ought to be
-so managed as to supply money to those who had.
-But even the greatness of the great Tichborne's
-observation falls into insignificance before Chesterfield
-in one sentence: "Put on a black coat and go
-into society."</p>
-
-<p>What are the sayings of the seven wise men of
-Greece compared to <i>that</i>?</p>
-
-
-
-<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_205" id="Page_205">[205]</a></span></p>
-<div class="figcenter" style="width: 500px;">
-<img src="images/i-057.png" width="500" height="84" alt="decoration" title="" />
-</div>
-
-
-
-<h2>CHAPTER XXVII.</h2>
-
-
-<div class="figleft" style="width: 120px;">
-<img src="images/b.png" width="120" height="122" alt="B" title="" />
-</div><div class='unindent'>Y no possible means could Alere Flamma
-work himself into a dress coat.
-The clubs, the houses of the great, the
-mutual admiration dinners—those great
-institutions of the day—were all closed
-to him because of the Dress Coat.</div>
-
-<p>If he had really desired to enter, of course he
-would have squeezed into the evening monkey-skin
-somehow; but, in truth, Alere did not want to enter.</p>
-
-<p>Inside he might have finished a portrait a month
-at a thousand guineas—twelve portraits per annum
-equals twelve thousand guineas a year; you see I
-am looking up the multiplication table, preparatory
-to going into the tallow trade.</p>
-
-<p>What he actually did was to make designs for
-book-covers—magnificent book-covers that will one
-day fetch their weight in bank-notes—manipulating
-a good deal of it himself—"tooling"—for the
-libraries of noble connoisseurs. They were equal
-to anything ever done in Paris.</p>
-
-<p>For a week's work—say half-an-hour a day—he
-got perhaps about ten pounds. With the ten<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_206" id="Page_206">[206]</a></span>
-pounds he was satisfied—ten pounds represents a
-good deal of brandy, or stout, or even wine, about
-as much as one man can manage at a bout; besides
-tobacco, the gallery at the theatre, and innumerable
-trifles of that kind. Ten pounds represents a good
-deal of street life.</p>
-
-<p>Sometimes he drew—and engraved—illustrations
-for books, being as clever with the engraver's tools
-as with the pencil; sometimes he cut out those
-odd, fantastic "initials," "ornaments," "finials,"
-which are now so commonly seen in publications,
-catching the classical grotesque of the Renaissance
-to perfection, and deceiving the experienced; sometimes
-he worked in the press-room in the House of
-Flamma, Fleet Street, pulling artists' proofs, or
-printing expensively illustrated volumes—numbered,
-and the plates destroyed—actual manual work, in
-his shirt sleeves.</p>
-
-<p>He could stop when he liked and take a swig of
-stout. That was the Alere style.</p>
-
-<p>Smoking was forbidden in the old House of
-Flamma because of the worm-eaten beams, the
-worm-eaten rafters and staircase, the dusty, decayed
-bookshelves, the dry, rotten planks of the floor, the
-thin wooden partitions, all ready to catch fire at
-the mere sight of a match. Also because of the
-piles of mouldy books which choked the place, and
-looked fit for nothing but a bonfire, but which were
-worth thousands of pounds; the plates and lithographic
-stones, artists' proofs, divers and sundry
-Old Masters in a room upstairs, all easily destructible.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_207" id="Page_207">[207]</a></span></p>
-
-<p>But Alere, being a son of the house, though not
-in command, did not choose to be amenable to rules
-and orders in fact, in fiction he was. He smoked
-and kept the glue-pot ready on the stove; if a
-certain step was known to be approaching the
-pipe was thrust out of sight, and some dry glue set
-melting, the powerful incense quite hiding the
-flavour of tobacco. A good deal of dry glue is
-used in London in this way.</p>
-
-<p>If I could but write the inside history of Fleet
-Street, I should be looked upon as the most wonderful
-exponent of human life that had ever touched
-a pen. Balzac—whom everybody talks of and
-nobody has read, because the discrimination of
-Paternoster Row has refused him a translation till
-quite lately—Zola, who professes to be realistic,
-who is nothing if not realistic, but whose writings
-are so curiously crude and merely skim the surface;
-even the great Hugo, who produced the masterpiece
-of all fiction, <i>Les Misérables</i>; all three of
-them, the entire host of manuscript-makers, I am
-sure I could vanquish them all, if I could only
-write the inside life of Fleet Street.</p>
-
-<p>Not in any grace of style or sweeping march of
-diction, but just pencil-jotted in the roughest words
-to hand, just as rich and poor, well-dressed ladies
-and next-door beggars are bundled into a train, so,
-without choice of language, but hustling the first
-words anyhow, as it were, into the first compartment.
-If I could only get Alere to tell me all he had
-seen in Fleet Street, and could just jot it down on the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_208" id="Page_208">[208]</a></span>
-margin of a stained newspaper, all the world would
-laugh and weep. For such things do go on in Fleet
-Street as no man has written yet.</p>
-
-<p>If only Victor Hugo were alive and young again!</p>
-
-<p>Alere liked pulling off the proofs in his shirt-sleeves,
-swigging his stout, smoking on the sly,
-working with all the genius of an inspired mechanic
-one moment and dropping into absolute idleness the
-next, spending infinite pains in finishing one bit of
-work, as if his very life depended on the smoothing
-of an edge of paper, putting off the next till the
-end of the month, pottering, sleeping, gossiping,
-dreaming over old German works, and especially
-dreaming over Goethe, humming old German
-songs—for he had been a great traveller—sometimes
-scrawling a furious Mazzinian onslaught in a
-semi-Nihilist foreign print, collecting stray engravings,
-wandering hither and thither.</p>
-
-<p>Alere Flamma, artist, engraver, bookbinder, connoisseur,
-traveller, printer, Republican, conspirator,
-sot, smoker, dreamer, poet, kind-hearted, good-natured,
-prodigal, shiftless, man of Fleet Street,
-carpet-bag man, gentleman shaken to pieces.</p>
-
-<p>He worked in his shirt-sleeves and drank stout,
-but nothing vulgar had ever been recorded against
-Alere Flamma. He frequented strong company—very
-strong meat—but no vile word left his
-lips.</p>
-
-<p>There was a delicacy in all his ways in the midst
-of the coarsest surroundings, just as he appeared in
-the press-room among the printer's ink in the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_209" id="Page_209">[209]</a></span>
-whitest of clean shirt-sleeves, fit to wear with the
-abhorred dress-coat.</p>
-
-<p>In his rooms at his lodgings there were literally
-hundreds of sketches, done on all sorts and sizes of
-paper, from the inside of an envelope hastily torn
-open to elephant. The bureau was full of them,
-crammed in anyhow, neither sorted nor arranged;
-nothing, of course, could be found if it was wanted.
-The drawers of the bookcase—it was his own furniture—were
-full of them; the writing-table drawer;
-a box in one corner; some were on the mantelpiece
-smoked and gritty; some inside his books, most of
-which were interleaved in this manner; literally
-hundreds of sketches, the subjects as numerous and
-varied.</p>
-
-<p>Views in English country lanes, views on the
-Danube, bands playing in band-loving Vienna, old
-Highgate Archway, studies from Canterbury Cathedral,
-statuary in the Louvre, ships battling with
-the north wind in the North Sea—a savage fight
-between sail and gale—horses in the meadow, an
-aged butler, a boy whipping a top, charcoal-burners
-in the Black Forest, studies from the nude—Parisian
-models, Jewesses, almost life-size, a drayman
-heaving up a huge tankard, overshadowing his face
-like Mount Atlas turned over his thumb, designs
-to illustrate classical mythology, outlines expressing
-the ideas of Goethe—outlines of Marguerite and
-Faust among the roses—"He loves me; he loves
-me not," big-armed Flemish beauties with breasts
-as broad as the Zuyder-Zee was deep in the song,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_210" id="Page_210">[210]</a></span>
-roofs of Nuremberg, revolutionary heroes charging
-their muskets in the famous year '48, when Alere
-had a bullet through his hat, in Vienna, I think;
-no end to them.</p>
-
-<p>Sometimes when Alere had done no work for a
-month or two, and his ten pounds were spent, if he
-wanted a few guineas he would take a small selection
-of these round to the office of a certain illustrated
-paper; the Editor would choose, and hand
-over the money at once, well aware that it was
-ready money his friend needed. They were not
-exactly friends—there are no friends in London,
-only acquaintances—but a little chummy, because
-the Editor himself had had a fiery youth, and they
-had met in sunny Wien. That was the only paper
-that ever got sketches out of Alere.</p>
-
-<p>If only Alere would have gone and sketched what
-he was <i>asked</i> to sketch! Ah! there is the difference;
-he could not do it, his nature would not
-let him; he could draw what he saw with his own
-eyes, but not what other people wanted him to see.
-A merry income he might have made if he would
-only have consented to see what other eyes—common,
-vulgar eyes—wanted to see, and which he
-could so easily have drawn for them.</p>
-
-<p>Out of these piles of varied sketches there were
-two kinds the Editor instantly snapped at: the one
-was wild flowers, the other little landscape bits.</p>
-
-<p>Wild flowers were his passion. They were to
-Flamma as Juliet to Romeo. Romeo's love, indeed,
-rushed up like straw on fire, a great blaze of<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_211" id="Page_211">[211]</a></span>
-flame; he perished in it as the straw; perhaps
-he might not have worshipped Juliet next year.
-Flamma had loved his wild flowers close upon forty
-years, ever since he could remember; most likely
-longer, for doubtless the dumb infant loved the
-daisies put in his chubby hand.</p>
-
-<p>His passion they were still as he drew near fifty,
-and saw all things become commonplace. That is
-the saddest of thoughts—as we grow older the
-romance fades, and all things become commonplace.</p>
-
-<p>Half our lives are spent in wishing for to-morrow,
-the other half in wishing for yesterday.</p>
-
-<p>Wild flowers alone never become commonplace.
-The white wood-sorrel at the foot of the oak, the
-violet in the hedge of the vale, the thyme on the
-wind-swept downs, they were as fresh this year as
-last, as dear to-day as twenty years since, even
-dearer, for they grow now, as it were, in the earth
-we have made for them of our hopes, our prayers,
-our emotions, our thoughts.</p>
-
-<p>Sketch-book upon sketch-book in Alere's room
-was full of wild flowers, drawn as he had found
-them in the lanes and woods at Coombe Oaks—by
-the footpaths, by the lake and the lesser ponds, on
-the hills—as he had found them, not formed into
-an artificial design, not torn up by the roots, or
-cut and posed for the occasion—exactly as they
-were when his eye caught sight of them. A difficult
-thing to do, but Alere did it.</p>
-
-<p>In printing engravings of flowers the illustrated<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_212" id="Page_212">[212]</a></span>
-magazines usually make one of two mistakes; either
-the flower is printed without any surroundings or
-background, and looks thin, quite without interest,
-however cleverly drawn, or else it is presented
-with a heavy black pall of ink which dabs it out
-altogether.</p>
-
-<p>These flowers the Editor bought eagerly, and the
-little landscapes. From a stile, beside a rick,
-through a gap in a hedge, odd, unexpected places,
-Alere caught views of the lake, the vale, the wood,
-groups of trees, old houses, and got them in his
-magical way on a few square inches of paper. They
-were very valuable for book illustration. They
-were absolutely true to nature and fact.</p>
-
-<div class="figcenter" style="width: 192px;">
-<img src="images/i-052.png" width="192" height="150" alt="decoration" title="" />
-</div>
-
-
-
-<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_213" id="Page_213">[213]</a></span></p>
-<div class="figcenter" style="width: 500px;">
-<img src="images/i-051.png" width="500" height="88" alt="decoration" title="" />
-</div>
-
-
-
-<h2>CHAPTER XXVIII.</h2>
-
-
-<div class="figleft" style="width: 117px;">
-<img src="images/p.png" width="117" height="120" alt="P" title="" />
-</div><div class='unindent'>ERHAPS the reason Alere never took
-to colours was because of his inherent
-and unswerving truthfulness of character.
-Genuine to a degree, he could
-not make believe—could not deceive—could
-not masquerade in a dress-coat.</div>
-
-<p>Now, most of the landscape-painting in vogue
-to-day is nature in a dress-coat.</p>
-
-<p>In a whole saloon of water colours, in a whole
-Academy, or Grosvenor Gallery you shall hardly
-find three works that represent any real scene in
-the fields.</p>
-
-<p>I have walked about the fields a good deal in my
-brief, fretful hour, yet I have never seen anything
-resembling the strange apparitions that are hung
-on these walls every spring. Apparitions—optical
-illusions, lit up with watery, greenish, ghastly,
-ghost-light—nothing like them on earth I swear,
-and I suspect not in Heaven or Hades.</p>
-
-<p>Touched-up designs: a tree taken from one place,
-a brook from another, a house from another—<i>and
-mixed to order</i>, like a prescription by the chemist—xv.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_214" id="Page_214">[214]</a></span>
-grs. grass, 3 dr. stile, iiij. grs. rustic bridge.
-Nature never plants—nature is no gardener—no
-design, no proportion in the fields.</p>
-
-<p>Colours! Passing a gasworks perhaps you may
-have noticed that the surface of the water in the
-ditch by the roadside bears a greenish scum, a pale
-prismatic scum; this is the colour-box of modern
-landscape.</p>
-
-<p>How horrible the fields would look if they wore
-such hues in reality as are accepted on canvas at
-the galleries! Imagine these canvas tints transferred
-to the sward, the woods, the hills, the
-streams, the sky! <i>Dies iræ, dies illæ</i>—it would,
-indeed, be an awful day, the Last Day of Doom,
-and we should need the curtain at Drury Lane
-drawn before our eyes to shut it out of sight.</p>
-
-<p>There are some who can go near to paint dogs
-and horses, but a meadow of mowing grass, not one
-of them can paint that.</p>
-
-<p>Many can <i>draw</i> nature—drawings are infinitely
-superior generally to the painting that follows;
-scarce one now paints real nature.</p>
-
-<p>Alere could not squeeze his sketches into the
-dress-coat of sham colour for any sacred exhibition
-wall whatever.</p>
-
-<p>One thing Alere never attempted to draw—a
-bird in flight. He recognized that it was impossible;
-his taste rejected every conventional attitude
-that has been used for the purpose; the descending
-pigeon, the Japanese skewered birds, the swallow
-skimming as heavily as a pillow. You cannot draw<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_215" id="Page_215">[215]</a></span>
-a bird in flight. Swallows are attempted oftenest,
-and done worst of all.</p>
-
-<p>How can you draw life itself? What is life? you
-cannot even define it. The swallow's wing has the
-motion of life—its tremble—its wonderful delicacy
-of vibration—the instant change—the slip of the
-air;—no man will ever be able to draw a flying
-swallow.</p>
-
-<p>At the feet of this Gamaliel of Fleet Street, Amaryllis
-had sat much, from time to time, when the
-carpet-bag was packed and Alere withdrew to his
-Baden-Baden—<i>i.e.</i>, to Coombe Oaks and apple-bloom,
-singing finch, and wild-flowers.</p>
-
-<p>There were no "properties" in Alere's room at
-his lodgings; no odd bits collected during his
-wanderings to come in useful some day as make-up,
-realistic rock work, as it were, in the picture. No
-gauntlets or breast-plates, scraps of old iron; no
-Turkish guns or yataghans, no stags' horns, china,
-or carvings to be copied some day into an illustration.
-No "properties."</p>
-
-<p>No studio effects. The plaster bust that strikes
-the key and tones the visitors' mind to "Art," the
-etchings, the wall or panel decorations, the sliding
-curtains, the easels in the corner, the great portfolios—the
-well-known "effects" were absent.</p>
-
-<p>A plain room, not even with a north light, plain
-old furniture, but not very old—not ostensibly
-ancient, somewhere about 1790 say—and this inherited
-and not purchased; Flamma cared not one
-atom for furniture, itself, old or new; dusty books<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_216" id="Page_216">[216]</a></span>
-everywhere, under the table, on the mantelpiece,
-beside the coal scuttle; heaps on chairs, quartos on
-the sofa, crowds more in his bedroom, besides the
-two bookcases and drawers; odd books most of
-them, Cornelius Agrippa, <i>Le Petit Albert</i>, French
-illustrated works, editions of Faust, music, for
-Flamma was fond of his many-keyed flute.</p>
-
-<p>Great people once now and then called and asked
-to see Alere Flamma at the business place in Fleet
-Street; people with titles, curiously out of place,
-in the press-room, gold leaf on the floor, odour of
-printer's ink, dull blows of machinery, rotten planking,
-partitions pasted over with illustrations and
-stained with beer, the old place trembling as the
-engine worked; Flamma, in his shirt-sleeves, talking
-to "His Excellency."</p>
-
-<p>Flamma's opinion, information he could give,
-things he knew; abroad they thought much of him.</p>
-
-<p>Presents came occasionally—a boar's head from
-Germany; fine Havana cigars—Alere always had a
-supply of the best cigars and Turkish tobacco, a
-perennial stream of tobacco ran for him; English
-venison; once a curious dagger from Italy, the
-strangest present good-natured Alere could possibly
-have received!</p>
-
-<p>Sometimes there came a pressing invitation from
-a noble connoisseur to his country seat; Flamma's
-views were wanted about the re-arrangement of
-the library, the re-binding of some treasure picked
-up in a cover all too poor for its value, the building
-of another wing, for the artist is the true architect,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_217" id="Page_217">[217]</a></span>
-as the princes of Italy knew of old time. Till
-the artist is called in we shall never again see real
-architecture in the world. Did not Benvenuto
-design fortifications? Did not Michael Angelo
-build St. Peter's at Rome?</p>
-
-<p>If my lord duke wants a palace he cannot have
-it till he calls in the artist, the Alere Flamma,
-to draw it for him; if my lord bishop needs a
-cathedral he cannot have it till he calls in the poet-draughtsman,
-till he goes to Alere Flamma.</p>
-
-<p>Our so-called architects are mere surveyors,
-engineers, educated bricklayers, men of hard straight
-ruler and square, mathematically accurate, and
-utterly devoid of feeling.</p>
-
-<p>The princes of Italy knew better—they called in
-the poet and the painter, the dreamers to dream for
-them.</p>
-
-<p>You call in your "practical" architect, and he
-builds you a brick box; not for a hundred thousand
-pounds in fees could he build you a palace or a
-cathedral.</p>
-
-<p>The most ignorant of men are the "practical"
-people. It is meet and fitting that they should be
-worshipped and set on high. The calf worshipped
-of old was at least golden, and these are of lead.</p>
-
-<p>But Alere could not go; he would do anything
-he was asked in this way; he would take infinite
-pains to please, but he could not leave Fleet Street
-for any mansion.</p>
-
-<p>When a man once gets into Fleet Street he
-cannot get out.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_218" id="Page_218">[218]</a></span></p>
-
-<p>Conventionally, I suppose, it would be the right
-thing to represent Alere as a great genius neglected,
-or as a genius destroyed by intemperance. The
-conventional type is so easy—so accepted—so
-popular; it would pay better, perhaps, to make
-him out a victim in some way.</p>
-
-<p>He was not neglected, neither was he the victim
-of intemperance in the usual sense.</p>
-
-<p>The way to fame and fortune had always been
-wide open to him; there were long intervals when
-he did not drink, nor did drink enfeeble his touch;
-it was not half so much to struggle against as the
-chest diseases from which professional men so often
-suffer; I believe if he had really tried or wished he
-could have conquered his vice altogether. Neither
-of these causes kept him from the foremost rank.</p>
-
-<p>There was no ambition, and there was no business-avarice.
-So many who have no ideal are kept hard
-at work by the sheer desire of money, and thus
-spurred onward, achieve something approaching
-greatness. Alere did not care for money.</p>
-
-<p>He could not get out of Fleet Street. Ten
-pounds was a large sum in the company he frequented;
-he did not want any more.</p>
-
-<div class="figcenter" style="width: 62px;">
-<img src="images/i-019.png" width="62" height="62" alt="decoration" title="" />
-</div>
-
-
-
-<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_219" id="Page_219">[219]</a></span></p>
-<div class="figcenter" style="width: 500px;">
-<img src="images/i-036.png" width="500" height="91" alt="decoration" title="" />
-</div>
-
-
-<h2>CHAPTER XXIX.</h2>
-
-
-<div class="figleft" style="width: 120px;">
-<img src="images/s.png" width="120" height="120" alt="S" title="" />
-</div><div class='unindent'>OMETHING in Fleet Street holds tight
-those who once come within its influence.
-The cerebellum of the world,
-the "grey matter" of the world's
-brain, lies somewhere thereabouts. The
-thoughts of our time issue thence, like the radiating
-spokes of a wheel, to all places of the earth. There
-you have touch of the throbbing pulse of the vast
-multitudes that live and breathe. Their ideas
-come from Fleet Street.</div>
-
-<p>From the printing-press and the engraver's
-wood-block, the lithographic-stone, the etcher's
-plate, from book and magazine, periodical and
-pamphlet, from world-read newspaper.</p>
-
-<p>From Fleet Street, the centre whence ideas flow
-outwards.</p>
-
-<p>It is joyous to be in the flower-grown meads; it
-is sweet to be on the hill-top; delicious to feel the
-swell and the long roll of the hexameter of the
-seas; doubtless there is a wild rapture on the summit
-of the Himalayas; triumph in the heart of the
-African explorer at the river's source. But if once<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_220" id="Page_220">[220]</a></span>
-the mind has been dipped in Fleet Street, let the
-meads be never so sweet, the mountain-top never so
-exalted, still to Fleet Street the mind will return,
-because there is that other Mind, without whose
-sympathy even success is nothing—the Mind of
-the world.</p>
-
-<p>I am, of course, thinking not only of the thoroughfare,
-Fleet Street, but of all that the printing-press
-means.</p>
-
-<p>Alere was no leader of thought, but it was necessary
-to him to live and breathe in the atmosphere
-of thought—to feel the throb and swell around him—to
-be near the "grey matter" of the world's
-brain.</p>
-
-<p>Once a man gets into Fleet Street he cannot get
-out. Flamma would not leave it for months of
-gilded idleness in any nobleman's mansion.</p>
-
-<p>The flame must be fed. His name had some
-connection with the design of the Roman lamp on
-the splendid bindings of the books tooled in the
-House of Flamma. <i>Alere Flammam</i>—feed the flame.
-The flame of the mind must be fed.</p>
-
-<p>Sad things happen on the stones of Fleet Street;
-if I could but get at it all to write the inside life of
-it, it would, indeed, be a book. Stone-cold poverty
-hovers about. The rich, living in the fool's paradise
-of money, think they know life, but they do not,
-for, as was said of the sea——</p>
-
-<div class='poem'>
-Only those who share its dangers<br />
-<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">Comprehend its mystery.</span><br />
-</div>
-
-<p>Only those who have shared the struggle literally<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_221" id="Page_221">[221]</a></span>
-for bread—for a real, actual loaf—understand the
-dread realities of man's existence.</p>
-
-<p>Let but a morsel of wood—a little splinter of
-deal, a curl of carpenter's shaving—lie in Fleet
-Street, and it draws to it the wretched human beasts
-as surely as the offal draws the beast of the desert
-to the camp. A morsel of wood in the streets that
-are paved with gold!</p>
-
-<p>It is so valuable. Women snatch it up and roll
-it in their aprons, clasping it tightly, lest it should
-somehow disappear. Prowling about from street
-to street, mile after mile, they fill their aprons with
-these precious splinters of deal, for to those who
-are poor fuel is as life itself.</p>
-
-<p>Even the wealthy, if they have once been ill,
-especially of blood-thinning diseases (as rheumatism),
-sometimes say they would rather go without
-food than coal. Rather emptiness than chill.</p>
-
-<p>These women know where there are hoardings
-erected by builders, where shop-fronts are being
-rebuilt, where fires have taken place, where
-alterations are proceeding; they know them as
-the birds know the places where they are likely
-to find food, and visit them day by day for the
-scraps of wood and splinters that drop on the
-pavement.</p>
-
-<p>Or they send their children, ragged urchins,
-battling for a knot of pine-wood.</p>
-
-<p>The terror of frost to these creatures is great
-indeed. Frost is the King of Terrors to them—not
-Death; they sleep and live with death constantly,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_222" id="Page_222">[222]</a></span>
-the dead frequently in the room with the living,
-and with the unborn that is near birth.</p>
-
-<p>Alere's ten pounds helped them. The drunkard's
-wife knew that Flamma, the drinker, would certainly
-give her the silver in his pocket.</p>
-
-<p>The ragged urchins, battling for a knot of pine-wood,
-knew that they could charm the pennies and
-the threepenny bits out of his waistcoat; the baked
-potatoes and the roasted chestnuts looked so nice
-on the street stove.</p>
-
-<p>Wretched girls whose power of tempting had
-gone, and with it their means of subsistence,
-begged, and not in vain, of shaky Alere Flamma.
-There are many of these wretches in Fleet Street.
-There is no romance about them to attract the
-charity of the world.</p>
-
-<p>Once a flower-girl, selling flowers without a
-licence in the street, was charged by the police.
-How this harshness to the flower-girl—the human
-representation of Flora—roused up sentiment in
-her behalf!</p>
-
-<p>But not every starving girl has the fortune to
-rouse up sentiment and to be fed. Their faces disfigured
-with eruptions, their thin shoulders, their
-dry, disordered hair—hair never looks nice unless
-soft with its natural oil—their dingy complexions,
-their threadbare shawls, tempt no one. They cannot
-please, therefore they must starve.</p>
-
-<p>The good turn from them with horror—Are they
-not sin made manifest? The trembling hand of
-Alere fed them.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_223" id="Page_223">[223]</a></span></p>
-
-<p>Because the boys bawl do you suppose they are
-happy? It is curious that people should associate
-noise with a full stomach. The shoeblack boys,
-the boys that are gathered into institutions and
-training ships, are expected to bawl and shout
-their loudest at the annual fêtes when visitors
-are present. Your bishops and deans forthwith
-feel assured that their lives are consequently
-joyous.</p>
-
-<p>Why then do they set fire to training ships?
-Why do they break out of reformatory institutions?
-Bawling is not necessarily happiness. Yet fatuous
-fools are content if only they can hear a good uproar
-of bawling.</p>
-
-<p>I have never walked up Fleet Street and the
-Strand yet without seeing a starving woman and
-child. The children are indeed dreadful; they run
-unguarded and unwatched out of the side courts
-into the broader and more lively Strand—the ceaseless
-world pushes past—they play on the pavement
-unregarded. Hatless, shoeless, bound about with
-rags, their faces white and scarred with nameless
-disease, their eyes bleared, their hair dirty; little
-things, such as in happy homes are sometimes set
-on the table to see how they look.</p>
-
-<p>How <i>can</i> people pass without seeing them?</p>
-
-<p>Alere saw them, and his hand went to his waistcoat
-pocket.</p>
-
-<p>The rich folk round about this great Babylon of
-Misery, where cruel Want sits on the Seven Hills—make
-a cartoon of that!—the rich folk who<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_224" id="Page_224">[224]</a></span>
-receive hundreds on the turn of a stock, who go to
-the Bank of England on dividend days—how easily
-the well-oiled doors swing open for them!—who
-dwell in ease and luxury at Sydenham, at Norwood,
-at Surbiton, at Streatham, at Brighton, at Seven-oaks,
-wherever there is pure air, have distinguished
-themselves lately in the giving of alms, ordained
-by the Lord whom they kneel before each Sunday,
-clad in silk, scarlet, and fine linen, in their cushioned
-pews.</p>
-
-<p>They have established Homes for Lost Dogs
-and Homes for Lost Cats, neither of which are such
-nuisances as human beings.</p>
-
-<p>In the dog institution they have set up an apparatus
-specially designed by one of the leading
-scientific men of the age. The dogs that are not
-claimed in a certain time, or that have become
-diseased—like the human nuisances—are put into
-this apparatus, into a comfortable sort of chamber,
-to gnaw their last bone. By-and-by, a scientific
-vapour enters the chamber, and breathing this, the
-animal falls calmly to death, painlessly poisoned in
-peace.</p>
-
-<p>Seven thousand dogs were thus happily chloroformed
-"into eternity" in one season. Jubilant
-congratulations were exchanged at the success of
-the apparatus. Better than shooting, drowning,
-hanging, vivisection, or starvation!</p>
-
-<p>Let a dog die in peace. Is not this an age of
-humanity indeed? To sell all you have and give
-to the poor was nothing compared to this. We<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_225" id="Page_225">[225]</a></span>
-have progressed since Anno Domini I. We know
-better how to do it now.</p>
-
-<p>Alere did not seem to trouble himself much
-about the dogs; he saw so much of the human
-nuisances.</p>
-
-<p>What a capital idea it would be to set up an apparatus
-like this in the workhouses and in conjunction
-with the hospitals!</p>
-
-<p>Do you know, thoughtless, happy maiden, singing
-all the day, that one out of every five people
-who die in London, die in the workhouse or the
-hospital?</p>
-
-<p>Eighty-two thousand people died in London in
-1882, and of these, fourteen thousand expired in
-the workhouses, and six thousand in hospitals!</p>
-
-<p>Are not these ghastly figures? By just setting
-up a few Apparatuses, see what an immense amount
-of suffering would be saved, and consider what a
-multitude of human nuisances would he "moved
-on!"</p>
-
-<p>The poor have a saying that none live long after
-they have been in a certain hospital. "He's been
-in that hospital—he won't live long." They carry
-out such wonderful operations there—human vivisections,
-but strictly painless, of course, under
-chloroform—true Christian chopping-up—still the
-folk do not live long when they come out.</p>
-
-<p>Why not set up the Apparatus? But a man
-must not die in peace. Starvation is for human
-nuisances.</p>
-
-<p>These rich folk dwelling round about the great<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_226" id="Page_226">[226]</a></span>
-Babylon of Misery, where Want sits on the Seven
-Hills, have also distinguished themselves by yet
-another invention. This is the organization of
-alms. Charity is so holy we will not leave it to
-chance—to the stray penny—we will organize it.
-The system is very simple: it is done by ticket.
-First you subscribe a few shillings to some organization,
-with its secretary, its clerks, its offices,
-board-room, and "machinery." For this you receive
-tickets.</p>
-
-<p>If a disagreeable woman with a baby in her arms,
-or a ragged boy, or a maimed man asks you for a
-"copper," you hand him a ticket. This saves
-trouble and responsibility.</p>
-
-<p>The beggar can take the ticket to the "office"
-and get his case "investigated." After an inquiry,
-and an adjournment for a week; another inquiry,
-and another adjournment for a week; a third inquiry,
-and a third adjournment, then, if he be of
-high moral character and highly recommended, he
-may get his dinner.</p>
-
-<p>One great advantage is conspicuous in this system:
-by no possible means can you risk giving a
-penny to a man not of high moral character, though
-he be perishing of starvation.</p>
-
-<p>If a man asks for bread, will ye give him a stone?
-Certainly not; give him a ticket.</p>
-
-<p>They did not understand how to do things in
-Judea Anno Domini I.</p>
-
-<p>This organization of charity saves such a lot of
-money: where people used to give away five pounds
-they now pay five shillings.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_227" id="Page_227">[227]</a></span></p>
-
-<p>Nothing like saving money. And, besides, you
-walk about with a clear conscience. No matter
-how many maimed men, or disagreeable women, or
-ragged boys you see, you can stroll on comfortably
-and never think about them; your charity is organized.</p>
-
-<p>If the German thinkers had not found out twenty
-years ago that there was no Devil, one would be
-inclined to ascribe this spurious, lying, false, and
-abominable mockery to the direct instigation of a
-Satan.</p>
-
-<p>The organization of charity! The very nature
-of charity is spontaneousness.</p>
-
-<p>You should have heard Alere lash out about this
-business; he called it charity suppression.</p>
-
-<p>Have you ever seen London in the early winter
-morning, when the frost lies along the kerb, just
-melting as the fires are lit; cold, grey, bitter, stony
-London?</p>
-
-<p>Whatever <i>can</i> morning seem like to the starved
-and chilly wretches who have slept on the floor, and
-wake up to frost in Fleet Street?</p>
-
-<p>The pavements are covered with expectoration,
-indicating the chest diseases and misery that thousands
-are enduring. But I must not write too
-plainly; it would offend.</p>
-
-<div class="figcenter" style="width: 150px;">
-<img src="images/i-020.png" width="150" height="43" alt="decoration" title="" />
-</div>
-
-
-
-<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_228" id="Page_228">[228]</a></span></p>
-<div class="figcenter" style="width: 500px;">
-<img src="images/i-053.png" width="500" height="85" alt="decoration" title="" />
-</div>
-
-
-<h2>CHAPTER XXX.</h2>
-
-
-<div class="figleft" style="width: 120px;">
-<img src="images/a.png" width="120" height="120" alt="A" title="" />
-</div><div class='unindent'> PRINTER in the office crawled under
-the bed of the machine to replace something—a
-nut that had dropped; it was
-not known that he was there; the
-crank came round and crushed him
-against the brickwork. The embrace of iron is death.</div>
-
-<p>Alere fed his helpless children, and apprenticed
-them when they were old enough.</p>
-
-<p>Ten pounds was enough for him—without ambition,
-and without business-avarice; ten pounds
-was enough for his Fleet Street life.</p>
-
-<p>It was not only the actual money he gave away,
-but the kindness of the man. Have you ever
-noticed the boys who work in printing-offices?—their
-elbows seem so sharp and pointed, bony, and
-without flesh. Instead of the shirt-sleeve being
-turned up, it looks as if the pointed elbow had
-thrust its way through.</p>
-
-<p>He always had something for them;—a plate of
-beef, soup, beer to be shared, apples, baked potatoes,
-now and then half-a-dozen mild cigars. Awful
-this, was it not? Printers' boys <i>will</i> smoke; they<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_229" id="Page_229">[229]</a></span>
-had better have Flamma's fine tobacco than the vile
-imitation they buy.</p>
-
-<p>They always had a tale for him; either their
-mothers, or sisters, or some one was in trouble;
-Flamma was certain to do something, however little
-might be within his power. At least he went to
-see.</p>
-
-<p>Had a man an income of a million he could not
-relieve the want of London; the wretch relieved to-day
-needs again to-morrow. But Alere went to see.</p>
-
-<p>Ten pounds did much in the shaky hands of a
-man without ambition, and without business-avarice,
-who went to see the unfortunate.</p>
-
-<p>His own palsied mother, at the verge of life,
-looked to Alere for all that the son can do for the
-parent. Other sons seemed more capable of such
-duty; yet it invariably fell upon Alere. He was
-the Man. And for those little luxuries and comforts
-that soothe the dull hours of trembling age she
-depended entirely upon him.</p>
-
-<p>So you see the ten-pound notes that satisfied
-him were not all spent in drink.</p>
-
-<p>But alas! once now and then the rats began to
-run up the wall in broad daylight, and foolish Alere,
-wise in this one thing, immediately began to pack
-his carpet-bag. He put in his collars, his slippers,
-his sketch-books and pencils, some of his engraving
-tools, and a few blocks of boxwood, his silver-mounted
-flute, and a book for Amaryllis. He
-packed his carpet-bag and hastened away to his
-Baden-Baden, to Coombe Oaks, his spa among the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_230" id="Page_230">[230]</a></span>
-apple-bloom, the song of finches, and rustle of
-leaves.</p>
-
-<p>They sat and talked in the round summer-house in
-Iden's garden, with the summer unfolding at their
-knees; Amaryllis, Amadis, Iden, and Flamma.</p>
-
-<p>By Flamma's side there stood a great mug of
-the Goliath ale, and between his lips there was a
-long churchwarden pipe.</p>
-
-<p>The Goliath ale was his mineral water; his
-gaseous, alkaline, chalybeate liquor; better by far
-than Kissingen, Homburg, Vichy; better by far
-than mud baths and hot springs. There is no
-medicine in nature, or made by man, like good ale.
-He who drinks ale is strong.</p>
-
-<p>The bitter principle of the aromatic hops went to
-his nervous system, to the much-suffering liver, to
-the clogged and weary organs, bracing and stimulating,
-urging on, vitalizing anew.</p>
-
-<p>The spirit drawn from the joyous barley warmed
-his heart; a cordial grown on the sunny hill-side,
-watered with dew and sweet rain, coloured by the
-light, a liquor of sunshine, potable sunbeam.</p>
-
-<p>Age mingling hops and barley in that just and
-equitable proportion, no cunning of hand, no
-science can achieve, gave to it the vigour of years,
-the full manhood of strength.</p>
-
-<p>There was in it an alchemic power analysis cannot
-define. The chemist analyzes, and he finds of
-ten parts, there are this and there are that, and the
-residue is "volatile principle," for which all the
-dictionaries of science have no explanation.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_231" id="Page_231">[231]</a></span></p>
-
-<p>"Volatile principle"—there it is, that is the
-secret. That is the life of the thing; by no
-possible means can you obtain that volatile principle—that
-alchemic force—except contained in genuine
-old ale.</p>
-
-<p>Only it must be genuine, and it must be old;
-such as Iden brewed.</p>
-
-<p>The Idens had been famous for ale for generations.</p>
-
-<p>By degrees Alere's hand grew less shaky; the
-glass ceased to chink against his teeth; the strong,
-good ale was setting his Fleet Street liver in order.</p>
-
-<p>You have "liver," you have "dyspepsia," you
-have "kidneys," you have "abdominal glands," and
-the doctor tells you you must take bitters, <i>i.e.</i>,
-quassia, buchu, gentian, cascarilla, calumba; aperients
-and diluents, podophyllin, taraxacum, salts;
-physic for the nerves and blood, quinine, iron,
-phosphorus; this is but the briefest outline of your
-draughts and preparations; add to it for various
-purposes, liquor arsenicalis, bromide of potassium,
-strychnia, belladonna.</p>
-
-<p>Weary and disappointed, you turn to patent
-medicines—American and French patent physic is
-very popular now—and find the same things precisely
-under taking titles, enormously advertised.</p>
-
-<p>It is a fact that nine out of ten of the medicines
-compounded are intended to produce exactly the
-same effects as are caused by a few glasses of good
-old ale. The objects are to set the great glands in
-motion, to regulate the stomach, brace the nerves,
-and act as a tonic and cordial; a little ether put in<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_232" id="Page_232">[232]</a></span>
-to aid the digestion of the compound. This is
-precisely what good old ale does, and digests itself
-very comfortably. Above all things, it contains
-the volatile principle, which the prescriptions have
-not got.</p>
-
-<p>Many of the compounds actually are beer, bittered
-with quassia instead of hops; made nauseous in
-order that you may have faith in them.</p>
-
-<p>"Throw physic to the dogs," get a cask of the
-true Goliath, and "<i>drenk un down to the therd hoop</i>."</p>
-
-<p>Long before Alere had got to the first hoop the
-rats ceased to run up the wall, his hand became less
-shaky, he began to play a very good knife and fork
-at the bacon and Iden's splendid potatoes; by-and-by
-he began to hum old German songs.</p>
-
-<p>But you may ask, how do <i>you</i> know, you're not a
-doctor, you're a mere story-spinner, you're no
-authority? I reply that I am in a position to know
-much more than a doctor.</p>
-
-<p>How can that be?</p>
-
-<p>Because I have been a Patient. It is so much
-easier to be a doctor than a patient. The doctor
-imagines what his prescriptions are like and what
-they will do; he imagines, but the Patient <i>knows</i>.</p>
-
-<div class="figcenter" style="width: 150px;">
-<img src="images/i-021.png" width="150" height="83" alt="decoration" title="" />
-</div>
-
-
-
-<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_233" id="Page_233">[233]</a></span></p>
-<div class="figcenter" style="width: 500px;">
-<img src="images/i-022.png" width="500" height="82" alt="decoration" title="" />
-</div>
-
-
-<h2>CHAPTER XXXI.</h2>
-
-
-<div class="figleft" style="width: 120px;">
-<img src="images/s.png" width="120" height="120" alt="S" title="" />
-</div><div class='unindent'>OME noble physicians have tried the
-effect of drugs upon themselves in
-order to advance their art; for this
-they have received Gold Medals, and are
-alluded to as Benefactors of Mankind.</div>
-
-<p>I have tried the effects of forty prescriptions
-upon My Person. With the various combinations,
-patent medicines, and so forth, the total would, I
-verily believe, reach eighty drugs.</p>
-
-<p>Consequently, it is clear I ought to receive eighty
-gold medals. I am a Benefactor eighty times multiplied;
-the incarnation of virtue; a sort of Buddha,
-kiss my knees, ye slaves!</p>
-
-<p>I have a complaisant feeling as I walk about
-that I have thus done more good than any man
-living.</p>
-
-<p>I am still very ill.</p>
-
-<p>The curious things an invalid is gravely recommended
-to try! One day I was sitting in that
-great cosmopolitan museum, the waiting-room at
-Charing Cross station, wearily glancing from time
-to time at the clock, and reckoning how long it<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_234" id="Page_234">[234]</a></span>
-would be before I could get home. There is nothing
-so utterly tiring to the enfeebled as an interview
-with a London physician. So there I sat, huddled
-of a heap, quite knocked up, and, I suppose, must
-have coughed from time to time. By-and-by, a
-tall gentleman came across the room and sat down
-beside me. "I hope I don't intrude," said he, in
-American accents. "I was obliged to come and
-speak to you—you look bad. I <i>hate</i> to hear
-anybody cough." He put an emphasis on hate, a
-long-drawn nasal <i>haate</i>, hissing it out with unmeasured
-ferocity. "I <i>haate</i> to hear anybody
-cough. Now I should like to tell you how to cure
-it, if you don't mind."</p>
-
-<p>"By all means—very interesting," I replied.</p>
-
-<p>"I was bad at home, in the States," said he.
-"I was on my back four years with a cough. I
-couldn't do anything—couldn't help myself; four
-years, and I got down to eighty-seven pounds.
-That's a fact, I weighed eighty-seven pounds."</p>
-
-<p>"Very little," I said, looking him over; he was
-tall and broad-shouldered, not very thick, a square-set
-man.</p>
-
-<p>"I tried everything the doctors recommended—it
-was no use; they had to give me up. At last a
-man cured me; and how do you think he did
-it?"</p>
-
-<p>"Can't think—should much like to know."</p>
-
-<p>"Crude petroleum," said the American. "That
-was it. Crude petroleum! You take it just as it
-comes from the wells; not refined, mind. Just<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_235" id="Page_235">[235]</a></span>
-crude. Ten drops on a bit of sugar three times a
-day, before meals. Taste it? No, not to speak
-of; you don't mind it after a little while. I had
-in a ten-gallon keg. I got well. I got up to two
-hundred and fifty pounds. That's true. I got too
-fat, had to check it. But I take the drops still, if
-I feel out of sorts. Guess I'm strong enough now.
-Been all over Europe."</p>
-
-<p>I looked at him again; certainly, he did appear
-strong enough.</p>
-
-<p>"But you Britishers won't try anything, I suppose,
-from the States, now."</p>
-
-<p>I hastened to assure him I had no prejudice of
-that sort—if it would cure me, it might come from
-anywhere.</p>
-
-<p>"You begin with five drops," he said, solemnly.
-"Or three, if you like, and work up to ten. It
-soon gets easy to take. You'll soon pick up. But
-I doubt if you'll get a keg of the crude oil in
-this country; you'll have to send over for it. I
-<i>haate</i> to hear anybody cough"—and so we
-parted.</p>
-
-<p>He was so much in earnest, that if I had egged
-him on, I verily believe he would have got the keg
-for me himself. It seemed laughable at the time;
-but I don't laugh now. I almost think that good-natured
-American was right; he certainly meant
-well.</p>
-
-<p>Crude petroleum! Could anything be more
-nauseous? But probably it acts as a kind of cod-liver
-oil. Sometimes I wish I had tried it. Like<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_236" id="Page_236">[236]</a></span>
-him, I hate to hear anybody cough! Better take
-a ten-gallon keg of petroleum.</p>
-
-<p>Alere's crude petroleum was the Goliath ale, and
-he had hardly begun to approach the first hoop,
-when, as I tell you, he was heard to hum old German
-songs; it was the volatile principle.</p>
-
-<p>Songs about the Pope and the Sultan</p>
-
-<div class='poem'>
-But yet he's not a happy man,<br />
-He must obey the Alcoran,<br />
-He dares not touch one drop of wine,<br />
-I'm glad the Sultan's lot's not mine.<br />
-</div>
-
-<p>Songs about the rat that dwelt in the cellar, and
-fed on butter till he raised a paunch that would
-have done credit to Luther; songs about a King in
-Thule and the cup his mistress gave him, a beautiful
-old song that, none like it—</p>
-
-<div class='poem'>
-He saw it fall, he watched it fill,<br />
-<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And sink deep, deep into the main;</span><br />
-Then sorrow o'er his eyelids fell,<br />
-<span style="margin-left: 1em;">He never drank a drop again.</span><br />
-</div>
-
-<p>Or his thought slipped back to his school-days,
-and beating the seat in the summer-house with his
-hand for time, Alere ran on:—</p>
-
-<div class='poem'>
-Horum scorum suntivorum,<br />
-Harum scarum divo,<br />
-Tag-rag, merry derry, perriwig, and a hatband,<br />
-Hic hoc horum genitivo—<br />
-</div>
-
-<div class='unindent'>To be said in one breath.</div>
-
-<div class='poem'>
-Oh, my Ella—my blue bella,<br />
-<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_237" id="Page_237">[237]</a></span><span style="margin-left: 1em;">A secula seculorum,</span><br />
-If I have luck, sir, she's my uxor,<br />
-<span style="margin-left: 1em;">O dies Benedictorum!</span><br />
-</div>
-
-<div class='unindent'>Or something about:</div>
-
-<div class='poem'>
-Sweet cowslips grace, the nominative case,<br />
-And She's of the feminine gender.<br />
-</div>
-
-<p>Days of Valpy the Vulture, eating the schoolboy's
-heart out, Eton Latin grammar, accidence—do
-<i>not</i> pause, traveller, if you see <i>his</i> tomb!</p>
-
-<p>"Play to me," said Amaryllis, and the Fleet-Street
-man put away his pipe, and took up his
-flute; he breathed soft and low—an excellent
-thing in a musician—delicious airs of Mozart
-chiefly.</p>
-
-<p>The summer unfolded itself at their knees, the
-high buttercups of the meadow came to the very
-door, the apple-bloom poured itself out before
-them; music all of it, music in colour, in light, in
-flowers, in song of happy birds. The soothing
-flute strung together the flow of their thoughts,
-they were very silent, Amaryllis and Amadis Iden—almost
-hand in hand—listening to his cunning
-lips.</p>
-
-<p>He ceased, and they were still silent, listening to
-their own hearts.</p>
-
-<p>The starlings flew by every few minutes to their
-nests in the thatch of the old house, and out again
-to the meadow.</p>
-
-<p>Alere showed how impossible it was to draw a
-bird in flight by the starling's wings. His wings
-beat up and down so swiftly that the eye had not<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_238" id="Page_238">[238]</a></span>
-time to follow them completely; they formed a burr—an
-indistinct flutter; you are supposed to see
-the starling flying from you. The lifted tips were
-depressed so quickly that the impression of them
-in the raised position had not time to fade from the
-eye before a fresh impression arrived exhibiting them
-depressed to their furthest extent; you thus saw the
-wings in both positions, up and down, at once. A
-capital letter X may roughly represent his idea; the
-upper part answers to the wings lifted, the lower
-part to the wings down, and you see both together.
-Further, in actual fact, you see the wings in innumerable
-other positions between these two extremes;
-like the leaves of a book opened with your
-thumb quickly—as they do in legerdemain—almost
-as you see the spokes of a wheel run together as
-they revolve—a sort of burr.</p>
-
-<p>To produce an image of a starling flying, you
-must draw all this.</p>
-
-<p>The swift feathers are almost liquid; they leave
-a streak behind in the air like a meteor.</p>
-
-<p>Thus the genial Goliath ale renewed the very
-blood in Alere's veins.</p>
-
-<p>Amaryllis saw too that the deadly paleness of
-Amadis Iden's cheeks—absolute lack of blood—began
-to give way to the faintest colour, little more
-than the delicate pink of the apple-bloom, though
-he could take hardly a wine-glass of Goliath. If
-you threw a wine-glassful of the Goliath on the
-hearth it blazed up the chimney in the most lively<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_239" id="Page_239">[239]</a></span>
-manner. Fire in it—downright fire! That is the
-test.</p>
-
-<p>Amadis could scarcely venture on a wine-glassful,
-yet a faint pink began to steal into his face, and
-his white lips grew moist. He drank deeply of
-another cup.</p>
-
-<div class="figcenter" style="width: 190px;">
-<img src="images/i-023.png" width="190" height="161" alt="decoration" title="" />
-</div>
-
-
-
-<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_240" id="Page_240">[240]</a></span></p>
-<div class="figcenter" style="width: 500px;">
-<img src="images/i-024.png" width="500" height="91" alt="decoration" title="" />
-</div>
-
-
-<h2>CHAPTER XXXII.</h2>
-
-
-<div class="figleft" style="width: 119px;">
-<img src="images/l.png" width="119" height="120" alt="L" title="" />
-</div><div class='unindent'>ET me try," said Amadis, taking the
-handle of the churn from Jearje. The
-butter was obstinate, and would not
-come; it was eleven o'clock in the
-morning, and still there was the rattle
-of milk in the barrel, the sound of a liquid splashing
-over and over. By the sounds Mrs. Iden knew
-that the fairies were in the churn. Jearje had
-been turning for hours.</div>
-
-<p>Amadis stooped to the iron handle, polished like
-silver by Jearje's rough hands—a sort of skin sand-paper—and
-with an effort made the heavy blue-painted barrel
-revolve on its axis.</p>
-
-<p>Mrs. Iden, her sleeves up, looked from the dairy
-window into the court where the churn stood.</p>
-
-<p>"Ah, it's no use your trying," she said, "you'll
-only tire yourself."</p>
-
-<p>Jearje, glad to stand upright a minute, said,
-"First-rate, measter."</p>
-
-<p>Amaryllis cried, "Take care; you'd better not,
-you'll hurt yourself."</p>
-
-<p>"Aw!—aw!" laughed Bill Nye, who was sitting<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_241" id="Page_241">[241]</a></span>
-on a form by the wall under the dairy window. He
-was waiting to see Iden about the mowing. "Aw!—aw!
-Look 'ee thur, now!"</p>
-
-<p>Heavily the blue barrel went round—thrice, four
-times, five times; the colour mounted into Amadis's
-cheeks, not so much from the labour as the unwonted
-stooping; his breath came harder; he
-had to desist, and go and sit down on the form
-beside Bill Nye.</p>
-
-<p>"I wish you would not do it," said Amaryllis.
-"You know you're not strong yet." She spoke as
-if she had been his mother or his nurse, somewhat
-masterfully and reproachfully.</p>
-
-<p>"I'm afraid I'm not," said poor Amadis. His
-chin fell and his face lengthened—his eyes grew
-larger—his temples pinched; disappointment wrung
-at his heart.</p>
-
-<p>Convalescence is like walking in sacks; a short
-waddle and a fall.</p>
-
-<p>"I can tell 'ee of a vine thing, measter," said
-Bill Nye, "as I knows on; you get a pint measure
-full of snails——"</p>
-
-<p>"There, do hold your tongue, it's enough to
-make anyone ill to think of," said Amaryllis, angrily,
-and Bill was silent as to the cod-liver oil virtues of
-snails. Amaryllis went to fetch a glass of milk for
-Amadis.</p>
-
-<p>A robin came into the court, and perching on
-the edge of a tub, fluttered his wings, cried "Check,
-check," "Anything for me this morning?" and so
-put his head on one side, languishing and persuasive.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_242" id="Page_242">[242]</a></span></p>
-
-<p>"My sister, as was in a decline, used to have
-snail-oil rubbed into her back," said Luce, the
-maid, who had been standing in the doorway with
-a duster.</p>
-
-<p>"A pretty state of things," cried Mrs. Hen, in a
-passion. "You standing there doing nothing, and
-it's butter-making morning, and everything behind,
-and you idling and talking,"—rushing out from the
-dairy, and following Luce, who retreated indoors.</p>
-
-<p>"Hur'll catch it," said Bill Nye.</p>
-
-<p>"Missis is ——" said Jearje, supplying the
-blank with a wink, and meaning in a temper this
-morning. "Missis," like all nervous people, was
-always in a fury about nothing when her mind was
-intent on an object; in this case, the butter.</p>
-
-<p>"Here's eleven o'clock," she cried, in the sitting-room,
-pointing to the clock, "and the beds ain't
-made."</p>
-
-<p>"I've made the beds," said stolid Luce.</p>
-
-<p>"And the fire isn't dusted up."</p>
-
-<p>"I've dusted up the fire."</p>
-
-<p>"And you're a lazy slut"—pushing Luce about
-the room.</p>
-
-<p>"I bean't a lazy slut."</p>
-
-<p>"You haven't touched the mantelpiece; give
-me the duster!"—snatching it from her.</p>
-
-<p>"He be done."</p>
-
-<p>"All you can do is to stand and talk with the
-men. There's no water taken up stairs."</p>
-
-<p>"That there be."</p>
-
-<p>"You know you ought to be doing something;<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_243" id="Page_243">[243]</a></span>
-the lazy lot of people in this house; I never saw
-anything like it; there's Mr. Iden's other boots to be
-cleaned, and there's the parlour to be swept, and the
-path to be weeded, and the things to be taken over
-for washing, and the teapot ought to go in to Woolhorton,
-you know the lid's loose, and the children
-will be here in a minute for the scraps, and your
-master will be in to lunch, and there's not a soul to
-help me in the least," and so, flinging the duster at
-Luce, out she flew into the court, and thence into
-the kitchen, where she cut a great slice of bread
-and cheese, and drew a quart of ale, and took them
-out to Bill Nye.</p>
-
-<p>"Aw, thank'ee m'm," said Bill, from the very
-depth of his chest, and set to work happily.</p>
-
-<p>Next, she drew a mug for Jearje, who held it
-with one hand and sipped, while he turned with
-the other; his bread and cheese he ate in like
-manner, he could not wait till he had finished the
-churning.</p>
-
-<p>"Verily, man is made up of impatience," said
-the angel Gabriel in the Koran, as you no doubt
-remember; Adam was made of clay (who was the
-sculptor's ghost that modelled him?) and when the
-breath of life was breathed into him, he rose on his
-arm and began to eat before his lower limbs were
-yet vivified. This is a fact. "Verily, man is made
-up of impatience." As the angel had never had a
-stomach or anything to sit upon, as the French say,
-he need not have made so unkind a remark; if he
-had had a stomach and a digestion like Bill Nye and<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_244" id="Page_244">[244]</a></span>
-Jearje, it is certain he would never have wanted to
-be an angel.</p>
-
-<p>Next, there were four cottage children now in
-the court, waiting for scraps.</p>
-
-<p>Mrs. Iden, bustling to and fro like a whirlwind,
-swept the poor little things into the kitchen and
-filled two baskets for them with slices of bread and
-butter, squares of cheese, a beef bone, half a rabbit,
-a dish of cold potatoes, two bottles of beer from the
-barrel, odds and ends, and so swept them off again
-in a jiffy.</p>
-
-<p>Mrs. Iden! Mrs. Iden! you ought to be ashamed
-of yourself, that is not the way to feed the poor.
-What <i>could</i> you be thinking of, you ignorant
-farmer's wife!</p>
-
-<p>You should go to London, Mrs. Iden, and join a
-Committee with duchesses and earlesses, and wives
-of rich City tradesfolk; much more important
-these than the duchesses, they will teach you manners.
-They will teach you how to feed the poor
-with the help of the Rev. Joseph Speechify, and
-the scientific Dr. Amœba Bacillus; Joe has Providence
-at his fingers' ends, and guides it in the
-right way; Bacillus knows everything to a particle;
-with Providence and Science together they <i>must</i>
-do it properly.</p>
-
-<p>The scientific dinner for the poor must be composed
-of the principles of food in the right proportion:
-(1) Albuminates, (2) Hydro-Carbons, (3)
-Carbo-hydrates. Something juicy coming now!</p>
-
-<p>The scientific dinner consists of haricot beans, or<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_245" id="Page_245">[245]</a></span>
-lentil soup, or oatmeal porridge, or vegetable pot-bouilli;
-say twopence a quart. They can get all
-the proteids out of that, and lift the requisite
-foot-tons.</p>
-
-<p>No wasteful bread and butter, no scandalous
-cheese, no abominable beef bone, no wretched rabbit,
-no prodigal potatoes, above all, No immoral ale!</p>
-
-<p>There, Mrs. Iden.</p>
-
-<p>Go to the famous Henry Ward Beecher, that
-shining light and apostle, Mrs. Iden, and read,
-mark, learn, and inwardly digest what he says:—</p>
-
-<p>"A man who cannot live on bread is not fit to
-live. A family may live, laugh, love and be happy
-that eats bread in the morning with good water,
-and water and good bread at noon, and water and
-bread at night."</p>
-
-<p>Does that sound like an echo of the voice that
-ceased on the Cross?</p>
-
-<p>Guilty Mrs Iden, ignorant farmer's wife; hide
-your beef and ale, your rabbit and potatoes.</p>
-
-<p>To duchesses and earlesses, and plump City
-ladies riding in carriages, and all such who eat
-and drink five times a day, and have six or eight
-courses at dinner, doubtless once now and then a
-meal of vegetable pot-bouilli, or oatmeal porridge,
-or lentil soup (three halfpence a pound lentils), or
-haricot beans and water would prove a scientifically
-wholesome thing.</p>
-
-<p>But to those who exist all the week on hunches
-of dry bread, and not much of that, oatmeal porridge
-doesn't seem to come as a luxury. They would<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_246" id="Page_246">[246]</a></span>
-like something juicy; good rumpsteak now, with
-plenty of rich gravy, broad slices from legs of
-mutton, and foaming mugs of ale. They need something
-to put fresh blood and warmth into them.</p>
-
-<p>You sometimes hear people remark: "How
-strange it is—the poor never buy oatmeal, or
-lentils!"</p>
-
-<p>Of course they don't; if by any chance they do
-get a shilling to spend, they like a mutton chop.
-They have enough of farinaceous fare.</p>
-
-<p>What Mrs. Iden ought to have done had she
-been scientific, was to have given each of these
-poor hungry children a nicely printed little pamphlet,
-teaching them how to cook.</p>
-
-<p>Instead of which, she set all their teeth going;
-infinitely wicked Mrs. Iden!</p>
-
-<div class="figcenter" style="width: 175px;">
-<img src="images/i-025.png" width="175" height="200" alt="decoration" title="" />
-</div>
-
-
-
-<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_247" id="Page_247">[247]</a></span></p>
-<div class="figcenter" style="width: 500px;">
-<img src="images/i-039.png" width="500" height="89" alt="decoration" title="" />
-</div>
-
-
-<h2>CHAPTER XXXIII.</h2>
-
-
-<div class="figleft" style="width: 120px;">
-<img src="images/y.png" width="120" height="121" alt="Y" title="" />
-</div><div class='unindent'>OU must drink it all—every drop,"
-said Amaryllis, masterfully, as Amadis
-lingered over the glass of milk she had
-brought him. He had but half finished
-it; she insisted, "Come, drink it all."
-Amadis made an effort, and obeyed.</div>
-
-<p>But his heart was bitter as absinthe.</p>
-
-<p>Everyone else was strong, and hardy, and manly;
-even the women were manly, they could eat and
-drink.</p>
-
-<p>Rough-headed Jearje, at the churn, ate hard
-cheese, and drank ale, and turned the crank at the
-same time.</p>
-
-<p>Round-headed Bill Nye sat on the form, happily
-munching cheese, oh so happily! Gabriel (of the
-Koran) would never believe how happily, sipping
-his tall quart-mug.</p>
-
-<p>Mrs. Iden bustled to and fro, for all her fifty
-years, more energetic than all the hamlet put together.</p>
-
-<p>Luce, the maid, had worked since six, and would
-go on hours longer.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_248" id="Page_248">[248]</a></span></p>
-
-<p>Alere Flamma was smoking and sipping Goliath
-ale in the summer-house; he could eat, and drink,
-and walk about as a man should.</p>
-
-<p>Amaryllis was as strong as a young lioness; he
-had seen her turn the heavy cheese-tub round as if
-it were a footstool.</p>
-
-<p>He alone was weak, pale, contemptible; unable
-to eat strong meat; unable to drink strong drink;
-put down to sip milk as an infant; unable to walk
-farther than Plum Corner in the garden; unable to
-ride even; a mere shadow, a thing of contempt.</p>
-
-<p>They told him he was better. There was just a
-trifle of pink in his face, and he could walk to Plum
-Corner in the garden without clinging to Amaryllis's
-arm, or staying to steady himself and get his balance
-more than three or four times. He had even ventured
-a little way up the meadow-path, but it made
-him giddy to stoop to pick a buttercup. They
-told him he was better; he could eat a very little
-more, and sip a wine-glassful of Goliath.</p>
-
-<p>Better! What a mockery to a man who could
-once row, and ride, and shoot, and walk his thirty
-miles, and play his part in any sport you chose!
-It was absinthe to him.</p>
-
-<p>He could not stoop to turn the churn—he had
-to sip milk in the presence of strong men drinking
-strong drink; to be despised; the very servant-maid
-talking of him as in a decline.</p>
-
-<p>And before Amaryllis; before whom he wished
-to appear a man.</p>
-
-<p>And full of ideas, too; he felt that he had ideas,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_249" id="Page_249">[249]</a></span>
-that he could think, yet he could scarce set one
-foot safely before the other, not without considering
-first and feeling his way.</p>
-
-<p>Rough-headed Jearje, without a thought, was as
-strong as the horses he led in the waggon.</p>
-
-<p>Round-headed Bill Nye, without an idea, could
-mow all day in the heat of July.</p>
-
-<p>He, with all his ideas, his ambitions, his exalted
-hopes, his worship of Amaryllis—he was nothing.
-Less than nothing—a shadow.</p>
-
-<p>To despise oneself is more bitter than absinthe.</p>
-
-<p>Let us go to Al Hariri once again, and hear what
-he says. The speaker has been very, very ill, but
-is better:—</p>
-
-<div class="blockquot"><p>And he prostrated himself long in prayer: then raised
-his head, and said:—</p></div>
-
-<div class='poem2'>
-"Despair not in calamities of a gladdening that shall wipe away thy sorrows;<br />
-For how many a simoom blows, then turns to a gentle breeze, and is changed!<br />
-How many a hateful cloud arises, then passes away, and pours not forth!<br />
-And the smoke of the wood, fear is conceived of it, yet no blaze appears from it;<br />
-And oft sorrow rises, and straightway sets again.<br />
-So be patient when fear assails, for Time is the Father of Wonders;<br />
-And hope from the peace of God blessings not to be reckoned!"<br />
-</div>
-
-<p>How should such a chant as this enter a young
-man's heart who felt himself despicable in the sight
-of his mistress?<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_250" id="Page_250">[250]</a></span></p>
-
-<p>"Should you like a little more?" asked Amaryllis,
-in a very gentle tone, now he had obeyed her.</p>
-
-<p>"I would rather not," said Amadis, still hanging
-his head.</p>
-
-<p>His days were mixed of honey and wormwood;
-sweet because of Amaryllis, absinthe because of his
-weakness.</p>
-
-<p>A voice came from the summer-house; Flamma
-was shouting an old song, with heavy emphasis
-here and there, with big capital letters:—</p>
-
-<div class='poem'>
-The jolly old Sun, where goes he at night?<br />
-And what does he Do, when he's out of Sight?<br />
-<span style="margin-left: 2em;">All Insinuation Scorning;</span><br />
-I don't mean to Say that he Tipples apace,<br />
-I only Know he's a very Red Face<br />
-<span style="margin-left: 2em;">When he gets up in the Morning!</span><br />
-</div>
-
-<p>"Haw! Haw! Haw!" laughed Bill Nye, with
-his mouth full. "Th' zun do look main red in the
-marning, surely."</p>
-
-<p>They heard the front door open and shut; Iden
-had come in for his lunch, and, by the sound of the
-footsteps, had brought one of his gossips with
-him.</p>
-
-<p>At this Mrs. Iden began to ruffle up her feathers
-for battle.</p>
-
-<p>Iden came through into the dairy.</p>
-
-<p>"Now, you ain't wanted here," she said. "Poking
-your nose into everything. Wonder you don't
-help Luce make the beds and sweep the floor!"</p>
-
-<p>"Can I help'ee?" said Iden, soothingly. "Want
-any wood for the fire—or anything?"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_251" id="Page_251">[251]</a></span></p>
-
-<p>"As if Luce couldn't fetch the wood—and chop
-it, as well as you. Why can't you mind your business?
-Here's Bill Nye been waiting these two
-hours to see you"—following Iden towards the
-sitting-room. "Who have you brought in with
-you now? Of course, everybody comes in of a
-butter-making morning, just the busiest time!
-Oh! it's you! Sit still, Mr. Duck; I don't mind
-<i>you</i>. What will you take?"</p>
-
-<p>More ale and cheese here, too; Iden and Jack
-Duck sat in the bow-window and went at their
-lunch. So soon as they were settled, out flounced
-Mrs. Iden into the dairy: "The lazy lot of people
-in this house—I never saw anything like it!"</p>
-
-<p>It was true.</p>
-
-<p>There was Alere Flamma singing in the summer-house;
-Amadis Iden resting on the form; Amaryllis
-standing by him; Bill Nye munching;
-Jearje indolently rotating the churn with one hand,
-and feeding himself with the other; Luce sitting
-down to her lunch in the kitchen; Iden lifting his
-mug in the bow-window; Jack Duck with his great
-mouth full; eight people—and four little children
-trotting down the road with baskets of food.</p>
-
-<p>"The lazy lot of people in this house; I never
-saw anything like it."</p>
-
-<p>And that was the beauty of the place, the "Let
-us not trouble ourselves;" "a handful in Peace and
-Quiet" is better than set banquets; crumbs for
-everybody, and for the robin too; "God listens to
-those who pray to him. Let us eat, and drink, and<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_252" id="Page_252">[252]</a></span>
-think of nothing;" believe me, the plain plenty,
-and the rest, and peace, and sunshine of an old
-farmhouse, there is nothing like it in this world!</p>
-
-<p>"I never saw anything like it. Nothing done;
-nothing done; the morning gone and nothing done;
-and the butter's not come yet!"</p>
-
-<p>Homer is thought much of; now, his heroes are
-always eating. They eat all through the Iliad, they
-eat at Patroclus' tomb; Ulysses eats a good deal
-in the Odyssey: Jupiter eats. They only did at
-Coombe-Oaks as was done on Olympus.</p>
-
-<div class="figcenter" style="width: 120px;">
-<img src="images/i-027.png" width="120" height="180" alt="decoration" title="" />
-</div>
-
-
-
-<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_253" id="Page_253">[253]</a></span></p>
-<div class="figcenter" style="width: 500px;">
-<img src="images/i-057.png" width="500" height="84" alt="decoration" title="" />
-</div>
-
-
-<h2>CHAPTER XXXIV.</h2>
-
-
-<div class="figleft" style="width: 120px;">
-<img src="images/a.png" width="120" height="120" alt="A" title="" />
-</div><div class='unindent'>MARYLLIS went outside the court,
-and waited; Amadis rose and followed
-her. "Come a little way into the
-Brook-Field," she said.</div>
-
-<p>They left the apple-bloom behind
-them, and going down the gravel-path passed the
-plum trees—the daffodils there were over now—by
-the strawberry patch which Iden had planted under
-the parlour window; by the great box-hedge where
-a thrush sat on her nest undisturbed, though Amaryllis's
-dress brushed the branches; by the espalier
-apple, to the little orchard-gate.</p>
-
-<p>The parlour-window—there are no parlours now,
-except in old country houses; there were parlours
-in the days of Queen Anne; in the modern villas
-they have drawing-rooms.</p>
-
-<p>The parlour-window hung over with pear-tree
-branches, planted beneath with strawberry; white
-blossom above, white flower beneath; birds' nests
-in the branches of the pear—that was Iden.</p>
-
-<p>They opened the little orchard-gate which pushed
-heavily against the tall meadow-grass growing between<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_254" id="Page_254">[254]</a></span>
-the bars. The path was almost gone—grown
-out with grass, and as they moved they left a broad
-trail behind them.</p>
-
-<p>Bill Nye the mower, had he seen, would have
-muttered to himself; they were trespassing on his
-mowing-grass, trampling it, and making it more
-difficult to cut.</p>
-
-<p>Her dress swept over the bennets and shook the
-thick-stemmed butter-cups—branched like the
-golden candlestick, and with flowers of golden flame.
-For the burnished petals reflect the sun, and throw
-light back into the air.</p>
-
-<p>Amadis began to drag behind—he could not
-walk much farther; they sat down together on the
-trunk of an oak that had been felled by a gateway
-close to the horse-chestnut trees Iden had planted.
-Even with his back leaning against a limb of the
-oak, Amadis had to partly support himself with his
-hands.</p>
-
-<p>What was the use of such a man?—He had
-nothing but his absurdly romantic name from Don
-Quixote to recommend him.</p>
-
-<p>That was the very thought that gnawed at poor
-Amadis's heart as he sat by her side. What use to
-care for him?</p>
-
-<p>Iden's flag-basket of tools lay by the gate, it was
-a new gate, and he had been fitting it before he
-went in to lunch. His basket was of flag because
-the substance of the flag is soft, and the tools,
-chisels, and so on, laid pleasant in it; he must have
-everything right. The new gate was of solid oak,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_255" id="Page_255">[255]</a></span>
-no "sappy" stuff, real heart of oak, well-seasoned,
-without a split, fine, close-grained timber, cut on the
-farm, and kept till it was thoroughly fit, genuine
-English oak. If you would only consider Iden's
-gate you might see there the man.</p>
-
-<p>This gateway was only between two meadows,
-and the ordinary farmer, when the old gate wore
-out, would have stopped it with a couple of rails, or
-a hurdle or two, something very, very cheap and
-rough; at most a gate knocked up by the village
-carpenter of ash and willow, at the lowest possible
-charge.</p>
-
-<p>Iden could not find a carpenter good enough to
-make <i>his</i> gate in the hamlet; he sent for one ten
-miles, and paid him full carpenter's wages. He
-was not satisfied then, he watched the man at his
-work to see that the least little detail was done
-correctly, till the fellow would have left the job,
-had he not been made pliable by the Goliath ale.
-So he just stretched the job out as long as he
-could, and talked and talked with Iden, and stroked
-him the right way, and drank the ale, and "played
-it upon me and on William, That day in a way I
-despise." Till what with the planing, and shaving,
-and smoothing, and morticing, and ale, and time,
-it footed up a pretty bill, enough for three commonplace
-gates, not of the Iden style.</p>
-
-<p>Why, Iden had put away those pieces of timber
-years before for this very purpose, and had watched
-the sawyers saw them out at the pit. They would
-have made good oak furniture. There was nothing<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_256" id="Page_256">[256]</a></span>
-special or particular about this gateway; he had
-done the same in turn for every gateway on the
-farm; it was the Iden way.</p>
-
-<p>A splendid gate it was, when it was finished, fit
-for a nobleman's Home Park. I doubt, if you
-would find such a gate, so well proportioned, and
-made of such material on any great estate in the
-kingdom. For not even dukes can get an Iden to
-look after their property. An Iden is not to be
-"picked up," I can tell you.</p>
-
-<p>The neighbourhood round about had always
-sneered in the broad country way at Iden's
-gates. "Vit for m' Lard's park. What do <i>he</i>
-want wi' such geates? A' ain't a got no cattle
-to speak on; any ould rail ud do as good as thuck
-geat."</p>
-
-<p>The neighbourhood round about could never
-understand Iden, never could see why he had gone
-to such great trouble to render the homestead
-beautiful with trees, why he had re-planted the
-orchard with pleasant eating apples in the place of
-the old cider apples, hard and sour. "Why
-wouldn't thaay a' done for he as well as for we?"</p>
-
-<p>All the acts of Iden seemed to the neighbourhood
-to be the acts of a "vool."</p>
-
-<p>When he cut a hedge, for instance, Iden used to
-have the great bushes that bore unusually fine May
-bloom saved from the billhook, that they might
-flower in the spring. So, too, with the crab-apples—for
-the sake of the white blossom; so, too, with
-the hazel—for the nuts.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_257" id="Page_257">[257]</a></span></p>
-
-<p>But what caused the most "wonderment" was
-the planting of the horse-chestnuts in the corner of
-the meadow? Whatever did he want with horse-chestnuts?
-No other horse-chestnuts grew about
-there. You couldn't eat the horse-chestnuts when
-they dropped in autumn.</p>
-
-<p>In truth Iden built for all time, and not for the
-little circumstance of the hour. His gate was
-meant to last for years, rain and shine, to endure
-any amount of usage, to be a work of Art in
-itself.</p>
-
-<p>His gate as the tangible symbol of his mind—was
-at once his strength and his folly. His
-strength, for it was such qualities as these that
-made Old England famous, and set her on the firm
-base whereon she now stands—built for all Time.
-His folly, because he made too much of little things,
-instead of lifting his mind higher.</p>
-
-<p>If only he could have lived three hundred years
-the greater world would have begun to find out
-Iden and to idolize him, and make pilgrimages
-from over sea to Coombe Oaks, to hear him talk,
-for Iden could talk of the trees and grass, and all
-that the Earth bears, as if one had conversed face
-to face with the great god Pan himself.</p>
-
-<p>But while Iden slumbered with his head against
-the panel—think, think, think—this shallow world
-of ours, this petty threescore years and ten, was
-slipping away. Already Amaryllis had marked
-with bitterness at heart the increasing stoop of the
-strong back.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_258" id="Page_258">[258]</a></span></p>
-
-<p>Iden was like the great engineer who could
-never build a bridge, because he knew so well how
-a bridge ought to be built.</p>
-
-<p>"Such a fuss over a mess of a gate," said Mrs.
-Iden, "making yourself ridiculous: I believe that
-carpenter is just taking advantage of you. Why
-can't you go into town and see your father?—it
-would be a hundred pounds in your pocket"—as it
-would have been, no doubt. If only Mrs. Iden had
-gone about her lecture in a pleasanter manner perhaps
-he would have taken her advice.</p>
-
-<p>Resting upon the brown timber in the grass
-Amaryllis and Amadis could just see a corner of
-the old house through the spars of the new gate.
-Coombe Oaks was a grown house, if you understand;
-a house that had grown in the course of
-many generations, not built to set order; it had
-grown like a tree that adapts itself to circumstances,
-and, therefore, like the tree it was beautiful
-to look at. There were windows in deep notches,
-between gables where there was no look-out except
-at the pears on the wall, awkward windows, quite
-bewildering. A workman came to mend one one
-day, and could not get at it. "Darned if I ever
-seed such a crooked picter of a house!" said
-he.</p>
-
-<p>A kingfisher shot across above the golden surface
-of the buttercups, straight for the brook,
-moving, as it seemed, without wings, so swiftly did
-he vibrate them, that only his azure hue was visible,
-drawn like a line of peacock blue over the gold.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_259" id="Page_259">[259]</a></span></p>
-
-<p>In the fitness of things Amaryllis ought not to
-have been sitting there like this, with Amadis lost
-in the sweet summer dream of love.</p>
-
-<p>She ought to have loved and married a Launcelot
-du Lake, a hero of the mighty arm, only with
-the income of Sir Gorgius Midas: that is the
-proper thing.</p>
-
-<p>But the fitness of things never comes to pass—everything
-happens in the Turkish manner.</p>
-
-<p>Here was Amaryllis, very strong and full of life,
-very, very young and inexperienced, very poor and
-without the least expectation whatever (for who
-could reconcile the old and the older Iden?), the
-daughter of poor and embarrassed parents, whom
-she wished and prayed to help in their coming old
-age. Here was Amaryllis, full of poetic feeling
-and half a painter at heart, full of generous sentiments—what
-a nature to be ground down in the
-sordidness of married poverty!</p>
-
-<p>Here was Amadis, extremely poor, quite feeble,
-and unable to earn a shilling, just talking of seeing
-the doctor again about this fearful debility, full too,
-as he thought at least, of ideas—what a being to
-think of her!</p>
-
-<p>Nothing ever happens in the fitness of things.
-If only now he could have regained the health and
-strength of six short months ago—if only that,
-but you see, he had not even that. He might get
-better; true—he <i>might</i>, I have tried 80 drugs and
-I am no better, I hope he will.</p>
-
-<p>Could any blundering Sultan in the fatalistic<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_260" id="Page_260">[260]</a></span>
-East have put things together for them with more
-utter contempt of fitness? It is all in the
-Turkish manner, you see.</p>
-
-<p>There they sat, happier and happier, and
-deeper and deeper in love every moment, on the
-brown timber in the long grass, their hearts as full
-of love as the meadow was of sunshine.</p>
-
-<p>You have heard of the Sun's Golden Cup, in
-which after sunset he was carried over Ocean's
-stream, while we slumber in the night, to land
-again in the East and give us the joy of his rising.
-The great Golden Cup in which Hercules, too, was
-taken over; it was as if that Cup had been filled to
-the brim with the nectar of love and placed at the
-lips to drink, inexhaustible.</p>
-
-<p>In the play of Faust—Alere's <i>Faust</i>—Goethe
-has put an interlude, an Intermezzo; I shall leave
-Amaryllis and Amadis in their Interlude in Heaven.
-Let the Play of Human Life, with its sorrows and its
-Dread, pause awhile; let Care go aside behind the
-wings, let Debt and Poverty unrobe, let Age
-stand upright, let Time stop still (oh, Miracle! as
-the Sun did in the Vale of Ajalon). Let us leave
-our lovers in the Interlude in Heaven.</p>
-
-<p>And as I must leave them (I trust but for a
-little while) I will leave them on the brown oak
-timber, sap-stain brown, in the sunshine and
-dancing shadow of summer, among the long grass
-and the wild flowers.</p>
-
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-<div class='hang1'><b>THREE PLAYS: Hamilton's Second Marriage—Thomas
-and the Princess—The Modern Way.</b> By Mrs. W. K.
-Clifford. In One Volume, cloth, crown 8vo. 6<i>s.</i></div>
-
-
-<div class='center'><br /><i>DE L'ISLE ADAM, VILLIERS</i></div>
-
-<div class='hang1'><b>THE REVOLT AND THE ESCAPE.</b> By Villiers
-de L'Isle Adam. Translated by Theresa Barclay. A Re-issue. Cloth.
-Crown 8vo. 2<i>s.</i> net.</div>
-
-
-<div class='center'><br /><i>GALSWORTHY, JOHN</i></div>
-
-<div class='hang1'><b>PLAYS: The Silver Box—Joy—Strife.</b> By John Galsworthy.
-Crown 8vo. 6<i>s.</i> <i>Fourth Impression.</i> Also in Single Volumes;
-Cloth, 2<i>s.</i> net; Paper Covers, 1<i>s.</i> 6<i>d.</i> net.</div>
-
-
-<div class='center'><br /><i>GALSWORTHY, JOHN</i></div>
-
-<div class='hang1'><b>JUSTICE; A TRAGEDY IN FOUR ACTS.</b> By
-John Galsworthy. <i>Third Impression.</i> Cloth, 2<i>s.</i> net. Paper covers,
-1<i>s.</i> 6<i>d.</i> net.</div>
-
-
-<div class='center'><br /><i>GARNETT, EDWARD</i></div>
-
-<div class='hang1'><b>THE BREAKING POINT: A CENSURED PLAY.</b>
-By Edward Garnett. Crown 8vo. 2<i>s.</i> net.</div>
-
-
-<div class='center'><br /><i>HAUPTMANN, GERHART</i></div>
-
-<div class='hang1'><b>THE COMING OF PEACE (Das Friedensfest).</b> By
-Gerhart Hauptmann. A Re-issue. Crown 8vo. Cloth. 2<i>s.</i> net.</div>
-
-
-<div class='center'><br /><i>MARTYN, EDWARD</i></div>
-
-<div class='hang1'><b>THE HEATHER FIELD and MAEVE.</b> Two Plays
-by Edward Martyn, with an Introduction by George Moore. Pott 4to. 5<i>s.</i></div>
-
-
-<div class='center'><br /><i>OSTROVSKY</i></div>
-
-<div class='hang1'><b>THE STORM.</b> Translated by Constance Garnett. A Re-issue.
-Crown 8vo. Cloth. 2<i>s.</i> net.</div>
-
-
-<div class='center'><br /><i>STRINDBERG, AUGUST</i></div>
-
-<div class='hang1'><b>THE FATHER.</b> Translated by N. Erichsen. A Re-issue.
-Crown 8vo. Cloth. 2<i>s.</i> net.</div>
-
-
-<div class='center'><br /><i>SUDERMANN, HERMANN</i></div>
-
-<div class='hang1'><b>THE JOY OF LIVING (Es Lebe das Leben).</b> By
-Hermann Sudermann. Crown 8vo. 4<i>s.</i> 6<i>d.</i> net.</div>
-
-
-<div class='center'><br /><i>VERHAEREN, EMILE</i></div>
-
-<div class='hang1'><b>THE DAWN (Les Aubes).</b> Translated by Arthur
-Symons. A Re-issue. Crown 8vo. Cloth. 2<i>s.</i> net.</div>
-
-
-<div class='center'><br /><i>WOODS, MARGARET L.</i></div>
-
-<div class='hang1'><b>THE PRINCESS OF HANOVER.</b> By Margaret
-L. Woods. A Re-issue. Crown 8vo. Cloth. 2<i>s.</i> net.</div>
-
-
-
-<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_1_ad" id="Page_1_ad">[1]</a></span></p>
-<h2>A SELECTION FROM<br />
-DUCKWORTH & CO.'S<br />
-LIST OF PUBLICATIONS</h2>
-
-
-<div class="figcenter" style="width: 187px;">
-<img src="images/logo.png" width="187" height="200" alt="Emblem" title="" />
-</div>
-
-
-<div class='center'><br /><br />
-<small>3 HENRIETTA STREET, COVENT GARDEN</small><br />
-<small>LONDON, W.C.</small><br />
-</div>
-
-
-
-<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_2_ad" id="Page_2_ad">[2]</a></span></p>
-<h2>DUCKWORTH & CO.'S<br />
-PUBLICATIONS</h2>
-
-
-<h3>ANIMAL LIFE AND WILD NATURE<br />
-(STORIES OF).</h3>
-
-<div class='center'><i>Uniform binding, large cr. 8vo. 6s. net.</i></div>
-
-<div class='hang1'><span class="smcap">Under the Roof of the Jungle.</span> A Book of Animal Life
-in the Guiana Wilds. Written and illustrated by Charles
-Livingston Bull. With 60 full-page plates drawn from
-Life by the Author.</div>
-
-<div class='hang1'><span class="smcap">The Kindred of the Wild.</span> A Book of Animal Life. By
-Charles G. D. Roberts, Professor of Literature, Toronto
-University, late Deputy-Keeper of Woods and Forests,
-Canada. With many illustrations by Charles Livingston
-Bull.</div>
-
-<div class='hang1'><span class="smcap">The Watchers of the Trails.</span> A Book of Animal Life.
-By Charles G. D. Roberts. With 48 illustrations by
-Charles Livingston Bull.</div>
-
-<div class='hang1'><span class="smcap">The Story of Red Fox.</span> A Biography. By Charles G. D.
-Roberts. Illustrated by Charles Livingston Bull.</div>
-
-<div class='hang1'><span class="smcap">The Haunters of the Silences.</span> A Book of Wild Nature.
-By Charles G. D. Roberts. Illustrated by Charles
-Livingston Bull.</div>
-
-
-<h3>BOOKS ON ART.</h3>
-
-<div class="hang1"><span class="smcap">Art—The Library of</span>, embracing Painting, Sculpture, Architecture,
-etc. Edited by Mrs S. Arthur Strong, LL.D.
-<i>Extra cloth</i>, with lettering and design in gold. <i>Large
-cr. 8vo</i> (7-3/4 in. × 5-3/4 in.), <i>gilt top, headband. 5s. net a
-volume. Inland postage, 5d.</i></div>
-
-
-<div class='center'><br /><small>LIST OF VOLUMES</small></div>
-
-<div class="hang2"><span class="smcap">Donatello.</span> By Lord Balcarres, M.P. With 58 plates.</div>
-
-<div class='hang2'><span class="smcap">Great Masters of Dutch and Flemish Painting.</span> By Dr
-W. Bode. With 48 plates.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_3_ad" id="Page_3_ad">[3]</a></span></div>
-
-<div class='hang2'><span class="smcap">Rembrandt.</span> By G. Baldwin Brown, of the University of Edinburgh.
-With 45 plates.</div>
-
-<div class='hang2'><span class="smcap">Antonio Pollaiuolo.</span> By Maud Cruttwell. With 50 plates.</div>
-
-<div class='hang2'><span class="smcap">Verrocchio.</span> By Maud Cruttwell. With 48 plates.</div>
-
-<div class='hang2'><span class="smcap">The Lives of the British Architects.</span> By E. Beresford
-Chancellor. With 45 plates.</div>
-
-<div class='hang2'><span class="smcap">The School of Madrid.</span> By A. de Beruete y Moret. With 48
-plates.</div>
-
-<div class='hang2'><span class="smcap">William Blake.</span> By Basil de Selincourt. With 40 plates.</div>
-
-<div class='hang2'><span class="smcap">Giotto.</span> By Basil de Selincourt. With 44 plates.</div>
-
-<div class='hang2'><span class="smcap">French Painting in the Sixteenth Century.</span> By L. Dimier.
-With 50 plates.</div>
-
-<div class='hang2'><span class="smcap">The School of Ferrara.</span> By Edmund G. Gardner. With 50 plates.</div>
-
-<div class='hang2'><span class="smcap">Six Greek Sculptors.</span> (Myron, Pheidias, Polykleitos, Skopas,
-Praxiteles, and Lysippos.) By Ernest Gardner. With 81 plates.</div>
-
-<div class='hang2'><span class="smcap">Titian.</span> By Dr Georg Gronau. With 54 plates.</div>
-
-<div class='hang2'><span class="smcap">Constable.</span> By M. Sturge Henderson. With 48 plates.</div>
-
-<div class='hang2'><span class="smcap">Pisanello.</span> By G. F. Hill. With 50 plates.</div>
-
-<div class='hang2'><span class="smcap">Michael Angelo.</span> By Sir Charles Holroyd. With 52 plates.</div>
-
-<div class='hang2'><span class="smcap">Mediæval Art.</span> By W. R. Lethaby. With 66 plates and 120
-drawings in the text.</div>
-
-<div class='hang2'><span class="smcap">The Scottish School of Painting.</span> By William D. McKay,
-R.S.A. With 46 plates.</div>
-
-<div class='hang2'><span class="smcap">Christopher Wren.</span> By Lena Milman. With upwards of 60 plates.</div>
-
-<div class='hang2'><span class="smcap">Correggio.</span> By T. Sturge Moore. With 55 plates.</div>
-
-<div class='hang2'><span class="smcap">Albert Dürer.</span> By T. Sturge Moore. With 4 copperplates and 50
-half-tone engravings.</div>
-
-<div class='hang2'><span class="smcap">Sir William Beechey, R.A.</span> By W. Roberts. With 49 plates.</div>
-
-<div class='hang2'><span class="smcap">The School of Seville.</span> By N. Sentenach. With 50 plates.</div>
-
-<div class='hang2'><span class="smcap">Roman Sculpture from Augustus to Constantine.</span> By Mrs
-S. Arthur Strong, LL.D., Editor of the Series. 2 vols. With
-130 plates.<br /><br /></div>
-
-
-<div class="hang1"><span class="smcap"><a name="Art_The_Popular_Library_of" id="Art_The_Popular_Library_of"></a>Art, The Popular Library of.</span> Pocket volumes of biographical
-and critical value on the great painters, with very
-many reproductions of the artists' works. Each volume
-averages 200 pages, 16mo, with from 40 to 50 illustrations.
-To be had in different styles of binding: <i>Boards gilt, 1s.
-net; green canvas and red cloth gilt, 2s. net; limp lambskin,
-red and green, 2s. 6d. net.</i> Several titles can also
-be had in the popular Persian yapp binding, in box.
-<i>2s. 6d. net each.</i></div>
-
-
-<div class='center'><br /><small>LIST OF VOLUMES.</small></div>
-
-<div class='hang2'><span class="smcap">Botticelli.</span> By Julia Cartwright (Mrs Ady). Also in Persian yapp
-binding.</div>
-
-<div class='hang2'><span class="smcap">Raphael.</span> By Julia Cartwright (Mrs Ady). Also in Persian yapp
-binding.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_4_ad" id="Page_4_ad">[4]</a></span></div>
-
-<div class='hang2'><span class="smcap">Frederick Walker.</span> By Clementina Black.</div>
-
-<div class='hang2'><span class="smcap">Rembrandt.</span> By Auguste Bréal.</div>
-
-<div class='hang2'><span class="smcap">Velazquez.</span> By Auguste Bréal.</div>
-
-<div class='hang2'><span class="smcap">Gainsborough.</span> By Arthur B. Chamberlain.</div>
-
-<div class='hang2'><span class="smcap">Cruikshank.</span> By W. H. Chesson.</div>
-
-<div class='hang2'><span class="smcap">Blake.</span> By G. K. Chesterton.</div>
-
-<div class='hang2'><span class="smcap">G. F. Watts.</span> By G. K. Chesterton. Also in Persian yapp binding.</div>
-
-<div class='hang2'><span class="smcap">Albrecht Dürer.</span> By Lina Eckenstein.</div>
-
-<div class='hang2'><span class="smcap">The English Water-Colour Painters.</span> By A. J. Finberg. Also
-in Persian yapp binding.</div>
-
-<div class='hang2'><span class="smcap">Hogarth.</span> By Edward Garnett.</div>
-
-<div class='hang2'><span class="smcap">Leonardo da Vinci.</span> By Dr Georg Gronau.</div>
-
-<div class='hang2'><span class="smcap">Holbein.</span> By Ford Madox Hueffer.</div>
-
-<div class='hang2'><span class="smcap">Rossetti.</span> By Ford Madox Hueffer. Also in Persian yapp binding.</div>
-
-<div class='hang2'><span class="smcap">The Pre-Raphaelite Brotherhood.</span> By Ford Madox Hueffer.</div>
-
-<div class='hang2'><span class="smcap">Perugino.</span> By Edward Hutton.</div>
-
-<div class='hang2'><span class="smcap">Millet.</span> By Romain Rolland.</div>
-
-<div class='hang2'><span class="smcap">Watteau.</span> By Camille Mauclair.</div>
-
-<div class='hang2'><span class="smcap">The French Impressionists.</span> By Camille Mauclair.</div>
-
-<div class='hang2'><span class="smcap">Whistler.</span> By Bernhard Sickert. Also in Persian yapp binding.<br /><br /></div>
-
-
-<div class='hang1'><span class="smcap">Amelung, Walther, and Holtzinger, Heinrich.</span> The
-Museums and Ruins of Rome. A Guide Book. Edited
-by Mrs S. Arthur Strong, LL.D. With 264 illustrations
-and map and plans. 2 vols. New and cheaper re-issue.
-<i>Fcap 8vo. 5s. net.</i></div>
-
-<div class='hang1'><span class="smcap">Burns, Rev. J.</span> Sermons in Art by the Great Masters.
-<i>Cloth gilt</i>, photogravure frontispiece and many illustrations.
-<i>Cr. 8vo. 6s.</i> Or bound in parchment, <i>5s. net</i>.</div>
-
-<div class='hang1'>—— The Christ Face in Art. With 60 illustrations in tint.
-<i>Cr. 8vo, cloth gilt. 6s.</i> Or bound in parchment, <i>5s. net.</i></div>
-
-<div class='hang1'><span class="smcap">Bussy, Dorothy.</span> Eugène Delacroix. A Critical Appreciation.
-With 26 illustrations. New and cheaper re-issue.
-<i>Cr. 8vo. 2s. 6d. net.</i></div>
-
-<div class='hang1'><span class="smcap">Carotti, Giulio.</span> A History of Art. English edition,
-edited by Mrs S. Arthur Strong, LL.D. In four
-volumes, with very numerous illustrations in each volume.
-<i>Small cr. 8vo. 5s. net each volume.</i></div>
-
-
-<div class='center'>
-<table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" summary="Volumes">
-<tr><td align='left'>Vol. I.—<span class="smcap">Ancient Art.</span> 500 illustrations.</td></tr>
-<tr><td align='left' colspan='4'>Vol. II.—<span class="smcap">Middle Ages down to the Golden Age.</span></td></tr>
-<tr><td align='left'>Vol. III.—<span class="smcap">The Golden Age.</span></td><td align='left'>[</td><td align='left'><i>In</i></td><td align='left'> <i>preparation.</i></td></tr>
-<tr><td align='left'>Vol. IV.—<span class="smcap">Modern Times.</span></td><td align='left'>[</td><td align='center'>"</td><td align='center'>"</td></tr>
-</table></div>
-
-<div class="hang1"><span class="smcap">Löwy, Emanuel.</span> The Rendering of Nature in Early Greek
-Art. With 30 illustrations. <i>Cr. 8vo. 5s. net.</i><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_5_ad" id="Page_5_ad">[5]</a></span></div>
-
-
-<div class='hang1'><span class="smcap">Mauclair, Camille.</span> Auguste Rodin. With very many
-illustrations and photogravure frontispiece. <i>Small 4to.</i>
-New and cheaper re-issue. <i>7s. 6d. net.</i></div>
-
-<div class='center'>
-<i>See also <a href="#Art_The_Popular_Library_of">Popular Library of Art</a> for other books by Camille Mauclair.</i><br />
-</div>
-
-
-
-<h3>GENERAL LITERATURE.</h3>
-
-<div class='hang1'><span class="smcap">Archer, William</span>, and <span class="smcap">Barker, H. Granville.</span> A
-National Theatre. Schemes and Estimates. By William
-Archer and H. Granville Barker. <i>Cr. 4to. 5s. net.</i></div>
-
-<div class='hang1'><span class="smcap">Aspinall, Algernon E.</span> The Pocket Guide to the West
-Indies. A New and Revised Edition, with maps, very
-fully illustrated. <i>Fcap. 8vo. 5s. net.</i></div>
-
-<div class='hang1'>—— West Indian Tales of Old. Illustrated. <i>Cr. 8vo. 5s. net.</i></div>
-
-<div class='hang1'><span class="smcap">Austin, Sarah.</span> The Story without an End. From the
-German of Carové. Retold by Sarah Austin. Illustrated
-by Frank C. Papé. 8 Illustrations in Colour,
-mounted with frames and plate marks. <i>Large cr. 8vo.
-Designed end papers. Designed cloth covers, fully gilt, gilt
-top, headband. In box. 5s. net.</i></div>
-
-<div class='hang1'>—— —— With illustrations by Paul Henry. <i>Sq. 8vo.
-1s. 6d. net.</i></div>
-
-<div class='hang1'><span class="smcap">Belloc, Hilaire.</span> Verses. <i>Large cr. 8vo.</i> 2nd edition.
-<i>5s. net.</i></div>
-
-<div class='hang1'>—— and B. T. B. The Bad Child's Book of Beasts. New
-edition. 25th thousand. <i>Sq. 4to. 1s. net.</i></div>
-
-<div class='hang1'>—— and B. T. B. More Beasts for Worse Children. New
-edition. <i>Sq. 4to. 1s. net.</i></div>
-
-<div class='center'><i>See also <a href="#READERS_LIBRARY">Readers' Library</a> and <a href="#Shilling_Net_Series">Shilling Series</a> for other books by H. Belloc.</i></div>
-
-<div class='hang1'><span class="smcap">Biron, H. C.</span> "Sir," Said Dr Johnson. Selections from
-Boswell's "Life of Johnson," arranged under comprehensive
-headings. <i>Demy 8vo. 6s. net.</i></div>
-
-<div class='hang1'><span class="smcap">Bourne, George.</span> Change in the Village: A study of the
-village of to-day. <i>Cr. 8vo. 5s. net.</i></div>
-
-<div class='center'><i>See the <a href="#READERS_LIBRARY">Readers' Library</a> for other books by George Bourne.</i></div>
-
-<div class='hang1'><span class="smcap">Boutroux, Emile.</span> The Beyond that is Within, and other
-Lectures. <i>Fcap. 8vo. 3s. 6d. net.</i></div>
-
-<div class='center'><i>See the <a href="#Crown_Library">Crown Library</a> for another book by Professor Boutroux.</i><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_6_ad" id="Page_6_ad">[6]</a></span></div>
-
-<div class='hang1'><span class="smcap">Brooke, Stopford A.</span> The Onward Cry: Essays and
-Sermons. New and Cheaper Edition. <i>Cr. 8vo. 2s. 6d.
-net.</i></div>
-
-<div class='center'><i>See also the <a href="#READERS_LIBRARY">Readers' Library</a> and <a href="#Roadmender_Series">Roadmender Series</a> for other
-books by Stopford Brooke.</i></div>
-
-<div class='hang1'><span class="smcap">Chapman, Hugh B.</span>, Chaplain of the Savoy. At the Back
-of Things: Essays and Addresses. <i>Cr. 8vo. 5s. net.</i></div>
-
-<div class='hang1'><span class="smcap">Collier, Price.</span> England and the English, from an American
-point of view. <i>Demy 8vo. 7s. 6d. net.</i> Also a
-popular edition, with Foreword by Lord Rosebery.
-<i>Fcap. 8vo. 2s. 6d. net.</i></div>
-
-<div class='hang1'>—— The West in the East: A study of British Rule in India.
-<i>Demy. 8vo. 7s. 6d. net.</i></div>
-
-<div class='hang1'><span class="smcap">Coulton, G. G.</span> From St Francis to Dante. A Historical
-Sketch. Second edition. <i>Demy 8vo. 12s. 6d. net.</i></div>
-
-<div class='hang1'><span class="smcap"><a name="Crown_Library" id="Crown_Library"></a>Crown Library, The.</span> <i>Demy 8vo, cloth gilt, gilt top. 5s.
-net a volume.</i></div>
-
-
-
-
-<div class='hang2'><span class="smcap">The Rubá'iyát of 'Umar Khayyám</span> (Fitzgerald's 2nd Edition).
-Edited, with an Introduction and Notes, by Edward Heron Allen.</div>
-
-<div class='hang2'><span class="smcap">Science and Religion in Contemporary Philosophy.</span> By
-Emile Boutroux.</div>
-
-<div class='hang2'><span class="smcap">Wanderings in Arabia.</span> By Charles M. Doughty. An abridged
-edition of "Travels in Arabia Deserta." With portrait and
-map. In 2 vols.</div>
-
-<div class='hang2'><span class="smcap">Folk-Lore of the Holy Land</span>: Moslem, Christian, and Jewish.
-By J. E. Hanauer. Edited by Marmaduke Pickthall.</div>
-
-<div class='hang2'><span class="smcap">Life and Evolution.</span> By F. W. Headley, F.Z.S. With upwards
-of 100 illustrations. New and revised edition (1913).</div>
-
-<div class='hang2'><span class="smcap">The Note-Books of Leonardo da Vinci.</span> Edited by Edward
-McCurdy. With 14 illustrations.</div>
-
-<div class='hang2'><span class="smcap">The Life and Letters of Leslie Stephen.</span> By F. W. Maitland.
-With a photogravure portrait.</div>
-
-<div class='hang2'><span class="smcap">The Country Month by Month.</span> By J. A. Owen and G. S.
-Boulger. With 20 illustrations.</div>
-
-<div class='hang2'><span class="smcap">Spinoza</span>: His Life and Philosophy. By Sir Frederick Pollock.</div>
-
-<div class='hang2'><span class="smcap">The English Utilitarians.</span> By Sir Leslie Stephen. 3 vols.</div>
-
-
-
-<div class='center'>
-<table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" summary="Volumes">
-<tr><td align='left'>Vol. </td><td align='right'>I.</td><td align='left'> <span class="smcap">James Mill.</span></td></tr>
-<tr><td align='left'>Vol. </td><td align='right'>II.</td><td align='left'> <span class="smcap">Jeremy Bentham.</span></td></tr>
-<tr><td align='left'>Vol. </td><td align='right'>III.</td><td align='left'> <span class="smcap">John Stuart Mill.</span></td></tr>
-</table></div>
-
-
-<div class='hang2'><span class="smcap">Critical Studies.</span> By S. Arthur Strong. With Memoir by Lord
-Balcarres, M.P. Illustrated.<br /><br /></div>
-
-
-
-
-<div class='hang1'><span class="smcap">Cutting Ceres.</span> The Praying Girl. Thoughtful Religious
-Essays. <i>Sq. cr. 8vo. 3s. 6d. net.</i><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_7_ad" id="Page_7_ad">[7]</a></span></div>
-
-<div class='hang1'><span class="smcap">Darwin, Bernard, and Rountree, Harry.</span> The Golf
-Courses of the British Isles. 48 illustrations in colour
-and 16 in sepia. <i>Sq. royal 8vo. 21s. net.</i></div>
-
-<div class='hang1'><span class="smcap">De la Mare, Walter.</span> The Three Mulla Mulgars. A
-Romance of the Great Forests. With illustrations in
-colour. <i>Cr. 8vo. 5s. net.</i></div>
-
-<div class='hang1'><span class="smcap">Doughty, Chas. M.</span> Adam Cast Forth. A Poem founded
-on a Judæo-Arabian Legend of Adam and Eve. <i>Cr. 8vo.
-4s. 6d. net.</i></div>
-
-<div class='hang1'>—— The Cliffs. A Poetic Drama of the Invasion of Britain
-in 19—. <i>Cr. 8vo. 5s. net.</i></div>
-
-<div class='hang1'>—— The Clouds: a Poem. <i>Large cr. 8vo. 5s. net.</i></div>
-
-<div class='hang1'>—— The Dawn in Britain. An Epic Poem of the Beginnings
-of Britain. In six vols. Vols. 1 and 2, <i>9s. net</i>; Vols. 3
-and 4, <i>9s. net</i>; Vols. 5 and 6, <i>9s. net.</i> The Set, <i>27s. net.</i></div>
-
-<div class='center'>
-<i>See also <a href="#Crown_Library">Crown Library</a> for another work by C. M. Doughty.</i><br />
-</div>
-
-<div class='hang1'><span class="smcap">Fairless, Michael.</span> Complete Works. 3 vols. In slip
-case. <i>Buckram gilt. 7s. 6d. net.</i></div>
-
-<div class='center'>
-<i>See also the <a href="#Roadmender_Series">Roadmender Series</a>.</i><br />
-</div>
-
-<div class='hang1'>—— The Roadmender. Illustrated in Colour by E. W. Waite.
-<i>Cloth gilt, gilt top. 7s. 6d. net. In a Box.</i></div>
-
-<div class='hang1'>—— —— Illustrated in photogravure from drawings by
-W. G. Mein. In slip case. <i>5s. net.</i></div>
-
-<div class='hang1'><span class="smcap">Falconer, Rev. Hugh.</span> The Unfinished Symphony. New
-and Cheaper Edition. <i>Cr. 8vo. 2s. 6d. net.</i></div>
-
-<div class='hang1'><span class="smcap">Flaubert, Gustave.</span> The First Temptation of St Anthony.
-A new translation by R. Francis. A fine edition on
-imit. hd.-made paper. <i>Large cr. 8vo. 7s. 6d. net.</i></div>
-
-<div class='hang1'><span class="smcap">Graham, R. B. Cunninghame.</span> Charity. <i>Cr. 8vo. 6s.</i></div>
-
-<div class='hang1'>—— Faith. <i>Cr. 8vo. 6s.</i></div>
-
-<div class='hang1'>—— Hope. <i>Cr. 8vo. 6s.</i></div>
-
-<div class='hang1'>—— His People. <i>Cr. 8vo. 6s.</i></div>
-
-<div class='center'>
-<i>See also <a href="#READERS_LIBRARY">Readers' Library</a> and <a href="#Shilling_Net_Series">Shilling Series</a> for other books by Cunninghame Graham.</i><br />
-</div>
-
-<div class='hang1'><span class="smcap">Haselfoot, F. K. H.</span> The Divina Commedia of Dante
-Alighieri. Translated line for line in the <i>terza rima</i> of
-the original, with Introduction and Notes. Second
-edition, revised, corrected, and further annotated. <i>Demy
-8vo. 12s. net.</i><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_8_ad" id="Page_8_ad">[8]</a></span></div>
-
-<div class='hang1'><span class="smcap">Headlam, Cecil.</span> Walter Headlam: Letters and Poems.
-With Memoir by Cecil Headlam. With photogravure
-portrait. <i>Demy 8vo. 7s. 6d. net.</i></div>
-
-<div class='hang1'><span class="smcap">Henderson, Archibald.</span> Mark Twain. A Biography.
-With 8 photographs by Alvin Langdon Coburn. <i>Large
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-
-<div class='hang1'>—— Interpreters of Life and the Modern Spirit: Critical
-Essays. With a photogravure portrait of Meredith. <i>Cr.
-8vo. 5s. net.</i></div>
-
-<div class='hang1'><span class="smcap">Hill, M. D., and Webb, Wilfred Mark.</span> Eton Nature-Study
-and Observational Lessons. With numerous
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-two parts in one volume, <i>6s. net</i>.</div>
-
-<div class='hang1'><span class="smcap">Hammond, Rev. Joseph.</span> Six Necessary Things for Christians
-to Know. A Theology for the Plain Man. <i>Cr.
-8vo. 2s. 6d. net.</i></div>
-
-<div class='hang1'><span class="smcap">Hudson, W. H.</span> A Little Boy Lost. With 30 illustrations
-by A. D. McCormick. <i>Sq. cr. 8vo. 3s. 6d. net.</i></div>
-
-<div class='center'>
-<i>See also <a href="#READERS_LIBRARY">Readers' Library</a> and <a href="#Shilling_Net_Series">Shilling Series</a> for other books by W. H. Hudson.</i><br />
-</div>
-
-<div class='hang1'><span class="smcap">Hueffer, Ford Madox.</span> The Critical Attitude. Literary
-Essays. <i>Sq. cr. 8vo. Buckram. 5s. net.</i></div>
-
-<div class='center'>
-<i>See also <a href="#READERS_LIBRARY">Readers' Library</a> and <a href="#Art_The_Popular_Library_of">The Popular Library of Art</a> for other books by Ford Madox Hueffer.</i><br />
-</div>
-
-<div class='hang1'>—— <span class="smcap">High Germany: Verses.</span> <i>Sq. cr. 8vo, paper covers.
-1s. net.</i></div>
-
-<div class='hang1'><span class="smcap">Hughes, Rev. G.</span> Conscience and Criticism. With Foreword
-by the Bishop of Winchester. New and Cheaper
-Edition. <i>Cr. 8vo. 2s. 6d. net.</i></div>
-
-<div class='hang1'><span class="smcap">Hutchinson, T.</span> Lyrical Ballads by William Wordsworth
-and S. T. Coleridge, 1798. With certain poems of 1798,
-Introduction and Notes. <i>Fcap. 8vo.</i> New and Revised
-Edition. With 2 photogravures. <i>3. 6d. net.</i></div>
-
-<div class='hang1'><span class="smcap">Jefferies, Richard.</span> The Story of My Heart. By Richard
-Jefferies. A New Edition Reset. With 8 illustrations
-from oil paintings by Edward W. Waite. <i>Demy 8vo.</i>
-The pictures mounted with frames and plate marks.
-Designed Cover. <i>Cloth gilt, gilt top, headband. In Box.
-7s. 6d. net.</i></div>
-
-
-
-
-<div class="blockquot"><p>Also a Large Paper Edition limited to 150 numbered copies, printed on
-Imit. Hand-made Paper, illustrations mounted on vellum with decorative
-borders in gold. Bound in buckram, in slip case. <i>21s. net.</i></p></div><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_9_ad" id="Page_9_ad">[9]</a></span></p>
-
-
-
-<div class='hang1'><span class="smcap">Joubert, Joseph.</span> Joubert: A Selection from His Thoughts.
-Translated by Katharine Lyttleton, with a Preface by
-Mrs Humphry Ward. New Edition. In a slip case.
-<i>Large cr. 8vo. 5s. net.</i></div>
-
-<div class='hang1'><span class="smcap">Kropotkin, Prince.</span> Ideals and Realities in Russian
-Literature. Critical Essays. By Prince Kropotkin.
-<i>Demy 8vo. 7s. 6d. net.</i></div>
-
-<div class='hang1'><span class="smcap">Langlois, Ch. V., and Seignobos, Ch.</span> An Introduction to
-the Study of History. New Edition. <i>5s. net.</i></div>
-
-<div class='hang1'><span class="smcap">Lawrence, D. H.</span> Love Poems and others. <i>Cr. 8vo. 5s. net.</i></div>
-
-<div class='center'>
-<i>See under <a href="#NOVELS_AND_STORIES">Novels</a> for another book by this author.</i><br />
-</div>
-
-<div class='hang1'><span class="smcap">Le Gallienne, Richard.</span> Odes from the Divan of Hafiz.
-Freely rendered from Literal Translations. <i>Large sq. 8vo.</i>
-In slip case. <i>7s. 6d. net.</i></div>
-
-<div class='hang1'><span class="smcap">Lethaby, W. R.</span> Westminster Abbey and the King's Craftsmen.
-With 125 illustrations, photogravure frontispiece,
-and many drawings and diagrams. <i>Royal 8vo. 12s. 6d.
-net.</i></div>
-
-<div class='hang1'>—— Westminster Abbey as a Coronation Church. Illustrated.
-<i>Demy 8vo. 2s. 6d. net.</i></div>
-
-<div class='center'>
-<i>See also <a href="#Art_The_Popular_Library_of">The Library of Art</a> for "Mediæval Art" by W. R. Lethaby.</i><br />
-</div>
-
-<div class='hang1'><span class="smcap">Loveland, J. D. E.</span> The Romance of Nice. A Descriptive
-Account of Nice and its History. With illustrations.
-<i>Demy 8vo. 6s. net.</i></div>
-
-<div class='hang1'><span class="smcap">Lytton, the Hon. Mrs Neville.</span> Toy Dogs and their
-Ancestors. With 300 illustrations in colour collotype,
-photogravure, and half-tone. <i>4to. 30s. net.</i></div>
-
-<div class='hang1'><span class="smcap">Mahaffy, R. P.</span> Francis Joseph the First: His Life and
-Times. By R. P. Mahaffy. <i>Cr. 8vo. 2s. 6d. net.</i></div>
-
-<div class='hang1'><span class="smcap">Mahommed, Mirza, and Rice, C. Spring.</span> Valeh and
-Hadijeh. <i>Large sq. 8vo. 5s. net.</i></div>
-
-<div class='hang1'><span class="smcap">Mantzius, Karl.</span> A History of Theatrical Art in Ancient
-and Modern Times. With Introduction by William
-Archer. In six volumes. With illustrations from photographs.
-<i>Royal 8vo. 10s. net each vol.</i></div>
-
-<div class="hang2">Vol. I.—The Earliest Times. Vol. II.—Middle Ages and Renaissance.
-Vol. III.—Shakespeare and the English Drama of his
-Time. Vol. IV.—Molière and his Time. Vol. V.—Great
-Actors of the 18th Century. Vol. VI.—<i>In preparation.</i></div>
-
-<div class='hang1'><span class="smcap">Marczali, Henry.</span> The Letters and Journal, 1848-49, of Count
-Charles Leiningen-Westerburg. <i>Demy 8vo. 7s. 6d. net.</i><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_10_ad" id="Page_10_ad">[10]</a></span></div>
-
-<div class='hang1'><span class="smcap">Marjoram, John.</span> New Poems. <i>Fcap. 8vo. 2s. net.</i></div>
-
-<div class='hang1'><span class="smcap">Moore, T. Sturge.</span> Poems. <i>Square 8vo. Sewed, 1s. net
-a volume.</i></div>
-
-
-
-<div class='center'>
-<table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" summary="Moore's Poems">
-<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap">The Centaur's Booty.</span></td></tr>
-<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap">The Rout of the Amazons.</span></td></tr>
-<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap">The Gazelles, and Other Poems.</span></td></tr>
-<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap">Pan's Prophecy.</span></td></tr>
-<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap">To Leda, and Other Odes.</span></td></tr>
-<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap">Theseus, and Other Odes.</span></td></tr>
-</table></div>
-
-
-<div class='center'>
-Or, in one volume, <i>bound in art linen. 6s. net.</i><br />
-</div>
-
-<div class='hang1'>—— A Sicilian Idyll, and Judith. <i>Cloth. 2s. net.</i></div>
-
-<div class='hang1'>—— <ins title="Transcriber's Note: original reads 'Mariamne'">Marianne</ins>. A Drama. <i>Qr. bound. 2s. net.</i></div>
-
-<div class='hang1'><span class="smcap">Nassau, R. H.</span> Fetichism in West Africa: Forty Years'
-Observations of Native Customs and Superstitions. 12
-illustrations. <i>Demy 8vo. 7s. 6d. net.</i></div>
-
-<div class='hang1'><span class="smcap">Nevill, Ralph, and Jerningham, C. E.</span> Piccadilly to
-Pall Mall. Manners, Morals, and Man. With 2 photogravures.
-<i>Demy 8vo. 12s. 6d. net.</i></div>
-
-<div class='hang1'><span class="smcap">Nevill, Ralph.</span> Sporting Days and Sporting Ways. With
-coloured frontispiece. <i>Demy 8vo. 12s. 6d. net.</i></div>
-
-<div class='hang1'>—— The Merry Past. Reminiscences and Anecdotes.
-With frontispiece in colour collotype. <i>Demy 8vo.
-12s. 6d. net.</i></div>
-
-<div class='hang1'><span class="smcap">Pawlowska, Yoï</span> (Mrs Buckley). A Year of Strangers.
-Sketches of People and Things in Italy and in the Far
-East. With copper-plate frontispiece. <i>Demy 8vo. 5s.
-net.</i></div>
-
-<div class='center'>
-<i>See under <a href="#NOVELS_AND_STORIES">Novels</a> for another book by this author.</i><br />
-</div>
-
-<div class='hang1'><span class="smcap">Peake, Prof. A. S.</span> Christianity, its Nature and its Truth.
-<i>25th Thousand. Cr. 8vo. 2s. 6d. net.</i></div>
-
-<div class='hang1'><span class="smcap">Phillipps, L. March.</span> The Works of Man. Studies of
-race characteristics as revealed in the creative art of the
-world. <i>Cr. 8vo. 7s. 6d. net.</i></div>
-
-<div class='hang1'><span class="smcap">Plays, Modern.</span> <i>Cloth. 2s. net a volume.</i></div>
-
-
-
-<div class='center'>
-<table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" summary="Plays">
-<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap">The Revolt and the Escape.</span> By Villiers de L'Isle Adam.</td></tr>
-<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap">Hernani.</span> A Tragedy. By Frederick Brock.</td></tr>
-<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap">Tristram and Iseult.</span> A Drama. By J. Comyns Carr.</td></tr>
-<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap">The Likeness of the Night.</span> By Mrs W. K. Clifford.</td></tr>
-<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap">The Silver Box.</span> By John Galsworthy.</td></tr>
-<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap">Joy.</span> By John Galsworthy.</td></tr>
-<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap">Strife.</span> By John Galsworthy.</td></tr>
-<tr><td align='left'><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_11_ad" id="Page_11_ad">[11]</a></span><span class="smcap">Justice.</span> By John Galsworthy.</td></tr>
-<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap">The Eldest Son.</span> By John Galsworthy.</td></tr>
-<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap">The Little Dream.</span> By John Galsworthy, (<i>1s. 6d. net.</i>)</td></tr>
-<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap">The Pigeon.</span> By John Galsworthy.</td></tr>
-<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap">The Breaking Point</span>: a Censured Play. By Edward Garnett.</td></tr>
-<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap">The Coming of Peace.</span> By Gerhart Hauptmann.</td></tr>
-<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap">Peter's Chance.</span> A Play. By Edith Lyttelton.</td></tr>
-<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap">The Storm.</span> By Ostrovsky. Translated by Constance Garnett.</td></tr>
-<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap">The Secret Woman.</span> A Drama. By Eden Phillpots.</td></tr>
-<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap">Curtain Raisers.</span> One Act Plays. By Eden Phillpots.</td></tr>
-<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap">The Father.</span> By August Strindberg.</td></tr>
-<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap">There Are Crimes and Crimes.</span> By August Strindberg.</td></tr>
-<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap">Miss Julia. The Stronger.</span> Two Plays. By August Strindberg.</td></tr>
-<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap">Creditors. Pariah.</span> Two Plays. By August Strindberg.</td></tr>
-<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap">Roses.</span> Four One Act Plays. By Hermann Sudermann.</td></tr>
-<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap">Morituri.</span> Three One Act Plays. By Hermann Sudermann.</td></tr>
-<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap">Five Little Plays.</span> By Alfred Sutro.</td></tr>
-<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap">The Dawn</span> (Les Aubes). By Emile Verhaeren. Translated by Arthur Symons.</td></tr>
-<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap">The Princess of Hanover.</span> By Margaret L. Woods.</td></tr>
-</table><br /></div>
-
-<div class="hang1">The following may also be had in paper covers. Price
-<i>1s. 6d. net a volume</i>.<br /><br /></div>
-
-
-
-<div class='center'>
-<table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" summary="More plays">
-<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap">Tristram and Iseult.</span> By J. Comyns Carr. (<i>Paper boards.</i>)</td></tr>
-<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap">The Likeness of the Night.</span> By Mrs W. K. Clifford.</td></tr>
-<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap">The Silver Box.</span> By John Galsworthy.</td></tr>
-<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap">Joy.</span> By John Galsworthy.</td></tr>
-<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap">Strife.</span> By John Galsworthy.</td></tr>
-<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap">Justice.</span> By John Galsworthy.</td></tr>
-<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap">The Eldest Son.</span> By John Galsworthy.</td></tr>
-<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap">The Little Dream.</span> By John Galsworthy, (<i>1s. net.</i>)</td></tr>
-<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap">The Pigeon.</span> By John Galsworthy.</td></tr>
-<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap">Peter's Chance.</span> By Edith Lyttelton.</td></tr>
-<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap">Curtain Raisers.</span> By Eden Phillpotts.</td></tr>
-<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap">Five Little Plays.</span> By Alfred Sutro.</td></tr>
-<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap">The Secret Woman.</span> A Censored Drama. By Eden Phillpotts.</td></tr>
-</table></div>
-
-<div class='hang1'><span class="smcap">Three Plays.</span> By Mrs W. K. Clifford. (Hamilton's Second
-Marriage, Thomas and the Princess, The Modern Way.)
-In one vol. <i>Sq. post 8vo. 6s.</i></div>
-
-<div class='hang1'><span class="smcap">Plays</span> (First Series). By John Galsworthy. Three Plays
-(Joy, Strife, The Silver Box) in one vol. <i>Small sq. post
-8vo. 6s.</i></div>
-
-<div class='hang1'><span class="smcap">Plays</span> (Second Series). By John Galsworthy. Three Plays
-(Justice, The Little Dream, The Eldest Son) in one
-vol. <i>Small sq. post 8vo. 6s.</i><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_12_ad" id="Page_12_ad">[12]</a></span></div>
-
-<div class='hang1'><span class="smcap">Plays.</span> By August Strindberg. (The Dream Play, The Link,
-The Dance of Death, Part I.; The Dance of Death,
-Part II.) Translated with an Introduction and Bibliography
-by Edwin Björkman. With frontispiece portrait
-of Strindberg. In one volume. <i>Cr. 8vo. 6s.</i></div>
-
-<div class='hang1'><span class="smcap">Plays.</span> By Anton Tchekoff. (Uncle Vanya, Ivanoff, The
-Seagull, The Swan Song.) With an Introduction.
-<i>Cr. 8vo. 6s.</i></div>
-
-<div class='hang1'><span class="smcap">Reid, Stuart J.</span> Sir Richard Tangye. A Life. With a
-portrait. New and Cheaper re-issue. <i>Cr. 8vo. 2s. 6d.
-net.</i></div>
-
-<div class='hang1'><span class="smcap">Roadmender Series, The.</span> The volumes in the series are
-works with the same tendency as Michael Fairless's
-remarkable book, from which the series gets its name:
-books which express a deep feeling for Nature, and a
-mystical interpretation of life. <i>Fcap. 8vo, with designed
-end papers. 2s. 6d. net.</i><br /><br /></div>
-
-
-
-
-<div class='hang2'><span class="smcap">The Sea Charm of Venice.</span> By Stopford A. Brooke.</div>
-
-<div class='hang2'><span class="smcap">Magic Casements.</span> By Arthur S. Cripps.</div>
-
-<div class='hang2'><span class="smcap">The Roadmender.</span> By Michael Fairless. Also in <i>limp lambskin,
-3s. 6d. Velvet calf yapp, 5s. net.</i> Illustrated Black and White
-Edition, <i>cr. 8vo, 5s. net.</i> Also Special Illustrated edition in
-colour from oil paintings by E. W. Waite, <i>7s. 6d. net.</i> Edition de
-Luxe, <i>15s. net.</i></div>
-
-<div class='hang2'><span class="smcap">The Grey Brethren.</span> By Michael Fairless. Also in <i>limp lambskin,
-3s. 6d. net; Velvet calf, 5s. net; Ecrasé persian. 5s. net.</i></div>
-
-<div class='hang2'><span class="smcap">The Gathering of Brother Hilarius.</span> By Michael Fairless.
-<i>Limp lambskin, 3s. 6d. net; Velvet calf, 5s. net; Ecrasé persian,
-5s. net.</i></div>
-
-<div class='hang2'><span class="smcap">A Modern Mystic's Way.</span> (Dedicated to Michael Fairless.)<br /></div>
-
-<div class='hang2'><span class="smcap">Thoughts of Leonardo da Vinci.</span> Selected by Edward McCurdy.<br /></div>
-
-<div class='hang2'><span class="smcap">Longings.</span> By W. D. McKay.<br /></div>
-
-<div class='hang2'><span class="smcap">From the Forest.</span> By Wm. Scott Palmer.<br /></div>
-
-<div class='hang2'><span class="smcap">Pilgrim Man.</span> By Wm. Scott Palmer.<br /></div>
-
-<div class='hang2'><span class="smcap">Winter and Spring.</span> By Wm. Scott Palmer.<br /></div>
-
-<div class='hang2'><span class="smcap">Vagrom Men.</span> By A. T. Story.<br /></div>
-
-<div class='hang2'><span class="smcap">Light and Twilight.</span> By Edward Thomas.<br /></div>
-
-<div class='hang2'><span class="smcap">Rest and Unrest.</span> By Edward Thomas.<br /></div>
-
-<div class='hang2'><span class="smcap">Rose Acre Papers</span>: including Horæ Solitariæ. By Edward Thomas.<br /><br /></div>
-
-
-
-<div class="hang1"><span class="smcap">Rosen, Erwin.</span> In the Foreign Legion. A record of actual
-experiences in the French Foreign Legion. <i>Demy 8vo.</i>
-New and Cheaper Edition. <i>3s. 6d. net.</i></div>
-
-
-
-<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_13_ad" id="Page_13_ad">[13]</a></span></p>
-<h2><a name="READERS_LIBRARY" id="READERS_LIBRARY">READERS' LIBRARY, THE.</a></h2>
-
-
-<div class='center'><i>Copyright Works of Individual Merit and Permanent Value
-<br />by Authors of Repute.</i><br />
-
-Library style. <i>Cr. 8vo. Blue cloth gilt, round backs.<br />
-2s. 6d. net a volume.</i><br /></div>
-
-<div class='hang1'><span class="smcap">Avril.</span> By Hilaire Belloc. Essays
-on the Poetry of the French
-Renaissance.</div>
-
-<div class='hang1'><span class="smcap">Esto Perpetua.</span> By Hilaire Belloc.
-Algerian Studies and Impressions.</div>
-
-<div class='hang1'><span class="smcap">Men, Women, and Books: Res
-Judicatæ.</span> By Augustine Birrell.
-Complete in one vol.</div>
-
-<div class='hang1'><span class="smcap">Obiter Dicta.</span> By Augustine
-Birrell. First and Second Series
-in one volume.</div>
-
-<div class='hang1'><span class="smcap">Memoirs of a Surrey
-Labourer.</span> By George Bourne.</div>
-
-<div class='hang1'><span class="smcap">The Bettesworth Book.</span> By
-George Bourne.</div>
-
-<div class='hang1'><span class="smcap">Studies in Poetry.</span> By Stopford
-A. Brooke, LL.D. Essays on
-Blake, Scott, Shelley, Keats, etc.</div>
-
-<div class='hang1'><span class="smcap">Comparative Studies in Nursery
-Rhymes.</span> By Lina Eckenstein.
-Essays in a branch of
-Folk-lore.</div>
-
-<div class='hang1'><span class="smcap">Italian Poets since Dante.</span>
-Critical Essays. By W. Everett.</div>
-
-<div class='hang1'><span class="smcap">Villa Rubein, and Other
-Stories.</span> By John Galsworthy.</div>
-
-<div class='hang1'><span class="smcap">Progress, and Other Sketches.</span>
-By R. B. Cunninghame Graham.</div>
-
-<div class='hang1'><span class="smcap">Success: and Other Sketches.</span>
-By R. B. Cunninghame Grahame.</div>
-
-<div class='hang1'><span class="smcap">Green Mansions.</span> A Romance
-of the Tropical Forest. By W. H.
-Hudson.</div>
-
-<div class='hang1'><span class="smcap">The Purple Land.</span> By W. H.
-Hudson.</div>
-
-<div class='hang1'><span class="smcap">The Heart of the Country.</span>
-By Ford Madox Hueffer.</div>
-
-<div class='hang1'><span class="smcap">The Soul of London.</span> By Ford
-Madox Hueffer.</div>
-
-<div class='hang1'><span class="smcap">The Spirit of the People.</span> By
-Ford Madox Hueffer.</div>
-
-<div class='hang1'><span class="smcap">After London—Wild England.</span>
-By Richard Jefferies.</div>
-
-<div class='hang1'><span class="smcap">Amaryllis at the Fair.</span> By
-Richard Jefferies.</div>
-
-<div class='hang1'><span class="smcap">Bevis.</span> The Story of a Boy. By
-Richard Jefferies.</div>
-
-<div class='hang1'><span class="smcap">The Hills and the Vale.</span>
-Nature Essays. By Richard
-Jefferies.</div>
-
-<div class='hang1'><span class="smcap">The Greatest Life.</span> An inquiry
-into the foundations of character.
-By Gerald Leighton, M.D.</div>
-
-<div class='hang1'><span class="smcap">St Augustine and his Age.</span>
-An Interpretation. By Joseph
-McCabe.</div>
-
-<div class='hang1'><span class="smcap">Between the Acts.</span> By H. W.
-Nevinson.</div>
-
-<div class='hang1'><span class="smcap">Essays in Freedom.</span> By H. W.
-Nevinson.</div>
-
-<div class='hang1'><span class="smcap">Parallel Paths.</span> A Study in
-Biology, Ethics, and Art. By
-T. W. Rolleston.</div>
-
-<div class='hang1'><span class="smcap">The Strenuous Life, and Other
-Essays.</span> By Theodore Roosevelt.</div>
-
-<div class='hang1'><span class="smcap">English Literature and
-Society in the Eighteenth
-Century.</span> By Sir Leslie
-Stephen.</div>
-
-<div class='hang1'><span class="smcap">Studies of a Biographer.</span> First
-Series. Two Volumes. By Sir
-Leslie Stephen.</div>
-
-<div class='hang1'><span class="smcap">Studies of a Biographer.</span>
-Second Series. Two Volumes.
-By Sir Leslie Stephen.</div>
-
-<div class='hang1'><span class="smcap">Interludes.</span> By Sir Geo. Trevelyan.</div>
-
-<div class='hang1'><span class="smcap">Essays on Dante.</span> By Dr Carl
-Witte.</div>
-
-
-
-
-<div class="blockquot"><p>"Messrs Duckworth's admirable Readers' Library."—<i>Bookman.</i></p>
-
-<p>"A series which is well worth following. Excellent reading."—<i>Athenæum.</i></p>
-
-<p>"That excellent series. The work of some of our most distinguished contemporaries."—<i>Daily
-News.</i></p>
-
-<p>"In a class apart from cheap reprints . . . as enjoyable to the most fastidious as first
-editions."—<i>The Manchester Guardian.</i></p></div><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_14_ad" id="Page_14_ad">[14]</a></span></p>
-
-
-<div class='hang1'><span class="smcap">Social Questions Series.</span></div>
-
-<div class='hang2'><span class="smcap">Makers of Our Clothes.</span> A Case for Trade Boards. By Miss
-Clementina Black and Lady Carl Meyer. <i>Demy 8vo. 5s. net.</i></div>
-
-<div class='hang2'><span class="smcap">Sweated Industry and the Minimum Wage.</span> By Clementina
-<span class="smcap">Black</span>. With Preface by A. G. Gardiner. <i>Cloth, crown 8vo.
-2s. net.</i></div>
-
-<div class='hang2'><span class="smcap">Women in Industry: From Seven Points of View.</span> With
-Introduction by D. J. Shackleton. <i>Cloth, crown 8vo. 2s. net.</i></div>
-
-<div class='hang2'><span class="smcap">The Worker's Handbook.</span> By Gertrude M. Tuckwell. A handbook
-of legal and general information for the Clergy, for District
-Visitors, and all Social Workers. <i>Cr. 8vo. 2s. net.</i></div>
-
-
-<div class="hang1"><span class="smcap">Saints, The.</span> An entirely New Series of Lives of the Saints,
-in separate volumes. <i>Cr. 8vo, scarlet art vellum, gilt
-lettered, gilt top. 2s. 6d. net each volume.</i></div>
-
-
-<div class='center'>
-<table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" summary="The Saints">
-<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap">S. Ambrose.</span> By the Duc de Broglie.</td></tr>
-<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap">S. Antony of Padua.</span> By the Abbé Albert Lepitre.</td></tr>
-<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap">S. Augustine.</span> By Prof. Ad. Hatzfeld.</td></tr>
-<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap">S. Cajetan.</span> By R. de Maulde la Clavière.</td></tr>
-<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap">S. Chrysostom.</span> By Aimé Puech.</td></tr>
-<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap">S. Clotilda.</span> By Prof. G. Kurth.</td></tr>
-<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap">S. Dominic.</span> By Jean Guiraud.</td></tr>
-<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap">S. Francis of Sales.</span> By A. D. Margerie.</td></tr>
-<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap">S. Ignatius of Loyola.</span> By Henri Joly.</td></tr>
-<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap">S. Jerome.</span> By the Rev. Father Largent.</td></tr>
-<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap">S. Joan of Arc.</span> By L. Petit de Julleville.</td></tr>
-<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap">S. John Vianney: Curé d'Ars.</span> By Joseph Vianney.</td></tr>
-<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap">S. Louis.</span> By Marius Sepet.</td></tr>
-<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap">S. Mary the Virgin.</span> By René Marie de la Broise.</td></tr>
-<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap">S. Nicholas I.</span> By Jules Roy.</td></tr>
-<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap">S. Patrick.</span> By l'Abbé Riguet.</td></tr>
-<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap">S. Peter Fourier.</span> By L. Pingaud.</td></tr>
-<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap">S. Teresa.</span> By Henri Joly.</td></tr>
-<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap">S. Thomas à Becket.</span> By Mgr. Demimuid.</td></tr>
-<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap">S. Thomas More.</span> By Henri Bremond.</td></tr>
-<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap">S. Vincent de Paul.</span> By Prince Emmanuel de Broglie.</td></tr>
-<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap">The Psychology of the Saints.</span> By Henri Joly.</td></tr>
-</table></div>
-
-<div class='hang1'><span class="smcap">Duckworth's <a name="Shilling_Net_Series" id="Shilling_Net_Series"></a>Shilling Net Series.</span> <i>Cloth, cr. 8vo.</i></div>
-
-
-
-<div class='center'>
-<table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" summary="Duckworth's Shilling Net Series">
-<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap">Caliban's Guide to Letters.</span> By Hilaire Belloc.</td></tr>
-<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap">South American Sketches.</span> By W. H. Hudson.</td></tr>
-<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap">Stories from De Maupassant.</span></td></tr>
-<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap">Success.</span> By R. B. Cunninghame Graham.</td></tr>
-</table></div>
-
-<div class='hang1'><span class="smcap">Smalley, George W.</span> Anglo-American Memories. First
-Series (American). With a photogravure frontispiece.
-<i>Demy 8vo. 12s. 6d. net.</i></div>
-
-<div class='hang1'>—— Second Series (English). <i>Demy 8vo. 12s. 6d. net.</i></div>
-
-<div class='hang1'><span class="smcap">Spielmann</span>, Mrs M. H., and <span class="smcap">Wilhelm, C.</span> The Child of
-the Air. A Romantic Fantasy. Illustrated in colour
-and in line. <i>Sq. cr. 8vo. 5s. net.</i><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_15_ad" id="Page_15_ad">[15]</a></span></div>
-
-<div class='hang1'><span class="smcap">Stephen, H. L.</span> State Trials: Political and Social First
-Series. Selected and edited by H.L. Stephen. With
-two photogravures. Two vols. <i>Fcap. 8vo. Art vellum,
-gilt top. 5s. net.</i></div>
-
-<div class='hang2'>Vol. I.—Sir Walter Raleigh—Charles I.—The Regicides—Colonel
-Turner and Others—The Suffolk Witches—Alice Lisle. Vol. II.—Lord
-Russell—The Earl of Warwick—Spencer Cowper and
-Others—Samuel Goodere and Others.</div>
-
-<div class='hang1'>—— State Trials: Political and Social. Second Series.
-Selected and edited by H.L. Stephen. With two
-photogravures. Two vols. <i>Fcap. 8vo. 5s. net.</i></div>
-
-<div class='hang2'>Vol. I.—The Earl of Essex—Captain Lee—John Perry—Green and
-Others—Count Coningsmark—Beau Fielding. Vol. II.—Annesley—Carter—Macdaniell—Bernard—Byron.</div>
-
-<div class='hang1'><span class="smcap">Stopford, Francis.</span> Life's Great Adventure. Essays. By
-Francis Stopford, author of "The Toil of Life." <i>Cr.
-8vo. Cloth. 5s. net.</i></div>
-
-<div class='hang1'><span class="smcap">Studies in Theology.</span> A New Series of Handbooks, being
-aids to interpretation in Biblical Criticism for the use of
-the Clergy, Divinity Students, and Laymen. <i>Cr. 8vo.
-2s. 6d. net a volume.</i></div>
-
-<div class='hang2'><span class="smcap">The Christian Hope.</span> A Study in the Doctrine of the Last Things.
-By W. Adams Brown, D.D., Professor of Theology in the Union
-College, New York.</div>
-
-<div class='hang2'><span class="smcap">Christianity and Social Questions.</span> By the Rev. William
-Cunningham, D.D., F.B.A., Archdeacon of Ely. Formerly
-Lecturer on Economic History to Harvard University.</div>
-
-<div class='hang2'><span class="smcap">Faith and its Psychology.</span> By the Rev. William R. Inge, D.D.,
-Dean of St Paul's.</div>
-
-<div class='hang2'><span class="smcap">Protestant Thought before Kant.</span> By A. C. McGiffert, Ph.D.,
-D.D., of the Union Theological Seminary, New York.</div>
-
-<div class='hang2'><span class="smcap">The Theology of the Gospels.</span> By the Rev. James Moffat, B.D.,
-D.D., of the U.F. Church of Scotland, sometime Jowett Lecturer
-in London, author of "The Historical New Testament,"
-"Literary Illustrations of the Bible," etc.</div>
-
-<div class='hang2'><span class="smcap">A History of Christian Thought since Kant.</span> By the Rev.
-Edward Caldwell Moore, D.D., Parkman Professor of Theology
-in the University of Harvard, U.S.A.</div>
-
-<div class='hang2'><span class="smcap">Revelation and Inspiration.</span> By the Rev. James Orr, D.D.,
-Professor of Apologetics in the Theological College of the United
-Free Church, Glasgow.</div>
-
-<div class='hang2'><span class="smcap">A Critical Introduction to the New Testament.</span> By Arthur
-Samuel Peake, D.D., Professor of Biblical Exegesis and Dean of
-the Faculty of Theology, Victoria University, Manchester.</div>
-
-<div class='hang2'><span class="smcap">Philosophy and Religion.</span> By the Rev. Hastings Rashdall,
-D.Litt. (Oxon.), D.C.L. (Durham), F.B.A., Fellow and Tutor
-of New College, Oxford.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_16_ad" id="Page_16_ad">[16]</a></span></div>
-
-<div class='hang2'><span class="smcap">Text and Canon of the New Testament.</span> By Prof. Alexander
-Souter, M.A., D.Litt., Professor of Humanity, Aberdeen
-University.</div>
-
-<div class='hang2'><span class="smcap">Christian Thought to the Reformation.</span> By Herbert B. Workman,
-D.Litt., Principal of the Westminster Training College.</div>
-
-
-<div class='hang1'><span class="smcap">Tomlinson, H. M.</span> The Sea and the Jungle. Personal experiences
-in a voyage to South America and through the
-Amazon forests. By H. M. Tomlinson. <i>Demy 8vo.
-7s. 6d. net.</i></div>
-
-<div class='hang1'><span class="smcap">Vaughan, Herbert M.</span> The Last Stuart Queen: Louise
-Countess of Albany. A Life. With illustrations and
-portraits. <i>Demy 8vo. 16s. net.</i></div>
-
-<div class='hang1'><span class="smcap">Waern, Cecilia.</span> Mediæval Sicily. Aspects of Life and
-Art in the Middle Ages. With very many illustrations.
-<i>Royal 8vo. 12s. 6d. net.</i></div>
-
-<div class='hang1'><span class="smcap">Williams, Alfred.</span> A Wiltshire Village. A Study of
-English Rural Village Life. By Alfred Williams. <i>Cr.
-8vo. 5s. net.</i></div>
-
-
-
-<hr style="width: 65%;" />
-<h2><a name="NOVELS_AND_STORIES" id="NOVELS_AND_STORIES"></a>NOVELS AND STORIES</h2>
-
-
-<div class='hang1'><span class="smcap">Anonymous.</span> The Diary of an English Girl. <i>Cr. 8vo. 6s.</i></div>
-
-<div class='hang1'><span class="smcap">Bone, David W.</span> The Brassbounder. A tale of seamen's
-life in a sailing ship. With illustrations by the Author.
-<i>Cr. 8vo. 6s.</i></div>
-
-<div class='hang1'><span class="smcap">Bone, Gertrude.</span> Provincial Tales. With frontispiece by
-Muirhead Bone. <i>Cr. 8vo. 6s.</i></div>
-
-<div class='hang1'><span class="smcap">Bone, Muirhead and Gertrude.</span> Children's Children. A
-Tale. With 60 drawings by Muirhead Bone. <i>Large
-Cr. 8vo. 6s. net.</i> [Vellum Edition, limited to 250
-copies, signed and numbered. <i>25s. net.</i>]</div>
-
-<div class='hang1'><span class="smcap">Brookfield, Chas. H.</span> Jack Goldie: the Boy who knew
-best. Illustrated by A. E. Jackson. <i>Cr. 8vo. 5s.</i></div>
-
-<div class='hang1'><span class="smcap">Brown, Vincent.</span> A Magdalen's Husband. A Novel.
-Fourth Impression. <i>Cr. 8vo. 6s.</i></div>
-
-<div class='hang1'>—— The Dark Ship. A Novel. <i>Cr. 8vo. 6s.</i></div>
-
-<div class='hang1'>—— The Disciple's Wife. A Novel. <i>Cr. 8vo. 6s.</i></div>
-
-<div class='hang1'>—— The Sacred Cup. A Novel. <i>Cr. 8vo. 6s.</i></div>
-
-<div class='hang1'><span class="smcap">Calthrop, Dion Clayton.</span> King Peter. A Novel. With a
-Frontispiece. <i>Cr. 8vo. 6s.</i></div>
-
-<div class='center'>
-<i>See also <a href="#Shilling_Net_Series">Duckworth's Two Shilling Net Novels</a> for another book by Dion Clayton Calthrop.</i><br />
-</div>
-
-<div class='hang1'><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_17_ad" id="Page_17_ad">[17]</a></span></div>
-
-<div class='hang1'><span class="smcap">Cawtley, C. Holmes.</span> The Weaving of the Shuttle. A
-Yorkshire Novel. <i>Cr. 8vo. 6s.</i></div>
-
-<div class='hang1'><span class="smcap">Clifford</span>, Mrs W. K. Woodside Farm. A Novel. <i>Cr.
-8vo. 6s.</i></div>
-
-<div class='hang1'><span class="smcap">Connolly, J. B.</span> Wide Courses: Tales of the Sea. Illustrated.
-<i>Cr. 8vo. 6s.</i></div>
-
-<div class='center'>
-<i>See also <a href="#Shilling_Net_Series">Duckworth's Two Shilling Net Novels</a>.</i><br />
-</div>
-
-<div class='hang1'><span class="smcap">Davies, W. H.</span> Beggars. Personal Experiences of Tramp
-Life. <i>Cr. 8vo. 6s.</i></div>
-
-<div class='hang1'>—— A Weak Woman. A Novel. <i>Cr. 8vo. 6s.</i></div>
-
-<div class='hang1'>—— The True Traveller. A Tramp's Experiences. <i>Cr.
-8vo. 6s.</i></div>
-
-<div class='hang1'><span class="smcap">Davis, Richard Harding.</span> Once upon a Time. Stories.
-Illustrated. <i>Cr. 8vo. 6s.</i></div>
-
-<div class='hang1'>—— The Man who could not Lose. Stories. Illustrated.
-<i>Cr. 8vo. 6s.</i></div>
-
-<div class='hang1'>—— The Red Cross Girl. Stories. Illustrated. <i>Cr.
-8vo. 6s.</i></div>
-
-<div class='hang1'><span class="smcap">Dodge, Janet.</span> Tony Unregenerate. A Novel. <i>Cr. 8vo. 6s.</i></div>
-
-<div class='hang1'><span class="smcap">Drake, Maurice.</span> Wrack. A Tale of the Sea. <i>Cr. 8vo. 6s.</i></div>
-
-<div class='hang1'><span class="smcap">East, H. Clayton.</span> The Breath of the Desert. A Novel of
-Egypt. <i>Cr. 8vo. 6s.</i></div>
-
-<div class='hang1'><span class="smcap">Filippi, Rosina.</span> Bernardine. A Novel. <i>Cr. 8vo. 6s.</i></div>
-
-<div class='hang1'><span class="smcap">Fogazzaro, Antonio.</span> The Poet's Mystery. A Novel. <i>Cr.
-8vo. 6s.</i></div>
-
-<div class='hang1'><span class="smcap">Forbes, Lady Helen.</span> It's a Way they have in the Army.
-A Novel. <i>Cr. 8vo. 6s.</i></div>
-
-<div class='hang1'>—— The Bounty of the Gods. A Novel.</div>
-
-<div class='hang1'>—— The Polar Star. A Novel. <i>Cr. 8vo. 6s.</i></div>
-
-<div class='hang1'><span class="smcap">Garnett</span>, Mrs R. S. Amor Vincit. A Romance of the
-Staffordshire Moorlands. <i>Cr. 8vo. 6s.</i></div>
-
-<div class='center'>
-<i>See also <a href="#Shilling_Net_Series">Duckworth's Two Shilling Net Novels</a> for another Novel by Mrs Garnett.</i><br />
-</div>
-
-<div class='hang1'><span class="smcap">Garshin, W.</span> The Signal, and other Stories. Translated
-from the Russian.</div>
-
-<div class='hang1'><span class="smcap">Glyn, Elinor.</span> Beyond the Rocks. A Love Story. <i>Cr.
-8vo. 6s.</i> Also an edition in <i>paper covers. 1s. net.</i></div>
-
-<div class='hang1'>—— Halcyone. A Novel. <i>Cr. 8vo. 6s.</i></div>
-
-<div class='hang1'>—— His Hour. A Novel. With a photogravure frontispiece.
-<i>Cr. 8vo. 6s.</i><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_18_ad" id="Page_18_ad">[18]</a></span></div>
-
-<div class='hang1'>—— The Vicissitudes of Evangeline. With
-Coloured Frontispiece. <i>Cr. 8vo, 6s.</i> Also an edition in
-<i>paper covers, 1s. net.</i></div>
-
-<div class='hang1'>—— Reflections of Ambrosine. With Coloured Frontispiece.
-<i>Cr. 8vo. 6s.</i></div>
-
-<div class='center'>
-<i>See also <a href="#Shilling_Net_Series">Duckworth's Two Shilling Net Novels</a>.</i><br />
-</div>
-
-<div class='hang1'>—— Three Weeks. A Romance. With Coloured Frontispiece.
-<i>Cr. 8vo. 6s.</i></div>
-
-<div class='hang1'>—— The Visits of Elizabeth. With Photogravure Frontispiece.
-<i>Cr. 8vo. 6s.</i></div>
-
-<div class='hang1'>—— Elizabeth Visits America. With a Photogravure
-Frontispiece. <i>Cr. 8vo. 6s.</i></div>
-
-<div class='center'>
-<i>See also <a href="#Shilling_Net_Series">Duckworth's Two Shilling Net Novels</a>.</i><br />
-</div>
-
-<div class='hang1'>—— The Damsel and the Sage: A Woman's Whimsies.
-With a Photogravure Portrait. <i>Cr. 8vo.</i> In slip case.
-<i>5s. net.</i></div>
-
-<div class='hang1'>—— Sayings of Grandmamma. From the Writings of
-Elinor Glyn. <i>Fcap. 8vo.</i> With Photogravure Portrait.
-<i>Persian yapp. 2s. 6d. net. Also in parchment, 1s. net.</i></div>
-
-<div class='hang1'>—— The Reason Why. With Frontispiece in Colour.
-<i>Cr. 8vo. 6s.</i></div>
-
-<div class='hang1'><span class="smcap">Gorky, Maxim.</span> The Spy. A Tale. By Maxim Gorky.
-<i>Cr. 8vo. 6s.</i></div>
-
-<div class='hang1'>—— Twenty-six Men and a Girl. Stories. <i>Cr. 8vo.
-Cloth, 2s. net.</i></div>
-
-<div class='hang1'><span class="smcap">Hayter, Adrian.</span> The Profitable Imbroglio. A Tale of
-Mystery. <i>Cr. 8vo. 6s.</i></div>
-
-<div class='hang1'><span class="smcap">Holmes, Arthur H.</span> Twinkle. A Novel. <i>Cr. 8vo. 6s.</i></div>
-
-<div class='hang1'><span class="smcap">Horlick, Jittie.</span> A String of Beads. A Tale. Illustrated
-in Colour. <i>Cr. 8vo. 6s.</i></div>
-
-<div class='hang1'><span class="smcap">Johnson, Cecil Ross.</span> The Trader: A Venture in New
-Guinea. A Novel. <i>Cr. 8vo. 6s.</i></div>
-
-<div class='hang1'><span class="smcap">Le Sage, A. B.</span> In the West Wind. A Cornish Novel.
-<i>Cr. 8vo. 6s.</i></div>
-
-<div class='hang1'><span class="smcap">Lipsett, E. R.</span> Didy: The Story of an Irish Girl.
-<i>Cr. 8vo. 6s.</i></div>
-
-<div class='hang1'><span class="smcap">Maclagan, Bridget.</span> The Mistress of Kingdoms. A Novel.
-<i>Cr. 8vo. 6s.</i></div>
-
-<div class='hang1'><span class="smcap">Martindale, Elizabeth.</span> Margaret Hever. A Novel. <i>Cr.
-8vo. 6s.</i><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_19_ad" id="Page_19_ad">[19]</a></span></div>
-
-<div class='hang1'><span class="smcap">Maud, Constance Elizabeth.</span> Angelique: le p'tit Chou.
-A Story. <i>Cr. 8vo. 6s.</i></div>
-
-<div class='center'>
-<i>See also <a href="#Shilling_Net_Series">Two Shilling Net Novels</a> for another book by Miss Maud.</i><br />
-</div>
-
-<div class='hang1'><span class="smcap">Maupassant, Guy de.</span> Yvette, and other Stories. Translated
-by A.G. <i>Cr. 8vo. 6s.</i></div>
-
-<div class='center'>
-<i>See also <a href="#Shilling_Net_Series">Shilling Net Library</a> for another volume of Maupassant.</i><br />
-</div>
-
-<div class='hang1'><span class="smcap">Monkhouse, Allan.</span> Dying Fires. A Novel. <i>Cr. 8vo. 6s.</i></div>
-
-<div class='hang1'><span class="smcap">Napier, Rosamond.</span> The Faithful Failure. A Novel of the
-Open Air. <i>Cr. 8vo. 6s.</i></div>
-
-<div class='hang1'>—— The Heart of a Gypsy. A Novel. <i>Cr. 8vo. 6s.</i></div>
-
-<div class='hang1'><span class="smcap">Pawlowska, Yoï.</span> Those that Dream. A Novel of Life in
-Rome To-day. <i>Cr. 8vo. 6s.</i></div>
-
-<div class='hang1'><span class="smcap">Roberts, Helen.</span> Old Brent's Daughter. <i>Cr. 8vo. 6s.</i></div>
-
-<div class='hang1'><span class="smcap">Schofield, Lily.</span> Elizabeth, Betsy, and Bess. A Tale.
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Essays on the Poetry of the French Renaissance</td></tr> +<tr><td align='center'><br /><span class="smcap">Birrell, Augustine</span></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>ORBITER DICTA</td></tr> +<tr><td align='center'><br /><span class="smcap">Bourne, George</span></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>MEMOIRS OF A SURREY LABOURER</td></tr> +<tr><td align='center'><br /><span class="smcap">Brooks, Stopford A.</span></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>STUDIES IN POETRY. Essays on Blake, Scott, Shelley, Keats, etc.</td></tr> +<tr><td align='center'><br /><span class="smcap">Everett, W.</span></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>ITALIAN POETS SINCE DANTE</td></tr> +<tr><td align='center'><br /><span class="smcap">Galsworthy, John</span></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>A COMMENTARY</td></tr> +<tr><td align='center'><br /><span class="smcap">Hudson, W. H.</span></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>GREEN MANSIONS. A Romance of the Tropical Forest</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>THE PURPLE LAND. Descriptive Romance</td></tr> +<tr><td align='center'><br /><span class="smcap">Jefferies, Richard</span></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>AMARYLLIS AT THE FAIR</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>BEVIS. The Story of a Boy</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>AFTER LONDON</td></tr> +<tr><td align='center'><br /><span class="smcap">McCabe, Joseph</span></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>ST. AUGUSTINE AND HIS AGE</td></tr> +<tr><td align='center'><br /><span class="smcap">Nevinson, H. W.</span></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>ESSAYS IN FREEDOM</td></tr> +<tr><td align='center'><br /><span class="smcap">Stephen, Sir Leslie</span></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>ENGLISH LITERATURE AND SOCIETY</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>IN THE EIGHTEENTH CENTURY</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>STUDIES OF A BIOGRAPHER. First Series. Two Volumes</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>STUDIES OF A BIOGRAPHER. Second Series. Two Volumes</td></tr> +<tr><td align='center'><br /><span class="smcap">Witte, Dr. Carl</span></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>ESSAYS ON DANTE</td></tr> +<tr><td align='center'><br /><span class="smcap">Roosevelt, Theodore</span></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>THE STRENUOUS LIFE. Essays and Addresses</td></tr> +<tr><td align='center'><br /><span class="smcap">Eckenstein, Lina</span></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><div class='hang1'>COMPARATIVE STUDIES IN NURSERY RHYMES: Essays<br />in a Branch of Folklore</div></td></tr> +<tr><td align='center'><br /><span class="smcap">Cunninghame Graham, R. 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Fortified, however, +with that sense of rectitude that dictates conformity +to our neighbours and a safe acquiescence +in the mysterious movements of public taste, the +critics have exclaimed with touching unanimity—"What +a pity Jefferies tried to write novels! Why +didn't he stick to essays in natural history!"</div> + +<p>What a pity Jefferies should have given us +"Amaryllis at the Fair," and "After London"!—this +opinion has been propagated with such fervency +that it seems almost a pity to disturb it by inquiring +into the nature of these his achievements. Certainly +the critics, and their critical echoes, are united. "He +wrote some later novels of indifferent merit," says +a critic in "Chambers' Encyclopædia." "Has anyone +ever been able to write with free and genuine<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_viii" id="Page_viii">[viii]</a></span> +appreciation of even the later novels?" asks or +echoes a lady, Miss Grace Toplis, writing on Jefferies. +"In brief, he was an essayist and not a novelist at +all," says Mr. Henry Salt. "It is therefore certain +that his importance for posterity will dwindle, if it +has not already dwindled, to that given by a bundle +of descriptive selections. But these will occupy a +foremost place on their particular shelf, the shelf at +the head of which stands Gilbert White and Gray," +says Mr. George Saintsbury. "He was a reporter +of genius, and he never got beyond reporting. Mr. +Besant has the vitalising imagination which Jefferies +lacked," says Mr. Henley in his review of Walter +Besant's "Eulogy of Richard Jefferies"; and again, +"They are not novels as he (Walter Besant) admits, +they are a series of pictures. . . . That is the way +he takes Jefferies at Jefferies' worst." Yes, it is very +touching this unanimity, and it is therefore a pleasure +for this critic to say that in his <ins title="Transcriber's Note: original reads 'judgement'">judgment</ins> "Amaryllis +at the Fair" is one of the very few later-day novels +of English country life that are worth putting on +one's shelf, and that to make room for it he would +turn out certain highly-praised novels by Hardy +which do not ring quite true, novels which the critics +and the public, again with touching unanimity, have +voted to be of high rank. But what is a novel? the +reader may ask. A novel, says the learned Charles +Annandale, is "a fictitious prose narrative, involving +some plot of greater or less intricacy, and professing +to give a picture of real life, generally exhibiting +the passions and sentiments, in a state of<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_ix" id="Page_ix">[ix]</a></span> +great activity, and especially the passion of love." +Well, "Amaryllis at the Fair" is a fictitious prose +narrative professing to give a picture of real life, +and involving a plot of little intricacy. Certainly it +exhibits the passions and sentiments in a state of +great activity. But Mr. Henry Salt, whose little +book on Jefferies is the best yet published, further +remarks: "Jefferies was quite unable to give any +vivid dramatic life to his stories . . . his instinct +was that of the naturalist who observes and moralizes +rather than that of the novelist who penetrates and +interprets; and consequently his rustic characters, +though strongly and clearly drawn, do not live, as, +for example, those of Thomas Hardy live. . . . Men +and animals are alike mere figures in his landscapes."</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p>So far the critics. Jefferies being justly held to +be "no ordinary novelist," it is inferred by most +that something is wrong with "Amaryllis the Fair," +and the book has been passed over in silence. But we +do not judge every novel by the same test. We do +not judge "Tristram Shandy," for example, by its +intricate plot, or by its "vivid drama," we judge it +simply as an artistic revelation of human life and by +its humorous insight into human character. And +judged by the same simple test "Amaryllis at the +Fair," we contend, is a living picture of life, a +creative work of imagination of a high order. Iden, +the unsuccessful farmer who "built for all time, and +not for the circumstances of the hour," is a masterly +piece of character drawing. But Iden is a personal<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_x" id="Page_x">[x]</a></span> +portrait, the reader may object, Well, what about +Uncle Toby? From what void did he spring? Iden, +to our mind, is almost as masterly a conception, +as broadly human a figure as Uncle Toby. And +Mrs. Iden, where will you find this type of nervous, +irritable wife, full of spiteful disillusioned love for +her dilatory husband better painted than by Jefferies? +But Mrs. Iden is a type, not an individual, the +reader may say. Excellent reader! and what about +the Widow Wadman? She is no less and no more +of an individual than is Mrs. Iden. It was a great +feat of Sterne to create so cunningly the atmosphere +of the Shandy household, but Jefferies has accomplished +an artistic feat also in drawing the relations +of the Idens, father, mother, and daughter. How +true, how unerringly true to human nature is this +picture of the Iden household; how delicately felt +and rendered to a hair is his picture of the father's +sluggish, masculine will, pricked ineffectually by the +waspish tongue of feminine criticism. Further, we +not only have the family's idiosyncrasies, their habits, +mental atmosphere, and domestic story brought before +us in a hundred pages, easily and instinctively +by the hand of the artist, but we have the whole book +steeped in the breath of English spring, the restless +ache of spring that thrills through the nerves, and +stirs the sluggish winter blood; we have the spring +feeling breaking from the March heavens and the +March earth in copse, meadow, and ploughland, as it +has scarcely been rendered before by English novelist. +The description of Amaryllis running out into the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_xi" id="Page_xi">[xi]</a></span> +March wind to call her father from his potato planting +to see the daffodil; the picture of Iden pretending +to sleep in his chair that he may watch the mice; +the description of the girl Amaryllis watching the +crowd of plain, ugly men of the countryside flocking +along the road to the fair; the description of Amadis +the invalid, in the old farm kitchen among the stalwart +country folk—all these pictures and a dozen +others in the book are painted with a masterly hand. +Pictures! the critical reader may complain. Yes, +pictures of living men and women. What does it +matter whether a revelation of human life is conveyed +to us by pictures or by action so long as it is +conveyed? Mr. Saintsbury classes Jefferies with +Gray, presumably because both writers have written +of the English landscape. With Gray! Jefferies in +his work as a naturalist and observer of wild life +may be classed merely for convenience with Gilbert +White. But this classification only applies to one half +of Jefferies' books. By his "Wild Life in a Southern +County" he stands beside Gilbert White; by his +"Story of My Heart" he stands by himself, a little +apart from the poets, and by "Amaryllis at the Fair" +he stands among the half-dozen country writers of +the century whose work is racy of the English soil +and of rural English human nature. We will name +three of these writers, Barnes, Cobbett, Waugh, and +our attentive readers can name the other three.</p> + +<p>To come back to "Amaryllis at the Fair," why is +it so masterly, or, further, wherein is it so masterly, +the curious reader may inquire? "Is it not full of<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_xii" id="Page_xii">[xii]</a></span> +digressions? Granted that the first half of the 'novel' +is beautiful in style, does not Jefferies suddenly +break his method, introduce his own personality, +intersperse abrupt disquisitions on food, illness, and +Fleet Street? Is not that description of Iden's +dinner a little—well, a little unusual? In short, is +not the book a disquisition on life from the standpoint +of Jefferies' personal experiences? And if this +is so, how can the book be so fine an achievement?" +Oh, candid reader, with the voice of authority +sounding in your ears (and have we not Mr. Henley +and Mr. Saintsbury bound in critical amity against +us), a book may break the formal rules, and yet it +may yield to us just that salt of life which we may +seek for vainly in the works of more faultless writers. +The strength of "Amaryllis at the Fair" is that its +beauty springs naturally from the prosaic earthly +facts of life it narrates, and that, in the natural +atmosphere breathed by its people, the prose and the +poetry of their life are one. In the respect of the +artistic naturalness of its homely picture, the book +is very superior to, say "The Mayor of Casterbridge," +where we are conscious that the author has been at +work arranging and rearranging his charming studies +and impressions of the old-world people of Casterbridge +into the pattern of an exciting plot. Now it +is precisely in the artificed dramatic story of "The +Mayor of Casterbridge"—and we cite this novel as +characteristic, both in its strength and weakness, of +its distinguished author,—that we are brought to +feel that we have not been shown the characters of<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_xiii" id="Page_xiii">[xiii]</a></span> +Casterbridge going their way in life naturally, but +that they have been moved about, kaleidoscopically, +to suit the exigencies of the plot, and that the more +this is so the less significance for us have their +thoughts and actions. Watching the quick whirling +changes of Farfrae and Lucetta, Henchard and +Newson in the matrimonial mazes of the story, and +listening to the chorus of the rustics in the wings, we +perceive indeed whence comes that atmosphere of +stage crisis and stage effect which suddenly introduces +a disillusioning sense of unreality, and mars +the artistic unity of this charming picture, so truthful +in other respects to English rural life. Plot is +Mr. Hardy's weakness, and perfect indeed and convincing +would have been his pictures, if he could +have thrown his plots and his rustic choruses to the +four winds. May we not be thankful, therefore, that +Jefferies was no hand at elaborating a plot, and that +in "Amaryllis at the Fair," the scenes, the descriptions, +the conversations are spontaneous as life, and +that Jefferies' commentary on them is like Fielding's +commentary, a medium by which he lives with his +characters. The author's imagination, memory, and +instinctive perception are, indeed, all working together; +and so his picture of human life in +"Amaryllis" brings with it as convincing and as +fresh a breath of life as we find in Cobbett's, +Waugh's and Barnes' country writings. When a +writer arrives at being perfectly natural in his atmosphere, +his style and his subject seem to become +one. He moves easily and surely. Out of the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_xiv" id="Page_xiv">[xiv]</a></span> +splintered mass of ideas and emotions, out of the +sensations, the observations and revelations of his +youth, and the atmosphere familiar to him through +long feeling, he builds up a subtle and cunning +picture for us, a complete illusion of life more true +than the reality. For what prosaic people call the +reality is merely the co-ordination in their own minds +of perhaps a thousandth part of aspects of the life +around them; and only this thousandth part they +have noticed. But the creative mind builds up a +living picture out of the thousands of aspects most +of us are congenitally blind to. This is what Jefferies +has done in "Amaryllis at the Fair." The book is +rich in the contradictory forces of life, in its quick +twists and turns: we feel in it there is nature working +alike in the leaves of grass outside the Idens' +house, in the blustering winds round the walls, and +in the minds of the characters indoors; and the style +has the freshness of the April wind. Everything is +growing, changing, breathing in the book. But the +accomplished critics do not notice these trivial +strengths. It is enough for them that Jefferies was +not a novelist! Indeed, Mr. Saintsbury apparently +thinks that Jefferies made a mistake in drawing his +philosophy from an open-air study of nature, for he +writes: "Unfortunately for Jefferies his philosophic +background was not like Wordsworth's clear and +cheerful, but wholly vague and partly gloomy." It +was neither vague nor gloomy, we may remark, +parenthetically, but we may admit that Jefferies saw +too deeply into nature's workings, and had too<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_xv" id="Page_xv">[xv]</a></span> +sensuous a joy in life to interpret all Nature's doings, +à la Wordsworth, and lend them a portentously +moral significance.</p> + +<p>The one charge that may with truth be brought +against "Amaryllis at the Fair" is that its digressions +damage the artistic illusion of the whole. The +book shows the carelessness, the haste, the roughness +of a sketch, a sketch, moreover, which Jefferies +was not destined to carry to the end he had planned, +but we repeat, let us be thankful that its artistic +weaknesses are those of a sketch direct from nature, +rather than those of an ambitious studio picture. +And these digressions are an integral part of the +book's character, just as the face of a man has its +own blemishes: they are one with the spirit of the +whole, and so, if they break somewhat the illusion +of the scenes, they do not damage its spiritual unity. +It is this spiritual unity on which we must insist, +because "Amaryllis" is indeed Jefferies' last and +complete testament on human life. He wrote it, or +rather dictated it to his wife, as he lay in pain, +slowly dying, and he has put into it the frankness of +a dying man. How real, how solid, how deliciously +sweet seemed those simple earthly joys, those human +appetites of healthy, vigorous men to him! how intense +is his passion and spiritual hunger for the +beauty of earth! Like a flame shooting up from the +log it is consuming, so this passion for the green +earth, for the earth in wind and rain and sunshine, +consumes the wasted, consumptive body of the dying +man. The reality, the solidity of the homely farmhouse<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_xvi" id="Page_xvi">[xvi]</a></span> +life he describes spring from the intensity +with which he clings to all he loves, the cold March +wind buffeting the face, the mating cries of the +birds in the hot spring sunshine. Life is so terribly +strong, so deliciously real, so full of man's unsatisfied +hungry ache for happiness; and sweet is the craving, +bitter the knowledge of the unfulfilment. So, inspiring +and vivifying the whole, in every line of +"Amaryllis" is Jefferies' philosophy of life. Jefferies +"did not understand human nature," say the accomplished +critics. Did he not? "Amaryllis at the Fair" +is one of the truest criticisms of human life, oh +reader, you are likely to meet with. The mixedness +of things, the old, old human muddle, the meanness +and stupidity and shortsightedness of humanity, the +good salty taste of life in the healthy mouth, the +spirituality of love, the strong earthy roots of +appetite, man's lust of life, with circumstances awry, +and the sharp wind blowing alike on the just and +the unjust—all is there on the printed page of +"Amaryllis at the Fair." The song of the wind and +the roar of London unite and mingle therein for +those who do not bring the exacting eye of superiority +to this most human book.</p> + +<div class='sig'> +<span class="smcap">Edward Garnett</span>.<br /> +</div> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 130px;"> +<img src="images/i-031.png" width="130" height="76" alt="Decoration" title="" /> +<br /><br /></div> +<div class="footnotes"><h3>FOOTNOTE:</h3> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_1_1" id="Footnote_1_1"></a><a href="#FNanchor_1_1"><span class="label">[1]</span></a> Reprinted in part from "The Academy" of April 4th, +1903.</p></div> +</div> + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_xvii" id="Page_xvii">[xvii]</a></span></p> + + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 300px;"> +<img src="images/title2-a.png" width="300" height="42" alt="Decoration" title="" /> +</div> + +<h2>AMARYLLIS AT THE FAIR</h2> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 90px;"> +<img src="images/title2-b.png" width="90" height="31" alt="decoration" title="" /> +</div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_1" id="Page_1">[1]</a></span></p> +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 500px;"> +<img src="images/i-033.png" width="500" height="174" alt="decoration" title="" /> +</div> + + +<h2>AMARYLLIS AT THE FAIR.</h2> + + + +<h2>CHAPTER I.</h2> + + +<div class="figleft" style="width: 120px;"> +<img src="images/a.png" width="120" height="120" alt="A" title="" /> +</div><div class='unindent'>MARYLLIS found the first daffodil +flowering by the damask rose, and +immediately ran to call her father to +come and see it.</div> + +<p>There are no damask roses now, like +there used to be in summer at Coombe Oaks. I +have never seen one since I last gathered one from +that very bush. There are many grand roses, but +no fragrance—the fragrance is gone out of life. +Instinctively as I pass gardens in summer I look +under the shade of the trees for the old roses, but +they are not to be found. The dreary nurseries of +evergreens and laurels—cemeteries they should be +called, cemeteries in appearance and cemeteries of +taste—are innocent of such roses. They show +you an acre of what they call roses growing out of +dirty straw, spindly things with a knob on the top,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_2" id="Page_2">[2]</a></span> +which even dew can hardly sweeten. "No call +for damask roses—wouldn't pay to grow they. +Single they was, I thinks. No good. These be +cut every morning and fetched by the flower-girls +for gents' button-holes and ladies' jackets. You +won't get no damask roses; they be died out."</p> + +<p>I think in despite of the nurseryman, or cemetery-keeper, +that with patience I could get a +damask rose even now by inquiring about from +farmhouse to farmhouse. In time some old farmer, +with a good old taste for old roses and pinks, +would send me one; I have half a mind to try. +But, alas! it is no use, I have nowhere to put it; +I rent a house which is built in first-rate modern +style, though small, of course, and there is a +"garden" to it, but no place to put a damask rose. +No place, because it is not "home," and I cannot +plant except round "home." The plot or "patch" +the landlord calls "the garden"—it is about as +wide as the border round a patch, old style—is +quite vacant, bare, and contains nothing but mould. +It is nothing to me, and I cannot plant it.</p> + +<p>Not only are there no damask roses, but there +is no place for them now-a-days, no "home," only +villas and rented houses. Anything rented in a +town can never be "home."</p> + +<p>Farms that were practically taken on a hundred +and twenty, or fifty, or perhaps two hundred years' +leases were "homes." Consequently they had +damask roses, bees, and birds about them.</p> + +<p>There had been daffodils in that spot at least a<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_3" id="Page_3">[3]</a></span> +century, opening every March to the dry winds +that shrivel up the brown dead leaves of winter, +and carry them out from the bushes under the +trees, sending them across the meadow—fleeing +like a routed army before the bayonets of the East. +Every spring for a century at least the daffodils +had bloomed there.</p> + +<p>Amaryllis did not stay to think of the century, +but ran round the corner of the house, and came +face to face with the east wind, which took her +with such force as to momentarily stay her progress. +Her skirts were blown out horizontally, +her ankles were exposed, and the front line of her +shape (beginning to bud like spring) was sketched +against the red brick wall. She laughed, but the +strong gale filled her throat as if a hand had been +thrust down it; the wind got its edge like a knife +under her eyelids, between them and the eyeballs, +and seemed as if it would scoop them out; her +eyes were wet with involuntary tears; her lips +dried up and parched in a moment. The wind +went through her thick stockings as if the wool +was nothing. She lifted her hand to defend her +eyes, and the skin of her arm became "goosey" +directly. Had she worn hat or bonnet it would +have flown. Stooping forwards, she pushed step +by step, and gradually reached the shelter of the +high garden wall; there she could stand upright, +and breathe again.</p> + +<p>Her lips, which had been whitened by the keen +blast, as if a storm of ice particles had been driven<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_4" id="Page_4">[4]</a></span> +against them, now resumed their scarlet, but her +ears were full of dust and reddened, and her curly +dark hair was dry and rough and without gloss. +Each separate hair separated itself from the next, +and would not lie smooth—the natural unctuous +essence which usually caused them to adhere was +dried up.</p> + +<p>The wind had blown thus round that corner +every March for a century, and in no degree +abated its bitter force because a beautiful human +child, full of the happiness of a flower, came carelessly +into its power. Nothing ever shows the +least consideration for human creatures.</p> + +<p>The moss on the ridge of the wall under which +she stood to breathe looked shrivelled and thin, +the green tint dried out of it. A sparrow with a +straw tried hard to reach the eaves of the house to +put it in his nest, but the depending straw was +caught by the breeze as a sail, and carried him +past.</p> + +<p>Under the wall was a large patch recently dug, +beside the patch a grass path, and on the path a +wheelbarrow. A man was busy putting in +potatoes; he wore the raggedest coat ever seen +on a respectable back. As the wind lifted the +tails it was apparent that the lining was loose and +only hung by threads, the cuffs were worn through, +there was a hole beneath each arm, and on each +shoulder the nap of the cloth was gone; the colour, +which had once been grey, was now a mixture of +several soils and numerous kinds of grit. The hat<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_5" id="Page_5">[5]</a></span> +he had on was no better; it might have been made +of some hard pasteboard, it was so bare. Every +now and then the wind brought a few handfuls of +dust over the wall from the road, and dropped it +on his stooping back.</p> + +<p>The way in which he was planting potatoes was +wonderful, every potato was placed at exactly the +right distance apart, and a hole made for it in the +general trench; before it was set it was looked at +and turned over, and the thumb rubbed against it +to be sure that it was sound, and when finally put +in, a little mould was delicately adjusted round to +keep it in its right position till the whole row was +buried. He carried the potatoes in his coat +pocket—those, that is, for the row—and took them +out one by one; had he been planting his own +children he could not have been more careful. +The science, the skill, and the experience brought +to this potato-planting you would hardly credit; +for all this care was founded upon observation, and +arose from very large abilities on the part of the +planter, though directed to so humble a purpose at +that moment.</p> + +<p>So soon as Amaryllis had recovered breath, she +ran down the grass path and stood by the wheelbarrow, +but although her shadow fell across the +potato row, he would not see her.</p> + +<p>"Pa," she said, not very loud. "Pa," growing +bolder. "Do come—there's a daffodil out, the very, +very first."</p> + +<p>"Oh," a sound like a growl—"oh," from the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_6" id="Page_6">[6]</a></span> +depth of a vast chest heaving out a doubtful +note.</p> + +<p>"It is such a beautiful colour!"</p> + +<p>"Where is your mother?" looking at her +askance and still stooping.</p> + +<p>"Indoors—at least—I think—no——"</p> + +<p>"Haven't you got no sewing? Can't you help +her? What good be you on?"</p> + +<p>"But this is such a lovely daffodil, and the very +first—now do come!"</p> + +<p>"Flowers bean't no use on; such trumpery as +that; what do'ee want a-messing about arter +thaay? You'll never be no good on; you ain't +never got a apron on."</p> + +<p>"But—just a minute now."</p> + +<p>"Go on in, and be some use on."</p> + +<p>Amaryllis' lip fell; she turned and walked slowly +away along the path, her head drooping forward.</p> + +<p>Did ever anyone have a beautiful idea or feeling +without being repulsed?</p> + +<p>She had not reached the end of the path, however, +when the father began to change his attitude; +he stood up, dropped his "dibbler," scraped his +foot on his spade, and, grumbling to himself, went +after her. She did not see or hear him till he +overtook her.</p> + +<p>"Please, I'll go and do the sewing," she said.</p> + +<p>"Where be this yer flower?" gruffly.</p> + +<p>"I'll show you," taking his ragged arm, and +brightening up immediately. "Only think, to +open in all this wind, and so cold—isn't it beautiful?<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_7" id="Page_7">[7]</a></span> +It's much more beautiful than the flowers +that come in the summer."</p> + +<p>"Trumpery rubbish—mean to dig 'em all up—would +if I had time," muttered the father. "Have +'em carted out and drowed away—do for ashes to +drow on the fields. Never no good on to nobody, +thaay thengs. You can't eat 'em, can you, like +you can potatoes?"</p> + +<p>"But it's lovely. Here it is," and Amaryllis +stepped on the patch tenderly, and lifted up the +drooping face of the flower.</p> + +<p>"Ah, yes," said Iden, putting his left hand to +his chin, a habit of his when thinking, and suddenly +quite altering his pronunciation from that of the +country folk and labourers amongst whom he dwelt +to the correct accent of education. "Ah, yes; +the daffodil was your great-uncle's favourite +flower."</p> + +<p>"Richard?" asked Amaryllis.</p> + +<p>"Richard," repeated Iden. And Amaryllis, +noting how handsome her father's intellectual face +looked, wandered in her mind from the flower as +he talked, and marvelled how he could be so rough +sometimes, and why he talked like the labourers, +and wore a ragged coat—he who was so full of +wisdom in his other moods, and spoke, and thought, +and indeed acted as a perfect gentleman.</p> + +<p>"Richard's favourite flower," he went on. "He +brought the daffodils down from Luckett's; every +one in the garden came from there. He was +always reading poetry, and writing, and sketching,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_8" id="Page_8">[8]</a></span> +and yet he was such a capital man of business; no +one could understand that. He built the mill, and +saved heaps of money; he bought back the old +place at Luckett's, which belonged to us before +Queen Elizabeth's days; indeed, he very nearly +made up the fortunes Nicholas and the rest of +them got rid of. He was, indeed, a man. And +now it is all going again—faster than he made it. +He used to take you on his knee and say you would +walk well, because you had a good ankle."</p> + +<p>Amaryllis blushed and smoothed her dress with +her hands, as if that would lengthen the skirt and +hide the ankles which Richard, the great-uncle, +had admired when she was a child, being a man, +but which her feminine acquaintances told her +were heavy.</p> + +<p>"Here, put on your hat and scarf; how foolish +of you to go out in this wind without them!" said +Mrs. Iden, coming out. She thrust them into +Amaryllis' unwilling hands, and retired indoors +again immediately.</p> + +<p>"He was the only one of all the family," continued +her father, "who could make money; all +the rest could do nothing but spend it. For ten +generations he was the only money-maker and +saver, and yet he was as free and liberal as possible. +Very curious, wasn't it?—only one in ten generations—difficult +to understand why none of the +others—why——" He paused, thinking.</p> + +<p>Amaryllis, too, was silent, thinking—thinking +how easily her papa could make money, great<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_9" id="Page_9">[9]</a></span> +heaps of money. She was sure he could if he +tried, instead of planting potatoes.</p> + +<p>"If only another Richard would rise up like +him!" said Iden.</p> + +<p>This was a very unreasonable wish, for, having +had one genius in the family, and that, too, in the +memory of man, they could not expect another. +Even vast empires rarely produce more than one +great man in all the course of their history. There +was but one Cæsar in the thousand years of +Rome; Greece never had one as a nation, unless +we except Themistocles, or unless we accept +Alexander, who was a Macedonian; Persia had a +Cyrus; there was a Tamerlane somewhere, but few +people know anything of the empire he overshadows +with his name; France has had two +mighty warriors, Charlemagne and Napoleon—unfortunate +France! As for ourselves, fortunate +islanders! we have never had a great man so +immensely great as to overtop the whole, like +Charlemagne in his day. Fortunate for us, indeed, +that it has been so. But the best example to the +point is the case of the immense empire of Russia, +which has had one Peter the Great, and one only. +Great-uncle Richard was the Peter the Great of +his family, whose work had been slowly undone by +his successors.</p> + +<p>"I wonder whether any of us will ever turn out +like Richard," continued Iden. "No one could +deny him long; he had a way of persuading and +convincing people, and always got his own will in<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_10" id="Page_10">[10]</a></span> +the end. Wonderful man!" he pondered, returning +towards his work.</p> + +<p>Suddenly the side door opened, and Mrs. Iden +just peered out, and cried, "Put your hat and scarf +on directly."</p> + +<p>Amaryllis put the hat on, and wound the scarf +very loosely about her neck. She accompanied +her father to the potato patch, hoping that he +would go on talking, but he was quickly absorbed +in the potatoes. She watched him stooping till his +back was an arch; in fact, he had stooped so much +that now he could not stand upright, though still +in the prime of life; if he stood up and stretched +himself, still his back was bowed at the shoulders. +He worked so hard—ever since she could remember +she had seen him working like this; he was up in +the morning while it was yet dark tending the +cattle; sometimes he was up all night with them, +wind or weather made no difference. Other people +stopped indoors if it rained much, but it made no +difference to her father, nor did the deep snow or +the sharp frosts. Always at work, and he could +talk so cleverly, too, and knew everything, and yet +they were so short of money. How could this be?</p> + +<p>What a fallacy it is that hard work is the making +of money; I could show you plenty of men who +have worked the whole of their lives as hard as ever +could possibly be, and who are still as far off independence +as when they began. In fact, that is the +rule; the winning of independence is rarely the result +of work, else nine out of ten would be well-to-do.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_11" id="Page_11">[11]</a></span></p> +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 500px;"> +<img src="images/i-034.png" width="500" height="85" alt="Decoration" title="" /> +</div> + + +<h2>CHAPTER II.</h2> + + +<div class="figleft" style="width: 117px;"> +<img src="images/p.png" width="117" height="120" alt="P" title="" /> +</div><div class='unindent'>RESENTLY Amaryllis wandered indoors, +and was met in the hall by her +mother.</div> + +<p>"What has he been talking to you +about?" she said, angrily. "Don't +listen to him. He will never do any good. Just +look at his coat; it's a disgrace, a positive disgrace. +Telling you about the old people? What's +the use of talking of people who have been dead +all this time? Why doesn't he do something himself? +Don't listen to his rubbish—wasting his +time there with potatoes, it is enough to make one +wild! Why doesn't he go in to market and buy +and sell cattle, and turn over money in that way? +Not he! he'd rather muddle with a few paltry +potatoes, as if it mattered an atom how they were +stuck in the ground."</p> + +<p>Not liking to hear her father abused, Amaryllis +went upstairs, and when she was alone lifted her +skirt and looked at the ankles which great-uncle +Richard had admired. Other girls had told her +they were thick, and she was ashamed of them.</p> + +<p>Instead of the slender things which seem as if a<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_12" id="Page_12">[12]</a></span> +sudden strain would snap them, and are nothing +but mere bone, she had a pair of well-shaped +ankles, justly proportioned to what would soon be +a fine form; strong, but neither thick, nor coarse, +nor heavy, ankles that would carry her many a +mile without weariness, that ended good legs with +plenty of flesh on them. The stupidity of calling +such coarse or heavy! They were really ideal +ankles, such as a sculptor would carve. Yet these +ill-instructed girls called them coarse! It was not +their fault, it was the lack of instruction; as they +did not know what was physically perfect, of course +they could not recognize it.</p> + +<p>Let every girl who has such ankles be proud of +them, for they will prove a blessing to her for the +whole of her life.</p> + +<p>Amaryllis could not get her hair smooth, though +she brushed it for some time; it would not lie close, +so much had the east wind dried it. She opened +a drawer, and took out a little bottle of macassar, +and held it in her hand, balancing probabilities. +Would her father see it if she used it, or might he, +perhaps, fail to notice? She dared not leave the +bottle on the dressing-table, for if he had chanced +to pass through the room he would certainly have +thrown it out of window, so bitter was his antagonism +to all oils and perfumes, scents, pomades, and +other resources of the hairdresser, which he held +defiled the hair and ruined it, to the deception of +woman and the disgust of man. Not one drop of +scent did Amaryllis dare to sprinkle on her handkerchief,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_13" id="Page_13">[13]</a></span> +not one drop of oil did she dare put on +her beautiful hair unless surreptitiously, and then +she could not go near him, for he was certain to +detect it and scorch her with withering satire.</p> + +<p>Yet, however satirized, feminine faith in perfumes +and oils and so forth is like a perennial +spring, and never fails.</p> + +<p>Such splendid hair as Amaryllis possessed needed +no dressing—nothing could possibly improve it, +and the chances therefore were that whatever she +used would injure—yet in her heart she yearned to +rub it with oil.</p> + +<p>But the more she considered the more probable +it seemed that her father would detect her; she +had better wait till he went out for the afternoon +somewhere, an event that seldom occurred, for Iden +was one of those who preferred working at home to +rambling abroad. He was, indeed, too attached to +his home work. So she returned the bottle to the +drawer, and hid it under some stockings.</p> + +<p>Immediately afterwards it was dinner-time. At +all meals the rule was that there must be no talking, +but at dinner the law was so strict that even to +ask for anything, as a piece of bread, or to say so +much as "Give me the salt, please," was a deadly +sin. There must be absolute silence while the +master ate. The least infringement was visited +with a severe glance from his keen and brilliant +blue eyes—there are no eyes so stern as blue eyes +when angry—or else he uttered a deep sigh like a +grunt, and sat rigidly upright for a moment. For<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_14" id="Page_14">[14]</a></span> +he usually stooped, and to sit upright showed +annoyance. No laws of the Medes and Persians +were ever obeyed as was this law of silence in that +house.</p> + +<p>Anything that disturbed the absolute calm of the +dinner hour was worse than sacrilege; anything +that threatened to disturb it was watched intently +by that repressive eye. No one must come in or +go out of the room; if anyone knocked at the +door (there are no bells in old country houses) +there was a frown immediately, it necessitated someone +answering it, and then Mrs. Iden or Amaryllis +had to leave the table, to go out and open and +shut the sitting-room door as they went, and again +as they returned. Amaryllis dreaded a knock at +the door, it was so awful to have to stir once they +had sat down to dinner, and the servant was certain +not to know what reply to give. Sometimes it +happened—and this was very terrible—that the +master himself had to go, some one wanted him +about some hay or a horse and cart, and no one +could tell what to do but the master. A dinner +broken up in this way was a very serious matter +indeed.</p> + +<p>That day they had a leg of mutton—a special +occasion—a joint to be looked on reverently. Mr. +Iden had walked into the town to choose it himself +some days previously, and brought it home on foot +in a flag basket. The butcher would have sent it, +and if not, there were men on the farm who could +have fetched it, but it was much too important to be<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_15" id="Page_15">[15]</a></span> +left to a second person. No one could do it right +but Mr. Iden himself. There was a good deal of +reason in this personal care of the meat, for it is a +certain fact that unless you do look after such +things yourself, and that persistently, too, you +never get it first-rate. For this cause people in +grand villas scarcely ever have anything worth +eating on their tables. Their household expenses +reach thousands yearly, and yet they rarely have +anything eatable, and their dinner-tables can never +show meat, vegetables, or fruit equal to Mr. Iden's. +The meat was dark brown, as mutton should be, +for if it is the least bit white it is sure to be poor; +the grain was short, and ate like bread and butter, +firm, and yet almost crumbling to the touch; it was +full of juicy red gravy, and cut pleasantly, the +knife went through it nicely; you can tell good +meat directly you touch it with the knife. It was +cooked to a turn, and had been done at a wood fire +on a hearth; no oven taste, no taint of coal gas +or carbon; the pure flame of wood had browned it. +Such emanations as there may be from burning +logs are odorous of the woodland, of the sunshine, +of the fields and fresh air; the wood simply gives +out as it burns the sweetness it has imbibed through +its leaves from the atmosphere which floats above +grass and flowers. Essences of this order, if they +do penetrate the fibres of the meat, add to its +flavour a delicate aroma. Grass-fed meat, cooked +at a wood fire, for me.</p> + +<p>Wonderful it is that wealthy people can endure<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_16" id="Page_16">[16]</a></span> +to have their meat cooked over coal or in a shut-up +iron box, where it kills itself with its own steam, +which ought to escape. But then wealthy villa +people do do odd things. <i>Les Misérables</i> who +have to write like myself must put up with anything +and be thankful for permission to exist; but +people with mighty incomes from tea, or crockery-ware, +or mud, or bricks and mortar—why on earth +these happy and favoured mortals do not live like +the gods passes understanding.</p> + +<p>Parisian people use charcoal: perhaps Paris +will convert some of you who will not listen to a +farmer.</p> + +<p>Mr. Iden had himself grown the potatoes that +were placed before him. They were white, floury, +without a drop of water in the whole dish of them. +They were equal to the finest bread—far, far superior +to the bread with which the immense city of +London permits itself to be poisoned. (It is not +much better, for it destroys the digestion.) This, +too, with wheat at thirty shillings the quarter, a +price which is in itself one of the most wonderful +things of the age. The finest bread ought to be +cheap.</p> + +<p>"They be forty-folds," said Mr. Iden, helping +himself to half a dozen. "Look at the gravy go +up into um like tea up a knob of sugar."</p> + +<p>The gravy was drawn up among the dry, floury +particles of the potatoes as if they had formed +capillary tubes.</p> + +<p>"Forty-folds," he repeated; "they comes forty<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_17" id="Page_17">[17]</a></span> +to one. It be an amazing theng how thengs do +that; forty grows for one. Thaay be an old-fashioned +potato; you won't find many of thaay, not true forty-folds. +Mine comes true, 'cause I saves um every +year a' purpose. Better take more than that (to +Amaryllis)—you haven't got but two" (to Mrs. +Iden).</p> + +<p>What he ate other people at his table must eat, +and the largest quantity possible. No one else +must speak, hardly to say "Yes" or "No," but +the master could talk, talk, talk without end. The +only talking that might be done by others was in +praise of the edibles on the table by Iden so carefully +provided. You might admire the potatoes or +the mutton, but you must not talk on any other +subject. Nor was it safe even to do that, because +if you said, "What capital potatoes!" you were +immediately helped to another plateful, and had to +finish them, want them or not. If you praised the +mutton several thick slices were placed on your +plate, and woe to you if you left a particle. It was +no use to try and cover over what you could not +manage with knife and fork; it was sure to be seen. +"What bean't you going to yet (eat) up that there +juicy bit, you?"</p> + +<p>Amaryllis and Mrs. Iden, warned by previous +experience, discreetly refrained from admiring either +mutton or potatoes.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_18" id="Page_18">[18]</a></span></p> +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 500px;"> +<img src="images/i-036.png" width="500" height="91" alt="Decoration" title="" /> +</div> + + +<h2>CHAPTER III.</h2> + + +<div class="figleft" style="width: 120px;"> +<img src="images/f.png" width="120" height="121" alt="F" title="" /> +</div><div class='unindent'>ORTY-FOLDS," went on the master, +"be the best keeping potatoes. Thur +be so many new sorts now, but they +bean't no good; they be very good for +gentlefolk as doan't know no better, +and poor folk as can't help theirselves. They won't +grow everywhere neither; there bean't but one +patch in our garden as ull grow 'um well. It's +that's big middle patch. Summat different in the +soil thur. There's a lot, bless you! to be learned +before you can grow a potato, for all it looks such +a simple thing. Farty-folds——"</div> + +<p>"Farty-folds!" said Mrs. Iden, imitating his +provincial pronunciation with extreme disgust in +her tone.</p> + +<p>"Aw, yes, too," said Iden. "Varty-volds be +ould potatoes, and thur bean't none as can beat +um."</p> + +<p>The more she showed her irritation at his speech +or ways, the more he accentuated both language and +manner.</p> + +<p>"Talking with your mouth full," said Mrs. Iden.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_19" id="Page_19">[19]</a></span> +It was true, Iden did talk with his mouth full, very +full indeed, for he fed heartily. The remark annoyed +him; he grunted and spluttered and choked +a little—floury things are choky. He got it down +by taking a long draught at his quart of strong ale. +Splendid ale it was, too, the stuff to induce you to +make faces at Goliath. He soon began to talk +again.</p> + +<p>"Th' ould shepherd fetched me these swede +greens; I axed un three days ago; I know'd we +was going to have this yer mutton. You got to +settle these yer things aforehand."</p> + +<p>"Axed," muttered Mrs. Iden.</p> + +<p>"Th' pigeons have been at um, they be 'mazing +fond of um, so be the larks. These be the best +as thur was. They be the best things in the world +for the blood. Swede greens be the top of all +physic. If you can get fresh swede tops you don't +want a doctor within twenty miles. Their's +nothing in all the chemists' shops in England +equal to swede greens"—helping himself to a +large quantity of salt.</p> + +<p>"What a lot of salt you <i>do</i> eat!" muttered Mrs. +Iden.</p> + +<p>"Onely you must have the real swedes—not +thuck stuff they sells in towns; greens they was +once p'rhaps, but they be tough as leather, and +haven't got a drop of sap in um. Swedes is onely +to be got about March."</p> + +<p>"Pooh! you can get them at Christmas in +London," said Mrs. Iden.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_20" id="Page_20">[20]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Aw, can 'ee? Call they swede tops? They +bean't no good; you might as well eat dried +leaves. I tell you these are the young fresh green +shoots of spring"—suddenly changing his pronunciation +as he became interested in his subject and +forgot the shafts of irritation shot at him by his +wife. "They are full of sap—fresh sap—the juice +which the plant extracts from the earth as the +active power of the sun's rays increases. It is this +sap which is so good for the blood. Without it +the vegetable is no more than a woody fibre. Why +the sap should be so powerful I cannot tell you; +no one knows, any more than they know <i>how</i> the +plant prepares it. This is one of those things +which defy analysis—the laboratory is at fault, and +can do nothing with it." ("More salt!" muttered +Mrs. Iden. "How can you eat such a quantity of +salt?") "There is something beyond what the +laboratory can lay hands on; something that cannot +be weighed, or seen, or estimated, neither by +quantity, quality, or by any means. They analyse +champagne, for instance; they find so many parts +water, so much sugar, so much this, and so much +that; but out of the hundred parts there remain +ten—I think it is ten—at all events so many parts +still to be accounted for. They escape, they are +set down as volatile—the laboratory has not even a +distinct name for this component; the laboratory +knows nothing at all about it, cannot even name it. +But this unknown constituent is the real champagne. +So it is with the sap. In spring the sap<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_21" id="Page_21">[21]</a></span> +possesses a certain virtue; at other times of the +year the leaf is still green, but useless to us."</p> + +<p>"I shall have some vinegar," said Mrs. Iden, +defiantly, stretching out her hand to the cruet.</p> + +<p>Mr. Iden made a wry face, as if the mere mention +of vinegar had set his teeth on edge. He +looked the other way and ate as fast as he could, to +close his eyes to the spectacle of any one spoiling +the sappy swede greens with nauseous vinegar. +To his system of edible philosophy vinegar was +utterly antagonistic—destructive of the sap-principle, +altogether wrong, and, in fact, wicked, as +destroying good and precious food.</p> + +<p>Amaryllis would not have dared to have taken +the vinegar herself, but as her mother passed the +cruet to her, she, too, fell away, and mixed vinegar +with the green vegetables. All women like +vinegar.</p> + +<p>When the bottle was restored to the cruet-stand +Mr. Iden deigned to look round again at the +table.</p> + +<p>"Ha! you'll cut your thumb!" he shouted to +Amaryllis, who was cutting a piece of bread. She +put the loaf down with a consciousness of guilt. +"Haven't I told you how to cut bread twenty +times? Cutting towards your thumb like that! +Hold your left hand lower down, so that if the knife +slips it will go over. Here, like this. Give it +to me."</p> + +<p>He cut a slice to show her, and then tossed the +slice across the table so accurately that it fell<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_22" id="Page_22">[22]</a></span> +exactly into its proper place by her plate. He +had a habit of tossing things in that way.</p> + +<p>"Why ever couldn't you pass it on the tray?" +said Mrs. Iden. "Flinging in that manner! I +hate to see it."</p> + +<p>Amaryllis, as in duty bound, in appearance took +the lesson in bread-cutting to heart, as she had +done twenty times before. But she knew she +should still cut a loaf in the same dangerous style +when out of his sight. She could not do it in the +safe way—it was so much easier in the other; and +if she did cut her hand she did not greatly care.</p> + +<p>"Now perhaps you'll remember," said the +master, getting up with his plate in his hand.</p> + +<p>"Whatever <i>are</i> you going to do now?" asked +Mrs. Iden, who knew perfectly well.</p> + +<p>"Going to warm the plate." He went out into +the kitchen, sat down by the fire, and carefully +warmed his plate for a second helping.</p> + +<p>"I should think you couldn't want any more," +said Mrs. Iden when he came back. "You had +enough the first time for three."</p> + +<p>But Iden, who had the appetite of a giant, and +had never ruined his digestion with vinegar or +sauces, piled another series of thick slices on his +plate, now hot to liquefy the gravy, and added to +the meat a just proportion of vegetables. In proportion +and a just mixture the secret of eating +successfully consisted, according to him.</p> + +<p>First he ate a piece of the dark brown mutton, +this was immediately followed by a portion of floury<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_23" id="Page_23">[23]</a></span> +potato, next by a portion of swede tops, and then, +lest a too savoury taste should remain in the mouth, +he took a fragment of bread, as it were to sweeten +and cleanse his teeth. Finally came a draught of +strong ale, and after a brief moment the same ingredients +were mixed in the same order as before. +His dinner was thus eaten in a certain order, and +with a kind of rhythm, duly exciting each particular +flavour like a rhyme in its proper position, +and duly putting it out with its correct successor. +Always the savour of meat and gravy and vegetables +had to be toned down by the ultimate bread, +a vast piece of which he kept beside him. He +was a great bread eater—it was always bread after +everything, and if there were two courses then bread +between to prepare the palate, and to prevent the +sweets from quarrelling with the acids. Organization +was the chief characteristic of his mind—his +very dinner was organized and well planned, and +any break or disturbance was not so much an annoyance +in itself as destructive of a clever design, +like a stick thrust through the web of a geometrical +spider.</p> + +<p>This order of mouthfuls had been explained over +and over again to the family, and if they felt that +he was in a more than usually terrible mood, and if +they felt his gaze upon them, the family to some +extent submitted. Neither Mrs. Iden nor Amaryllis, +however, could ever educate their palates +into this fixed sequence of feeding; and, if Iden +was not in a very awful and Jovelike mood, they<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_24" id="Page_24">[24]</a></span> +wandered about irregularly in their eating. When +the dinner was over (and, indeed, before it began) +they had a way of visiting the larder, and "picking" +little fragments of pies, or cold fowl, even a cold +potato, the smallest mug—a quarter of a pint of +the Goliath ale between them, or, if it was to be +had, a sip of port wine. These women were very +irrational in their feeding; they actually put vinegar +on cold cabbage; they gloated over a fragment of +pickled salmon about eleven o'clock in the morning. +They had a herring sometimes for tea—the smell of +it cooking sent the master into fits of indignation, +he abominated it so, but they were so hardened +and lost to righteousness they always repeated the +offence next time the itinerant fish-dealer called. +You could not drum them into good solid, straightforward +eating.</p> + +<p>They generally had a smuggled bit of pastry to +eat in the kitchen after dinner, for Mr. Iden considered +that no one could need a second course +after first-rate mutton and forty-folds. A morsel +of cheese if you liked—nothing more. In summer +the great garden abounded with fruit; he would +have nothing but rhubarb, rhubarb, rhubarb, day +after day, or else black-currant pudding. He held +that black currants were the most wholesome fruit +that grew; if he fancied his hands were not quite +clean he would rub them with black-currant leaves +to give them a pleasant aromatic odour (as ladies +use scented soap). He rubbed them with walnut-leaves +for the same purpose.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_25" id="Page_25">[25]</a></span></p> + +<p>Of salad in its season he was a great eater, +cucumber especially, and lettuce and celery; but +a mixed salad (oil and a flash, as it were, of Worcester +sauce) was a horror to him. A principle +ran through all his eating—an idea, a plan and +design.</p> + +<p>I assure you it is a very important matter this +eating, a man's fortune depends on his dinner. I +should have been as rich as Crœsus if I could only +have eaten what I liked all my time; I am sure I +should, now I come to look back.</p> + +<p>The soundest and most wholesome food in the +world was set on Mr. Iden's table; you may differ +from his system, but you would have enjoyed the +dark brown mutton, the floury potatoes, the fresh +vegetables and fruit and salad, and the Goliath ale.</p> + +<p>When he had at last finished his meal he took +his knife and carefully scraped his crumbs together, +drawing the edge along the cloth, first one way and +then the other, till he had a little heap; for, eating +so much bread, he made many crumbs. Having +got them together, he proceeded to shovel them +into his mouth with the end of his knife, so that +not one was wasted. Sometimes he sprinkled a +little moist sugar over them with his finger and +thumb. He then cut himself a slice of bread and +cheese, and sat down with it in his arm-chair by +the fire, spreading his large red-and-yellow silk +handkerchief on his knee to catch the fragments in +lieu of a plate.</p> + +<p>"Why can't you eat your cheese at the table,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_26" id="Page_26">[26]</a></span> +like other people?" said Mrs. Iden, shuffling her +feet with contemptuous annoyance. A deep grunt +in the throat was the answer she received; at the +same time he turned his arm-chair more towards +the fire, as much as to say, "Other people are +nothing to me."</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 135px;"> +<img src="images/i-038.png" width="135" height="150" alt="decoration" title="" /> +</div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_27" id="Page_27">[27]</a></span></p> +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 500px;"> +<img src="images/i-039.png" width="500" height="89" alt="decoration" title="" /> +</div> + + +<h2>CHAPTER IV.</h2> + + +<div class="figleft" style="width: 121px;"> +<img src="images/t.png" width="121" height="120" alt="T" title="" /> +</div><div class='unindent'>HIS arm-chair, of old-fashioned make, +had lost an arm—the screw remained +sticking up, but the woodwork on that +side was gone. It had been accidentally +broken some ten years since; yet, +although he used the chair every day, the arm had +never been mended. Awkward as it was, he let it +alone.</div> + +<p>"Hum! where's <i>The Standard</i>, then?" he said +presently, as he nibbled his cheese and sipped the +ale which he had placed on the hob.</p> + +<p>"Here it is, Pa," said Amaryllis, hastening with +the paper.</p> + +<p>"Thought you despised the papers?" said Mrs. +Iden. "Thought there was nothing but lies and +rubbish in them, according to you?"</p> + +<p>"No more thur bean't."</p> + +<p>"You always take good care to read them, +though."</p> + +<p>"Hum!" Another deep grunt, and another +slight turn of the chair. He could not answer this +charge of inconsistency, for it was a fact that he<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_28" id="Page_28">[28]</a></span> +affected to despise the newspaper and yet read it +with avidity, and would almost as soon have missed +his ale as his news.</p> + +<p>However, to settle with his conscience, he had a +manner of holding the paper half aslant a good way +from him, and every now and then as he read +uttered a dissentient or disgusted grunt.</p> + +<p>The master's taking up his paper was a signal +for all other persons to leave the room, and not to +return till he had finished his news and his nap.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Iden and Amaryllis, as they went out, each +took as many of the dishes as they could carry, +for it was uncertain when they could come in again +to clear the table. The cloth must not be moved, +the door opened, or the slightest sound heard till +the siesta was over.</p> + +<p>"Can't clear the dinner things till four o'clock," +said Mrs. Iden as she went, "and then you want +your tea—senseless!" Amaryllis shut the door, +and the master was left to himself.</p> + +<p>By-and-by, his cheese being finished, he dropped +his newspaper, and arranged himself for slumber. +His left elbow he carefully fitted to the remnant of +the broken woodwork of the chair. The silk handkerchief, +red and yellow, he gathered into a loose +pad in his left hand for his cheek and temple to +rest on. His face was thus supported by his hand +and arm, while the side of his head touched and +rested against the wainscot of the wall.</p> + +<p>Just where his head touched it the wainscot had +been worn away by the daily pressure, leaving a<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_29" id="Page_29">[29]</a></span> +round spot. The wood was there exposed—a +round spot, an inch or two in diameter, being +completely bare of varnish. So many nods—the +attrition of thirty years and more of nodding—had +gradually ground away the coat with which the +painter had originally covered the wood. It even +looked a little hollow—a little depressed—as if his +head had scooped out a shallow crater; but this was +probably an illusion, the eye being deceived by the +difference in colour between the wood and the varnish +around it.</p> + +<p>This human mark reminded one of the grooves +worn by the knees of generations of worshippers in +the sacred steps of the temple which they ascended +on all-fours. It was, indeed, a mark of devotion, +as Mrs. Iden and others, not very keen observers, +would have said, to the god of Sleep; in truth, it +was a singular instance of continued devotion at the +throne of the god of Thought.</p> + +<p>It was to think that Mr. Iden in the commencement +assumed this posture of slumber, and commanded +silence. But thought which has been +cultivated for a third of a century is apt to tone +down to something very near somnolence.</p> + +<p>That panel of wainscot was, in fact, as worthy +of preservation as those on which the early artists +delineated the Madonna and Infant, and for which +high prices are now paid. It was intensely—superlatively—human. +Worn in slow time by a +human head within which a great mind was working +under the most unhappy conditions, it had the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_30" id="Page_30">[30]</a></span> +deep value attaching to inanimate things which +have witnessed intolerable suffering.</p> + +<p>I am not a Roman Catholic, but I must confess +that if I could be assured any particular piece of +wood had really formed a part of the Cross I +should think it the most valuable thing in the world, +to which Koh-i-noors would be mud.</p> + +<p>I am a pagan, and think the heart and soul above +crowns.</p> + +<p>That panel was in effect a cross on which a heart +had been tortured for the third of a century, that +is, for the space of time allotted to a generation.</p> + +<p>That mark upon the panel had still a further +meaning, it represented the unhappiness, the misfortunes, +the Nemesis of two hundred years. This +family of Idens had endured already two hundred +years of unhappiness and discordance for no original +fault of theirs, simply because they had once been +fortunate of old time, and therefore they had to +work out that hour of sunshine to the utmost depths +of shadow.</p> + +<p>The panel of the wainscot upon which that mark +had been worn was in effect a cross upon which a +human heart had been tortured—and thought can, +indeed, torture—for a third of a century. For +Iden had learned to know himself, and despaired.</p> + +<p>Not long after he had settled himself and closed +his eyes the handle of the door was very softly +turned, and Amaryllis stole in for her book, which +she had forgotten. She succeeded in getting it on +tiptoe without a sound, but in shutting the door the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_31" id="Page_31">[31]</a></span> +lock clicked, and she heard him kick the fender +angrily with his iron-shod heel.</p> + +<p>After that there was utter silence, except the +ticking of the American clock—a loud and distinct +tick in the still (and in that sense vacant) +room.</p> + +<p>Presently a shadow somewhat darkened the +window, a noiseless shadow; Mrs. Iden had come +quietly round the house, and stood in the March +wind, watching the sleeping man. She had a shawl +about her shoulders—she put out her clenched hand +from under its folds, and shook her fist at him, +muttering to herself, "Never <i>do</i> anything; nothing +but sleep, sleep, sleep: talk, talk, talk; never <i>do</i> +anything. That's what I hate."</p> + +<p>The noiseless shadow disappeared; the common +American clock continued its loud tick, tick.</p> + +<p>Slight sounds, faint rustlings, began to be +audible among the cinders in the fender. The dry +cinders were pushed about by something passing +between them. After a while a brown mouse +peered out at the end of the fender under Iden's +chair, looked round a moment, and went back to +the grate. In a minute he came again, and ventured +somewhat farther across the width of the +white hearthstone to the verge of the carpet. This +advance was made step by step, but on reaching +the carpet the mouse rushed home to cover in one +run—like children at "touch wood," going out +from a place of safety very cautiously, returning +swiftly. The next time another mouse followed,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_32" id="Page_32">[32]</a></span> +and a third appeared at the other end of the fender. +By degrees they got under the table, and helped +themselves to the crumbs; one mounted a chair +and reached the cloth, but soon descended, afraid +to stay there. Five or six mice were now busy at +their dinner.</p> + +<p>The sleeping man was as still and quiet as if +carved.</p> + +<p>A mouse came to the foot, clad in a great rusty-hued +iron-shod boot—the foot that rested on the +fender, for he had crossed his knees. His ragged +and dingy trouser, full of March dust, and earth-stained +by labour, was drawn up somewhat higher +than the boot. It took the mouse several trials to +reach the trouser, but he succeeded, and audaciously +mounted to Iden's knee. Another quickly followed, +and there the pair of them feasted on the +crumbs of bread and cheese caught in the folds of +his trousers.</p> + +<p>One great brown hand was in his pocket, close +to them—a mighty hand, beside which they were +pigmies indeed in the land of the giants. What would +have been the value of their lives between a finger +and thumb that could crack a ripe and strong-shelled +walnut?</p> + +<p>The size—the mass—the weight of his hand +alone was as a hill overshadowing them; his broad +frame like the Alps; his head high above as a vast +rock that overhung the valley.</p> + +<p>His thumb-nail—widened by labour with spade +and axe—his thumb-nail would have covered<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_33" id="Page_33">[33]</a></span> +either of the tiny creatures as his shield covered +Ajax.</p> + +<p>Yet the little things fed in perfect confidence. +He was so still, so <i>very</i> still—quiescent—they +feared him no more than they did the wall; they +could not hear his breathing.</p> + +<p>Had they been gifted with human intelligence +that very fact would have excited their suspicions. +Why so very, <i>very</i> still? Strong men, wearied by +work, do not sleep quietly; they breathe heavily. +Even in firm sleep we move a little now and then, a +limb trembles, a muscle quivers, or stretches itself.</p> + +<p>But Iden was so still it was evident he was really +wide awake and restraining his breath, and exercising +conscious command over his muscles, that +this scene might proceed undisturbed.</p> + +<p>Now the strangeness of the thing was in this +way: Iden set traps for mice in the cellar and the +larder, and slew them there without mercy. He +picked up the trap, swung it round, opening the +door at the same instant, and the wretched captive +was dashed to death upon the stone flags of the +floor. So he hated them and persecuted them in +one place, and fed them in another.</p> + +<p>A long psychological discussion might be held +on this apparent inconsistency, but I shall leave +analysis to those who like it, and go on recording +facts. I will only make one remark. That nothing +is consistent that is human. If it was not inconsistent +it would have no association with a living +person.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_34" id="Page_34">[34]</a></span></p> + +<p>From the merest thin slit, as it were, between +his eyelids, Iden watched the mice feed and run +about his knees till, having eaten every crumb, they +descended his leg to the floor.</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 122px;"> +<img src="images/i-040.png" width="122" height="210" alt="decoration" title="" /> +</div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_35" id="Page_35">[35]</a></span></p> +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 500px;"> +<img src="images/i-041.png" width="500" height="88" alt="decoration" title="" /> +</div> + + +<h2>CHAPTER V.</h2> + + +<div class="figleft" style="width: 118px;"> +<img src="images/h.png" width="118" height="120" alt="H" title="" /> +</div><div class='unindent'>E was not asleep—he was thinking. +Sometimes, of course, it happened that +slumber was induced by the position +in which he placed himself; slumber, +however, was not his intent. He liked +to rest after his midday meal and think. There +was no real loss of time in it—he had been at work +since half-past five.</div> + +<p>His especial and striking characteristic was a +very large, high, and noble forehead—the forehead +attributed to Shakespeare and seen in his busts. +Shakespeare's intellect is beyond inquiry, yet he +was not altogether a man of action. He was, indeed, +an actor upon the stage; once he stole the +red deer (delightful to think of that!), but he did +not sail to the then new discovered lands of America, +nor did he fight the Spaniards. So much intellect +is, perhaps, antagonistic to action, or rather +it is averse to those arts by which a soldier climbs +to the position of commander. If Shakespeare by +the chance of birth, or other accident, had had the +order of England's forces, we should have seen<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_36" id="Page_36">[36]</a></span> +generalship such as the world had not known since +Cæsar.</p> + +<p>His intellect was too big to climb backstairs till +opportunity came. We have great thoughts instead +of battles.</p> + +<p>Iden's forehead might have been sculptured for +Shakespeare's. There was too much thought in it +for the circumstances of his life. It is possible to +think till you cannot act.</p> + +<p>After the mice descended Iden did sleep for a +few minutes. When he awoke he looked at the +clock in a guilty way, and then opening the oven +of the grate, took out a baked apple. He had one +there ready for him almost always—always, that is, +when they were not ripe on the trees.</p> + +<p>A baked apple, he said, was the most wholesome +thing in the world; it corrected the stomach, prevented +acidity, improved digestion, and gave tone +to all the food that had been eaten previously. If +people would only eat baked apples they would not +need to be for ever going to the chemists' shops +for drugs and salines to put them right. The +women were always at the chemists' shops—you +could never pass the chemists' shops in the town +without seeing two or three women buying something.</p> + +<p>The apple was the apple of fruit, the natural +medicine of man—and the best flavoured. It was +compounded of the sweetest extracts and essences +of air and light, put together of sunshine and wind +and shower in such a way that no laboratory could<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_37" id="Page_37">[37]</a></span> +imitate: and so on in a strain and with a simplicity +of language that reminded you of Bacon and his +philosophy of the Elizabethan age.</p> + +<p>Iden in a way certainly had a tinge of the Baconian +culture, naturally, and not from any study of +that author, whose books he had never seen. The +great Bacon was, in fact, a man of orchard and +garden, and gathered his ideas from the fields.</p> + +<p>Just look at an apple on the tree, said Iden. +Look at a Blenheim orange, the inimitable mixture +of colour, the gold and bronze, and ruddy tints, +not bright colours—undertones of bright colours—smoothed +together and polished, and made the +more delightful by occasional roughness in the rind. +Or look at the brilliant King Pippin. Now he was +getting older he found, however, that the finest of +them all was the russet. For eating, at its proper +season, it was good, but for cooking it was simply +the Imperial Cæsar and Sultan of apples; whether +for baking, or pies, or sauce, there was none to +equal it. Apple-sauce made of the real true russet +was a sauce for Jove's own table. It was necessary +that it should be the real russet. Indeed in apple +trees you had to be as careful of breeding and +pedigree as the owners of racing stables were about +their horses.</p> + +<p>Ripe apples could not be got all the year round +in any variety; besides which, in winter and cold +weather the crudity of the stomach needed to be +assisted with a little warmth; therefore bake +them.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_38" id="Page_38">[38]</a></span></p> + +<p>People did not eat nearly enough fruit now-a-days; +they had too much butcher's meat, and not +enough fruit—that is, home-grown fruit, straight +from orchard or garden, not the half-sour stuff sold +in the shops, picked before it was ready.</p> + +<p>The Americans were much wiser (he knew a +good deal about America—he had been there in +his early days, before thought superseded action)—the +Americans had kept up many of the fine old +English customs of two or three hundred years +since, and among these was the eating of fruit. +They were accused of being so modern, so very, +very modern, but, in fact, the country Americans, +with whom he had lived (and who had taught him +how to chop) maintained much of the genuine +antique life of old England.</p> + +<p>They had first-rate apples, yet it was curious that +the same trees produced an apple having a slightly +different flavour to what it had in this country. +You could always distinguish an American apple +by its peculiar piquancy—a sub-acid piquancy, a +wild strawberry piquancy, a sort of woodland, +forest, backwoods delicacy of its own. And so +on, and so on—"talk, talk, talk," as Mrs. Iden +said.</p> + +<p>After his baked apple he took another guilty +look at the clock, it was close on four, and went +into the passage to get his hat. In farmhouses +these places are called passages; in the smallest of +villas, wretched little villas not fit to be called +houses, they are always "halls."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_39" id="Page_39">[39]</a></span></p> + +<p>In the passage Mrs. Iden was waiting for him, +and began to thump his broad though bowed back +with all her might.</p> + +<p>"Sleep, sleep, sleep!" she cried, giving him a +thump at each word. "You've slept two hours. +(Thump.) You sleep till you stupefy yourself +(thump), and then you go and dig. What's the +use of digging? (Thump.) Why don't you make +some money? (Thump.) Talk and sleep! (Thump.) +I hate it. (Thump.) You've rubbed the paint off +the wainscot with your sleep, sleep, sleep (thump)—there's +one of your hairs sticking to the paint +where your head goes. (Thump.) Anything +more hateful—sleep (thump), talk (thump), sleep +(thump). Go on!"</p> + +<p>She had thumped him down the passage, and +across the covered-in court to the door opening on +the garden. There he paused to put on his hat—an +aged, battered hat—some sort of nondescript +bowler, broken, grey, weather-stained, very battered +and very aged—a pitiful hat to put above that +broad, Shakespearian forehead. While he fitted +it on he was thumped severely: when he opened +the door he paused, and involuntarily looked up at +the sky to see about the weather—a habit all +country people have—and so got more thumping, +ending as he started out with a tremendous push. +He did not seem to resent the knocks, nor did the +push accelerate his pace; he took it very much as +he took the March wind.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Iden slammed the door, and went in to<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_40" id="Page_40">[40]</a></span> +clear the dinner things, and make ready for tea. +Amaryllis helped her.</p> + +<p>"He'll want his tea in half an hour," said Mrs. +Iden. "What's the use of his going out to work +for half an hour?"</p> + +<p>Amaryllis was silent. She was very fond of her +father; he never did anything wrong in her eyes, +and she could have pointed out that when he sat +down to dinner at one he had already worked as +many hours as Mrs. Iden's model City gentleman +in a whole day. His dinner at one was, in effect, +equivalent to their dinner at seven or eight, over +which they frequently lingered an hour or two. He +would still go on labouring, almost another half day. +But she held her peace, for, on the other hand, she +could not contradict and argue with her mother, +whom she knew had had a wearisome life and +perpetual disappointments.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Iden grumbled on to herself, working herself +into a more fiery passion, till at last she put +down the tea-pot, and rushed into the garden. +There as she came round the first thing she saw was +the daffodil, the beautiful daffodil Amaryllis had +discovered. Beside herself with indignation—what +was the use of flowers or potatoes?—Mrs. +Iden stepped on the border and trampled the flower +under foot till it was shapeless. After this she +rushed indoors again and upstairs to her bedroom, +where she locked herself in, and fumbled about in +the old black oak chest of drawers till she found a +faded lavender glove.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_41" id="Page_41">[41]</a></span></p> + +<p>That glove had been worn at the old "Ship" +at Brighton years and years ago in the honeymoon +trip: in those days bridal parties went down +by coach. Faded with years, it had also faded +from the tears that had fallen upon it. She turned +it over in her hands, and her tears spotted it once +more.</p> + +<p>Amaryllis went on with the tea-making; for her +mother to rush away in that manner was nothing +new. She toasted her father a piece of toast—he +affected to despise toast, but he always ate it if it +was there, and looked about for it if it was not, +though he never said anything. The clock struck +five, and out she went to tell him tea was ready. +Coming round the house she found her daffodil +crushed to pieces.</p> + +<p>"Oh!" The blood rushed to her forehead; +then her beautiful lips pouted and quivered; tears +filled her eyes, and her breast panted. She knew +immediately who had done it; she ran to her bedroom +to cry and to hide her grief and indignation.</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 100px;"> +<img src="images/i-043.png" width="100" height="59" alt="decoration" title="" /> +</div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_42" id="Page_42">[42]</a></span></p> +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 500px;"> +<img src="images/i-044.png" width="500" height="91" alt="decoration" title="" /> +</div> + + +<h2>CHAPTER VI.</h2> + + +<div class="figleft" style="width: 119px;"> +<img src="images/l.png" width="119" height="120" alt="L" title="" /> +</div><div class='unindent'>ADY-DAY Fair came round by and by, +and Amaryllis, about eleven o'clock in +the morning, went down the garden to +the end of the orchard, where she could +overlook the highway without being +seen, and watch the folk go past. Just there the +road began to descend into a hollow, while the +garden continued level, so that Amaryllis, leaning +her arm on the top of the wall, was much higher +up than those who went along. The wall dropped +quite fourteen feet down to the road, a rare red +brick wall—thick and closely-built, the bricks close +together with thin seams of mortar, so that the +fibres of the whole mass were worked and compressed +and bound firm, like the fibres of a piece of +iron. The deep red bricks had a colour—a certain +richness of stability—and at the top this good +piece of workmanship was protected from the +weather by a kind of cap, and ornamented with a +projecting ridge. Within the wall Amaryllis could +stand on a slight bank, and easily look over it. +Without there was a sheer red precipice of fourteen<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_43" id="Page_43">[43]</a></span> +feet down to the dusty sward and nettles beside +the road.</div> + +<p>Some bare branches of a plum tree trained against +the wall rose thin and tapering above it in a bunch, +a sign of bad gardening, for they ought to have +been pruned, and the tree, indeed, had an appearance +of neglect. One heavy bough had broken +away from the nails and list, and drooped to the +ground, and the shoots of last year, not having +been trimmed, thrust themselves forward presumptuously.</p> + +<p>Behind the bunch of thin and tapering branches +rising above the wall Amaryllis was partly hidden, +but she relied a great deal more for concealment +upon a fact Iden had taught her, that people very +seldom look up; and consequently if you are only +a little higher they will not see you. This she +proved that morning, for not one of all who passed +glanced up from the road. The shepherd kept his +eye fixed on his sheep, and the drover on his +bullocks; the boys were in a hurry to get to the +fair and spend their pennies; the wenches had +on a bit of blue ribbon or a new bonnet, and +were perpetually looking at the traps that overtook +them to see if the men admired their finery. +No one looked up from the road they were pursuing.</p> + +<p>The photographer fixes the head of the sitter by +a sort of stand at the back, which holds it steady +in one position while the camera takes the picture. +In life most people have their heads fixed in the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_44" id="Page_44">[44]</a></span> +claws of some miserable pettiness, which interests +them so greatly that they tramp on steadily forward, +staring ahead, and there's not the slightest +fear of their seeing anything outside the rut they +are travelling.</p> + +<p>Amaryllis did not care anything about the fair +or the people either, knowing very well what sort +they would be; but I suspect, if it had been possible +to have got at the cause which brought her +there, it would have been traced to the unconscious +influence of sex, a perfectly innocent prompting, +quite unrecognised by the person who feels it, and +who would indignantly deny it if rallied on the subject, +but which leads girls of her age to seize +opportunities of observing the men, even if of an +uninteresting order. Still they are men, those +curious beings, that unknown race, and little bits of +knowledge about them may, perhaps, be picked up +by a diligent observer.</p> + +<p>The men who drifted along the road towards the +Fair were no "mashers, by Jove!" Some of them, +though young, were clad antiquely enough in +breeches and gaiters—not sportsmen's breeches +and gaiters, but old-fashioned "granfer" things; +the most of them were stout and sturdy, in drab +and brown suits of good cloth, cut awry. Hundreds +of them on foot, in traps, gigs, fourwheels, and on +horseback, went under Amaryllis: but, though they +were all Christians, there was not one "worth a +Jewess' eye."</p> + +<p>She scorned them all.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_45" id="Page_45">[45]</a></span></p> + +<p>This member of the unknown race was too +thickly made, short set, and squat; this one too +fair—quite white and moist-sugar looking; this +one had a straight leg.</p> + +<p>Another went by with a great thick and long +black beard—what a horrid thing, now, when +kissing!—and as he walked he wiped it with his +sleeve, for he had just washed down the dust with +a glass of ale. His neck, too, was red and thick; +hideous, yet he was a "stout knave," and a man +all over, as far as body makes a man.</p> + +<p>But women are, like Shakespeare, better judges. +"Care I for the thews and sinews of a man?" They +look for something more than bulk.</p> + +<p>A good many of these fellows were more or less +lame, for it is astonishing if you watch people go by +and keep account of them what a number have +game legs, both young and old.</p> + +<p>A young buck on a capital horse was at the first +glance more interesting—paler, rakish, a cigar in +his mouth, an air of viciousness and dash combined, +fairly well dressed, pale whiskers and beard; in short, +he knew as much of the billiard-table as he did of +sheep and corn. When nearer Amaryllis disliked +him more than all the rest put together; she shrank +back a little from the wall lest he should chance to +look up; she would have feared to have been alone +with such a character, and yet she could not have +said why. She would not have feared to walk side +by side with the great black beard—hideous as he +was—nor with any of the rest, not even with the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_46" id="Page_46">[46]</a></span> +roughest of the labourers who tramped along. This +gentleman alone alarmed her.</p> + +<p>There were two wenches, out for their Fair Day +holiday, coming by at the same time; they had on +their best dresses and hats, and looked fresh and +nice. They turned round to watch him coming, +and half waited for him; when he came up he +checked his horse, and began to "cheek" them. +Nothing loth, the village girls "cheeked" him, +and so they passed on.</p> + +<p>One or two very long men appeared, unusually +clumsy, even in walking they did not know exactly +what to do with their legs. Amaryllis had no +objection to their being tall—indeed, to be tall is +often a passport to a "Jewess' eye"—but they +were so clumsy.</p> + +<p>Of the scores who went by in traps and vehicles +she could not see much but their clothes and their +faces, and both the clothes and the faces were very +much alike. Rough, good cloth, ill-fitting (the +shoulders were too broad for the tailor, who wanted +to force Bond Street measurements on the British +farmer's back); reddish, speckled faces, and yellowish +hair and whiskers; big speckled hands, and +that was all. Scores of men, precisely similar, +were driven down the road. If those broad speckled +hands had been shown to Jacob's ewes he need not +have peeled rods to make them bring forth speckled +lambs.</p> + +<p>Against the stile a long way up the road there +was a group of five or six men, who were there<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_47" id="Page_47">[47]</a></span> +when she first peered over the wall, and made no +further progress to the Fair. They were waiting +till some acquaintance came by and offered a lift; +lazy dogs, they could not walk. They had already +been there long enough to have walked to the Fair +and back, still they preferred to fold their hands +and cross their legs, and stay on. So many people +being anxious to get to the town, most of those +who drove had picked up friends long before they +got here.</p> + +<p>The worst walker of all was a constable, whose +huge boots seemed to take possession of the width +of the road, for he turned them out at right angles, +working his legs sideways to do it, an extraordinary +exhibition of stupidity and ugliness, for which the +authorities who drilled him in that way were responsible, +and not the poor fellow.</p> + +<p>Among the lowing cattle and the baaing sheep +there drifted by a variety of human animals, tramps +and vagrants, not nearly of so much value as the +wool and beef.</p> + +<p>It is curious that these "characters"—as they +are so kindly called—have a way of associating +themselves with things that promise vast enjoyment +to others. The number of unhappy, shirtless +wretches who thread their path in and out the +coaches at the Derby is wonderful. While the +champagne fizzes above on the roof, and the footman +between the shafts sits on an upturned hamper +and helps himself out of another to pie with truffles, +the hungry, lean kine of human life wander round<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_48" id="Page_48">[48]</a></span> +about sniffing and smelling, like Adam and Eve +after the fall at the edge of Paradise.</p> + +<p>There are such incredible swarms of vagrants at +the Derby that you might think the race was got +up entirely for their sakes. There would be thousands +at Sandown, but the gate is locked with a +half-crown bolt, and they cannot get a stare at the +fashionables on the lawn. For all that, the true +tramp, male or female, is so inveterate an attendant +at races and all kinds of accessible entertainments +and public events that the features of the fashionable +are better known to him than to hundreds of +well-to-do people unable to enter society.</p> + +<p>So they paddled along to the fair, slip-slop, in +the dust, among the cattle and sheep, hands in +pockets, head hanging down, most of them followed +at a short distance by a Thing.</p> + +<p>This Thing is upright, and therefore, according +to the old definition, ought to come within the genus +Homo. It wears garments rudely resembling those +of a woman, and there it ends. Perhaps it was a +woman once; perhaps it never was, for many of +them have never had a chance to enter the ranks +of their own sex.</p> + +<p>Amaryllis was too young, and, as a consequence, +too full of her own strength and youth and joy in +life to think for long or seriously about these curious +Things drifting by like cattle and sheep. Yet her +brow contracted, and she drew herself together as +they passed—a sort of shiver, to think that there +should be such degradation in the world. Twice<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_49" id="Page_49">[49]</a></span> +when they came along her side of the road she +dropped pennies in front of them, which they picked +up in a listless way, just glancing over the ear in +the direction the money fell, and went on without +so much as recognizing where it came from.</p> + +<p>If sheep were treated as unfortunate human +beings are, they would take a bitter revenge; though +they are the mildest of creatures, they would soon +turn round in a venomous manner. If they did +not receive sufficient to eat and drink, and were not +well sheltered, they would take a bitter revenge: +<i>they would die</i>. Loss of £ s. d.!</p> + +<p>But human beings have not even got the courage +or energy to do that; they put up with anything, +and drag on—miserables that they are.</p> + +<p>I said they were not equal in value to the sheep—why, +they're not worth anything when they're +dead. You cannot even sell the skins of the +Things!</p> + +<p>Slip-slop in the dust they drive along to the +fair, where there will be an immense amount of +eating and a far larger amount of drinking all round +them, in every house they pass, and up to midnight. +They will see valuable animals, and men with well-lined +pockets. What on earth can a tramp find to +please him among all this? It is not for him; yet +he goes to see it.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_50" id="Page_50">[50]</a></span></p> +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 500px;"> +<img src="images/i-046.png" width="500" height="83" alt="decoration" title="" /> +</div> + + +<h2>CHAPTER VII.</h2> + + +<div class="figleft" style="width: 121px;"> +<img src="images/t.png" width="121" height="120" alt="T" title="" /> +</div><div class='unindent'>HE crowd began to pass more thickly, +when Amaryllis saw a man coming up +the road in the opposite direction to +that in which the multitude was moving. +They were going to the fair; he had +his back to it, and a party in a trap rallied him +smartly for his folly.</div> + +<p>"What! bean't you a-going to fair? Why, +Measter Duck, what's up? Looking for a thunderstorm?"—which +young ducks are supposed to +enjoy. "Ha! ha! ha!"</p> + +<p>Measter Duck, with a broad grin on his face, +nevertheless plodded up the hill, and passed beneath +Amaryllis.</p> + +<p>She knew him very well, for he lived in the +hamlet, but she would not have taken any notice +of him had he not been so elaborately dressed. +His high silk hat shone glossy; his black broadcloth +coat was new and carefully brushed; he was +in black all over, in contrast with the mass of +people who had gone by that morning. A blue +necktie, bright and clean, spotless linen, gloves<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_51" id="Page_51">[51]</a></span> +rolled up in a ball in one hand, whiskers brushed, +boots shining, teeth clean, Johnny was off to the +fair!</p> + +<p>The coat fitted him to a nicety; it had, in fact, +no chance to do otherwise, for his great back and +shoulders stretched it tight, and would have done +so had it been made like a sack. Of all the big +men who had gone by that day Jack Duck was the +biggest; his back was immense, and straight, too, +for he walked upright for a farmer, nor was his +bulk altogether without effect, for he was not over-burdened +with abdomen, so that it showed to the +best advantage. He was a little over the average +height, but not tall; he had grown laterally.</p> + +<p>He could lift two sacks of wheat from the ground. +You just try to lift <i>one</i>.</p> + +<p>His sleeves were too long, so that only the great +knuckles of his speckled hands were visible. Red +whiskers, red hair, blue eyes, speckled face, straight +lips, thick, like the edge of an earthenware pitcher, +and of much the same coarse red hue, always a +ready grin, a round, hard head, which you might have +hit safely with a mallet; and there is the picture.</p> + +<p>For some reason, very big men do not look well +in glossy black coats and silk hats; they seem to +want wideawakes, bowlers, caps, anything rather +than a Paris hat, and some loose-cut jacket of a +free-and-easy colour, suitable for the field, or +cricket, or boating. They do not belong to the +town and narrow doorways; Nature grew them for +hills and fields.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_52" id="Page_52">[52]</a></span></p> + +<p>Compared with the Continental folk, most Englishmen +are big, and therefore, as their "best" +suits do not fit in with their character as written +in limbs and shoulders, the Continent thinks us +clumsy. The truth is, it is the Continent that is +little.</p> + +<p>"Isn't he ugly?" thought Amaryllis, looking +down on poor John Duck. "Isn't he ugly?" +Now the top of the wall was crusted with moss, +which has a way of growing into bricks and mortar, +and attaching particles of brick to its roots. As +she watched the people she unconsciously trifled +with a little piece of moss—her hand happened at +the moment to project over the wall, and as John +Duck went under she dropped the bit of moss +straight on his glossy hat. Tap! the fragment of +brick adhering to the moss struck the hollow hat +smartly like a drum.</p> + +<p>She drew back quickly, laughing and blushing, +and angry with herself all at the same time, for she +had done it without a thought.</p> + +<p>Jack pulled off his hat, saw nothing, and put it +on again, suspecting that some one in a passing gig +had "chucked" something at him.</p> + +<p>In a minute Amaryllis peeped over the wall, +and, seeing his broad back a long way up the road, +resumed her stand.</p> + +<p>"How ever could I do such a stupid thing?" +she thought. "But isn't he ugly? Aren't they +<i>all</i> ugly? All of them—horridly ugly."</p> + +<p>The entire unknown race of Man was hideous.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_53" id="Page_53">[53]</a></span> +So coarse in feature—their noses were thick, half +an inch thick, or enormously long and knobbed at +the end like a walking-stick, or curved like a +reaping-hook, or slewed to one side, or flat as if +they had been smashed, or short and stumpy and +incomplete, or spotted with red blotches, or turned +up in the vulgarest manner—nobody had a good +nose.</p> + +<p>Their eyes were goggles, round and staring—like +liquid marbles—they had no eyelashes, +and their eyebrows were either white and invisible, +or shaggy, as if thistles grew along their +foreheads.</p> + +<p>Their cheeks were speckled and freckled and red +and brick-dust and leather-coloured, and enclosed +with scrubby whiskers, like a garden hedge.</p> + +<p>Upon the whole, those who shaved and were +smooth looked worse than those who did not, for +they thus exposed the angularities of their chins +and jaws.</p> + +<p>They wore such horrid hats on the top of these +roughly-sketched faces—sketched, as it were, with +a bit of burnt stick. Some of them had their hats +on the backs of their heads, and some wore them +aslant, and some jammed over their brows.</p> + +<p>They went along smoking and puffing, and talking +and guffawing in the vulgarest way, <i>en route</i> to +swill and smoke and puff and guffaw somewhere +else.</p> + +<p>Whoever could tell what they were talking +about? these creatures.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_54" id="Page_54">[54]</a></span></p> + +<p>They had no form or grace like a woman—no +lovely sloped shoulders, no beautiful bosom, no +sweeping curve of robe down to the feet. No +softness of cheek, or silky hair, or complexion, or +taper fingers, or arched eyebrows; no sort of style +whatever. They were mere wooden figures; and, +in short, sublimely ugly.</p> + +<p>There was a good deal of truth in Amaryllis' +reflections; it was a pity a woman was not taken +into confidence when the men were made.</p> + +<p>Suppose the women were like the men, and we +had to make love to such a set of bristly, grisly +wretches!—pah! shouldn't we think them ugly! +The patience of the women, putting up with us so +long!</p> + +<p>As for the muscles on which we pride ourselves +so much, in a woman's eyes (though she prefers a +strong man) they simply increase our extraordinary +ugliness.</p> + +<p>But if we look pale, and slim, and so forth, then +they despise us, and there is no doubt that altogether +the men were made wrong.</p> + +<p>"And Jack's the very ugliest of the lot," +thought Amaryllis. "He just <i>is</i> ugly."</p> + +<p>Pounding up the slope, big John Duck came +by-and-by to the gateway, and entering without +ceremony, as is the custom in the country, found +Mr. Iden near the back door talking to a farmer +who had seated himself on a stool.</p> + +<p>He was a middle-aged man, stout and florid, +rough as a chunk of wood, but dressed in his best<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_55" id="Page_55">[55]</a></span> +brown for the fair. Tears were rolling down his +vast round cheeks as he expatiated on his grievances +to Mr. Iden:—</p> + +<p>"Now, just you see how I be helped up with +this here 'ooman," he concluded as Duck arrived. +Mr. Iden, not a little glad of an opportunity to +escape a repetition of the narrative, to which he +had patiently listened, took Jack by the arm, and +led him indoors. As they went the man on the +stool extended his arm towards them hopelessly:—"Just +you see how I be helped up with this here +'ooman!"</p> + +<p>A good many have been "helped up" with a +woman before now.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Iden met Jack with a gracious smile—she +always did—yet there could not have been imagined +a man less likely to have pleased her.</p> + +<p>A quick, nervous temperament, an eye sharp to +detect failings or foolishness, an admirer of briskness +and vivacity, why did she welcome John Duck, +that incarnation of stolidity and slowness, that +enormous mountain of a man? Because extremes +meet? No, since she was always complaining of +Iden's dull, motionless life; so it was not the contrast +to her own disposition that charmed her.</p> + +<p>John Duck was Another Man—not Mr. Iden.</p> + +<p>The best of matrons like to see Another Man +enter their houses; there's no viciousness in it, it +is simply nature, which requires variety. The best +of husbands likes to have another woman—or two, +or three—on a visit; there's nothing wrong, it is<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_56" id="Page_56">[56]</a></span> +innocent enough, and but gives a spice to the +monotony of existence.</p> + +<p>Besides, John Duck, that mountain of slowness +and stolidity, was not perhaps a fool, notwithstanding +his outward clumsiness. A little attention is +appreciated even by a matron of middle age.</p> + +<p>"Will you get us some ale?" said Iden; and +Mrs. Iden brought a full jug with her own hands—a +rare thing, for she hated the Goliath barrel as +Iden enjoyed it.</p> + +<p>"Going to the fair, Mr. Duck?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, m'm," said John, deep in his chest and +gruff, about as a horse might be expected to speak +if he had a voice. "You going, m'm? I just come +up to ask if you'd ride in my dog-trap?"</p> + +<p>John had a first-rate turn-out.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Iden, beaming with smiles, replied that she +was not going to the fair.</p> + +<p>"Should be glad to take you, you know," said +John, dipping into the ale. "Shall you be going +presently?"—to Mr. Iden. "Perhaps you'd have +a seat?"</p> + +<p>"Hum!" said Iden, fiddling with his chin, a +trick he had when undecided. "I don't zactly +know; fine day, you see; want to see that hedge +grubbed; want to fill up the gaps; want to go over +to the wood meads; thought about——"</p> + +<p>"There, take and go!" said Mrs. Iden. "Sit +there thinking—take and go."</p> + +<p>"I can't say zactly, John; don't seem to have +anything to go vor."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_57" id="Page_57">[57]</a></span></p> + +<p>"What do other people go for?" said Mrs. Iden, +contemptuously. "Why can't you do like other +people? Get on your clean shirt, and go. Jack +can wait—he can talk to Amaryllis while you +dress."</p> + +<p>"Perhaps Miss would like to go," suggested +John, very quietly, and as if it was no consequence +to him; the very thing he had called for, to see if +he could get Amaryllis to drive in with him. He +knew that Mrs. Iden never went anywhere, and +that Mr. Iden could not make up his mind in a +minute—he would require three or four days at +least—so that it was quite safe to ask them first.</p> + +<p>"Of course she would," said Mrs. Iden. "She +is going—to dine with her grandfather; it will save +her a long walk. You had better go and ask +her; she's down at Plum Corner, watching the +people."</p> + +<p>"So I wull," said Jack, looking out of the great +bow window at the mention of Plum Corner—he +could just see the flutter of Amaryllis' dress in the +distance between the trees. That part of the +garden was called Plum Corner because of a famous +plum tree—the one that had not been pruned and +was sprawling about the wall.</p> + +<p>Mr. Iden had planted that plum tree specially for +Mrs. Iden, because she was so fond of a ripe +luscious plum. But of late years he had not +pruned it.</p> + +<p>"Vine ale!" said John, finishing his mug. +"Extra vine ale!"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_58" id="Page_58">[58]</a></span></p> + +<p>"It be, bean't it?" said Mr. Iden.</p> + +<p>It really was humming stuff, but John well knew +how proud Iden was of it, and how much he liked +to hear it praised.</p> + +<p>The inhabitants of the City of London conceitedly +imagine that no one can be sharp-witted +outside the sound of Bow Bells—country people +are stupid. My opinion is that clumsy Jack Duck, +who took about half an hour to write his name, was +equal to most of them.</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 172px;"> +<img src="images/i-047.png" width="172" height="160" alt="decoration" title="" /> +</div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_59" id="Page_59">[59]</a></span></p> +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 500px;"> +<img src="images/i-048.png" width="500" height="84" alt="decoration" title="" /> +</div> + + +<h2>CHAPTER VIII.</h2> + + +<div class="figleft" style="width: 121px;"> +<img src="images/t.png" width="121" height="120" alt="T" title="" /> +</div><div class='unindent'>HE ale being ended, Iden walked with +him through the orchard.</div> + +<p>"Famous wall that," said John, presently, +nodding towards the great red +brick wall which adorned that side of +the place. "Knowed how to build walls in those +days."</p> + +<p>"No such wall as that anywhere about here," +said Iden, as proud of his wall as his ale. "No +such bricks to be got. Folk don't know how to +put up a wall now—you read in the papers how the +houses valls down in Lunnon."</p> + +<p>"Sort of cracks and comes in like—jest squashes +up," said John.</p> + +<p>"Now, that's a real bit of brickwork," said Iden. +"That'll last—ah, last——"</p> + +<p>"No end to it," said John, who had admired the +wall forty times before, thinking to himself as he +saw Amaryllis leaning over the corner, "Blessed if +I don't think as 'twas she as dropped summat on my +hat." This strengthened his hopes; he had a tolerably +clear idea that Mr. and Mrs. Iden were not<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_60" id="Page_60">[60]</a></span> +averse to his suit; but he was doubtful about +Amaryllis herself.</p> + +<p>Amaryllis had not the slightest idea Duck had +so much as looked at her—he called often, but +seemed absorbed in the ale and gossip. Fancy her +scorn if she had guessed!</p> + +<p>John Duck was considered one of the most eligible +young men thereabouts, for though by no means +born in the purple of farming, it was believed he +was certain to be very "warm" indeed when his +father died. Old Duck, the son of a common +labourer, occupied two or three of the finest farms +in the neighbourhood. He made his money in a +waggon—a curious place, you will say; why so? +Have you ever seen the dingy, dark china-closets +they call offices in the City? Have you ever ascended +the dirty, unscrubbed, disgraceful staircase that leads +to a famous barrister's "chambers"? These are +far less desirable, surely, than a seat in a waggon +in a beautiful meadow or cornfield. Old Duck, +being too ponderous to walk, was driven about in a +waggon, sitting at the rear with his huge, short +legs dangling down; and, the waggon being halted +in a commanding position, he overlooked his men +at work.</p> + +<p>One day he was put in a cart instead, and the +carter walking home beside the horse, and noting +what a pull it was for him up the hills, and drawling +along half asleep, quite forgot his master, and +dreamed he had a load of stones. By-and-by, he +pulled out the bar, and shot Old Duck out. "A<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_61" id="Page_61">[61]</a></span> +shot me out," grumbled the old man, "as if I'd a +been a load of flints."</p> + +<p>Riding about in this rude chariot the old fellow +had amassed considerable wealth—his reputation +for money was very great indeed—and his son +John would, of course, come in for it.</p> + +<p>John felt sure of Mr. and Mrs. Iden, but about +Amaryllis he did not know. The idea that she +had dropped "summat" on his hat raised his +spirits immensely.</p> + +<p>Now Amaryllis was not yet beautiful—she was +too young; I do not think any girl is really +beautiful so young—she was highly individualized, +and had a distinct character, as it were, in her face +and figure. You saw at a glance that there was +something about her very different from other girls, +something very marked, but it was not beauty +yet.</p> + +<p>Whether John thought her handsome, or saw +that she would be, or what, I do not know; or +whether he looked "forrard," as he would have +said.</p> + +<div class='center'> +"Heigh for a lass with a tocher!"<br /> +</div> + +<p>John had never read Burns, and would not have +known that tocher meant dowry; nor had he seen +the advice of Tennyson—</p> + +<div class='poem'> +"Doesn't thee marry for money,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 0.5em;">But go where money lies."</span><br /> +</div> + +<div class='unindent'>but his native intelligence needed no assistance +from the poets, coronetted or otherwise.</div><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_62" id="Page_62">[62]</a></span></p> + +<p>It was patent to everyone that her father, Iden, +was as poor as the raggedest coat in Christendom +could make him; but it was equally well known and +a matter of public faith, that her grandfather, the +great miller and baker, Lord Lardy-Cake, as the +boys called him derisively, had literally bushels +upon bushels of money. He was a famous stickler +for ancient usages, and it was understood that there +were twenty thousand spade guineas in an iron +box under his bed. Any cottager in the whole +country side could have told you so, and would +have smiled at your ignorance; the thing was as +well known as that St. Paul's is in the City.</p> + +<p>Besides which there was another consideration, +old Granfer Iden was a great favourite at Court—Court +meaning the mansion of the Hon. Raleigh +Pamment, the largest landowner that side of the +county. Granfer Iden entered the Deer Park +(which was private) with a special key whenever +he pleased, he strolled about the gardens, looked +in at the conservatory, chatted familiarly with the +royal family of Pamment when they were at home, +and when they were away took any friend he chose +through the galleries and saloons.</p> + +<p>"Must be summat at the bottom on't," said +John Duck to himself many a time and oft. "They +stuck-up proud folk wouldn't have he there if there +wasn't summat at the bottom on't." A favourite +at Court could dispense, no doubt, many valuable +privileges.</p> + +<p>Amaryllis heard their talk as they came nearer,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_63" id="Page_63">[63]</a></span> +and turned round and faced them. She wore a +black dress, but no hat; instead she had carelessly +thrown a scarlet shawl over her head, mantilla +fashion, and held it with one hand. Her dark +ringlets fringed her forehead, blown free and wild; +the fresh air had brought a bright colour into her +cheeks. As is often the case with girls whose +figure is just beginning to show itself, her dress +seemed somewhat shortened in front—lifted up +from her ankles, which gave the effect of buoyancy +to her form, she seemed about to walk though +standing still. There was a defiant light in her +deep brown eyes, that sort of "I don't care" disposition +which our grandmothers used to say +would take us to the gallows. Defiance, wilfulness, +rebellion, was expressed in the very way she stood +on the bank, a little higher than they were, and +able to look over their heads.</p> + +<p>"Marning," said John, rocking his head to one +side as a salute.</p> + +<p>"Marning," repeated Amaryllis, mocking his +broad pronunciation.</p> + +<p>As John could not get any further Iden helped +him.</p> + +<p>"Jack's going to the fair," he said, "and +thought you would like to ride with him. Run in +and dress."</p> + +<p>"I shan't ride," said Amaryllis, "I shall walk."</p> + +<p>"Longish way," said John. "Mor'n two mile."</p> + +<p>"I shall walk," said Amaryllis, decidedly.</p> + +<p>"Lot of cattle about," said John.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_64" id="Page_64">[64]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Better ride," said Iden.</p> + +<p>"No," said Amaryllis, and turned her back on +them to look over the wall again.</p> + +<p>She was a despot already. There was nothing +left for them but to walk away.</p> + +<p>"However," said Iden, always trying to round +things off and make square edges smooth, "very +likely you'll overtake her and pick her up."</p> + +<p>"Her wull go across the fields," said John. +"Shan't see her."</p> + +<p>As he walked down the road home for his dog-trap +he looked up at the corner of the wall, but she +was not looking over then. Mrs. Iden had fetched +her in, as it was time to dress.</p> + +<p>"I don't want to go," said Amaryllis, "I hate +fairs—they are so silly."</p> + +<p>"But you must go," said Mrs. Iden. "Your +grandfather sent a message last night; you know +it's his dinner-day."</p> + +<p>"He's such a horrid old fellow," said Amaryllis, +"I can't bear him."</p> + +<p>"How dare you speak of your grandfather like +that? you are getting very rude and disrespectful."</p> + +<p>There was no depending on Mrs. Iden. At one +time she would go on and abuse Granfer Iden for +an hour at a time, calling him every name she could +think of, and accusing him of every folly under the +sun. At another time she would solemnly inform +Amaryllis that they had not a farthing of money, +and how necessary it was that they should be +attentive and civil to him.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_65" id="Page_65">[65]</a></span></p> + +<p>Amaryllis very slowly put her hat on and the +first jacket to hand.</p> + +<p>"What! aren't you going to change your +dress?"</p> + +<p>"No, that I'm not."</p> + +<p>"Change it directly."</p> + +<p>"What, to go in and see that musty old——"</p> + +<p>"Change it directly; I <i>will</i> be obeyed."</p> + +<p>Amaryllis composedly did as she was bid.</p> + +<p>One day Mrs. Iden humoured her every whim +and let her do just as she pleased; the next she +insisted on minute obedience.</p> + +<p>"Make haste, you'll be late; now, then, put your +things on—come."</p> + +<p>So Amaryllis, much against her will, was bustled +out of the house and started off. As John had +foreseen, she soon quitted the road to follow the +path across the fields, which was shorter.</p> + +<p>An hour or so later Iden came in from work as +usual, a few minutes before dinner, and having +drawn his quart of ale, sat down to sip it in the +bow window till the dishes were brought.</p> + +<p>"You're not gone, then?" said Mrs. Iden, irritatingly.</p> + +<p>"Gone—wur?" said Iden, rather gruffly for +him.</p> + +<p>"To fair, of course—like other people."</p> + +<p>"Hum," growled Iden.</p> + +<p>"You know your father expects all the family to +come in to dinner on fair day; I can't think how +you can neglect him, when you know we haven't got<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_66" id="Page_66">[66]</a></span> +a shilling—why don't you go in and speak to +him?"</p> + +<p>"You can go if you like."</p> + +<p>"I go!" cried Mrs. Iden. "I go!" in shrill +accents of contempt. "I don't care a button for +all the lardy-cake lot! Let him keep his money. +I'm as good as he is any day. My family go about, +and do some business——"</p> + +<p>"<i>Your</i> family," muttered Iden. "The Flammas!"</p> + +<p>"Yes, <i>my</i> family—as good as yours, I should +think! What's your family then, that you should +be so grand? You're descended from a lardy-cake!"</p> + +<p>"You be descended from a quart pot," said +Iden.</p> + +<p>This was an allusion to Mrs. Iden's grandfather, +who had kept a small wayside public. +There was no disgrace in it, for he was a very +respectable man, and laid the foundation of his +family's fortune, but it drove Mrs. Iden into +frenzy.</p> + +<p>"You talk about a quart pot—<i>you</i>," she +shrieked. "Why, your family have drunk up thousands +of pounds—you know they have. Where's +the Manor? they swilled it away. Where's +Upper Court? they got it down their throats. +They built a house to drink in and nothing else. +You know they did. You told me yourself. +The most disgraceful set of drunkards that ever +lived!"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_67" id="Page_67">[67]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Your family don't drink, then, I suppose?" +said Iden.</p> + +<p>"Your lot's been drinking two hundred years—why, +you're always talking about it."</p> + +<p>"Your family be as nervous as cats—see their +hands shake in the morning."</p> + +<p>"They go to business in the City and do something; +they don't mess about planting rubbishing +potatoes." Mrs. Iden was London born.</p> + +<p>"A pretty mess they've made of their business, +as shaky as their hands. Fidgetty, miserable, +nervous set they be."</p> + +<p>"They're not stocks and stones like yours, anyhow, +as stolid, and slow, and stupid; why, you do +nothing but sleep, sleep, sleep, and talk, talk, talk. +You've been talking with the lazy lot over at the +stile, and you've been talking with that old fool at +the back door, and talking with Jack Duck—and +that's your second mug! You're descended from a +nasty, greasy lardy-cake! There!"</p> + +<p>Iden snatched a piece of bread from the table and +thrust it in one pocket, flung open the oven-door, +and put a baked apple in the other pocket, and so +marched out to eat what he could in quiet under a +tree in the fields.</p> + +<p>In the oratory of abuse there is no resource so +successful as raking up the weaknesses of the opponent's +family, especially when the parties are +married, for having gossiped with each other for +so long in the most confidential manner, they know +every foible. How Robert drank, and Tom bet,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_68" id="Page_68">[68]</a></span> +and Sam swore, and Bill knocked his wife about, +and Joseph did as Potiphar's spouse asked him, and +why your uncle had to take refuge in Spain; and +so on to an indefinite extent, like the multiplication +table.</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 143px;"> +<img src="images/i-050.png" width="143" height="270" alt="decoration" title="" /> +</div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_69" id="Page_69">[69]</a></span></p> +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 500px;"> +<img src="images/i-051.png" width="500" height="88" alt="decoration" title="" /> +</div> + + +<h2>CHAPTER IX.</h2> + + +<div class="figleft" style="width: 121px;"> +<img src="images/t.png" width="121" height="120" alt="T" title="" /> +</div><div class='unindent'>HIS discordance between her father and +mother hurt Amaryllis' affectionate +heart exceedingly. It seemed to be +always breaking out all the year round.</div> + +<p>Of a summer's eve, when the day's +work among the hot hay was done, Iden would +often go out and sit under the russet apple till the +dew had filled the grass like a green sea. When +the tide of the dew had risen he would take off his +heavy boots and stockings, and so walk about in +the cool shadows of eve, paddling in the wet grass. +He liked the refreshing coolness and the touch of the +sward. It was not for washing, because he was scrupulously +clean under the ragged old coat; it was +because he liked the grass. There was nothing +very terrible in it; men, and women, too, take off +their shoes and stockings, and wade about on the +sands at the sea, and no one thinks that it is anything +but natural, reasonable, and pleasant. But, +then, you see, <i>everybody</i> does it at the seaside, and +Iden alone waded in the dew, and that was his +crime—that he alone did it.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_70" id="Page_70">[70]</a></span></p> + +<p>The storm and rage of Mrs. Iden whenever she +knew he was paddling in the grass was awful. +She would come shuffling out—she had a way of +rubbing her shoes along the ground when irritated +with her hands under her apron, which she twisted +about—and pelt him with scorn.</p> + +<p>"There, put your boots on—do, and hide your +nasty feet!" (Iden had a particularly white skin, and +feet as white as a lady's.) "Disgusting! Nobody +ever does it but you, and you ought to be ashamed +of yourself! Anything more disgusting I never +heard of. Nobody else but you would ever think +of such a thing; makes me feel queer to see you."</p> + +<p>Shuffling about, and muttering to herself, "Nobody +else"—that was the sin and guilt of it—by-and-by +Mrs. Iden would circle round to where he +had left his boots, and, suddenly seizing them, +would fling them in the ditch.</p> + +<p>And I verily believe, in the depth of her indignation, +if she had not been afraid to touch firearms, +she would have brought out the gun, and had +a shot at him.</p> + +<p>After a time Iden left his old post at the russet +apple, and went up the meadow to the horse-chestnut +trees that he himself had planted, and there, in +peace and quietness and soft cool shadow, waded +about in the dew, without any one to grumble at him.</p> + +<p>How crookedly things are managed in this +world!</p> + +<p>It is the modern fashion to laugh at the East, +and despise the Turks and all their ways, making<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_71" id="Page_71">[71]</a></span> +Grand Viziers of barbers, and setting waiters in +high places, with the utmost contempt for anything +reasonable—all so incongruous and chance-ruled. +In truth, all things in our very midst go on in the +Turkish manner; crooked men are set in straight +places, and straight people in crooked places, just +the same as if we had all been dropped promiscuously +out of a bag and shook down together on the earth +to work out our lives, quite irrespective of our +abilities and natures. Such an utter jumble!</p> + +<p>Here was Iden, with his great brain and wonderful +power of observation, who ought to have +been a famous traveller in unexplored Africa or +Thibet, bringing home rarities and wonders; or, +with his singular capacity for construction, a leading +engineer, boring Mont Cenis Tunnels and making +Panama Canals; or, with his Baconian intellect, +forming a new school of philosophy—here was Iden, +tending cows, and sitting, as the old story goes, +undecidedly on a stile—sitting astride—eternally +sitting, and unable to make up his mind to get off +on one side or the other.</p> + +<p>Here was Mrs. Iden, who had had a beautiful +shape and expressive eyes, full in her youth of life +and fire, who ought to have led the gayest life in +London and Paris alternately, riding in a carriage, +and flinging money about in the most extravagant, +joyous, and good-natured manner—here was Mrs. +Iden making butter in a dull farmhouse, and wearing +shoes out at the toes.</p> + +<p>So our lives go on, rumble-jumble, like a carrier's<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_72" id="Page_72">[72]</a></span> +cart over ruts and stones, thumping anyhow instead +of running smoothly on new-mown sward like a +cricket-ball.</p> + +<p>It all happens in the Turkish manner.</p> + +<p>Another time there would come a letter from one +of the Flammas in London. Could they spare a +little bag of lavender?—they grew such lovely +sweet lavender at Coombe Oaks. Then you might +see Mr. and Mrs. Iden cooing and billing, soft as +turtle-doves, and fraternising in the garden over +the lavender hedge. Here was another side, you +see, to the story.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Iden was very fond of lavender, the scent, +and the plant in every form. She kept little bags +of it in all her drawers, and everything at Coombe +Oaks upstairs in the bedrooms had a faint, delicious +lavender perfume. There is nothing else that +smells so sweet and clean and dry. You cannot +imagine a damp sheet smelling of lavender.</p> + +<p>Iden himself liked lavender, and used to rub it +between his finger and thumb in the garden, as he +did, too, with the black-currant leaves and walnut-leaves, +if he fancied anything he had touched +might have left an unpleasant odour adhering to +his skin. He said it cleaned his hands as much as +washing them.</p> + +<p>Iden liked Mrs. Iden to like lavender because +his mother had been so fond of it, and all the sixteen +carved oak-presses which had been so familiar to him +in boyhood were full of a thick atmosphere of the +plant.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_73" id="Page_73">[73]</a></span></p> + +<p>Long since, while yet the honeymoon bouquet +remained in the wine of life, Iden had set a hedge +of lavender to please his wife. It was so carefully +chosen, and set, and watched, that it grew to be the +finest lavender in all the country. People used to +come for it from round about, quite certain of a +favourable reception, for there was nothing so sure +to bring peace at Coombe Oaks as a mention of +lavender.</p> + +<p>But the letter from the Flammas was the great +event—from London, all that way, asking for some +Coombe Oaks lavender! Then there was billing +and cooing, and fraternising, and sunshine in the +garden over the hedge of lavender. If only it +could have lasted! Somehow, as people grow +older there seems so much grating of the wheels.</p> + +<p>In time, long time, people's original feelings get +strangely confused and overlaid. The churchwardens +of the eighteenth century plastered the +fresco paintings of the fourteenth in their churches—covered +them over with yellowish mortar. The +mould grows up, and hides the capital of the fallen +column; the acanthus is hidden in earth. At the +foot of the oak, where it is oldest, the bark becomes +dense and thick, impenetrable, and without +sensitiveness; you may cut off an inch thick without +reaching the sap. A sort of scale or caking in +long, long time grows over original feelings.</p> + +<p>There was no one in the world so affectionate +and loving as Mrs. Iden—no one who loved a father +so dearly; just as Amaryllis loved <i>her</i> father.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_74" id="Page_74">[74]</a></span></p> + +<p>But after they had lived at Coombe Oaks thirty +years or so, and the thick dull bark had grown, +after the scales or caking had come upon the heart, +after the capital of the column had fallen, after the +painting had been blurred, it came about that old +Flamma, Mrs. Iden's father, died in London.</p> + +<p>After thirty years of absolute quiet at Coombe +Oaks, husband and wife went up to London to the +funeral, which took place at one of those fearful +London cemeteries that strike a chill at one's very +soul. Of all the horrible things in the world there +is nothing so calmly ghastly as a London cemetery.</p> + +<p>In the evening, after the funeral, Mr. and Mrs. +Iden went to the theatre.</p> + +<p>"How frivolous! How unfeeling!" No, nothing +of the sort; how truly sad and human, for to be +human is to be sad. That men and women should +be so warped and twisted by the pressure of the +years out of semblance to themselves; that circumstances +should so wall in their lives with insurmountable +cliffs of granite facts, compelling them +to tread the sunless gorge; that the coldness of +death alone could open the door to pleasure.</p> + +<p>They sat at the theatre with grey hearts. With +the music and the song, the dancing, the colours +and gay dresses, it was sadder there than in the +silent rooms at the house where the dead had been. +Old Flamma alone had been dead <i>there</i>; they were +dead here. Dead in life—at the theatre.</p> + +<p>They had used to go joyously to the theatre +thirty years before, when Iden came courting to<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_75" id="Page_75">[75]</a></span> +town; from the edge of the grave they came back +to look on their own buried lives.</p> + +<p>If you will only <i>think</i>, you will see it was a most +dreadful and miserable incident, that visit to the +theatre after the funeral.</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 192px;"> +<img src="images/i-052.png" width="192" height="150" alt="decoration" title="" /> +</div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_76" id="Page_76">[76]</a></span></p> +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 500px;"> +<img src="images/i-053.png" width="500" height="85" alt="decoration" title="" /> +</div> + + +<h2>CHAPTER X.</h2> + + +<div class="figleft" style="width: 120px;"> +<img src="images/w.png" width="120" height="120" alt="W" title="" /> +</div><div class='unindent'>HEN Mrs. Iden threw his lardy-cake +descent in Iden's face she alluded to +Grandfather Iden's being a baker and +miller, and noted for the manufacture +of these articles. A lardy, or larded, +cake is a thing, I suppose, unknown to most of this +generation; they were the principal confectionery +familiar to country folk when Grandfather Iden was +at the top of his business activity, seventy years +since, in the Waterloo era.</div> + +<p>A lardy-cake is an oblong, flat cake, crossed with +lines, and rounded at the corners, made of dough, +lard, sugar, and spice. Our ancestors liked something +to gnaw at, and did not go in for lightness in +their pastry; they liked something to stick to their +teeth, and after that to their ribs. The lardy-cake +eminently fulfilled these conditions; they put a +trifle of sugar and spice in it, to set it going as it +were, and the rest depended on the strength of the +digestion. But if a ploughboy could get a new, +warm lardy-cake, fresh from the oven, he thought +himself blessed.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_77" id="Page_77">[77]</a></span></p> + +<p>Grandfather Iden had long since ceased any +serious business, but he still made a few of these +renowned cakes for his amusement, and sold a good +few at times to the carters' lads who came in to +market.</p> + +<p>Amaryllis knew the path perfectly, but if she +had not, the tom-tomming of drums and blowing of +brass, audible two miles away, would have guided +her safely to the fair. The noise became prodigious +as she approached—the ceaseless tomtom, the beating +of drums and gongs outside the show vans, the +shouting of the showmen, the roar of a great +crowd, the booing of cattle, the baaing of sheep, +the neighing of horses—altogether the "rucket" +was tremendous.</p> + +<p>She looked back from the hill close to the town +and saw the people hurrying in from every quarter—there +was a string of them following the path she +had come, and others getting over distant stiles. A +shower had fallen in the night, but the ceaseless +wheels had ground up the dust again, and the lines +of the various roads were distinctly marked by the +clouds hanging above them. For one on business, +fifty hastened on to join the uproar.</p> + +<p>Suppose the Venus de Medici had been fetched +from Florence and had been set up in the town of +Woolhorton, or the Laocoon from Rome, or the +Milo from Paris, do you think all these people +would have scurried in such haste to admire these +beautiful works? Nothing of the sort; if you +want a crowd you must make a row. It is really<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_78" id="Page_78">[78]</a></span> +wonderful how people do thoroughly and unaffectedly +enjoy a fearful disturbance; if the cannon +could be shot off quietly, and guns made no noise, +battles would not be half so popular to read about. +The silent arrow is uninteresting, and if you describe +a mediæval scramble you must put in plenty +of splintering lances, resounding armour, shrieks +and groans, and so render it lively.</p> + +<p>"This is the patent age of new inventions," and +some one might make a profit by starting a fête +announcing that a drum or a gong would be provided +for every individual, to be beaten in a grand +universal chorus.</p> + +<p>Amaryllis had no little difficulty in getting +through the crowd till she found her way behind +the booths and slipped along the narrow passage +between them and the houses. There was an +arched entrance, archæologically interesting, by +which she paused a moment, half inclined to go up +and inquire for her boots. The shoemaker who +lived there had had them since Christmas, and all +that wanted doing was a patch on one toe; they +were always just going to be done, but never +finished. She read the inscription over his door, +"Tiras Wise, Shoemaker; Established 1697." A +different sort of shoemaker to your lively Northampton +awls; a man who has been in business two +hundred years cannot be hurried. She sighed, and +passed on.</p> + +<p>The step to Grandfather Iden's door consisted +of one wide stone of semi-circular shape, in which<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_79" id="Page_79">[79]</a></span> +the feet of three generations of customers had +worn a deep grove. The venerable old gentleman, +for he was over ninety, was leaning on the hatch +(or lower half of the door), in the act of handing +some of his cakes to two village girls who had +called for them. These innocent, hamlet girls, supposed +to be so rurally simple, had just been telling +him how they never forgot his nice cakes, but always +came every fair day to buy some. For this they +got sixpence each, it being well known that the +old gentleman was so delighted with anybody who +bought his cakes he generally gave them back their +money, and a few coppers besides.</p> + +<p>He took Amaryllis by the arm as she stood on +the step and pulled her into the shop, asked her if +her father were coming, then walked her down by +the oven-door, and made her stand up by a silver-mounted +peel, to see how tall she was. The peel +is the long wooden rod, broad at one end, with +which loaves are placed in the baker's oven. Father +Iden being proud of his trade, in his old age had +his favourite peel ornamented with silver.</p> + +<p>"Too fast—too fast," he said, shaking his head, +and coughing; "you grow too fast; there's the +notch I cut last year, and now you're two inches +taller." He lowered the peel, and showed her +where his thumb was—quite two inches higher than +the last year's mark.</p> + +<p>"I want to be tall," said Amaryllis.</p> + +<p>"I daresay—I daresay," said the old man, in the +hasty manner of feeble age, as he cut another notch<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_80" id="Page_80">[80]</a></span> +to record her height. The handle of the peel was +notched all round, where he had measured his +grandchildren; there were so many marks it was +not easy to see how he distinguished them.</p> + +<p>"Is your father coming?" he asked, when he +had finished with the knife.</p> + +<p>"I don't know." This was Jesuitically true—she +did not <i>know</i>—she could not be certain; but in +her heart she was sure he would not come. But she +did not want to hear any hard words said about him.</p> + +<p>"Has he sent anything? Have you brought +anything for me? No. No. Hum!—ha!"—fit +of coughing—"Well, well—come in; dinner's late, +there's time to hear you read—you're fond of books, +you read a great deal at home,"—and so talking, +half to himself and half to her, he led the way into +the parlour by the shop.</p> + +<p>Bowed by more than ninety years, his back +curved over forwards, and his limbs curved in the +opposite direction, so that the outline of his form +resembled a flattened capital S. For his chin hung +over his chest, and his knees never straightened +themselves, but were always more or less bent as +he stood or walked. It was much the attitude of +a strong man heavily laden and unable to stand +upright—such an attitude as big Jack Duck in his +great strength might take when carrying two sacks +of wheat at once. There was as heavy a load on +Grandfather Iden's back, but Time is invisible.</p> + +<p>He wore a grey suit, as a true miller and baker +should, and had worn the same cut and colour for<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_81" id="Page_81">[81]</a></span> +years and years. In the shop, too, he always had +a grey hat on, perhaps its original hue was white, +but it got to appear grey upon him; a large grey +chimney-pot, many sizes too big for his head apparently, +for it looked as if for ever about to descend +and put out his face like an extinguisher. +Though his boots were so carefully polished, they +quickly took a grey tint from the flour dust as he +pottered about the bins in the morning. The ends +of his trousers, too long for his antique shanks, +folded and creased over his boots, and almost hid +his grey cloth under-gaiters.</p> + +<p>A great knobbed old nose—but stay, I will not +go further, it is not right to paint too faithfully the +features of the very aged, which are repellent in +spite of themselves; I mean, they cannot help their +faces, their sentiments and actions are another +matter; therefore I will leave Father Iden's face +as a dim blot on the mirror; you look in it and it +reflects everywhere, except one spot.</p> + +<p>Amaryllis followed him jauntily,—little did she +care, reckless girl, for the twenty thousand guineas +in the iron box under his bed.</p> + +<p>The cottage folk, who always know so much, had +endless tales of Iden's wealth; how years ago +bushels upon bushels of pennies, done up in five-shilling +packets, had been literally carted like potatoes +away from the bakehouse to go to London; how +ponies were laden with sacks of silver groats, all +paid over that furrowed counter for the golden flour, +dust more golden than the sands of ancient Pactolus.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_82" id="Page_82">[82]</a></span></p> + +<p>Reckless Amaryllis cared not a pin for all the +spade guineas in the iron box.</p> + +<p>The old man sat down by the fire without removing +his hat, motioning to her to shut the door, +which she was loth to do, for the little room was +smothered with smoke. Troubled with asthma, +he coughed incessantly, and mopped his mouth +with a vast silk handkerchief, but his dull blood +craved for warmth, and he got his knees close to +the grate, and piled up the coal till it smoked and +smoked, and filled the close apartment with a +suffocating haze of carbon. To be asked into +Father Iden's sanctuary was an honour, but, like +other honours, it had to be paid for.</p> + +<p>Amaryllis gasped as she sat down, and tried to +breathe as short as possible, to avoid inhaling more +than she could bear.</p> + +<p>"Books," said her grandfather, pointing to the +bookcases, which occupied three sides of the room. +"Books—you like books; look at them—go and see."</p> + +<p>To humour him, Amaryllis rose, and appeared to +look carefully along the shelves which she had +scanned so many times before. They contained +very good books indeed, such books as were not to +be found elsewhere throughout the whole town of +Woolhorton, and perhaps hardly in the county, old +and rare volumes of price, such as Sotheby, Wilkinson, +and Co. delight to offer to collectors, such as +Bernard Quaritch, that giant of the modern auction +room, would have written magnificent cheques for.</p> + +<p>Did you ever see the Giant Quaritch in the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_83" id="Page_83">[83]</a></span> +auction-room bidding for books? It is one of the +sights of London, let me tell you, to any one who +thinks or is alive to the present day. Most sights +are reputations merely—the pale reflection of things +that were real once. This sight is something of +the living time, the day in which we live. Get an +<i>Athenæum</i> in the season, examine the advertisements +of book auctions, and attend the next great +sale of some famous library.</p> + +<p>You have a recollection of the giant who sat by +the highway and devoured the pilgrims who +passed? This giant sits in the middle of the ring +and devours the books set loose upon their travels +after the repose of centuries.</p> + +<p>What prices to give! No one can withstand +him. From Paris they send agents with a million +francs at their back; from Berlin and Vienna come +the eager snappers-up of much considered trifles, +but in vain. They only get what the Giant chooses +to leave them.</p> + +<p>Books that nobody ever heard of fetch £50, £60, +£100, £200; wretched little books never opened +since they were printed; dull duodecimos on the +course of the river Wein; nondescript indescribable +twaddling local books in Italian, Spanish, queer +French, written and printed in some unknown +foreign village; read them—you might as well try +to amuse yourself with a Chinese pamphlet! What +earthly value they are of cannot be discovered. +They were composed by authors whose names are +gone like the sand washed by the Nile into the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_84" id="Page_84">[84]</a></span> +sea before Herodotus. They contain no beautiful +poetry, no elevated thought, no scientific discovery; +they are simply so much paper, printing, and binding, +so many years old, and it is for that age, +printing, and binding that the money is paid.</p> + +<p>I have read a good many books in my time—I +would not give sixpence for the whole lot.</p> + +<p>They are not like a block-book—first efforts at +printing; nor like the first editions of great authors; +there is not the slightest intrinsic value in them +whatever.</p> + +<p>Yet some of them fetch prices which not long +ago were thought tremendous even for the Shakespeare +folio.</p> + +<p>Hundreds and hundreds of pounds are paid for +them. Living and writing authors of the present +day are paid in old songs by comparison.</p> + +<p>Still, this enormous value set on old books is one +of the remarkable signs of the day. If any one +wishes to know what To-Day is, these book-auctions +are of the things he should go to see.</p> + +<p>Such books as these lined Grandfather Iden's +shelves; among them there were a few that I call +<i>real</i> old books, an early translation or two, an early +Shakespeare, and once there had been a very +valuable Boccaccio, but this had gone into Lord +Pamment's library, "Presented by James Bartholomew +Iden, Esq."</p> + +<p>The old man often went to look at and admire +his Boccaccio in my Lord's library.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_85" id="Page_85">[85]</a></span></p> +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 500px;"> +<img src="images/i-055.png" width="500" height="98" alt="decoration" title="" /> +</div> + + +<h2>CHAPTER XI.</h2> + + +<div class="figleft" style="width: 121px;"> +<img src="images/t.png" width="121" height="120" alt="T" title="" /> +</div><div class='unindent'>HERE was one peculiarity in all the +books on Grandfather Iden's shelves, +they were all very finely bound in the +best style of hand-art, and they all bore +somewhere or other a little design of +an ancient Roman lamp.</div> + +<p>Hand-art is a term I have invented for the workmanship +of good taste—it is not the sculptor's art, +nor the painter's—not the art of the mind, but the +art of the hand. Some furniture and cabinet work, +for instance, some pottery, book-binding like this, +are the products of hand-art.</p> + +<p>"Do you see the Lamp?" asked the old man, +when Amaryllis had stared sufficiently at the backs +of the books.</p> + +<p>"Yes, I can see the Lamp."</p> + +<p>"House of Flamma," said old Iden.</p> + +<p>"House of Flamma," repeated Amaryllis, hastily, +eager to show that she understood all about it. She +feared lest he should enter into the history of the +House of Flamma and of his connection with it; +she had heard it all over and over again; her<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_86" id="Page_86">[86]</a></span> +mother was a Flamma; she had herself some of +the restless Flamma blood in her. When anything +annoyed her or made her indignant her foot used +to tap the floor, and her neck flush rosy, and her +face grow dusky like the night. Then, striving to +control herself, she would say to herself, "I <i>will</i> not +be a Flamma."</p> + +<p>Except her dear mother and one other, Amaryllis +detested and despised the whole tribe of the Flammas, +the nervous, excitable, passionate, fidgetty, +tipsy, idle, good-for-nothing lot; she hated them +all, the very name and mention of them; she sided +with her father as an Iden against her mother's +family, the Flammas. True they were almost all +flecked with talent like white foam on a black horse, +a spot or two of genius, and the rest black guilt +or folly. She hated them; she would not be a +Flamma.</p> + +<p>How should she at sixteen understand the wear +and tear of life, the pressure of circumstances, the +heavy weight of difficulties—there was something to +be said even for the miserable fidgetty Flammas, +but naturally sixteen judged by appearances. Shut +up in narrow grooves and working day after day, +year after year, in a contracted way, by degrees +their constitutional nervousness became the chief +characteristic of their existence. It was Intellect +overcome—over-burdened—with two generations of +petty cares; Genius dulled and damped till it went +to the quart pot.</p> + +<p>Sixteen could scarcely understand this. Amaryllis<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_87" id="Page_87">[87]</a></span> +detested the very name; she would not be a +Flamma.</p> + +<p>But she was a Flamma for all that; a Flamma in +fire of spirit, in strength of indignation, in natural +capacity; she drew, for instance, with the greatest +ease in pencil or pen-and-ink, drew to the life; she +could write a letter in sketches.</p> + +<p>Her indignation sometimes at the wrongfulness +of certain things seemed to fill her with a consuming +fire. Her partizanship for her father made her +sometimes inwardly rage for the lightning, that she +might utterly erase the opposer. Her contempt of +sycophancy, and bold independence led her constantly +into trouble.</p> + +<p>Flamma means a flame.</p> + +<p>Yet she was gentleness itself too; see her at the +bookshelves patiently endeavouring to please the +tiresome old man.</p> + +<p>"Open that drawer," said he, as she came to it.</p> + +<p>Amaryllis did so, and said that the coins and +medals in it were very interesting, as they really +were. The smoke caught her in the throat, and +seemed to stop the air as she breathed from reaching +her chest. So much accustomed to the open +air, she felt stifled.</p> + +<p>Then he asked her to read to him aloud, that he +might hear how she enunciated her words. The +book he gave her was an early copy of Addison, the +page a pale yellow, the type old-fount, the edges +rough, but where in a trim modern volume will +you find language like his and ideas set forth with<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_88" id="Page_88">[88]</a></span> +such transparent lucidity? How easy to write +like that!—so simple, merely a letter to an intimate +friend; but try!</p> + +<p>Trim modern volumes are so very hard to read, +especially those that come to us from New York, +thick volumes of several hundred pages, printed on +the thinnest paper in hard, unpleasant type. You +cannot read them; you <i>work</i> through them.</p> + +<p>The French have retained a little of the old style +of book in their paper bound franc novels, the rough +paper, thick black type, rough edges are pleasant +to touch and look at—they feel as if they were done +by hand, not turned out hurriedly smooth and trim +by machinery.</p> + +<p>Docile to the last degree with him, Amaryllis +tried her utmost to read well, and she succeeded, +so far as the choking smoke would let her. By +grunting between his continuous fits of coughing +the old man signified his approval.</p> + +<p>Amaryllis would have been respectful to any of +the aged, but she had a motive here; she wanted +to please him for her father's sake. For many +years there had been an increasing estrangement +between the younger and the elder Iden; an estrangement +which no one could have explained, for +it could hardly be due to money matters if Grandfather +Iden was really so rich. The son was his +father's tenant—the farm belonged to Grandfather +Iden—and perhaps the rent was not paid regularly. +Still that could not have much mattered—a mere +trifle to a man of old Iden's wealth. There was<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_89" id="Page_89">[89]</a></span> +something behind, no one knew what; possibly they +scarcely knew themselves, for it is a fact that people +frequently fall into a quarrel without remembering +the beginning.</p> + +<p>Amaryllis was very anxious to please the old +man for her father's sake; her dear father, whom +she loved so much. Tradesmen were for ever +worrying him for petty sums of money; it made +her furious with indignation to see and hear it.</p> + +<p>So she read her very best, and swallowed the +choking smoke patiently.</p> + +<p>Among the yellow pages, pressed flat, and still +as fresh as if gathered yesterday, Amaryllis found +bright petals and coloured autumn leaves. For it +was one of the old man's ways to carry home such +of these that pleased him and to place them in his +books. This he had done for half a century, and +many of the flower petals and leaves in the grey +old works of bygone authors had been there a +generation. It is wonderful how long they will +endure left undisturbed and pressed in this way; +the paper they used in old books seems to have +been softer, without the hard surface of our present +paper, more like blotting paper, and so keeps them +better. Before the repulsion between father and +son became so marked, Amaryllis had often been +with her grandfather in the garden and round the +meadows at Coombe Oaks, and seen him gather +the yellow tulips, the broad-petalled roses, and in +autumn the bright scarlet bramble leaves. The +brown leaves of the Spanish chestnut, too, pleased<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_90" id="Page_90">[90]</a></span> +him; anything with richness of colour. The old +and grey, and withered man gathered the brightest +of petals for his old and grey, and forgotten books.</p> + +<p>Now the sight of these leaves and petals between +the yellow pages softened her heart towards him; +he was a tyrant, but he was very, very old, they +were like flowers on a living tomb.</p> + +<p>In a little while Grandfather Iden got up, and +going to a drawer in one of the bookcases, took from +it some scraps of memoranda; he thrust these between +her face and the book, and told her to read +them instead.</p> + +<p>"These are your writing."</p> + +<p>"Go on," said the old man, smiling, grunting, +and coughing, all at once.</p> + +<p>"In 1840," read Amaryllis, "there were only +two houses in Black Jack Street." "Only <i>two</i> +houses!" she interposed, artfully.</p> + +<p>"Two," said the grandfather.</p> + +<p>"One in 1802," went on Amaryllis, "while in +1775 the site was covered with furze." "How it +has changed!" she said. He nodded, and coughed, +and smiled; his great grey hat rocked on his head +and seemed about to extinguish him.</p> + +<p>"There's a note at the bottom in pencil, grandpa. +It says, 'A hundred voters in this street, +1884.'"</p> + +<p>"Ah!" said the old man, an ah! so deep it fetched +his very heart up in coughing. When he finished, +Amaryllis read on—</p> + +<p>"In 1802 there were only ten voters in the town."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_91" id="Page_91">[91]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Ah!" His excitement caused such violent +coughing Amaryllis became alarmed, but it did him +no harm. The more he coughed and choked the +livelier he seemed. The thought of politics roused +him like a trumpet—it went straight to his ancient +heart.</p> + +<p>"Read that again," he said. "How many voters +now?"</p> + +<p>"A hundred voters in this street, 1884."</p> + +<p>"We've got them all"—coughing—"all in my +lord's houses, everyone; vote Conservative, one +and all. What is it?" as some one knocked. +Dinner was ready, to Amaryllis's relief.</p> + +<p>"Perhaps you would like to dine with me?" +asked the grandfather, shuffling up his papers. +"There—there," as she hesitated, "you would like +to dine with young people, of course—of course."</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 141px;"> +<img src="images/i-056.png" width="141" height="110" alt="decoration" title="" /> +</div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_92" id="Page_92">[92]</a></span></p> +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 500px;"> +<img src="images/i-057.png" width="500" height="84" alt="decoration" title="" /> +</div> + + +<h2>CHAPTER XII.</h2> + + +<div class="figleft" style="width: 119px;"> +<img src="images/o.png" width="119" height="120" alt="O" title="" /> +</div><div class='unindent'>LD Grandfather Iden always dined alone +in the parlour, with his housekeeper to +wait on him; they were just bringing +in his food. The family and visitors +had their meals in a separate and much +more comfortable apartment in another part of the +house, which was large. Sometimes, as a great +favour and special mark of approval, the old Pacha +would invite you to eat with him.</div> + +<p>Amaryllis, though anxious to please him, hesitated, +not only because of the smoke, but because +she knew he always had pork for dinner.</p> + +<p>The rich juices of roast pork sustained his dry +and withered frame—it was a sort of Burgundy of +flesh to him. As the good wine of Burgundy fills +the blood with iron and strengthens the body, so +the rich juice of the pork seemed to supply the oil +necessary to keep the sinews supple and to prevent +the cartilages from stiffening.</p> + +<p>The scientific people say that it is the ossification +of the cartilages—the stiffening of the firmer +tissues—that in time interferes with the processes<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_93" id="Page_93">[93]</a></span> +of life. The hinges rust, as if your tricycle had +been left out in the rain for a week—and the delicate +watchwork of the human frame will not run.</p> + +<p>If suppleness could only be maintained there is +no reason why it should not continue to work for a +much longer period, for a hundred and fifty, two +hundred years—as long as you fancy. But nothing +has yet been devised to keep up the suppleness.</p> + +<p>Grandfather Iden found the elixir of life in roast +pork. The jokers of Woolhorton—there are always +jokers, very clever they think themselves—considered +the reason it suited him so well was because +of the pig-like obstinacy of his disposition.</p> + +<p>Anything more contrary to common sense than +for an old man of ninety to feed on pork it would +be hard to discover—so his friends said.</p> + +<p>"Pork," said the physician, had down from London +to see him on one occasion, "pork is the first +on the list of indigestible articles of food. It takes +from six to eight hours for the gastric apparatus to +reduce its fibres. The stomach becomes overloaded—acidity +is the result; nightmares, pains, and innumerable +ills are the consequence. The very +worst thing Mr. Iden could eat."</p> + +<p>"Hum," growled the family doctor, a native of +Woolhorton, when he heard of this. "Hum!" +low in his throat, like an irate bulldog. If in the +least excited, like most other country folk, he used +the provincial pronunciation. "Hum! A' have +lived twenty years on pork. Let'n yet it!"</p> + +<p>Grandfather Iden intended to eat it, and did<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_94" id="Page_94">[94]</a></span> +eat it six days out of seven, not, of course, roast +pork every dinner; sometimes boiled pork; sometimes +he baked it himself in the great oven. Now +and then he varied it with pig-meat—good old +country meat, let me tell you, pig-meat—such as +spare-rib, griskin, blade-bone, and that mysterious +morsel, the "mouse." The chine he always sent +over for Iden junior, who was a chine eater—a +true Homeric diner—and to make it even, Iden +junior sent in the best apples for sauce from his +favourite russet trees. It was about the only +amenity that survived between father and son.</p> + +<p>The pig-meat used to be delicious in the old +house at home, before we all went astray along the +different paths of life; fresh from the pigs fed and +killed on the premises, nutty, and juicy to the +palate. Much of it is best done on a gridiron—here's +heresy! A gridiron is flat blasphemy to +the modern school of scientific cookery. Scientific +fiddlestick! Nothing like a gridiron to set your +lips watering.</p> + +<p>But the "mouse,"—what was the "mouse?" +The London butchers can't tell me. It was a titbit. +I suppose it still exists in pigs; but London +folk are so ignorant.</p> + +<p>Grandfather Iden ate pig in every shape and +form, that is, he mumbled the juice out of it, and +never complained of indigestion.</p> + +<p>He was up at five o'clock every morning of his +life, pottering about the great oven with his baker's +man. In summer if it was fine he went out at six<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_95" id="Page_95">[95]</a></span> +for a walk in the Pines—the promenade of Woolhorton.</p> + +<p>"If you wants to get well," old Dr. Butler used +to say, "you go for a walk in the marning afore +the aair have been braathed auver."</p> + +<p>Before the air has been breathed over—inspired +and re-inspired by human crowds, while it retains +the sweetness of the morning, like water fresh +from the spring; that was when it possessed its +value, according to bluff, gruff, rule-of-thumb old +Butler. Depend upon it, there is something in his +dictum, too.</p> + +<p>Amaryllis hesitated at the thought of the pork, +for he often had it underdone, so the old gentleman +dismissed her in his most gracious manner to dine +with the rest.</p> + +<p>She went down the corridor and took the seat +placed for her. There was a posy of primroses +beside her napkin—posies of primroses all round +the table.</p> + +<p>This raging old Tory of ninety years would give +a shilling for the earliest primrose the boys could +find for him in the woods. Some one got him +a peacock's feather which had fallen from Beaconsfield's +favourites—a real Beaconsfield peacock-feather—which +he had set in the centre of a splendid +screen of feathers that cost him twenty guineas. +The screen was upstairs in the great drawing-room +near a bow window which overlooked the fair.</p> + +<p>People, you see, took pains to get him feathers +and anything he fancied, on account of the twenty<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_96" id="Page_96">[96]</a></span> +thousand spade guineas in the iron box under the +bed.</p> + +<p>His daughters, elderly, uninteresting married +folk, begged him not to keep a peacock's feather in +the house—it would certainly bring misfortune. +The superstition was so firmly rooted in their minds +that they actually argued with him—<i>argued</i> with +Grandfather Iden!—pointing out to him the fearful +risk he was running. He puffed and coughed, and +grew red in the face—the great grey hat shook +and tottered with anger; not for all the Powers of +Darkness would he have given up that feather.</p> + +<p>The chairs round the large table were arranged +in accordance with the age of the occupants. There +were twenty-one grandchildren, and a number of +aunts, uncles, and so on; a vague crowd that does +not concern us. The eldest sat at the head of the +table, the next in age followed, and so all round +the dishes. This arrangement placed Amaryllis +rather low down—a long way from the top and +fountain of honour—and highly displeased her. +She despised and disliked the whole vague crowd +of her relations, yet being there, she felt that she +ought to have had a position above them all. Her +father—Iden, junior—was old Iden's only son and +natural heir; therefore her father's chair ought to +have been at the top of the table, and hers ought to +have been next to his.</p> + +<p>Instead of which, as her father was not the +eldest, his seat was some distance from the top, and +hers again, was a long way from his.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_97" id="Page_97">[97]</a></span></p> + +<p>All the other chairs were full, but her father's +chair was empty.</p> + +<p>The vague crowd were so immensely eager to +pay their despicable court to the Spade-Guinea +Man, not one of them stopped away; the old, the +young, the lame, the paralytic, all found means to +creep in to Grandfather Iden's annual dinner. His +only son and natural heir was alone absent. How +eagerly poor Amaryllis glanced from time to time +at that empty chair, hoping against hope that her +dear father would come in at the Psalms, or even at +the sermon, and disappoint the venomous, avaricious +hearts of the enemies around her.</p> + +<p>For well she knew how delighted they were to +see his chair empty, as a visible sign and token of +the gulf between father and son, and well she knew +how diligently each laboured to deepen the misunderstanding +and set fuel to the flame of the quarrel. +If the son were disinherited, consider the enormous +profit to the rest of them!</p> + +<p>Grandfather Iden made no secret of the fact that +he had not signed a will. It was believed that +several rough drafts had been sketched out for him, +but, in his own words—and he was no teller of +falsehoods—he had not decided on his will. If +only they could persuade him to make his will they +might feel safe of something; but suppose he went +off pop, all in a moment, as these extraordinarily +healthy old people are said to do, and the most of his +estate in land! Consider what a contingency—almost<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_98" id="Page_98">[98]</a></span> +all of it would go to his own son. Awful +thing!</p> + +<p>Amaryllis was aware how they all stared at her +and quizzed her over and over; her hair, her face, +her form, but most of all her dress. They were so +poor at home she had not had a new dress this +twelvemonth past; it was true her dress was decent +and comfortable, and she really looked very nice in +it to any man's eye; but a girl does not want a +comfortable dress, she wants something in the style +of the day, and just sufficiently advanced to make +the women's eyes turn green with envy. It is not +the men's eyes; it is the women's eyes.</p> + +<p>Amaryllis sat up very quiet and unconcerned, +trying with all her might to make them feel she was +the Heiress, not only an only son's only daughter, +but the only son's only offspring—doubly the +Heiress of Grandfather Iden.</p> + +<p>The old folk, curious in such matters, had prophesied +so soon as she was born that there +would be no more children at Coombe Oaks, and so +it fell out. For it had been noticed in the course +of generations, that in the direct line of Iden when +the first child was a daughter there were none to +follow. And further, that there never was but one +Miss Iden at a time.</p> + +<p>If the Direct Line had a daughter first, they +never had any more children; consequently that +daughter was the only Miss Iden.</p> + +<p>If the Direct Line had a son, they never had a +second son, though they might have daughters;<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_99" id="Page_99">[99]</a></span> +but then, in order that there should still be only one +Miss Iden, it always happened that the first died, +or was married early, before the second came into +existence.</p> + +<p>Such was the tradition of the Iden family; they +had a long pedigree, the Idens, reaching farther +back than the genealogies of many a peer, and it +had been observed that this was the rule of their +descent.</p> + +<p>Amaryllis was the only Miss Iden, and the heiress, +through her father, of the Spade-Guinea Man. She +tried to make them feel that she knew it and felt it; +that she was the Iden of the Idens. Her proud +face—it was a very proud face naturally—darkened +a little, and grew still more disdainful in its utter +scorn and loathing of the vague crowd of enemies.</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 139px;"> +<img src="images/i-059.png" width="139" height="150" alt="decoration" title="" /> +</div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_100" id="Page_100">[100]</a></span></p> +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 500px;"> +<img src="images/i-036.png" width="500" height="91" alt="decoration" title="" /> +</div> + + +<h2>CHAPTER XIII.</h2> + + +<div class="figleft" style="width: 121px;"> +<img src="images/t.png" width="121" height="120" alt="T" title="" /> +</div><div class='unindent'>O one, as it were, in the gallery, it was +a delight to see her; her sweet cheeks, +fresh as the dawn, reddening with suppressed +indignation; her young brow +bent; her eyes cast down—don't you +think for a moment she would deign to look at them—pride +in her heart, and resolute determination to +fight for her dear father and mother.</div> + +<p>But she felt as she sat so unconcerned that there +was a crack in her boot unmended, and it seemed +as if everyone could see it though under the solid +table. She had not had a really sound pair of +boots for many, many months; they could not +afford her a new pair at home, and the stupid shoemaker, +"Established 1697," was such a time repairing +her others.</p> + +<p>She would not look at them, but she knew that +they were all dressed better than she was; there +were some of them very poor, and very vulgar, too, +but they were all dressed better than her, and +without a doubt had sound boots on their feet.</p> + +<p>The cottagers in Coombe hamlet always had<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_101" id="Page_101">[101]</a></span> +sound boots; she never had; nor, indeed, her +mother. Her father had a pair, being compelled +by the character of his work in the fields to take +care of himself so far, though he wore a ragged +coat. But neither mother nor daughter ever had +a whole pair of boots—whole and sound as the very +cottagers had.</p> + +<p>If Amaryllis had sat there with naked feet she +would have been prouder than ever, and that is why +I always loved her so; she was not to be put down +by circumstances, she was above external things.</p> + +<p>But as time went on, and the dinner was nearly +over—she had scarcely eaten anything—and as she +glanced from time to time at her father's empty +chair, and knew that he would not come, and that +his defection would revive the old quarrel which +might so easily have been mended, the Flamma +blood began to rise and grow hotter and hotter, +and the foot with the worn boot on it began to tap +the floor.</p> + +<p>The Flamma blood would have liked to have +swept the whole company over a precipice into the +Red Sea as the herd of swine in old time. It was +either the Red Sea or somewhere; geography is of +no consequence.</p> + +<div class='poem'> +Spain's an island near<br /> +Morocco, betwixt Egypt and Tangier.<br /> +</div> + +<p>The Flamma blood would have liked to have +seen them all poisoned and dying on their seats.</p> + +<p>The Flamma blood would have been glad to stick +a knife into each of them—only it would not have<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_102" id="Page_102">[102]</a></span> +touched them with the longest hop-pole in Kent, so +utter was its loathing of the crew gloating over that +empty chair.</p> + +<p>And for once Amaryllis did not check it, and did +not say to herself, "I <i>will</i> not be a Flamma."</p> + +<p>Towards the end of the tedious banquet the word +was passed round that everyone was to sit still, as +Grandfather Iden was coming to look at his descendants.</p> + +<p>There was not the least fear of any of them stirring, +for they well knew his custom—to walk round, +and speak a few words to everyone in turn, and to +put a new golden sovereign into their hands. +Thirty-two sovereigns it was in all—one for each—but +the thirty-third was always a spade-guinea, +which was presented to the individual who had best +pleased him during the year.</p> + +<p>A genial sort of custom, no doubt, but fancy the +emulation and the heart-burning over the spade-guinea! +For the fortunate winner usually considered +himself the nearest to the Will.</p> + +<p>Amaryllis' cheeks began to burn at the thought +that she should have to take his horrible money. +A hideous old monster he was to her at that moment—not +that he had done anything to her personally—but +he left her dear father to be worried +out of his life by petty tradesmen, and her dear +mother to go without a pair of decent boots, while +he made this pompous distribution among these +wretches. The hideous old monster!</p> + +<p>Out in the town the boys behind his back gave<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_103" id="Page_103">[103]</a></span> +him endless nicknames: Granfer Iden, Floury Iden, +My Lord Lardy-Cake, Marquis Iden, His Greasy +Grace; and, indeed, with his whims and humours, +and patronage, his caprices and ways of going on, +if he had but had a patent of nobility, Grandfather +Iden would have made a wonderfully good +duke.</p> + +<p>By-and-by in comes the old Pacha, still wearing +his great grey tottery hat, and proceeds from chair +to chair, tapping folk on the shoulder, saying a +gracious word or two, and dropping his new golden +sovereigns in their eager palms. There was a loud +hum of conversation as he went round; they all +tried to appear so immensely happy to see him.</p> + +<p>Amaryllis did not exactly watch him, but of +course knew what he was about, when suddenly +there was a dead silence. Thirty-two people suddenly +stopped talking as if the pneumatic <ins title="Transcriber's Note: original reads 'break'">brake</ins> +had been applied to their lips by a sixty-ton locomotive.</p> + +<p>Dead, ominous silence. You could almost hear +the cat licking his paw under the table.</p> + +<p>Amaryllis looked, and saw the old man leaning +with both hands on the back of his son's empty +chair.</p> + +<p>He seemed to cling to it as if it was a spar +floating on the barren ocean of life and death into +which his withered old body was sinking.</p> + +<p>Perhaps he really would have clung like that to +his son had but his son come to him, and borne a +little, and for a little while, with his ways.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_104" id="Page_104">[104]</a></span></p> + +<p>A sorrowful thing to see—the old man of ninety +clinging to the back of his son's empty chair. His +great grey tottery hat seemed about to tumble on +the floor—his back bowed a little more—and he +groaned deeply, three times.</p> + +<p>We can see, being out of the play and spectators +merely, that there was a human cry for help in the +old man's groan—his heart yearned for his son's +strong arm to lean on.</p> + +<p>The crowd of relations were in doubt as to +whether they should rejoice, whether the groan was +a sign of indignation, of anger too deep ever to +be forgotten, or whether they should be alarmed at +the possibility of reconciliation.</p> + +<p>The Flamma blood was up too much in Amaryllis +for her to feel pity for him as she would have +done in any other mood; she hated him all the +more; he was rich, the five-shilling fare was nothing +to him, he could hire a fly from the "Lamb Inn," +and drive over and make friends with her father in +half an hour. Groaning there—the hideous old +monster! and her mother without a decent pair of +boots.</p> + +<p>In a moment or two Grandfather Iden recovered +himself, and continued the distribution, and by-and-by +Amaryllis felt him approach her chair. She did +not even turn to look at him, so he took her hand, +and placed two coins in it, saying in his most +gracious way that the sovereign was for her father, +and the guinea—the spade-guinea—for herself. +She muttered something—she knew not what—she<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_105" id="Page_105">[105]</a></span> +could but just restrain herself from throwing the +money on the floor.</p> + +<p>It was known in a moment that Amaryllis had +the guinea. Conceive the horror, the hatred, the +dread of the crowd of sycophants! That the +Heiress Apparent should be the favourite!</p> + +<p>Yet more. Half-an-hour later, just after they +had all got upstairs into the great drawing-room, +and some were officiously and reverently admiring +the peacock-feather in the screen, and some looking +out of the bow window at the fair, there came a +message for Amaryllis to put on her hat and go for +a walk with her grandfather.</p> + +<p>There was not one among all the crowd in the +drawing-room who had ever been invited to accompany +Iden Pacha.</p> + +<p>Three days ago at home, if anyone had told +Amaryllis that she would be singled out in this +way, first to receive the Iden medal—the spade-guinea +stamp of approval—and then, above all +things, to be honoured by walking out with this +"almighty" grandfather, how delighted she would +have been at the thought of the triumph!</p> + +<p>But now it was just the reverse. Triumph over +these people—pah! a triumph over rats and flies +or some such creatures. She actually felt lowered +in her own esteem by being noticed at all among +them. Honoured by this old horror—she revolted +at it. <i>He</i> honour her with his approval—she hated +him.</p> + +<p>The other day a travelling piano was wheeled<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_106" id="Page_106">[106]</a></span> +through Coombe and set up a tune in that lonesome +spot. Though it was but a mechanical piece +of music, with the cogs as it were of the mechanism +well marked by the thump, thump, it seemed to +cheer the place—till she went out to the gate to +look at the Italian woman who danced about while +the grinding was done, and saw that she had a +sound pair of boots on. That very morning her +mother in crossing the road had set the Flamma +rheumatism shooting in her bones, for the dampness +of the mud came through the crack in her boot.</p> + +<p>This miserable old Iden Pacha thought to honour +her while he let her mother walk about with her +stocking on the wet ground!</p> + +<p>The Flamma blood was up in her veins—what +did she care for guineas!</p> + +<p>As she was putting her hat on in the bedroom +before the glass she looked round to see that no one +was watching, and then stooped down and put the +spade-guinea in the dust of the floor under the +dressing-table. She would have none of his hateful +money. The sovereign she took care of because it +was for her father, and he might buy something +useful with it; he wanted a few shillings badly +enough.</p> + +<p>So the spade-guinea remained in the dust of the +floor for a week or two, till it pleased the housemaid +to move the dressing-table to brush away the accumulation, +when she found the shining one in the +fluff.</p> + +<p>Being over thirty, she held her tongue, the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_107" id="Page_107">[107]</a></span> +guinea henceforward travelled down the stream of +Time fast enough though silently, but she took the +first opportunity of examining the iron box under +the Pacha's bed, thinking perhaps there might be a +chink in it. And it was curious how for some time +afterwards a fit of extraordinary industry prevailed +in the house; there was not a table, a chair, or any +piece of furniture that was not chivvied about under +pretence of polishing. She actually had a day's +holiday and a cast-off gown given to her as a reward +for her labours.</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 163px;"> +<img src="images/i-060.png" width="163" height="200" alt="decoration" title="" /> +</div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_108" id="Page_108">[108]</a></span></p> +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 500px;"> +<img src="images/i-061.png" width="500" height="89" alt="decoration" title="" /> +</div> + + +<h2>CHAPTER XIV.</h2> + + +<div class="figleft" style="width: 120px;"> +<img src="images/a.png" width="120" height="120" alt="A" title="" /> +</div><div class='unindent'>MARYLLIS did not look back as she +walked beside her grandfather slowly +up the street, or she would have seen +the company of relations watching them +from the bow-window.</div> + +<p>Iden went straight through the crowd without +any hesitation on account of his age—angry as she +was, Amaryllis feared several times lest the clumsy +people should over-turn him, and tried her best to +shield him. But he had a knack of keeping on his +feet—the sort of knack you learn by skating—and did +not totter much more than usual, despite the press.</p> + +<p>The world gets on with very little amusement +somehow. Here were two or three thousand people +packed in the street, and all they had to enliven +their festive gathering was the same old toys their +fathers' fathers' fathers had set before them.</p> + +<p>Rows of booths for the display of "fairings," +gingerbread, nuts, cakes, brandy-balls, and sugar-plums +stood in the gutter each side.</p> + +<p>The "fairings" were sweet biscuits—they have +been made every fair this hundred years.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_109" id="Page_109">[109]</a></span></p> + +<p>The nuts were dry and hard, just as Spanish nuts +always are. The gingerbread was moulded in the +same old shapes of clumsy horses outlined with gilt.</p> + +<p>There was the same old trumpeting and tootling, +tom-tomming, and roaring of showmen's voices. The +same old roundabouts, only now they were driven +by steam, and short, quick whistles announced that +the whirligig caravan was travelling round the +world. The fat woman, the strong man, the +smashers tapping the "claret," the "Pelican of the +Wilderness," that mystic and melancholy bird, the +rifle galleries, the popping for nuts—behold these +are they our fathers have seen.</p> + +<p>There is nothing new under the sun—not even +at Epsom. The first time I saw the wonderful +crowd of the Derby Day—perhaps the largest crowd +in the world—I could scarcely believe my eyes, for +I found on passing through it that the hundreds of +thousands of people there had nothing more to +amuse them than they would have found at an +ordinary country fair. Swings, roundabouts, cockshies +at cocoa-nuts, rootletum, tootletum, and beer. +That was all. No new amusement whatsoever: a +very humdrum sort of world, my masters!</p> + +<p>The next finest crowd is the crowd on August +bank-holiday all along the Brighton beach, and +there it is just the same. Nothing for the folk +but Punch, brass bands, and somersaulters—dull +old stories in my grandmother's time.</p> + +<p>Xerxes offered a reward to anyone who could +invent him a fresh pleasure—the multitude of the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_110" id="Page_110">[110]</a></span> +Derby Day and Brighton beach should do the same. +But indeed they do, for an immense fortune would +certainly be the reward of such a discoverer. One gets +tired of pitching sticks at cocoa-nuts all one's time.</p> + +<p>However, at Woolhorton nobody but the very +rawest and crudest folk cared for the shows, all they +did care was to alternately stand stock still and +then shove. First they shoved as far as the "Lion" +and had some beer, then they shoved back to the +"Lamb" and had some beer, then they stood stock +still in the street and blocked those who were shoving. +Several thousand people were thus happily +occupied, and the Lion and the Lamb laid down +together peacefully that day.</p> + +<p>Amaryllis and old Iden had in like manner to +shove, for there was no other way to get through, +no one thought of moving, or giving any passage, +if you wanted to progress you must shoulder them +aside. As Grandfather Iden could not shove very +hard they were frequently compelled to wait till the +groups opened, and thus it happened that Amaryllis +found herself once face to face with Jack Duck.</p> + +<p>He kind of sniggered in a foolish way at +Amaryllis, and touched his hat to Iden. "You +ain't a been over to Coombe lately, Mr. Iden," he +said.</p> + +<p>"No," replied the old man sharply, and went on.</p> + +<p>Jack could hardly have struck a note more discordant +to Amaryllis. The father had not been to +visit his son for more than a year—she did not +want unpleasant memories stirred up.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_111" id="Page_111">[111]</a></span></p> + +<p>Again in another group a sturdy labourer touched +his hat and asked her if her father was at fair, as +he was looking out for a job. Old Iden started +and grunted like a snorting horse.</p> + +<p>Amaryllis, though put out, stayed to speak kindly +to him, for she knew he was always in difficulties. +Bill Nye was that contradiction a strong man without +work. He wanted to engage for mowing. Bill +Nye was a mower at Coombe, and his father, Bill +Nye, before him, many a long year before he was +discovered in California.</p> + +<p>When she overtook Iden he was struggling to +pass the stream of the Orinoco, which set strongly +at that moment out of the "Lamb" towards the +"Lion." Strong men pushed out from the "Lamb" +archway like a river into the sea, thrusting their +way into the general crowd, and this mighty current +cast back the tottering figure of old Iden as the +swollen Orinoco swung the crank old Spanish caravels +that tried to breast it.</p> + +<p>It was as much as Amaryllis and he together +could do to hold their ground at the edge of the +current. While they were thus battling she chanced +to look up.</p> + +<p>A large window was open over the archway, and +at this window a fellow was staring down at her. +He stood in his shirt-sleeves with a billiard-cue in +his hand waiting his turn to play. It was the +same young fellow, gentleman if you like, whose +pale face had so displeased her that morning as he +rode under when she watched the folk go by to<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_112" id="Page_112">[112]</a></span> +fair. He was certainly the most advanced in civilization +of all who had passed Plum Corner, and yet +there was something in that pale and rather delicate +face which was not in the coarse lineaments of the +"varmers" and "drauvers" and "pig-dealers" +who had gone by under the wall. Something that +insulted her.</p> + +<p>The face at the window was appraising her.</p> + +<p>It was reckoning her up—so much for eyes, so +much for hair, so much for figure, and as this went +on the fingers were filling a pipe from an elastic +tobacco-pouch. There was no romance, no poetry +in that calculation—no rapture or pure admiration +of beauty; there was a billiard-cue and a tobacco-pouch, +and a glass of spirits and water, and an +atmosphere of smoke, and a sound of clicking ivory +balls at the back of the thought. His thumb was +white where he had chalked it to make a better +bridge for the cue. His face was white; for he had +chalked it with dissipation. His physical body was +whitened—chalked—a whited sepulchre; his moral +nature likewise chalked.</p> + +<p>At the back of his thought lay not the high +esteem of the poet-thinker for beauty, but the +cynical blackguardism of the XIXth century.</p> + +<p>The cynicism that deliberately reckons up things +a Shakespeare would admire at their lowest possible +sale value. A slow whiff of smoke from a +corner of the sneering mouth, an air of intense +knowingness, as much as to say, "You may depend +upon me—I've been behind the scenes. All this is<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_113" id="Page_113">[113]</a></span> +got up, you know; stage effect in front, pasteboard +at the rear; nothing in it."</p> + +<p>In the sensuality of Nero there may still be found +some trace of a higher nature; "What an artist the +world has lost!" he exclaimed, dying.</p> + +<p>The empress Theodora craved for the applause +of the theatre to which she exposed her beauty.</p> + +<p>This low, cynical nineteenth century blackguardism +thinks of nothing but lowness, and has +no ideal. The milliner even has an ideal, she looks +to colour, shape, effect; though but in dress, yet it +is an ideal. There was no ideal in Ned Marks.</p> + +<p>They called him from within to take his turn with +the cue; he did not answer, he was so absorbed in his +calculations. He was clever—in a way; he had +quite sufficient penetration to see that this was no +common girl. She was not beautiful—yet, she was +not even pretty, and so plainly dressed; still there +was something marked in her features. And she +was with old Iden.</p> + +<p>Amaryllis did not understand the meaning of his +glance, but she felt that it was an insult. She looked +down quickly, seized her grandfather's arm, and +drew him out from the pavement into the street, +yielding a little to the current and so hoping to +presently pass it.</p> + +<p>By this time, as Ned Marks did not answer, his +companions had come to the window to discover what +he was staring at. "Oho!" they laughed. "It's +Miss Iden. Twenty thousand guineas in the iron +box!"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_114" id="Page_114">[114]</a></span></p> + +<p>Iden's great white hat, which always seemed to +sit loosely on his head, was knocked aside by the +elbow of a burly butcher struggling in the throng; +Amaryllis replaced it upright, and leading him this +way, and pushing him that, got at last to the opposite +pavement, and so behind the row of booths, +between them and the houses where there was less +crush. Taking care of him, she forgot to look to +her feet and stepped in the gutter where there was +a puddle. The cold water came through the crack +in her boot.</p> + +<p>While these incidents were still further irritating +her, the old Pacha kept mumbling and muttering +to himself, nodding his head and smiling at each +fresh mark of attention, for though he was so independent +and fearless still he appreciated the trouble +she took. The mumbling in his mouth was a sort +of purring. Her dutiful spirit had stroked him up +to a pleasant state of electric glow; she felt like a +hound in a leash, ready to burst the bond that +held her to his hand. Side by side, and arm in arm, +neither of them understood the other; ninety and +sixteen, a strange couple in the jostling fair.</p> + +<p>Iden turned down a passage near the end of the +street, and in an instant the roar of the crowd which +had boomed all round them was shut off by high +walls up which it rose and hummed over their heads +in the air. They walked on broad stone flags +notched here and there at the edges, for the rest +worn smooth by footsteps (the grave drives such a +trade) like Iden's doorstep, they were in fact tombstones,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_115" id="Page_115">[115]</a></span> +and the walled passage brought them to the +porch of the Abbey church.</p> + +<p>There he stopped, muttering and mumbling, and +wiped his forehead with his vast silk handkerchief. +They were no longer incommoded by a crowd, but +now and then folk came by hastening to the fair; +lads with favours in their coats, and blue ribbons in +their hats, girls in bright dresses, chiefly crude +colours, who seemed out of accord with the heavy +weight as it were of the great Abbey, the ponderous +walls, the quiet gloom of the narrow space, +and the shadows that lurked behind the buttresses.</p> + +<p>The aged man muttered and mumbled about the +porch and took Amaryllis under it, making her look +up at the groining, and note the spring of the arch, +which formed a sort of carved crown over them. +It was a fine old porch, deep and high, in some +things reminding you of the porches that are to be +seen in Spain; stone made to give a pleasant shade +like trees, so cut and worked as to be soft to the +eye.</p> + +<p>He pointed out to her the touches that rendered +it so dear to those who value art in stone. He +knew them, every one, the history and the dates, +and the three stags' heads on a shield; there were +broad folios in the smoky room at home, filled +with every detail, Iden himself had subscribed forty +pounds to the cost of illustrating one of them. +Every scholar who visited the Abbey church, called +and begged to see the baker's old books.</p> + +<p>Iden rubbed his old thumb in the grooves and<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_116" id="Page_116">[116]</a></span> +went outside and hoisted himself, as it were, up from +his crooked S position to look at the three stags' +heads on the shield on the wall; dim stags' heads +that to you, or at least to me, might have been +fishes, or Jove's thunderbolts, or anything.</p> + +<p>Amaryllis was left standing alone a moment in +the porch, the deep shadow within behind her, the +curve of the arch over, a fine setting for a portrait. +She stood the more upright because of the fire and +temper suppressed in her.</p> + +<p>Just outside the human letter S—crooked S—clad +in sad white-grey miller's garments, its old hat +almost falling backwards off its old grey head, +gazed up and pointed with its oaken cudgel at the +coat of arms. Seven hundred years—the weight +of seven hundred years—hung over them both in +that old Abbey.</p> + +<p>Into that Past he was soon to disappear: she +came out to the Future.</p> + +<p>Thence he took her to an arched door, nail-studded, +in the passage wall, and giving her the key, told +her to open it, and stood watching her in triumph, +as if it had been the door to some immense treasury. +She turned the lock, and he pushed her before +him hastily, as if they must snatch so grand an +opportunity.</p> + + + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_117" id="Page_117">[117]</a></span></p> +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 500px;"> +<img src="images/i-041.png" width="500" height="88" alt="decoration" title="" /> +</div> + + +<h2>CHAPTER XV.</h2> + + +<div class="figleft" style="width: 120px;"> +<img src="images/w.png" width="120" height="120" alt="W" title="" /> +</div><div class='unindent'>ITHIN there was a gravel path, and +glimpses between trees of wide pleasure-grounds. +Amaryllis hesitated, and +looked back; Iden drew her forward, +not noticing her evident disinclination +to proceed. If he had, he would have put it down +to awe, instead of which it was dislike.</div> + +<p>For she guessed they were entering the lawns in +front of the Hon. Raleigh Pamment's mansion. He +was the largest owner of town and country; the +streets, the market-place, the open spaces, in which +the fair was being held, belonged to him; so did +most of the farms and hamlets out of which the +people had come. The Pamments were Tories; +very important Tories indeed.</p> + +<p>The Idens, in their little way, were Tories, too, +right to the centre of the cerebellum; the Flammas +were hot Republicans. Now Amaryllis, being a +girl, naturally loved her father most, yet she was a +wilful and rebellious revolutionist. Amaryllis, who +would not be a Flamma, had imbibed all the +Flamma hatred of authority from her mother.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_118" id="Page_118">[118]</a></span></p> + +<p>To her the Pamments were the incarnation of +everything detestable, of oppression, obstruction, +and mediæval darkness. She knew nothing of +politics; at sixteen you do not need to know to +feel vehemently, you feel vehemently without knowing. +Still, she had heard a good deal about the +Pamments.</p> + +<p>She resented being brought there to admire the +pleasure grounds and mansion, and to kow-tow to +the grandeur of these mediæval tyrants.</p> + +<p>Old Iden led her on till they came to the smooth +lawn before the front windows; three centuries of +mowing had made it as smooth as the top of his +own head, where the years had mown away merrily.</p> + +<p>There was not so much as a shrub—not a daisy—between +them and the great windows of the +house. They stood in full view.</p> + +<p>Amaryllis could scarcely endure herself, so keen +was her vexation; her cheeks reddened. She was +obliged to face the house, but her glance was +downwards; she would not look at it.</p> + +<p>Grandfather Iden was in the height of his glory. +In all Woolhorton town there was not another man +who could do as he was doing at that moment.</p> + +<p>The Pamments were very exclusive people, exceptionally +exclusive even for high class Tories. Their +gardens, and lawns, and grounds were jealously +surrounded with walls higher than the old-fashioned +houses of the street beneath them. No one dared +to so much as peer through a crevice of the mighty +gates. Their persons were encircled with the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_119" id="Page_119">[119]</a></span> +"divinity" that hedges the omnipotent landed +proprietor. No one dared speak to a Pamment. +They acknowledged no one in the town, not even +the solicitors, not even the clergyman of the Abbey +church; that was on account of ritual differences.</p> + +<p>It was, indeed, whispered—high treason must +always be whispered—that young Pamment, the +son and heir, was by no means so exclusive, and +had been known to be effusive towards ladies of +low birth—and manners.</p> + +<p>The great leaders of Greece—Alcibiades, Aristides, +and so on—threw open their orchards to the +people. Everyone walked in and did as he chose. +These great leaders of England—the Pamments—shut +up their lawns and pleasure-grounds, sealed +them hermetically, you could hardly throw a stone +over the walls if you tried.</p> + +<p>But Grandfather Iden walked through those +walls as if there were none; he alone of all Woolhorton +town and country.</p> + +<p>In that gossipy little town, of course, there +were endless surmises as to the why and wherefore +of that private key. Shrewd people said—"Ah! +you may depend they be getting summat out of +him. Lent 'em some of his guineas, a' reckon. +They be getting summat out of him. Hoss-leeches, +they gentlefolks."</p> + +<p>Grandfather Iden alone entered when he listed: +he wandered about the lawns, he looked in at the +conservatories, he took a bunch of grapes if it +pleased him, or a bouquet of flowers; he actually<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_120" id="Page_120">[120]</a></span> +stepped indoors occasionally and sat down on the +carved old chairs, or pottered about the picture +gallery. He had a private key to the nail-studded +door in the wall by the Abbey church, and he +looked upon that key very much as if it had been +the key of Paradise.</p> + +<p>When Grandfather Iden stood on the lawn at +Pamment House he was the proudest and happiest +man in what they sarcastically call "God's creation."</p> + +<p>He was a peer at such moments; a grandee—the +grandee who can wear his hat or sit down +(which is it? it is most important to be accurate) +in the presence of his deity, I mean his sovereign; +he could actually step on the same sward pressed +by the holy toes of the Pamments.</p> + +<p>In justice to him it must be said that he was +most careful not to obtrude himself into the sight +of their sacred majesties. If they were at home he +rarely went in, if he did he crept round unfrequented +paths, the byeways of the gardens, and hid himself +under the fig trees, as it were. But if by chance a +Pamment did light upon him, it was noteworthy +that he was literally dandled and fondled like an +infant, begged to come in, and take wine, and so +so, and so so.</p> + +<p>In justice to old Iden let it be known that he +was most careful not to obtrude himself; he hid +himself under the fig trees.</p> + +<p>Hardly credible is it? that a man of ninety years—a +man of no common intelligence—a man of<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_121" id="Page_121">[121]</a></span> +books, and coins, and antiquities, should, in this +nineteenth century, bend his aged knees in such a +worship. Incredible as it may seem it is certainly +true.</p> + +<p>Such loyalty in others of old time, remember, +seems very beautiful when we read of the devotion +that was shown towards Charles Stuart.</p> + +<p>With all his heart and soul he worshipped the +very ground the Pamments trod on. He loved to +see them in the Abbey church; when they were at +home he never failed to attend service, rain, snow, +thunder, ninety years notwithstanding, he always +attended that he might bow his venerable head to +them as they swept up the aisle, receiving the +faintest, yet most gracious, smile of recognition in +return.</p> + +<p>He was quite happy in his pew if he could see +them at their carved desks in the chancel; the +organ sounded very beautiful then; the light came +sweetly through the painted windows; a sanctity +and heavenly presence was diffused around.</p> + +<p>Rebellious Amaryllis knew all this, and hated +it. Her Flamma foot tapped the sacred sward.</p> + +<p>Grandfather Iden, after mopping his mouth with +his silk handkerchief, began to point with his +cudgel—a big hockey stick—at the various parts of +the building. This was Elizabethan, that dated +from James II., that went back to Henry VII., +there were walls and foundations far more ancient +still, out of sight.</p> + +<p>Really, it was a very interesting place archæologically,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_122" id="Page_122">[122]</a></span> +if only you could have got rid of the +Pamments.</p> + +<p>Amaryllis made no remark during this mumbling +history. Iden thought she was listening intently. +At the conclusion he was just moving her—for she +was passive now, like a piece of furniture—when +he spied some one at a window.</p> + +<p>Off came the great white hat, and down it swept +till the top brushed the grass in the depth of his +homage. It was a bow that would have delighted +a lady, so evidently real in its intent, so full of the +gentleman, so thoroughly courtier-like, and yet +honest. There was nothing to smile at in that +bow; there was not a young gentleman in Belgravia +who could bow in that way, for, in truth, we have +forgotten how to bow in this generation.</p> + +<p>A writing and talking is always going on about +the high place woman occupies in modern society, +but the fact is, we have lost our reverence for +woman as woman; it is after-dinner speech, nothing +more, mere sham. We don't venerate woman, +and therefore we don't bow.</p> + +<p>Grandfather Iden's bow would have won any +woman's heart had it been addressed to her, for +there was veneration and courtesy, breeding, and +desire to please in it.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_123" id="Page_123">[123]</a></span></p> +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 500px;"> +<img src="images/i-034.png" width="500" height="85" alt="decoration" title="" /> +</div> + + +<h2>CHAPTER XVI.</h2> + + +<div class="figleft" style="width: 121px;"> +<img src="images/t.png" width="121" height="120" alt="T" title="" /> +</div><div class='unindent'>HE man he had seen at the window was +young Raleigh Pamment, the son and +heir.</div> + +<p>He had been sitting in an easy chair, +one leg over the arm, busy with a +memorandum book, a stump of pencil, and a disordered +heap of telegrams, letters, and newspapers.</p> + +<p>Everybody writes to Mr. Gladstone, a sort of +human lion's mouth for post-cards, but Raleigh +junior had not got to manage the House of Commons, +the revenue, the nation, the Turks, South +Africa, the Nile, Ganges, Indus, Afghanistan, sugar, +shipping, and Homer.</p> + +<p>Yet Raleigh junior had an occasional table beside +him, from which the letters, telegrams, newspapers, +and scraps of paper had overflowed on to the floor. +In a company's offices it would have taken sixteen +clerks to answer that correspondence; this idle +young aristocrat answered it himself, entered it in +his day book, "totted" it up, and balanced the—the +residue.</p> + +<p>Nothing at all businesslike, either, about him—nothing<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_124" id="Page_124">[124]</a></span> +in the least like those gentlemen who consider +that to go in to the "office" every morning +is the sum total of life. A most unbusinesslike +young fellow.</p> + +<p>A clay pipe in his mouth, a jar of tobacco on +another chair beside him, a glass of whiskey for a +paper-weight on his telegrams. An idle, lounging, +"bad lot;" late hours, tobacco, whiskey, and ballet-dancers +writ very large indeed on his broad face. +In short, a young "gent" of the latter half of the +nineteenth century.</p> + +<p>Not the slightest sign of "blue blood" anywhere; +not even in the cut of his coat, no Brummel-like +elegance; hardly a Bond Street coat at all—rough, +large, coarse cloth. If he had stood at the +door of a shop he would have done very well indeed +for a shopkeeper, the sort that drives about in a +cart for orders.</p> + +<p>Of his character nothing could be learned from +his features. His face was broad, rather flat, with +a short but prominent nose; in spite of indulgence, +he kept a good, healthy, country colour. His neck +was thick, his figure stout, his hands big—a jovial, +good-tempered looking man.</p> + +<p>His neck was <i>very</i> thick, tree-like; a drover's +neck, no refinement or special intelligence indicated +there; great power to eat, drink, and sleep—belly +energy.</p> + +<p>But let no one, therefore, suppose that the members +of the upper ten thousand are any thicker in +the neck, or more abdominal in their proclivities,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_125" id="Page_125">[125]</a></span> +or beneath the culture of the day. Take five +hundred "blue bloods," and you will find among +them a certain proportion of thick-necked people; +take five hundred very common commoners, and +you may count exactly the same number interspersed.</p> + +<p>The Pamments were simply Englishmen, and liable +to be born big, with broad faces, thick necks, and +ultimate livers. It was no disgrace to Raleigh, that +jolly neck of his.</p> + +<p>Unless you are given to æsthetic crockery, or +Francesco de Rimini, I think you would rather +have liked him; a sort of fellow who would lend +you his dogs, or his gun, or his horse, or his ballet-dancer, +or his credit—humph!—at a moment's +notice. But he was a very "bad lot;" they +whispered it even in dutiful Woolhorton.</p> + +<p>He got rid of money in a most surprising way, +and naturally had nothing to show for it. The +wonderful manner in which coin will disappear in +London, like water into deep sand, surpasses the +mysteries of the skies. It slips, it slides, it glides, +it sinks, it flies, it runs out of the pocket. The +nimble squirrel is nothing to the way in which a +sovereign will leap forth in town.</p> + +<p>Raleigh had a good allowance, often supplemented +by soft aunts, yet he frequently walked for lack of +a cab fare. <i>I</i> can't blame him; I should be just +as bad, if fortune favoured me. How delicious now +to walk down Regent Street, along Piccadilly, up +Bond Street, and so on, in a widening circle, with +a thousand pounds in one's pocket, just to spend,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_126" id="Page_126">[126]</a></span> +all your own, and no need to worry when it was +gone. To look in at all the shops and pick up +something here and something yonder, to say, "I'll +have that picture I admired ten years ago; I'll have +a bit of real old oak furniture; I'll go to Paris—" +but Paris is not a patch on London. To take a +lady—<i>the</i> lady—to St. Peter Robinson's, and spread +the silks of the earth before her feet, and see the +awakening delight in her eyes and the glow on her +cheek; to buy a pony for the "kids" and a diamond +brooch for the kind, middle-aged matron who befriended +you years since in time of financial need; +to get a new gun, and inquire about the price of a +deer-stalk in Scotland; whetting the road now +and then with a sip of Moet—but only one sip, for +your liver's sake—just to brighten up the imagination. +And so onwards in a widening circle, as +sun-lit fancy led: could Xerxes, could great Pompey, +could Cæsar with all his legions, could Lucullus +with all his oysters, ever have enjoyed such pleasure +as this—just to spend money freely, with a jolly +chuckle, in the streets of London? What is +Mahomet's Paradise to <i>that</i>?</p> + +<p>The exquisite delight of utterly abandoned extravagance, +no counting—anathemas on counting and +calculation! If life be not a dream, what is the +use of living?</p> + +<p>Say what you will, the truth is, we all struggle +on in hope of living in a dream some day. This +is my dream. Dreadfully, horribly wicked, is it +not, in an age that preaches thrift and—twaddle?<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_127" id="Page_127">[127]</a></span> +No joy like waste in London streets; happy +waste, imaginative extravagance; to and fro like a +butterfly!</p> + +<p>Besides, there's no entertainment in the world +like the streets of London on a sunny day or a gas-lit +night. The shops, the carriages, the people, the +odds and ends of life one sees, the drifting to and +fro of folk, the "bits" of existence, glimpses into +shadowy corners, the dresses, the women; dear me, +where shall we get to? At all events, the fact +remains that to anyone with an eye the best entertainment +in the world is a lounge in London streets. +Theatres, concerts, séances, Albert Halls, museums, +galleries, are but set and formal shows; a great +weariness, for the most part, and who the deuce +would care to go and gaze at them again who could +lounge in Piccadilly?</p> + +<p>It is well worth a ten-pound note any day in +May; fifty pounds sometimes at 1 p.m., merely to +look on, I mean, it is worth it; but you can see +this living show for nothing. Let the grandees go +to the opera; for me, the streets.</p> + +<p>So I can't throw dirt at Raleigh, who often had +a hatful of money, and could and did just what +seemed pleasant in his sight. But the money went +like water, and in order to get further supplies, the +idle, good-for-nothing, lazy dog worked like a prime +minister with telegrams, letters, newspapers, and +so on, worked like a prime minister—at betting. +Horse-racing, in short, was the explanation of the +memorandum-book, the load of correspondence, and<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_128" id="Page_128">[128]</a></span> +the telegrams, kept flat with a glass of whiskey as +a paper-weight.</p> + +<p>While he wrote, and thought, and reckoned up +his chances, a loud refrain of snoring arose from +the sofa. It was almost as loud as the boom of +the fair, but Raleigh had no nerves. His friend +Freddie, becoming oppressed with so much labour, +had dropped asleep, leaving his whiskey beside him +on the sofa, so that the first time he moved over it +went on the carpet. With one long leg stretched +out, the other knee up, lying on his back, and his +mouth wide open to the ceiling, Freddie was very +happy.</p> + +<p>Raleigh puffed his clay pipe, sipped, and puffed +again. Freddie boomed away on the sofa. The +family was in London; Raleigh and Freddie got +down here in this way: it happened one night there +was a row at a superb bar, Haymarket trail. The +"chuckers-out" began their coarse horse-play, and +in the general melée Raleigh distinguished himself. +Rolled about by the crowd, he chanced to find himself +for a moment in a favourable position, and +punished one of these gigantic brutes pretty +severely.</p> + +<p>Though stout and short of breath, Raleigh was +strong in the arm, he was "up," and he hit hard. +The fellow's face was a "picture," coloured in +cardinal. Such an opportunity does not occur +twice in a lifetime; Raleigh's genius seized the +opportunity, and he became great. Actium was +a trifle to it.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_129" id="Page_129">[129]</a></span></p> + +<p>There were mighty men before Agamemnon, and +there are mighty men who do not figure in the +papers.</p> + +<p>Raleigh became at once an anaxandron—a King +of Men. The history of his feat spread in ten +minutes from one end of midnight London to the +other: from the policeman in Waterloo Place to—everywhere. +Never was such a stir; the fall of +Sebastopol—dear me! I can remember it, look at +the flight of time—was nothing to it. They would +have chaired him, <i>fêted</i> him, got a band to play him +about the place, literally crowned him with laurel. +Ave, Cæsar! Evœ! Bacchus! But they could not +find him.</p> + +<p>Raleigh was off with Freddie, who had been in +at the death, and was well "blooded." Hansom to +Paddington in the small hours; creep, creep, creep, +through the raw morning mist, puff, whistle, broad +gauge, and they had vanished.</p> + +<p>Raleigh was a man of his age; he lost not a +moment; having got the glory, the next thing was +to elude the responsibility; and, in short, he slipped +out of sight till the hue-and-cry was over, and the +excitement of the campaign had subsided.</p> + +<p>In case anyone should suppose I approve of midnight +battle, I may as well label the account at +once: "This is a goak."</p> + +<p>I do <i>not</i> approve of brawls at the bar, but I have +set myself the task to describe a bit of human life +exactly as it really is, and I can assure you as a +honest fact that Raleigh by that lucky knock became<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_130" id="Page_130">[130]</a></span> +a very great man indeed among people as +they really are. People as they really are, are not +all Greek scholars.</p> + +<p>As I don't wish you to look down upon poor +Raleigh too much because he smoked a cutty, +and hit a fellow twice as big as himself, and lent +his money, and made bets, and drank whiskey, and +was altogether wicked, I may as well tell you something +in his favour: He was a hero to his valet.</p> + +<p>"No man is a hero to his valet," says the proverb, +not even Napoleon, Disraeli, or Solomon.</p> + +<p>But Raleigh <i>was</i> a hero to his valet.</p> + +<p>He was not only a hero to Nobbs the valet; he +had perfectly fascinated him. The instant he was off +duty Nobbs began to be a Raleigh to himself. He +put on a coat cut in the Raleigh careless style; in +fact, he dressed himself Raleigh all over. His +private hat was exactly like Raleigh's; so was his +necktie, the same colour, shape, and bought at the +same shop; so were his boots. He kept a sovereign +loose in his waistcoat pocket, because that +was where Raleigh carried his handy gold. He +smoked a cutty-pipe, and drank endless whiskies—just +like Raleigh, "the very ticket"—he had his +betting-book, and his telegrams, and his money on +"hosses," and his sporting paper, and his fine +photographs of fine women. He swore in Raleigh's +very words, and used to spit like him; Raleigh, if +ever he chanced to expectorate, had an odd way of +twisting up the corner of his mouth, so did Nobbs. +In town Nobbs went to the very same bars (always,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_131" id="Page_131">[131]</a></span> +of course, discreetly and out of sight), the very +same theatres; a most perfect Raleigh to the +tiniest detail. Why, Raleigh very rarely wound +up his watch—careless Raleigh; accordingly, Nobbs' +watch was seldom going. "And you just look +here," said Nobbs to a great and confidential friend, +after they had done endless whiskies, and smoked +handfuls of Raleigh's tobacco, "you look here, if I +was <i>he</i>, and had lots of chink, and soft old parties +to get money out of as easy as filling yer pipe, by +Jove! wouldn't <i>I</i> cut a swell! I'd do it, <i>I</i> would. +I'd make that Whitechapel of his spin along, I +rather guess I would. I'd liquor up. Wouldn't I +put a thou on the Middle Park Plate? Ah! +wouldn't I, Tommy, my boy! Just wouldn't I +have heaps of wimmen; some in the trap, and some +indoors, and some to go to the theatre with—respectable +gals, I mean—crowds of 'em would come +if Raleigh was to hold up his finger. Guess I'd +fill this old shop (the Pamment mansion) choke full +of wimmen! If I was only he! Shouldn't I like +to fetch one of them waiter chaps a swop on the +nose, like <i>he</i> did! Oh, my! Oh, Tommy!" And +Nobbs very nearly wept at the happy vision of being +"he."</p> + +<p>Why, Raleigh was not only a Hero, he was a +Demi-god to his valet! Not only Nobbs, but the +footmen, and the grooms, and the whole race of +servants everywhere who had caught a glimpse of +Raleigh looked upon him as the Ideal Man. So +did the whole race of "cads" in the bars and at<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_132" id="Page_132">[132]</a></span> +the races, and all over town and country, all of that +sort who knew anything of Raleigh sighed to be +like "he."</p> + +<p>The fellow who said that "No man is a hero to +his valet" seemed to suppose that the world worships +good and divine qualities only. Nothing of +the sort; it is not the heroic, it is the low and +coarse and blackguard part the mass of people +regard with such deep admiration.</p> + +<p>If only Nobbs could have been "he," no doubt +whatever he would have "done it" very big indeed. +But he would have left out of his copy that part of +Raleigh's nature which, in spite of the whiskey and +the cutty, and the rest of it, made him still a perfect +gentleman at heart. Nobbs didn't want to be a +perfect gentleman.</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 235px;"> +<img src="images/i-063.png" width="235" height="200" alt="decoration" title="" /> +</div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_133" id="Page_133">[133]</a></span></p> +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 500px;"> +<img src="images/i-051.png" width="500" height="88" alt="decoration" title="" /> +</div> + + +<h2>CHAPTER XVII.</h2> + + +<div class="figleft" style="width: 120px;"> +<img src="images/g.png" width="120" height="120" alt="G" title="" /> +</div><div class='unindent'>LANCING up from his betting-book, +Raleigh caught sight of someone on the +lawn, and went to the window to see +who it was.</div> + +<p>It was then that Grandfather Iden +raised his great grey hat, and brought it with so +lowly a sweep down to the very ground before +this demi-god of his.</p> + +<p>"Hullo! Fred, I say! Come, quick!" dragging +him off the sofa. "Here's the Behemoth."</p> + +<p>"The Behemoth—the Deluge!" said Fred, incoherently, +still half asleep.</p> + +<p>"Before that," said Raleigh. "I told you I'd +show him to you some day. That's the Behemoth."</p> + +<p>Some grand folk keep a hump-backed cow, or +white wild cattle, or strange creatures of that sort, +in their parks as curiosities. The particular preserve +of the Pamments was Grandfather Iden—antediluvian +Iden—in short, the Behemoth.</p> + +<p>It is not everybody who has got a Behemoth on +show.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_134" id="Page_134">[134]</a></span></p> + +<p>"There's a girl with him," said Fred.</p> + +<p>"Have her in," said Raleigh. "Wake us up," +ringing the bell. And he ordered the butler to +fetch old Iden in.</p> + +<p>How thoroughly in character with Human Life +it was that a man like Grandfather Iden—aged, +experienced, clever, learned, a man of wise old +books, should lower his ancient head, and do homage +to Raleigh Pamment!</p> + +<div class='poem'> +"Wherefore come ye not to court?<br /> +Skelton swears 'tis glorious sport.<br /> +Chattering fools and wise men listening."<br /> +</div> + +<p>Accordingly the butler went out bare-headed—his +head was as bare as Mont Blanc—and, with +many a gracious smile, conveyed his master's wishes. +The Behemoth, mopping and mowing, wiping his +slobbery old mouth in the excess of his glorification, +takes Amaryllis by the arm, and proceeds to +draw her towards the mansion.</p> + +<p>"But, grandpa—grandpa—really I'd rather not +go. Please, don't make me go. No—no—I can't," +she cried, in a terror of disgust. She would not +willingly have set foot on the Pamment threshold, +no, not for a crown of gold, as the old song says +unctuously.</p> + +<p>"Don't be afraid," said Iden. "Nothing to be +afraid of"—mistaking her hesitation for awe.</p> + +<p>"Afraid!" repeated Amaryllis, in utter bewilderment. +"Afraid! I don't want to go."</p> + +<p>"There's nothing to be afraid of, I'm sure," said<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_135" id="Page_135">[135]</a></span> +the butler in his most insidious tones. "Mr. Pamment +so very particularly wished to see you."</p> + +<p>"Come—come," said old Iden, "don't be silly," +as she still hung back. "It's a splendid place +inside—there, lean on me, don't be afraid," and so +the grandfather pulling her one side, and the butler +very, very gently pressing her forward the other, +they persuaded, or rather they moved Amaryllis +onward.</p> + +<p>She glanced back, her heart beat quick, she had +half a mind to break loose—easy enough to over-turn +the two old fogies—but—how soon "but" +comes, "but" came to Amaryllis at sixteen. She +remembered her father. She remembered her +mother's worn-out boots. By yielding yet a little +further she could perhaps contrive to keep her +grandfather in good humour and open the way to a +reconciliation.</p> + +<p>So the revolutionary Amaryllis, the red-hot republican +blood seething like molten metal in her +veins, stepped across the hated threshold of the +ancient and mediæval Pamments.</p> + +<p>But we have all heard about taking the horse to +water and finding that he would not drink. If you +cannot even make a horse, do you think you are +likely to <i>make</i> a woman do anything?</p> + +<p>Amaryllis walked beside her grandfather quietly +enough now, but she would not see or hear; he +pointed out to her the old armour, the marble, the +old oak; he mumbled on of the staircase where +John Pamment, temp. Hen. VII., was seized for<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_136" id="Page_136">[136]</a></span> +high treason; she kept her glance steadfastly on +the ground.</p> + +<p>Iden construed it to be veneration, and was yet +more highly pleased.</p> + +<p>Raleigh had taste enough to receive them in +another room, not the whiskey-room; he met old +Iden literally with open arms, taking both the old +gentleman's hands in his he shook them till Iden +tottered, and tears came into his eyes.</p> + +<p>Amaryllis scarcely touched his fingers, and would +not raise her glance.</p> + +<p>"Raw," thought Freddie, who being tall looked +over Raleigh's shoulder. "Very raw piece."</p> + +<p>To some young gentlemen a girl is a "piece."</p> + +<p>"My granddaughter," said Iden, getting his +voice.</p> + +<p>"Ah, yes; like to see the galleries—fond of +pictures——"</p> + +<p>Amaryllis was silent.</p> + +<p>"Answer," said Grandfather Iden graciously, as +much as to say, "you may."</p> + +<p>"No," said Amaryllis.</p> + +<p>"Hum—let's see—books—library—carvings. +Come, Mr. Iden, you know the place better than I +do, you're an antiquarian and a scholar—I've forgotten +my Greek. What would you like to show +her?"</p> + +<p>"She <i>is</i> fond of pictures," said Iden, greatly +flattered that he should be thought to know the +house better than the heir. "She is fond of pictures; +she's shy."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_137" id="Page_137">[137]</a></span></p> + +<p>Amaryllis' face became a dark red. The rushing +blood seemed to stifle her. She could have cried +out aloud; her pride only checked her utterance.</p> + +<p>Raleigh, not noticing the deep colour in her +face, led on upstairs, down the corridors, and into +the first saloon. There he paused and old Iden +took the lead, going straight to a fine specimen of +an old Master.</p> + +<p>Holding his great grey hat (which he would not +give up to the butler) at arm's-length and pointing, +the old man began to show Amaryllis the beauties +of the picture.</p> + +<p>"A grand thing—look," said he.</p> + +<p>"I can't see," said Amaryllis, forced to reply.</p> + +<p>"Not see!" said Iden, in a doubtful tone.</p> + +<p>"Not a good light, perhaps," said Raleigh. +"Come this side."</p> + +<p>She did not move.</p> + +<p>"Go that side," said Iden.</p> + +<p>No movement.</p> + +<p>"Go that side," he repeated, sharply.</p> + +<p>At last she moved over by Raleigh and stood +there, gazing down still.</p> + +<p>"Look up," said Iden. She looked up hastily—above +the canvas, and then again at the floor.</p> + +<p>Iden's dim old eyes rested a moment on the pair +as they stood together; Amaryllis gazing downwards, +Raleigh gazing at her. Thoughts of a possible +alliance, perhaps, passed through Iden's mind; +only consider, intermarriage between the Pamments +and the Idens! Much more improbable<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_138" id="Page_138">[138]</a></span> +things have happened; even without the marriage +license the connection would be an immense honour.</p> + +<p>Grandfather Iden, aged ninety years, would most +certainly have sacrificed the girl of sixteen, his own +flesh and blood, joyously and intentionally to his +worship of the aristocrat.</p> + +<p>If she could not have been the wife he would +have forced her to be the mistress.</p> + +<p>There is no one so cruel—so utterly inhuman—as +an old man, to whom feeling, heart, hope have +long been dead words.</p> + +<p>"Now you can see," he said, softly and kindly. +"Is it not noble?"</p> + +<p>"It looks smoky," said Amaryllis, lifting her +large, dark eyes at last and looking her grandfather +in the face.</p> + +<p>"Smoky!" he ejaculated, dropping his great +white hat, his sunken cheeks flushing. It was not +so much the remark as the tone of contemptuous +rebellion.</p> + +<p>"Smoky," he repeated.</p> + +<p>"Smoky and—dingy," said Amaryllis. She +had felt without actually seeing that Raleigh's gaze +had been fixed upon her the whole time since they +had entered, that emphatic look which so pleases or +so offends a woman.</p> + +<p>Now there was nothing in Raleigh's manner to +give offence—on the contrary he had been singularly +pleasant, respectfully pleasant—but she remembered +the fellow staring at her from the window at the +"Lamb" and it biased her against him. She<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_139" id="Page_139">[139]</a></span> +wished to treat him, and his pictures, and his place +altogether with marked contempt.</p> + +<p>"I do not care for these pictures," she said. "I +will leave now, if you please," and she moved towards +the door.</p> + +<p>"Stop!" cried Iden, stretching out his hands +and tottering after her. "Stop! I order you to +stop! you rude girl!"</p> + +<p>He could not catch her, she had left the gallery—he +slipped in his haste on the polished floor. +Fred caught him by the arm or he would have +fallen, and at the same time presented him with his +great white hat.</p> + +<p>"Ungrateful!" he shrieked, and then choked +and slobbered and mumbled, and I verily believe had +it not been for his veneration of the place he would +have spat upon the floor.</p> + +<p>Raleigh had rushed after Amaryllis, and overtook +her at the staircase.</p> + +<p>"Pardon me, Miss Iden," he said, as she hastily +descended. "Really I should have liked you to +have seen the house—will you sit down a moment? +Forgive me if I said or did——. No, do stay—please—" +as she made straight for the hall. "I +am so sorry—really sorry—unintentional"—in fact +he had done nothing, and yet he was penitent. But +she would not listen, she hurried on along the path, +she began to run, or nearly, as he kept up with her, +still begging her to pause; Amaryllis ran at last +outright. "At least let me see you through the fair—rough +people. Let me open the door——"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_140" id="Page_140">[140]</a></span></p> + +<p>The iron-studded door in the wall shut with a +spring lock, and for a moment she could not unfasten +it; she tore at it and grazed her hand, the +blood started.</p> + +<p>"Good Heavens!" cried Raleigh, now thoroughly +upset. "Let me bind it up," taking out his handkerchief. +"I would not have had this happen for +money"—short for any amount of money. "Let +me——"</p> + +<p>"Do please leave me," cried Amaryllis, panting, +not with the run, which was nothing to her, but +pent-up indignation, and still trying to open the +lock.</p> + +<p>Raleigh pressed the lock and the door swung +open—he could easily have detained her there, but +he did not. "One moment, pray—Miss Iden." +She was gone down the passage between the Abbey +church and the wall; he followed, she darted out +into the crowd of the fair.</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 100px;"> +<img src="images/i-008.png" width="100" height="67" alt="decoration" title="" /> +</div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_141" id="Page_141">[141]</a></span></p> +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 500px;"> +<img src="images/i-064.png" width="500" height="89" alt="" title="" /> +</div> + + +<h2>CHAPTER XVIII.</h2> + + +<div class="figleft" style="width: 120px;"> +<img src="images/w.png" width="120" height="120" alt="W" title="" /> +</div><div class='unindent'>HEN he stopped and turned, angry beyond +measure, vexation biting deep +lines like aquafortis on his broad, good-natured +face.</div> + +<p>"That I should have been such a +fool—an infernal blockheaded fool—" shutting the +iron-studded door with a kick and a clang—"muddle-headed +fool—I'll never touch a drop of +whiskey again—and that jackass, Fred—why, she's—" +a lady, he would have said, but did not dare +admit to himself now that he had thought to ask +her in to "wake us up." "But what did I do? +Can't think what annoyed her. Must have been +something between her and that tedious old Iden. +Quite sure I didn't do or say——" but still he +could not quiet his conscience, for if he had not by +deed or word, he knew he had in thought.</p> + +<p>He had sent for her as he might have done for +any of the vulgar wenches in the fair to amuse an +idle hour, and he was ashamed of himself.</p> + +<p>In truth, Raleigh had never seen a woman like<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_142" id="Page_142">[142]</a></span> +Amaryllis Iden. Her features were not beautiful, +as general ideas go, nor had her form the grace of +full increase; indeed words, and even a portrait by +a master-hand, would have failed to carry the impression +her nature had made upon him.</p> + +<p>It is not the particular cast of features that +makes a man great, and gives him a pre-eminence +among his fellows. It is the character—the mind.</p> + +<p>A great genius commands attention at once by +his presence, and so a woman may equally impress +by the power of her nature. Her moral strength +asserts itself in subtle ways.</p> + +<p>I don't say for certain that it was her character +that impressed Raleigh—it might have been nothing +of the sort, it might have been <i>because it was +so</i>, a woman's reason, and therefore appropriate. +These things do not happen by "why and because."</p> + +<p>Some may say it is quite out of place to suppose +a whiskey-sipping, cutty-pipe smoking, horse-racing, +bar-frequenting fellow like Raleigh could +by any possible means fall in love at first sight. But +whiskey, cutty, horse, and bar were not the real +man, any more than your hat is your head, they +were mere outside chaff, he had a sound heart all +the same, a great deal sounder and better, and infinitely +more generous than some very respectable +folk who are regularly seen in their pews, and grind +down their clerks and dependents to the edge of +starvation.</p> + +<p>Raleigh was capable of a good deal of heart, such +as the pew-haunting Pharisee knows not of. Perhaps<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_143" id="Page_143">[143]</a></span> +he was not in love: at all events he was highly +excited.</p> + +<p>Fred had contrived to keep old Iden from following +Amaryllis by representing that Raleigh would +be sure to bring her back. The butler, who was +very well acquainted with old Iden, hastily whipped +out a bottle of champagne and handed him a +brimming glass. The old gentleman, still mouthing +and bubbling over with rage, spluttered and drank, +and spluttered again, and refusing a second, would +go, and so met Raleigh in the hall.</p> + +<p>Raleigh tried on his part to soothe the old man, +and on his part the old man tried at one and the +same moment to apologize for his granddaughter +and to abuse her for her misconduct. Consequently +neither of them heard or understood the other.</p> + +<p>But no sooner was Iden gone than Raleigh, remembering +the rough crowd in the fair, despatched +the butler after him to see him safe home. It was +now growing dusky as the evening came on.</p> + +<p>Without more ado, this young gentleman then +set to and swore at Fred for half an hour straight +ahead. Fred at first simply stared and wondered +what on earth had turned his brain; next, being +equally hot-tempered, he swore in reply; then there +followed some sharp recriminations (for each knew +too much of the other's goings on not to have +plenty of material), and finally they sparred. Two +or three cuffs cooled their ardour, having nothing +to quarrel about; sulks ensued; Raleigh buried +himself in the papers; Fred lit a cigar and walked<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_144" id="Page_144">[144]</a></span> +out into the fair. Thus there was tribulation in the +great house of the Pamments.</p> + +<p>Grandfather Iden permitted the butler to steer +him through the crowd quietly enough, because it +flattered him to be thus taken care of before the +world by a Pamment servitor. When they parted +at the doorstep he slipped half-a-sovereign in the +butler's hand—he could not offer less than gold to +a Pamments' man—but once inside, his demeanour +changed. He pushed away his housekeeper, went +into his especial sitting-room, bolted the door, +spread his hands and knees over the fire, and poked +the coals, grunted, poked, and stirred till smoke +and smuts filled the stuffy little place.</p> + +<p>By-and-by there was a banging of drawers—the +drawers in the bureau and the bookcases were opened +and shut sharply—writing-paper was flung on the +table, and he sat down to write a letter with a +scratchy quill pen. The letter written was ordered +to post immediately, and the poking, and stirring, +and grunting recommenced. Thus there was tribulation +in the house of the head of the Idens.</p> + +<p>Amaryllis meantime had got through the town +by keeping between the booths and the houses. +Just as she left the last street Ned Marks rode up—he +had been on the watch, thinking to talk with +her as she walked home, but just as he drew rein to +go slow and so speak, a heathen pig from the market +rushed between his horse's legs and spoiled the +game by throwing him headlong.</p> + +<p>She did not see, or at least did not notice, but<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_145" id="Page_145">[145]</a></span> +hastening on, entered the fields. In coming to +town that morning she had seen everything; now, +returning in her anger and annoyance, she took no +heed of anything; she was so absorbed that when +a man—one of those she met going to the fair for +the evening—turned back and followed her some +way, she did not observe him. Finding that she +walked steadily on, the fellow soon ceased to pursue.</p> + +<p>The gloom had settled when she reached home, +and the candles were lit. She gave her father the +sovereign, and was leaving the room, hoping to +escape questioning, when Mrs. Iden asked who had +the prize-guinea.</p> + +<p>"I did," said Amaryllis, very quietly and reluctantly.</p> + +<p>"Where is it? Why didn't you say so? Let me +see," said Mrs. Iden.</p> + +<p>"I—I—I lost it," said Amaryllis.</p> + +<p>"You lost it! Lost a guinea! A spade-guinea!"</p> + +<p>"What!" said Iden in his sternest tones. +"Show it immediately."</p> + +<p>"I can't; I lost it."</p> + +<p>"Lost it!"</p> + +<p>And they poured upon her a cross-fire of anger: +a careless, wasteful hussy, an idle wretch; what +did she do for her living that she could throw away +spade-guineas? what would her grandfather say? +how did she suppose they were to keep her, and she +not earn the value of a bonnet-string? time she +was apprenticed to a dressmaker; the quantity she +ate, and never could touch any fat—dear me, so<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_146" id="Page_146">[146]</a></span> +fine—bacon was not good enough for her—she could +throw away spade-guineas.</p> + +<p>Poor Amaryllis stood by the half-open door, her +hat in her hand, her bosom heaving, her lips apart +and pouting, not with indignation but sheer misery; +her head drooped, her form seemed to lose its firmness +and sink till she stooped; she could not face +them as she would have done others, because you +see she loved them, and she had done her best that +day till too sorely tried.</p> + +<p>The storm raged on; finally Iden growled +"Better get out of sight." Then she went to her +bedroom, and sat on the bed; presently she lay +down, and sobbed silently on the pillow, after +which she fell asleep, quite worn out, dark circles +under her eyes. In the silence of the house, the +tom-tom and blare of brazen instruments blown at +the fair two miles away was audible.</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 150px;"> +<img src="images/i-009.png" width="150" height="107" alt="decoration" title="" /> +</div> + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_147" id="Page_147">[147]</a></span></p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 500px;"> +<img src="images/i-057.png" width="500" height="84" alt="decoration" title="" /> +</div> +<h2>CHAPTER XIX.</h2> + + +<div class="figleft" style="width: 120px;"> +<img src="images/s.png" width="120" height="120" alt="S" title="" /> +</div><div class='unindent'>o there was tribulation in three houses. +Next morning she scarcely dared come +in to breakfast, and opened the door +timidly, expecting heavy looks, and to +be snapped up if she spoke. Instead of which, on +taking her place, Iden carefully cut for her the +most delicate slice of ham he could find, and removed +the superfluous fat before putting it on her +plate. Mrs. Iden had a special jug of cream ready +for her—Amaryllis was fond of cream—and enriched +the tea with it generously.</div> + +<p>"And what did you see at the fair?" asked +Iden in his kindest voice, lifting up his saucer—from +which he always drank—by putting his thumb +under it instead of over, so that his thick little +finger projected. He always sipped his tea in this +way.</p> + +<p>"You had plenty of fun, didn't you?" said +Mrs. Iden, still more kindly.</p> + +<p>"I—I don't know; I did not see much of the +fair," said Amaryllis, at a loss to understand the +change of manner.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_148" id="Page_148">[148]</a></span></p> + +<p>Iden smiled at his wife and nodded; Mrs. Iden +picked up a letter from the tea-tray and gave it to +her daughter:</p> + +<p>"Read."</p> + +<p>Amaryllis read—it was from Grandfather Iden, +furiously upbraiding Iden for neglecting his +daughter's education; she had no reverence, no +manners—an undutiful, vulgar girl; she had better +not show her face in his house again till she had +been taught to know her position; her conduct was +not fit for the kitchen; she had not the slightest +idea how to behave herself in the presence of persons +of quality.</p> + +<p>She put it down before she had finished the +tirade of abuse; she did not look up, her face was +scarlet.</p> + +<p>Iden laughed.</p> + +<p>"Horrid old wretch! Served him right!" said +Mrs. Iden. "So glad you vexed him, dear!"</p> + +<p>Amaryllis last night a wretch was this morning +a heroine. The grandfather's letter had done this.</p> + +<p>Iden never complained—never mentioned his +father—but of course in his heart he bitterly felt +the harsh neglect shown towards him and his wife +and their child. He was a man who said the +less the more he was moved; he gossiped freely +with the men at the stile, or even with a hamlet +old woman. Not a word ever dropped from him +of his own difficulties—he kept his mind to himself. +His wife knew nothing of his intentions—he +was over-secretive, especially about money matters,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_149" id="Page_149">[149]</a></span> +in which he affected the most profound mystery, +as if everyone in Coombe was not perfectly aware +they could hardly get a pound of sugar on credit.</p> + +<p>All the more bitterly he resented the manner +in which Grandfather Iden treated him, giving +away half-crowns, crown-pieces, shillings, and fourpenny +bits to anyone who would flatter his peculiarities, +leaving his own descendants to struggle +daily with debt and insult.</p> + +<p>Iden was in reality a very proud man, and the +insults of his petty creditors fretted him.</p> + +<p>He would have been glad if Amaryllis had become +her grandfather's favourite; as the grandfather had +thrown savage words at the girl, so much the more +was added to the score against the grandfather.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Iden hated the grandfather with every drop +of Flamma blood in her veins—hated him above +all for his pseudo-Flamma relationship, for old Iden +had in his youth been connected with the Flammas +in business—hated him for his veneration of the +aristocratic and mediæval Pamments.</p> + +<p>She was always impressing upon Amaryllis the +necessity of cultivating her grandfather's goodwill, +and always abusing him—contradicting herself in +the most natural manner.</p> + +<p>This letter had given them such delight, because +it showed how deeply Amaryllis had annoyed the +old gentleman. Had he been whipped he could +hardly have yelled more; he screamed through his +scratchy quill. Suppose they did lose his money, +he had had <i>one</i> good upset, that was something.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_150" id="Page_150">[150]</a></span></p> + +<p>They were eager to hear all about it. Amaryllis +was at first very shy to tell, knowing that her +father was a thick Tory and an upholder of the +Pamments, and fearing his displeasure. But for +various reasons both father and mother grew warmer +in delight at every fresh incident of her story.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Flamma Iden—revolutionary Flamma—detested +the Pamments enthusiastically, on principle +first, and next, because the grandfather paid them +such court.</p> + +<p>Iden was indeed an extra thick Tory, quite opaque, +and had voted in the Pamment interest these thirty +years, yet he had his secret reasons for disliking +them personally.</p> + +<p>Both Mr. and Mrs. Iden agreed in their scorn of +the grandfather's pottering about the grounds and +in and out the conservatories, as if that was the +highest honour on earth. Yet Mrs. Iden used +often to accuse her husband of a desire to do the +very same thing: "You're just as stupid," she +would say; "you'd think it wonderful to have a +private key—you're every bit as silly really, only +you haven't got the chance."</p> + +<p>However, from a variety of causes they agreed in +looking on Amaryllis' disgrace as a high triumph +and glory.</p> + +<p>So she was petted all the morning by both +parties—a rare thing—and in the afternoon Iden +gave her the sovereign she had brought home, to +buy her some new boots, and to spend the rest as +she chose on herself.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_151" id="Page_151">[151]</a></span></p> + +<p>Away went Amaryllis to the town, happy and yet +not without regret that she had increased the disagreement +between her father and grandfather. +She met the vans and gipsies slowly leaving the +site of the fair, the children running along with +bare brown feet. She went under the archæologically +interesting gateway, and knocked at the door +of Tiras Wise, shoemaker, "established 200 years."</p> + +<p>Tiras Wise of the present generation was thin +and nervous, weary of the centuries, worn out, and +miserable-looking. Amaryllis, strong in the possession +of a golden sovereign, attacked him sharply +for his perfidious promises; her boots promised at +Christmas were not mended yet.</p> + +<p>Tiras, twiddling a lady's boot in one hand, and +his foot measure in the other, very humbly and +deprecatingly excused himself; there had been so +much trouble with the workmen, some were so +tipsy, and some would not work; they were always +demanding higher wages, and just as he had a job +in hand going off and leaving it half finished—shoemaker's +tricks these. Sometimes, indeed, he could +not get a workman, and then there was the competition +of the ready-made boot from Northampton; +really, it was most trying—it really was.</p> + +<p>"Well, and when am I going to have the boots?" +said Amaryllis, amused at the poor fellow's distress. +"When <i>are</i> they going to be finished?"</p> + +<p>"You see, Miss Iden," said the shoemaker's +mother, coming to help her son, "the fact is, he's just +worried out of his life with his men—and really—"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_152" id="Page_152">[152]</a></span></p> + +<p>"You don't seem to get on very well with your +shoemaking, Mr. Wise," said the customer, smiling.</p> + +<p>"The fact is," said poor Wise, in his most melancholy +manner, with a deep sigh, "the fact is, the +men don't know their work as they used to, they +spoil the leather and cut it wrong, and leave jobs +half done, and they're always drinking; the leather +isn't so good as it used to be; the fact is," with a +still deeper sigh, "<i>we can't make a boot</i>."</p> + +<p>At which Amaryllis laughed outright, to think +that people should have been in business two +hundred years as shoemakers, and yet could not +make a boot!</p> + +<p>Her experience of life as yet was short, and she +saw things in their first aspect; it is not till much +later we observe that the longer people do one +thing, the worse they do it, till in the end they +cannot do it at all.</p> + +<p>She presently selected a pair for herself, 9<i>s.</i>, +and another pair for her mother, 10<i>s.</i> 6<i>d.</i>, leaving +sixpence over; add sixpence discount for ready-money, +and she was still rich with a shilling. +Carrying the parcel, she went up the street and +passed old Iden's door on elate instep, happy that +she had not got to cross his threshold that day, +happy to think she had the boots for her mother. +Looking in at two or three dingy little shops, she +fixed at last on one, and bought half-a-dozen of the +very finest mild bloaters, of which Mrs. Iden was so +fond. This finished the savings, and she turned +quickly for home. The bloaters being merely bound<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_153" id="Page_153">[153]</a></span> +round with one thin sheet of newspaper, soon imparted +their odour to her hand.</p> + +<p>A lady whose hand smells of bloaters is not, I +hope, too ideal; I hope you will see now that I am +not imaginative, or given to the heroinesque. +Amaryllis, I can tell you, was quite absorbed in the +bloaters and the boots; a very sweet, true, and +loving hand it was, in spite of the bloaters—one to +kiss fervently.</p> + +<p>They soon had the bloaters on over a clear fire +of wood-coals, and while they cooked the mother +tried her new boots, naturally not a little pleased +with the thoughtful present. The Flamma blood +surged with gratitude; she would have given her +girl the world at that moment. That she should +have remembered her mother showed such a good +disposition; there was no one like Amaryllis.</p> + +<p>"Pah!" said Iden, just then entering, "pah!" +with a gasp; and holding his handkerchief to his +nose, he rushed out faster than he came in, for the +smell of bloaters was the pestilence to him.</p> + +<p>They only laughed all the merrier over their +supper.</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 150px;"> +<img src="images/i-011.png" width="150" height="75" alt="decoration" title="" /> +</div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_154" id="Page_154">[154]</a></span></p> +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 500px;"> +<img src="images/i-036.png" width="500" height="91" alt="decoration" title="" /> +</div> + + +<h2>CHAPTER XX.</h2> + + +<div class="figleft" style="width: 120px;"> +<img src="images/r.png" width="120" height="118" alt="R" title="" /> +</div><div class='unindent'>IGHT at the top of the house there +was a large, unfurnished room, which +Amaryllis had taken as her own long +since. It was her study, her thinking-room, +her private chapel and praying-room, her one +place of solitude, silence, and retirement.</div> + +<p>The days had gone on, and it was near the end +of April. Coming up the dark stairs one morning, +she found them still darker, because she had just +left the sunshine. They were built very narrow, +as usual in old country-houses, and the landing +shut off with a door, so that when you were in them +you seemed to be in a box. There was no carpet—bare +boards; old-fashioned folk did not carpet +their stairs; no handrail; the edges of the steps +worm-eaten and ragged, little bits apt to break off +under sudden pressure, so that the board looked as +if it had been nibbled by mice.</p> + +<p>Shutting the landing door behind her, Amaryllis +was in perfect darkness, but her feet knew the +well-remembered way, and she came quickly to +the top.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_155" id="Page_155">[155]</a></span></p> + +<p>There were two great rooms running the whole +length of the house: the first was a lumber-room, +the second her own especial cell. Cell-like it was, +in its monastic or conventual bareness. It was +vague with bareness: a huge, square room, gaunt +as a barn, the walls and ceiling whitewashed, the +floor plain boards. Yonder, near the one small +window, stood a table and tall-backed oaken chair, +afar off, as it were, from the doorway—a journey to +them across the creaking floor. On one side an +old four-post bedstead of dark oak, much damaged, +was placed by the wall; the sacking hung down in +a loop, torn and decayed—a bedstead on which no +one had slept these hundred years past. By the +table there was, too, an ancient carved linen-press +of black oak, Amaryllis' bookcase.</p> + +<p>These bits of rude furniture were lost in the +vastness of space, as much as if you had thrown +your hat into the sky.</p> + +<p>Amaryllis went straight to the window and knelt +down. She brought a handful of violets, fresh-gathered, +to place in the glass which she kept there +for her flowers. The window was cut in the thick +wall, and formed a niche, where she always had a +tumbler ready—a common glass tumbler, she could +not afford a vase.</p> + +<p>They were the white wild violets, the sweetest of +all, gathered while the nightingale was singing his +morning song in the April sunshine—a song the +world never listens to, more delicious than his evening +notes, for the sunlight helps him, and the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_156" id="Page_156">[156]</a></span> +blue of the heavens, the green leaf, and the soft +wind—all the soul of spring.</p> + +<p>White wild violets, a dewdrop as it were of +flower, tender and delicate, growing under the +great hawthorn hedge, by the mosses and among +the dry, brown leaves of last year, easily overlooked +unless you know exactly where to go for them. +She had a bunch for her neck, and a large bunch +for her niche. They would have sunk and fallen +into the glass, but she hung them by their chins +over the edge of the tumbler, with their stalks in +the water. Then she sat down in the old chair at +the table, and rested her head on her hand.</p> + +<p>Except where she did this every day, and so +brushed it, a thin layer of dust had covered the +surface (there was no cloth) and had collected on +her portfolio, thrust aside and neglected. Dust on +the indiarubber, dust on the cake of Indian ink, +dust invisible on the smooth surface of the pencils, +dust in the little box of vine charcoal.</p> + +<p>The hoarse baying of the hungry wolves around +the house had shaken the pencil from her fingers—Siberian +wolves they were, racing over the arid +deserts of debt, large and sharp-toothed, ever increasing +in number and ferocity, ready to tear the +very door down. There are no wolves like those +debt sends against a house.</p> + +<p>Every knock at the door, every strange footstep +up the approach, every letter that came, was like +the gnawing and gnashing of savage teeth.</p> + +<p>Iden could plant the potatoes and gossip at the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_157" id="Page_157">[157]</a></span> +stile, and put the letters unopened on the mantelshelf—a +pile of bills over his head where he slept +calmly after dinner. Iden could plant potatoes, +and cut trusses of hay, and go through <i>his</i> work +to appearance unmoved.</p> + +<p>Amaryllis could not draw—she could not do it; +her imagination refused to see the idea; the more +she concentrated her mind, the louder she heard the +ceaseless grinding and gnashing of teeth.</p> + +<p>Potatoes can be planted and nails can be hammered, +bill-hooks can be wielded and faggots +chopped, no matter what the inward care. The +ploughman is deeply in debt, poor fellow, but he +can, and does, follow the plough, and finds, perhaps, +some solace in the dull monotony of his labour. +Clods cannot feel. A sensitive mind and vivid +imagination—a delicately-balanced organization, +that almost lives on its ideas as veritable food—cannot +do like this. The poet, the artist, the +author, the thinker, cannot follow their plough; +their work depends on a serene mind.</p> + +<p>But experience proves that they <i>do</i> do their +work under such circumstances. They do; how +greatly then they must be tortured, or for what a +length of time they must have suffered to become +benumbed.</p> + +<p>Amaryllis was young, and all her feelings unchecked +of Time. She could not sketch—that +was a thing of useless paper and pencil; what was +wanted was money. She could not read, that was +not real; what was wanted was solid coin.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_158" id="Page_158">[158]</a></span></p> + +<p>So the portfolio was thrust aside, neglected and +covered with dust, but she came every day to her +flowers in the window-niche.</p> + +<p>She had drawn up there in the bitter cold of +February and March, without a fire, disdainful of +ease in the fulness of her generous hope. Her +warm young blood cared nothing for the cold, if +only by enduring it she could assist those whom +she loved.</p> + +<p>There were artists in the Flamma family in London +who made what seemed to her large incomes, +yet whose names had never been seen in a newspaper +criticism, and who had never even sent a +work to the Academy—never even tried to enter. +Their work was not of an ambitious order, but it +was well paid.</p> + +<p>Amaryllis did not for a moment anticipate success +as an artist, nor think to take the world by storm +with her talent. Her one only hope was to get a +few pounds now and then—she would have sold +twenty sketches for ten shillings—to save her father +from insult, and to give her mother the mere necessities +of dress she needed.</p> + +<p>No thought of possible triumph, nor was she +sustained by an overmastering love of art; she was +inspired by her heart, not her genius.</p> + +<p>Had circumstances been different she would not +have earnestly practised drawing; naturally she +was a passive rather than an active artist.</p> + +<p>She loved beauty for its own sake—she loved +the sunlight, the grass and trees, the gleaming<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_159" id="Page_159">[159]</a></span> +water, the colours of the fields and of the sky. To +listen to the running water was to her a dear delight, +to the wind in the high firs, or caught in the +wide-stretching arms of the oak; she rested among +these things, they were to her mind as sleep to the +body. The few good pictures she had seen pleased +her, but did not rouse the emotion the sunlight +caused; artificial music was enjoyable, but not like +the running stream. It said nothing—the stream +was full of thought.</p> + +<p>No eager desire to paint like that or play like +that was awakened by pictures or music; Amaryllis +was a passive and not an active artist by nature. +And I think that is the better part; at least, I +know it is a thousand times more pleasure to me to +see a beautiful thing than to write about it. Could +I choose I would go on seeing beautiful things, and +not writing.</p> + +<p>Amaryllis had no ambition whatever for name or +fame; to be silent in the sunshine was enough for +her. By chance she had inherited the Flamma +talent—she drew at once without effort or consideration; +it was not so much to her as it is to me +to write a letter.</p> + +<p>The thought to make use of her power did not +occur to her until the preceding Christmas. Roast +beef and plum pudding were a bitter mockery at +Coombe Oaks—a sham and cold delusion, cold as +snow. A "merry Christmas"—holly berries, +mistletoe—and behind these—debt. Behind the +glowing fire, written in the flames—debt; in the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_160" id="Page_160">[160]</a></span> +sound of the distant chimes—debt. Now be merry +over the plum-pudding while the wolves gnash their +teeth, wolves that the strongest bars cannot keep +out.</p> + +<p>Immediately the sacred day was past they fell in +all their fury upon Iden. Pay me that thou +owest! The one only saying in the Gospel thoroughly +engrained in the hearts of men. Pay me +that thou owest! This is the message from the +manger at Bethlehem of our modern Christmas.</p> + + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 125px;"> +<img src="images/i-013.png" width="125" height="164" alt="decoration" title="" /> +</div> +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_161" id="Page_161">[161]</a></span></p> +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 500px;"> +<img src="images/i-014.png" width="500" height="102" alt="decoration" title="" /> +</div> + + +<h2>CHAPTER XXI.</h2> + + +<div class="figleft" style="width: 120px;"> +<img src="images/s.png" width="120" height="120" alt="S" title="" /> +</div><div class='unindent'>O Amaryllis went up into the gaunt, +cold room at the top of the house, and +bent herself seriously to drawing. +There was no fireplace, and if there had +been they could not have allowed her +coals; coals were dear. It was quite an event +when the horse and cart went to the wharf for coal. +There was plenty of wood for the hearth—wood +grew on the farm—but coal was money.</div> + +<p>The March winds howled round the corner of +the old thatched house, and now and again tremendous +rains blew up against the little western window +near which she had placed her table. Through +the silent cold of January, the moist cold of February, +the east winds and hurricane rains of March, +Amaryllis worked on in her garret, heedless of +nipped fingers and chilled feet.</p> + +<p>Sometimes she looked out of the window and +watched Iden digging in the garden underneath, +planting his potatoes, pruning his trees and shrubs, +or farther away, yonder in the meadow, clearing<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_162" id="Page_162">[162]</a></span> +out the furrows that the water might flow better—"trenching," +as he called it.</p> + +<p>The harder it rained the harder he worked at +this in the open, with a sack about his shoulders +like a cloak; the labourers were under shelter, the +master was out in the wet, hoping by guiding the +water to the grass to get a larger crop of hay in +June.</p> + +<p>Bowed under his sack, with his rotten old hat, +he looked a woful figure as the heavy shower beat on +his back. But to Amaryllis he was always her +father.</p> + +<p>Sometimes she went into the next room—the +lumber-room—only lighted by a window on a level +with the floor, a window which had no glass, but +only a wire network. Sitting on the floor there, +she could see him at the stile across the road, his +hands behind his back, gossiping now with another +farmer or two, now with a labourer, now with an +old woman carrying home a yoke of water from the +brook.</p> + +<p>The gossiping hurt Amaryllis even more than +the work in the cold rain; it seemed so incongruous, +so out of character, so unlike the real Iden +as she knew him.</p> + +<p>That he, with his great, broad and noble forehead, +and his profile like Shakespeare, should stand +there talk, talk, talking on the smallest hamlet +topics with old women, and labourers, and thickheaded +farmers, was to her a bewilderment and +annoyance.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_163" id="Page_163">[163]</a></span></p> + +<p>She could not understand it, and she resented it. +The real Iden she knew was the man of thought +and old English taste, who had told her so much +by the fireside of that very Shakespeare whom in +features he resembled, and of the poets from Elizabethan +days downwards. His knowledge seemed +to be endless; there was no great author he had not +read, no subject upon which he could not at least +tell her where to obtain information. Yet she knew +he had never had what is now called an education. +How clever he must be to know all these things! +You see she did not know how wonderful is the +gift of observation, which Iden possessed to a degree +that was itself genius. Nothing escaped him; +therefore his store was great.</p> + +<p>No other garden was planted as Iden's garden +was, in the best of old English taste, with old English +flowers and plants, herbs and trees. In summer +time it was a glory to see: a place for a poet, a +spot for a painter, loved and resorted to by every +bird of the air. Of a bare old farmhouse he had +made a beautiful home.</p> + +<p>Questions upon questions her opening mind had +poured upon him, and to all he had given her an +answer that was an explanation. About the earth +and about the sea, the rivers, and living things; +about the stars and sun, the comet, the wonders of +the firmament, of geology and astronomy, of science; +there was nothing he did not seem to know.</p> + +<p>A man who had crossed the wide ocean as that +Ulysses of whom he read to her, and who, like that<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_164" id="Page_164">[164]</a></span> +Ulysses, enjoyed immense physical strength, why +was he like this? Why was he so poor? Why +did he work in the rain under a sack? Why did +he gossip at the stile with the small-brained hamlet +idlers?</p> + +<p>It puzzled her and hurt her at the same time.</p> + +<p>I cannot explain why it was so, any better than +Amaryllis; I could give a hundred reasons, and +then there would be no explanation—say partly +circumstances, partly lack of a profession in which +talent would tell, partly an indecision of character—too +much thought—and, after all said and done, +Fate.</p> + +<p>Watching him from the network window, Amaryllis +felt her heart drooping, she knew not why, +and went back to her drawing unstrung.</p> + +<p>She worked very hard, and worked in vain. +The sketches all came back to her. Some of them +had a torn hole at the corner where they had been +carelessly filed, others a thumb-mark, others had +been folded wrongly, almost all smelt of tobacco. +Neither illustrated papers, periodicals: neither +editors nor publishers would have anything to do +with them. One or two took more care, and returned +the drawings quite clean; one sent a note +saying that they promised well.</p> + +<p>Poor Amaryllis! They promised well, and she +wanted half a sovereign <i>now</i>. If a prophet assured +a man that the picture he could not now dispose of +would be worth a thousand pounds in fifty years, +what consolation would that be to him?<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_165" id="Page_165">[165]</a></span></p> + +<p>They were all a total failure. So many letters +could not be received in that dull place without +others in the house seeing what was going on. +Once now and then Amaryllis heard a step on the +stairs—a shuffling, uncertain step—and her heart +began to beat quicker, for she knew it was her +mother. Somehow, although she loved her so +dearly, she felt that there was not much sympathy +between them. She did not understand her mother; +the mother did not understand the daughter. +Though she was working for her mother's sake, +when she heard her mother's step she was ashamed +of her work.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Iden would come in and shuffle round the +room, drawing one foot along the floor in an aggravating +way she had, she was not lame, and look out +of window, and presently stand behind Amaryllis, +and say—</p> + +<p>"Ah! you'll never do anything at that. Never +do anything. I've seen too much of it. Better +come down and warm yourself."</p> + +<p>Now this annoyed Amaryllis so much because it +seemed so inconsistent. Mrs. Iden blew up her +husband for having no enterprise, and then turned +round and discouraged her daughter for being +enterprising, and this, too, although she was constantly +talking about the superiority of the art +employments of the Flammas in London to the +clodhopper work around her.</p> + +<p>Amaryllis could never draw a line till her mother +had gone downstairs again, and then the words<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_166" id="Page_166">[166]</a></span> +kept repeating themselves in her ear—"Never do +no good at that, never do no good at that."</p> + +<p>If we were to stay to analyse deeply, perhaps we +should find that Amaryllis was working for a mother +of her own imagination, and not for the mother of +fact.</p> + +<p>Anyone who sits still, writing, drawing, or sewing, +feels the cold very much more than those who +are moving indoors or out. It was bitterly cold in +the gaunt garret, the more so because the wind +came unchecked through the wire network of the +window in the next room. But for that her +generous young heart cared nothing, nor for the +still colder wind of failure.</p> + +<p>She had no name—no repute, therefore had her +drawings been equal to the finest ever produced +they would not have been accepted. Until the +accident of reputation arises genius is of no avail.</p> + +<p>Except an author, or an artist, or a musician, who +on earth would attempt to win success by merit? +That alone proves how correct the world is in its +estimation of them; they must indeed be poor confiding +fools. Succeed by merit!</p> + +<p>Does the butcher, or the baker, or the ironmonger, +or the tallow-chandler rely on personal +merit, or purely personal ability for making a business? +They rely on a little capital, credit, and much +push. The solicitor is first an articled clerk, and +works next as a subordinate, his "footing" costs +hundreds of pounds, and years of hard labour. The +doctor has to "walk the hospitals," and, if he<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_167" id="Page_167">[167]</a></span> +can, he buys a practice. They do not rely on +merit.</p> + +<p>The three fools—the author, the artist, and the +musician—put certain lines on a sheet of paper and +expect the world to at once admire their clever +ideas.</p> + +<p>In the end—but how far is it to the end!—it is +true that genius is certain of recognition; the steed +by then has grown used to starvation, waiting for +the grass to grow. Look about you: Are the prosperous +men of business men of merit? are they all +clever? are they geniuses? They do not exactly +seem to be so.</p> + +<p>Nothing so hard as to succeed by merit; no path +so full of disappointments; nothing so incredibly +impossible.</p> + +<p>I would infinitely rather be a tallow-chandler, +with a good steady income and no thought, than an +author; at the first opportunity I mean to go into +the tallow business.</p> + +<p>Until the accident of reputation chanced to come +to her, Amaryllis might work and work, and hope +and sigh, and sit benumbed in her garret, and +watch her father, Shakespeare Iden, clearing the +furrows in the rain, under his sack.</p> + +<p>She had not even a diploma—a diploma, or a +certificate, a South Kensington certificate! Fancy, +without even a certificate! Misguided child!</p> + +<p>What a hideous collection of frumpery they have +got there at the Museum, as many acres as Iden's +farm, shot over with all the rubbish of the "periods."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_168" id="Page_168">[168]</a></span> +What a mockery of true art feeling it is! They +have not even a single statue in the place. They +would shrivel up in horror at a nude model. <i>They</i> +teach art—miserable sham, their wretched art +culminates in a Christmas card.</p> + +<p>Amaryllis had not even been through the South +Kensington "grind," and dared to send in original +drawings without a certificate. Ignorance, you +see, pure clodhopper ignorance.</p> + +<p>Failure waited on her labours; the postman +brought them all back again.</p> + +<p>Yet in her untaught simplicity she had chosen +the line which the very highest in the profession +would probably have advised her to take. She +drew what she knew. The great cart-horse, the old +barn up the road, the hollow tree, the dry reeds, +the birds, and chanticleer himself—</p> + +<div class='poem'> +High was his comb, and coral red withal,<br /> +In dents embattled like a castle wall.<br /> +</div> + +<div class='unindent'>Hardly a circumstance of farm life she did not +sketch; the fogger with his broad knife cutting +hay; the ancient labourer sitting in the wheelbarrow +munching his bread-and-cheese, his face a +study for Teniers; the team coming home from +plough—winter scenes, most of them, because it +was winter time. There are those who would give +fifty pounds for one of those studies now, crumpled, +stained, and torn as they are.</div> + +<p>It was a complete failure. Once only she had a +gleam of success. Iden picked up the sketch of<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_169" id="Page_169">[169]</a></span> +the dry reeds in the brook, and after looking at it, +put it in his "Farmer's Calendar," on the mantelshelf. +Amaryllis felt like the young painter whose +work is at last hung at the Academy. His opinion +was everything to her. He valued her sketch.</p> + +<p>Still, that was not money. The cold wind and +the chill of failure still entered her garret study. +But it was neither of these that at length caused +the portfolio to be neglected, she would have worked +on and on, hoping against hope, undaunted, despite +physical cold and moral check. It was the procession +of creditors.</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 125px;"> +<img src="images/i-013.png" width="125" height="164" alt="decoration" title="" /> +</div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_170" id="Page_170">[170]</a></span></p> +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 500px;"> +<img src="images/i-046.png" width="500" height="83" alt="decoration" title="" /> +</div> + + +<h2>CHAPTER XXII.</h2> + + +<div class="figleft" style="width: 120px;"> +<img src="images/s.png" width="120" height="120" alt="S" title="" /> +</div><div class='unindent'>TEADILY they came over from the town, +dunning Iden and distracting Amaryllis +in her garret. She heard the heavy footsteps +on the path to the door, the thump, +thump with the fist (there was neither +knocker nor bell, country fashion); more thumping, +and then her mother's excuses, so oft repeated, so +wearisome, so profitless. "But where is he?" the +creditor would persist. "He's up at the Hayes," +or "He's gone to Green Hills." "Well, when will +he be in?" "Don't know." "But I wants to +know when this yer little account is going to be +settled." Then a long narration of his wrongs, +threats of "doing summat," i.e., summoning, +grumble, grumble, and so slow, unwilling steps +departing.</div> + +<p>Very rude men came down from the villages +demanding payment in their rough way—a raw, +crude way, brutally insulting to a lady. Iden had +long since exhausted his credit in the town; neither +butcher, baker, draper, nor anyone else would let +them have a shilling's-worth until the shilling had<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_171" id="Page_171">[171]</a></span> +been placed on the counter. He had been forced +lately to deal with the little men of the villages—the +little butcher who killed once a fortnight; the +petty cottagers' baker, and people of that kind. +Inferior meat and inferior bread on credit first; +coarse language and rudeness afterwards.</p> + +<p>One day, the village baker, having got inside +the door as Mrs. Iden incautiously opened it, stood +there and argued with her, while Amaryllis in the +garret put down her trembling pencil to listen.</p> + +<p>"Mr. Iden will send it up," said her mother.</p> + +<p>"Oh, he'll send it up. When will he send it +up?"</p> + +<p>"He'll send it up."</p> + +<p>"He've a' said that every time, but it beant +come yet. You tell un I be come to vetch it."</p> + +<p>"Mr. Iden's not in."</p> + +<p>"I'll bide till he be in."</p> + +<p>"He'll only tell you he'll send it up."</p> + +<p>"I'll bide and see un. You've served I shameful. +It's nothing but cheating—that's what I calls +it—to have things and never pay for um. It's +cheating."</p> + +<p>Amaryllis tore downstairs, flushed with passion.</p> + +<p>"How dare you say such a thing? How dare +you insult my mother? Leave the house this +moment!"</p> + +<p>And with both hands she literally pushed the +man, unwilling, but not absolutely resisting, outside, +grumbling as he moved that he never insulted +nobody, only asked for his money.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_172" id="Page_172">[172]</a></span></p> + +<p>A pleasing preparation this for steadiness of +hand, calculated to encourage the play of imagination! +She could do nothing for hours afterwards.</p> + +<p>Just as often Iden was at home, and then it was +worse, because it lasted longer. First they talked +by the potato-patch almost under the window; +then they talked on the path; then they came +indoors, and then there were words and grumbling +sounds that rose up the staircase. By-and-by +they went out again and talked by the gate. At +last the creditor departed, and Iden returned indoors +to take a glass of ale and sit a moment till +the freshness of the annoyance had left his mind. +Mrs. Iden then had her turn at him: the old story—why +didn't he do something? Amaryllis knew +every word as well as if she had been sitting in the +room.</p> + +<p>How Iden had patience with them Amaryllis +could not think; how he could stand, and be argued +with, and abused, and threatened, and yet not take +the persecutor by the collar and quietly put him in +the road, she could not understand.</p> + +<p>The truth was he could not help himself; violence +would have availed nothing. But to youth it +seems as if a few blows are all that is needed to +overcome difficulties.</p> + +<p>Waller and Co., the tailor—he was his own Co.—walked +over regularly once a week; very civil +and very persistent, and persistent in vain. How +he came to be a creditor was not easy to see, for +Iden's coat was a pattern of raggedness, his<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_173" id="Page_173">[173]</a></span> +trousers bare at the knee, and his shabby old hat +rotten. But somehow or other there was a five-pound +account two years overdue.</p> + +<p>Cobb, the butcher at Woolhorton, got off his +trap as he went by, at least twice a week, to chivey +Iden about his money. Though he would not let +them have a mutton chop without payment, whenever +there was five shillings to spare for meat it +was always taken into his shop, as it was better to +have good meat there, if you had to pay cash +for meat, than inferior in the village. One day, +Amaryllis was waiting for some steak, side by side +with a poor woman, waiting for scraps, while +Cobb served a grand lady of the town. "Yes, +m'm—oh, yes, m'm, certainly, m'm," bows, and +scrapes, and washing of hands, all the obsequiousness +possible. When the fine lady had gone, "Lar, +Mr. Cobb," says the poor woman, "how different +you do speak to <i>they</i> to what you do speak to <i>me</i>."</p> + +<p>"Oh, yes," replied Cobb, not in the least abashed +at having one manner for the poor and another for +the rich. "Yes, you see, these ladies they require +such a deal of <i>homage</i>."</p> + +<p>There was a long bill at Beavan's the grocer's, +but that was not much pressed, only a large blue +letter about once a month, as Beavan had a very +good profit out of them through the butter. Mrs. +Iden made excellent butter, which had a reputation, +and Beavan took it all at about half-price. If it had +been sold to anyone else he would have insisted on +payment. So, by parting with the best butter in<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_174" id="Page_174">[174]</a></span> +the county at half-price, they got their tea and +sugar without much dunning.</p> + +<p>At one time Mrs. Iden became excited and +strange in her manner, as if on the point of hysterics, +from which Amaryllis divined something serious +was approaching, though her mother would say +nothing. So it turned out—a bailiff appeared, and +took up his quarters in the kitchen. He was very +civil and quiet; he sat by the great fire of logs, and +offered to help in any way he could. Iden gave +him plenty of beer, for one thing. Amaryllis could +not go into the kitchen—the dear old place seemed +deserted while he was there.</p> + +<p>This woke up Iden for the moment. First there +was a rummaging about in his old bureau, and a +laborious writing of letters, or adding up of figures. +Next there was a great personal getting up, a bath, +clean linen, shaving, and donning of clothes packed +away these years past. In two hours or so Iden +came down another man, astonishingly changed, +quite a gentleman in every respect, and so handsome +in Amaryllis's eyes. Indeed, he was really +handsome still, and to her, of course, wonderfully so. +If only he would always dress like that!</p> + +<p>Iden walked into Woolhorton, but all these preparations +had so consumed the time that the bank +was shut, the solicitor's offices closed, and there +was no means of raising any money that evening. +The son passed the father's doorstep—the worn +stone step, ground by the generations of customers—he +saw the light behind the blind in the little<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_175" id="Page_175">[175]</a></span> +room where Grandfather Iden sat—he might, had +he paused and listened, have heard the old man +poke the fire, the twenty-thousand-guinea-man—the +son passed on, and continued his lonely walk +home, the home that held a bailiff.</p> + +<p>A makeshift bed had to be made up for the bailiff +in the kitchen, and there he remained the night, +and was up and had lit the fire for Luce the servant +before she was down. The man was certainly very +civil, but still there was the shock of it.</p> + +<p>Early in the morning Iden went into town again, +saw his solicitor, and got a cheque—it was only +five-and-twenty or thirty pounds, and the bailiff +left.</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 184px;"> +<img src="images/i-015.png" width="184" height="225" alt="decoration" title="" /> +</div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_176" id="Page_176">[176]</a></span></p> +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 500px;"> +<img src="images/i-034.png" width="500" height="85" alt="decoration" title="" /> +</div> + + +<h2>CHAPTER XXIII.</h2> + + +<div class="figleft" style="width: 122px;"> +<img src="images/b.png" width="122" height="120" alt="B" title="" /> +</div><div class='unindent'>UT his presence did not die out of the +kitchen; they always seemed to feel as +if he had been there. The hearth had +been stained by a foreign foot, the very +poker had been touched by a foreign +hand, the rude form at the side by the wall had +been occupied by an intruder. Amaryllis had +always been so fond of the kitchen—the oldest part +of the house, two centuries at least. The wide +hearth and immense chimney, up which, when the +fire was out, of a winter's night you could see the +stars; over which of a windy night you could imagine +the witches riding by, borne on the deep +howling of the blast; the great beam and the gun +slung to it; the heavy oaken table, unpolished, +greyish oak; the window in the thick wall, set +with yellowish glass; the stone floor, and the walls +from which the whitewash peeled in flakes; the +rude old place was very dear to her.</div> + +<p>Ofttimes they sat there in winter instead of the +sitting-room, drawn by its antique homeliness. +Mrs. Iden warmed elder wine, and Iden his great<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_177" id="Page_177">[177]</a></span> +cup of Goliath ale, and they roasted chestnuts and +apples, while the potatoes—large potatoes—Iden's +selected specialities—were baking buried in the +ashes. Looking over her shoulder Amaryllis could +see the white drift of snow against the window, +which was on a level with the ground outside, and +so got Iden to tell her stories of the deep snow in +the United States, and the thick ice, sawn with +saws, or, his fancy roaming on, of the broad and +beautiful Hudson River, the river he had so admired +in his youth, the river the poets will sing some +day; or of his clinging aloft at night in the gale on +the banks of Newfoundland, for he had done duty +as a sailor. A bold and adventurous man in his +youth, why did he gossip at the stile now in his full +and prime of manhood?</p> + +<p>It would be a long, long tale to tell, and even +then only those who have lived in the country and +had practical experience could fully comprehend +the hopelessness of working a small farm, unless you +are of a wholly sordid nature. Iden's nature was not +sordid; the very reverse. The beginning, or one +of the beginnings, of the quarrel between father +and son arose because of this; Grandfather Iden +could not forgive his son for making the place +beautiful with trees and flowers.</p> + +<p>By-and-by the baked potatoes were done, and +they had supper on the old and clumsy table, village +made and unpolished, except in so far as the stains +of cooking operations had varnished it, the same +table at which "Jearje," the fogger, sat every<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_178" id="Page_178">[178]</a></span> +morning to eat his breakfast, and every evening to +take his supper. What matter? George worked +hard and honestly all day, his great arms on the +table, spread abroad as he ate, did not injure it.</p> + +<p>Great mealy potatoes, cracked open, white as the +snow without, floury and smoking; dabs of Mrs. +Iden's delicious butter, a little salt and pepper, and +there was a dish for a king. The very skins were +pleasant—just a taste.</p> + +<p>They were not always alone at these kitchen-feasts, +sometimes a Flamma from London, sometimes +an Iden from over the hill, or others were +there. Iden was very hospitable—though most of +his guests (family connections) were idle folk, no +good to themselves or anybody, still they were +made cordially welcome. But others, very high +folk, socially speaking (for they had good connections, +too, these poor Idens), who had dined at +grand London tables, seemed to enjoy themselves +most thoroughly on the rude Homeric fare.</p> + +<p>For it was genuine, and there was a breadth, an +open-handed generosity, a sense of reality about it; +something really to eat, though no finger-glasses; +Homeric straightforwardness of purpose.</p> + +<p>Amaryllis was very fond of the old kitchen; it +was the very centre of home. This strange man, +this intruding bailiff, trod heavily on her dearest +emotions. His shadow remained on the wall +though he had gone.</p> + +<p>They all felt it, but Amaryllis most of all, and it +was weeks before the kitchen seemed to resume its<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_179" id="Page_179">[179]</a></span> +former appearance. Jearje was the one who restored +it. He ate so heartily, and spoke so cheerily +at breakfast and at supper, it almost made them +forget their troubles to see anyone so grateful and +pleased with all they did for him. "Thank you, +ma'am; dest about a good bit a' bacon, this yer"—locally +the "d" and "j" were often interchangable, +dest for jest, or just—"That'll be a' plenty +for I, ma'am, doan't want more'n I can yet"—don't +want more than I can eat, don't want to be greedy—"Thank +you, miss; dest about some ripping +good ale, this yer; that it be."</p> + +<p>He so thoroughly enjoyed and appreciated the +bacon, and the cheese, and the ale; he was like a +great, big human dog; you know how we like to +see a big dog wag his tail at his food, or put his +paws on our knees and laugh, as it were, with his +eyes in our face. They petted him, these two +women, exactly as if he had been a dog, giving him +all the bones, literally and metaphorically, the actual +bones of the meat, and any scraps there were, to +take home with him (besides his regular meals), +and now and then some trifles of clothing for his +aged mother. The dog most thoroughly appreciated +this treatment; he rolled in it, revelled in it, +grew shiny and fat, and glistened with happiness.</p> + +<p>Iden petted him, too, to some degree, out of +doors, and for much the same reason; his cheery +content and willingness, and the absence of the +usual selfish niggardliness of effort. George worked +willingly and fairly, and, if occasion needed, stayed<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_180" id="Page_180">[180]</a></span> +another hour, or put his shoulder to the wheel of +his own accord, and so, having a good employer, +and not one minded to take advantage of him, was +rewarded in many ways. Iden did not reduce his +wages by a shilling or eighteenpence in winter, +and gave him wood for firing, half a sack of potatoes, +garden produce, or apples, and various other +things from time to time.</p> + +<p>Living partly indoors, and being of this disposition, +Jearje was more like a retainer than a servant, +or labourer; a humble member of the family.</p> + +<p>It was a sight to see him eat. Amaryllis and +Mrs. Iden used often to watch him covertly, just +for the amusement it gave them. He went about +it as steadily and deliberately as the horses go to +plough; no attempt to caracole in the furrow, ready +to stand still as long as you like.</p> + +<p>Bacon three inches thick with fat: the fat of +beef; fat of mutton—anything they could not +finish in the sitting-room; the overplus of cabbage +or potatoes, savoury or unsavoury; vast slices +of bread and cheese; ale, and any number of slop-basins +full of tea—the cups were not large enough—and +pudding, cold dumpling, hard as wood, no +matter what, Jearje ate steadily through it.</p> + +<p>A more willing fellow never lived; if Mrs. Iden +happened to want anything from the town ever so +late, though George had worked hard the long day +through from half-past five in the morning, off he +would start, without sign of demur, five miles there +and back, and come in singing with his burden.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_181" id="Page_181">[181]</a></span></p> + +<p>There are such, as George still among the labourer +class, in despite of the change of circumstance and +sentiment, men who would be as faithful as the +faithfullest retainer who ever <ins title="Transcriber's Note: original reads 'acccompanied'">accompanied</ins> a +knight of old time to the Crusade. But, observe, +for a good man there must be a good master. +Proud Iden was a good master, who never forgot +that his man was not a piece of mechanism, but +flesh and blood and feelings.</p> + +<p>Now this great human dog, sprawling his strong +arms abroad on the oaken table, warming his +heavily-booted feet at the hearth, always with a +cheery word and smile, by his constant presence +there slowly wore away the impression of the +bailiff, and the dear old kitchen came to be itself +again.</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 107px;"> +<img src="images/i-017.png" width="107" height="135" alt="decoration" title="" /> +</div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_182" id="Page_182">[182]</a></span></p> +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 500px;"> +<img src="images/i-061.png" width="500" height="89" alt="decoration" title="" /> +</div> + + +<h2>CHAPTER XXIV.</h2> + + +<div class="figleft" style="width: 122px;"> +<img src="images/b.png" width="122" height="120" alt="B" title="" /> +</div><div class='unindent'>UT all these shocks and worries and +trampling upon her emotions made the +pencil tremble in the artist's hand as +she worked in the gaunt garret.</div> + +<p>One day, as she was returning from +Woolhorton, Iden's solicitor, from whom he had +borrowed money, overtook her, walked his horse, +and began to talk to her in his perky, affected, +silly way. Of all the fools in Woolhorton town +there was none equal in pure idiotcy to this +namby-pamby fellow—it was wonderful how a man +of Iden's intelligence could trust his affairs to such +a man, the more so as there was at least one good +lawyer in the place. This is very characteristic of +the farming race; they will work like negroes in +the field, and practise the utmost penury to save a +little, and be as cautious over a groat as the keenest +miser, and then go and trust their most important +affairs to some perfect fool of a solicitor. His +father, perhaps, or his uncle, or somebody connected +with the firm, had a reputation about the era of +Waterloo, and upon this tradition they carry their<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_183" id="Page_183">[183]</a></span> +business to a man whom they admit themselves +"doan't seem up to much, yon." In the same way, +or worse, for there is no tradition even in this case, +they will consign a hundred pounds' worth of milk +to London on the mere word of a milkman's agent, +a man of straw for aught they know, and never so +much as go up to town to see if there is such a +milk business in existence.</p> + +<p>This jackanapes began to talk to Amaryllis about +her father. "Now, don't you think, Miss Iden, +you could speak to your father about these money +matters; you know he's getting into a pound, he +really is (the jackanapes pretended to hunt); he'll +be pounded. Now, don't you think you could talk +to him, and persuade him to be more practical?"</p> + +<p>The chattering of this tom-tit upset Amaryllis +more than the rudeness of the gruff baker who +forced his way in, and would not go. That such a +contemptible nincompoop should dare to advise her +father to be practical! The cleverest man in the +world—advise him to be practical; as if, indeed, +he was not practical and hard-working to the very +utmost.</p> + +<p>To her it was a bitter insult. The pencil +trembled in her hand.</p> + +<p>But what shook it most of all was anxiety about +her mother. Ever since the bailiff's intrusion Mrs. +Iden had seemed so unsettled. Sometimes she +would come downstairs after the rest had retired, +and sit by the dying fire for hours alone, till Iden +chanced to wake, and go down for her.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_184" id="Page_184">[184]</a></span></p> + +<p>Once she went out of doors very late, leaving +the front door wide open, and Amaryllis found her +at midnight wandering in an aimless way among +the ricks.</p> + +<p>At such times she had a glazed look in her eyes, +and did not seem to see what she gazed at. At +others she would begin to cry without cause, and +gave indications of hysteria. The nervous Flamma +family were liable to certain affections of that kind, +and Amaryllis feared lest her mother's system had +been overstrained by these continual worries.</p> + +<p>Poor woman! she had, indeed, been worried +enough to have shaken the strongest; and, having +nothing stolid in her nature, it pressed upon her.</p> + +<p>After awhile these attacks seemed to diminish, +and Amaryllis hoped that nothing would come of it, +but it left her in a state of extreme anxiety lest +some fresh trouble should happen to renew the +strain.</p> + +<p>When she thought of her mother she could not +draw—the sound of her shuffling, nervous footstep +on the landing or the path outside under the +window stopped her at once. These things disheartened +her a thousand times more than the returned +sketches the postman was always bringing.</p> + +<p>On butter-making mornings, once a week, there +was always a great to-do; Mrs. Iden, like nervous +people, was cross and peevish when she was exceptionally +busy, and clapper-clawed Iden to some purpose. +It chanced that Amaryllis one day was just +opening an envelope and taking out a returned<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_185" id="Page_185">[185]</a></span> +drawing, when Iden entered, angry and fresh from +Mrs. Iden's tongue, and, seeing the letter, began +to growl:—</p> + +<p>"Better drow that there fool stuff in the vire, +and zee if you can't help your mother. Better do +zummat to be some use on. Pity as you wasn't a +boy chap to go out and yarn summat. Humph! +humph!" growl, mutter, growl. "Drow" was +local for throw, "summat" for something, "yarn" +for earn. Unless I give you a vocabulary you may +not be able to follow him.</p> + +<p>The contemptuous allusion to her sketches as fool +stuff, contrasted with the benefit and advantage of +earning something—something real and solid—hit +the artist very hard. That was the thought that +troubled her so much, and paralysed her imagination. +They were unsaleable—she saw the worthlessness +of them far more than Iden. They were +less in value than the paper on which they were +traced; fool stuff, fit for the fire only.</p> + +<p>That was the very thought that troubled her so, +and Iden hit the nail home with his rude speech. +That was the material view; unless a thing be +material, or will fetch something material, it is good +for the fire only.</p> + +<p>So it came about that the portfolio was pushed +aside, and dust gathered on it, and on the pencils, +and the india-rubber, and in the little box of vine +charcoal. Amaryllis having arranged her violets +in the tumbler of water in the window niche, sat +down at the table and leant her head on her hand,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_186" id="Page_186">[186]</a></span> +and tried to think what she could do, as she had +thought these many, many days.</p> + +<p>The drawings were so unreal, and a sovereign so +real. Nothing in all the world at these moments +seemed to her to be so good and precious as the +round disk of gold which rules everything. The +good that she could do with it—with just one of +those golden disks!</p> + +<p>Did you ever read Al Hariri? That accomplished +scholar, the late Mr. Chenery (of <i>The Times</i>), +translated twenty-six of his poems from the Arabic, +and added most interesting notes. This curious +book is a fusion of the Arabian Nights, Ecclesiastes, +and Rabelais. There is the magical unexpectedness +of the Arabian Nights, the vanity of vanities, +all is vanity, of the Preacher, and the humour of +the French satirist. Wisdom is scattered about it; +at one moment you acknowledge a great thought, +the next you are reproached for a folly, and presently +laugh at a deep jest.</p> + +<p>Al Hariri has a bearing upon Amaryllis, because +he sang of the dinar, the Arabian sovereign, the +double-faced dinar, the reverse and the obverse, +head and tail, one side giving everything good, and +the other causing all evil. For the golden disk +has two sides, and two Fates belong to it. First +he chants its praises:—</p> + +<div class='poem2'> +How noble is that yellow one, whose yellowness is pure,<br /> +Which traverses the regions, and whose journeying is afar.<br /> +Told abroad are its fame and repute:<br /> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_187" id="Page_187">[187]</a></span>Its lines are set as the secret sign of wealth;<br /> +Its march is coupled with the success of endeavours;<br /> +Its bright look is loved by mankind,<br /> +As though it had been molten of their hearts.<br /> +By its aid whoever has got it in his purse assails boldly,<br /> +Though kindred be perished or tardy to help.<br /> +Oh! charming are its purity and brightness;<br /> +Charming are its sufficiency and help.<br /> +How many a ruler is there whose rule has been perfected by it!<br /> +How many a sumptuous one is there whose grief, but for it, would be endless!<br /> +How many a host of cares has one charge of it put to flight!<br /> +How many a full moon has a sum of it brought down!<br /> +How many a one, burning with rage, whose coal is flaming,<br /> +Has it been secretly whispered to and then his anger has softened.<br /> +How many a prisoner, whom his kin had yielded,<br /> +Has it delivered, so that his gladness has been unmingled.<br /> +Now by the Truth of the Lord whose creation brought it forth,<br /> +Were it not for His fear, I should say its power is supreme.<br /> +</div> + +<p>The sovereign, our dinar, does it not answer +exactly to this poem of the Arabian written in the +days of the Crusades! It is yellow, it is pure, it +travels vast distances, and is as valuable in India as +here, it is famous and has a reputation, the inscription +on it is the mark of its worth, it is the sinew +of war, the world loves its brightness as if it was +coined from their hearts, those who have it in their +purses are bold, it helps every one who has it, it +banishes all cares, and one might say, were it not for +fear of the Lord, that the sovereign was all mighty.</p> + +<p>All mighty for good as it seemed to Amaryllis +thinking in her garret, leaning her head on her<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_188" id="Page_188">[188]</a></span> +hand, and gazing at her violets; all mighty for +good—if only she could get the real solid, golden +sovereign!</p> + +<p>But the golden coin has another side—the obverse—another +Fate, for evil, clinging to it, and +the poet, changing his tone, thunders:—</p> + +<div class='poem2'> +Ruin on it for a deceiver and insincere,<br /> +The yellow one with two faces like a hypocrite!<br /> +It shows forth with two qualities to the eye of him that looks on it,<br /> +The adornment of the loved one, the colour of the lover.<br /> +Affection for it, think they who judge truly,<br /> +Tempts men to commit that which shall anger their Maker.<br /> +But for it no thief's right hand were cut off;<br /> +Nor would tyranny be displayed by the impious;<br /> +Nor would the niggardly shrink from the night-farer;<br /> +Nor would the delayed claimant mourn the delay of him that withholds;<br /> +Nor would men call to God from the envious who casts at them.<br /> +Moreover the worst quality that it possesses<br /> +Is that it helps thee not in straits,<br /> +Save by fleeing from thee like a runaway slave.<br /> +Well done he who casts it away from a hilltop,<br /> +And who, when it whispers to him with the whispering of a lover,<br /> +Says to it in the words of the truth-speaking, the veracious,<br /> +"I have no mind for intimacy with thee,—begone!"<br /> +</div> + +<p>"The worst quality that it possesses" remains to +this day, and could Amaryllis have obtained the +sovereign, still it would only have helped her by passing +from her, from her hand to that of the creditor's, +fleeing like a runaway slave.</p> + +<p>But Amaryllis surrounded with the troubles of +her father and mother, saw only the good side of<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_189" id="Page_189">[189]</a></span> +the golden sovereign, only that it was all powerful +to bless.</p> + +<p>How unnatural it seems that a girl like this, that +young and fresh and full of generous feelings as +she was, her whole mind should perforce be taken +up with the question of money; an unnatural and +evil state of things.</p> + +<p>It seems to me very wicked that it should be so.</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 141px;"> +<img src="images/i-018.png" width="141" height="285" alt="decoration" title="" /> +</div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_190" id="Page_190">[190]</a></span></p> +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 500px;"> +<img src="images/i-044.png" width="500" height="91" alt="decoration" title="" /> +</div> + + +<h2>CHAPTER XXV.</h2> + + +<div class="figleft" style="width: 121px;"> +<img src="images/t.png" width="121" height="120" alt="T" title="" /> +</div><div class='unindent'>HOUGH the portfolio was pushed aside +and dust had gathered on the table, except +where her arm touched it, Amaryllis +came daily, and often twice a day, +to her flowers to pray.</div> + +<p>From the woods she brought the delicate primrose +opening on the mossy bank among the grey +ash-stoles; the first tender green leaflet of hawthorn +coming before the swallow; the garden +crocus from the grass of the garden; the first green +spikelet from the sward of the meadow; the beautiful +white wild violets gathered in the sunlit April +morning while the nightingale sang.</p> + +<p>With these she came to pray each day, at the +window-niche. After she had sat awhile at the +table that morning, thinking, she went and knelt +at the window with her face in her hands; the scent +of the violets filled her hair.</p> + +<p>Her prayer was deeper than words and was not +put in language, but came rushing through her +heart;—"That her dear mother might not suffer any +more, that the strain of ceaseless trouble might be<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_191" id="Page_191">[191]</a></span> +removed from her mind, that peace and rest might +come to her in her old age. Let her step become +firm, and the nervousness depart, and her eyes +shine like they used to, so clear and bright, and do +not let the grey hairs show more than they do +now, or increase in number. Let her smile and be +happy and talk cheerfully, and take an interest in +the house and all the order of household things, +and also see and understand that her husband +meant to please her, even in such a little thing as +splitting up useful wood for the fire, that he intended +to please her, and that she might not misunderstand +him any more. He intended to be +kind in many ways, but misfortune had blinded her, +and she took things the wrong way. And give +her more change and friends to ask her out from +home on visits, so that she might be amused, and +make them come to see her and pass the time in +contentment. Give her also enough money to buy +good clothes so as to look nice as she ought to +do, and if possible a conveyance of some kind—not +a grand carriage, she did not wish for that—but a +conveyance to drive about now and then, because +she was not so strong as she used to be, and could +not walk far. And let me, thought Amaryllis, let +me be able to give her a watch, for other people +have watches, and my mother has not got one, and +it does seem so strange it should be so after all the +hard work she has done. Let me, too, get her some +nice things to eat, some fish and wine, for she cannot +eat our plain bacon now every day, she has not got<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_192" id="Page_192">[192]</a></span> +an appetite, and her teeth too are bad, and I should +so like to give her a set of artificial teeth that her +food might do her more good. But what I really +want is that she may be happy, and be like my mother +herself really is when she is herself. Give my +father money enough to pay his creditors, for I know +that though he is so quiet and says nothing, these +debts are wearing him out, and I know he wishes +to pay them, and does not willingly keep them +waiting. He is so patient, and so good, and bears +everything, I am sure no one was ever like him, and +it is so dreadful to see him work, work, work, every +day from five o'clock in the morning, and yet to be +always worried with these debts and people that +will not let him have peace one single day. Do, +please, let him have less work to do, it makes +me miserable to see him in the rain, and he is not +young now, and sometimes carrying such heavy +things, great pieces of timber and large trusses of +hay, and making his back ache digging. Surely +it must soon be time for him to leave off working, +he has done such a lot, and I do not think he can +see quite so well as he used to, because he holds the +paper so close to his eyes. Please let him leave +off working soon now and have some rest and +change, and go about with my mother, and when +he is at home not have anything more to do than +his garden, because he is so fond of that; let him +love the flowers again as he used to, and plant some +more, and have nothing harder to do than to gather +the fruit from the trees he has planted. And let<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_193" id="Page_193">[193]</a></span> +me get him some new books to read, because I +know he is so fond of books; he has not had a new +book for so long. Let him go to London and see +people and things, and life, because I know he is +full of ideas and thoughts though he works and +digs, and that is what would do him good. Give +him some money now at last, now he has worked all +these years, forty years on this farm, and ever so +much work before that; do give him some money +at last. Do make my grandfather kinder to him and +not so harsh for the rent, let him give the place to +my father now, for it can be no use to him; let my +father have it for his very own, and then I think he +would be happy after all, he does so like to improve +things and make them beautiful, and if it was his +very own there is so much that he could do. That +would be nice work and work that he would enjoy +doing, and not just to get a few wretched shillings +to pay other people. I am sure he would never be +cross then, and he would be so kind to my mother, +and kind and good to everybody. There is nobody +like him, as you know, in this place; they are not +clever like him, and good to the labouring men and +their families like he is (and so is my mother too); +they are so rough, and so unkind and stupid; I do +not mean anything against them, but they are not +like he is. And if you were to help him he would +soon help the poor people and give them food and +more wages; you know how good he is in his heart. +And he would do it, not because other people should +praise him, but because he would like to do it; if<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_194" id="Page_194">[194]</a></span> +he does not go to church his heart is very true, and +it is because he likes to be true and genuine, and +not make any false show. Do, please, help him, +and give him some money, and do, please, let him +have this place for his very own, for I do so fear lest +those who set my grandfather against him, should +have a will made, so that my father should not have +this house and land as he ought to do, as the son. +He has made it so beautiful with trees, and brought +the fresh spring water up to the house, and done +so many clever things, and his heart is here, and it +is home to him, and no other place could be like it. +I think it would kill him not to have it, and for me, +I should be so—I cannot tell, I should be so miserable +if he did not, but I will not think of myself. +There are so many things I know he wants to do if +only he was not so worried with debts, and if he +could feel it was his own land; he wants to plant a +copse, and to make a pond by the brook, and have +trout in it, and to build a wall by the rick-yard. +Think how my dear father has worked all these +years, and do help him now, and give him some +money, and this place, and please do not let him +grow any more grey than his hair is now, and save +his eyes, for he is so fond of things that are beautiful, +and please make my mother happy with him."</p> + +<p>When Amaryllis rose from her knees her face +was quite white, emotion had taken away her colour, +and tears were thick on her cheek. She sat a little +while by the table to recover herself, still thinking, +and remembered that again last night she had<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_195" id="Page_195">[195]</a></span> +dreamed the same dream about fire in the thatch. +Somehow there seemed to be an alarm in the night, +and they ran out of doors and found the corner of +the roof on fire, over the window with the wire network +instead of glass. It ran up from the corner +towards the chimney, where the roof was mossy by +the ridge. There was no flame, but a deep red +seething heat, as if the straw burned inwardly, and +was glowing like molten metal. Each straw seemed +to lie in the furious heat, and a light to flicker up +and down, as if it breathed fire. The thatch was +very thick there, she knew, and recollected it quite +well in her dream; Iden himself had laid on two +thick coats in his time, and it was heavy enough +before then. He talked about the thatching of it, +because it was an argument with him that straw +had a great power of endurance, and was equal to +slates for lasting. This thickness, she saw, was +the reason the fire did not blaze up quickly, and +why, fortunately, it was slow in moving up the +roof. It had not yet eaten through, so that there +was no draught—once it got through, it would burn +fast—if only they could put it out before then all +might yet be saved. In the midst of her anxiety +Iden came with the largest ladder in the rickyard, +and mounted up, carrying a bucket of water. She +tried to follow, holding on to the rungs of the +ladder with one hand, and dragging up a heavy +bucket with the other—the strain and effort to get +up woke her.</p> + +<p>This dream had happened to her so many times,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_196" id="Page_196">[196]</a></span> +and was so vivid and circumstantial—the fire +seemed to glow in the thatch—that at last she +began to dread lest it should come true. If it did +not come true of the house itself, perhaps it would +of the family, and of their affairs; perhaps it signified +that the fire of debt, and poverty, and misfortune +would burn them, as it were, to the ground. +She tried to think whether in the dream they were +getting the fire under before she woke, or whether +they could not master it; it seemed dubious.</p> + +<p>She did not tell her mother of the dream, afraid +lest it might excite her again; nor could she tell +Iden, who would have laughed at her.</p> + +<p>Yet, though she knew it was but a dream, and +dreams have ceased to come true, she did not like +it; she felt uncertain, as if some indefinable danger +was threatening round about. As she sat at the +table she added to her prayer the supplication that +the dear old house might not be burned down.</p> + +<p>Soon afterwards she went down stairs, and on +the lower flight paused, to listen to voices—not +those of her mother and Iden—creditors, doubtless, +come to cry aloud, "Pay me that thou owest!"—the +very sum and total of religion. Her heart +beat quicker—the voices came again, and she +thought she recognized them, and that they were +not those of creditors. She entered the sitting-room, +and found that two visitors, from widely +separated places, had arrived; one with a portmanteau, +the other with an old, many-coloured +carpet-bag. They were Amadis Iden, from Iden<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_197" id="Page_197">[197]</a></span> +Court, over the Downs, the Court Idens, as they +were called, and Alere Flamma, from London; the +Flammas were carpet-bag people.</p> + +<p>Her father was making them very welcome, after +his wont, and they were talking of the house the +Idens of yore had built in a lonely spot, expressly +in order that they might drink, drink, drink <ins title="Transcriber's Note: original reads 'undiddisturbed'">undisturbed</ins> +by their unreasonable wives.</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 184px;"> +<img src="images/i-015.png" width="184" height="225" alt="decoration" title="" /> +</div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_198" id="Page_198">[198]</a></span></p> +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 500px;"> +<img src="images/i-046.png" width="500" height="83" alt="decoration" title="" /> +</div> + + +<h2>CHAPTER XXVI.</h2> + + +<div class="figleft" style="width: 121px;"> +<img src="images/t.png" width="121" height="120" alt="T" title="" /> +</div><div class='unindent'>HEY talked on and on, these three, +Iden, Amadis Iden, and Alere Flamma, +with Amaryllis listening, from the end +of April till near the end of May; till +"a month passed away," and still they +were talking. For there is nothing so good to the +human heart as well agreed conversation, when you +know that your companion will answer to your +thought as the anvil meets the hammer, ringing +sound to merry stroke; better than wine, better +than sleep, like love itself—for love is agreement +of thought—"God listens to those who pray to +him; let us eat and drink, and think of nothing," +says the Arabian proverb. So they ate and drank—very +moderate the drinking—and thought of +nothing, and talked, which should be added to complete +felicity. Not, of course, all of them always +together, sometimes all four, sometimes Alere, +Amadis, and Amaryllis, sometimes only the last two.</div> + +<p>The round summer-house was their Parliament +House whenever the east winds sank and the flowers +shone forth like sunshine; as the sun shines when<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_199" id="Page_199">[199]</a></span> +the clouds withdraw, so when the harsh east winds +cease the May flowers immediately bloom and glow.</p> + +<p>It was a large round house, properly builded of +brick, as a summer-house should be—put not thy +faith in lath work—and therefore dry and warm; +to sit in it was like sitting in a shell, warm and +comfortable, with a sea of meadow-grass, smooth +and coloured, stretching in front, islanded about +with oak, and elm, and ash.</p> + +<p>The finches came to the boughs that hung over +the ivy-grown thatch, and sang in the sycamore +opposite the door, and in the apple-trees, whose +bloom hung down almost to the ground.</p> + +<p>These apple-trees, which Iden had planted, flung +sackfuls of bloom at his feet. They poured themselves +out in abandoned, open-armed, spendthrift, +wasteful—perfectly prodigal—quantities of rose-tinted +petal; prodigal as a river which flows full to +the brim, never questioning but what there will be +plenty of water to follow.</p> + +<p>Flowers, and trees, and grass, seemed to spring +up wherever Iden set down his foot: fruit and +flowers fell from the air down upon him. It was +his genius to make things grow—like sunshine and +shower; a sort of Pan, a half-god of leaves and +boughs, and reeds and streams, a sort of Nature in +human shape, moving about and sowing Plenty and +Beauty.</p> + +<p>One side of the summer-house was a thick holly-bush, +Iden had set it there; he builded the summer-house +and set the ivy; and the pippin at the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_200" id="Page_200">[200]</a></span> +back, whose bloom was white; the copper-birch +near by; the great sycamore alone had been there +before him, but he set a seat under it, and got +woodbine to flower there; the drooping-ash he +planted, and if Amaryllis stood under it when +the tree was in full leaf you could not see her, +it made so complete an arbour; the Spanish oak +in the corner; the box hedge along the ha-ha +parapet; the red currants against the red wall; the +big peony yonder; the damsons and pear; the +yellow honey-bush; all these, and this was but one +square, one mosaic of the garden, half of it sward, +too, and besides these there was the rhubarb-patch +at one corner; fruit, flowers, plants, and herbs, +lavender, parsley, which has a very pleasant green, +growing in a thick bunch, roses, pale sage—read +Boccaccio and the sad story of the leaf of sage—ask +Nature if you wish to know how many things +more there were.</p> + +<p>A place to eat and drink, and think of nothing +in, listening to the goldfinches, and watching them +carry up the moss, and lichen, and slender fibres +for their nest in the fork of the apple; listening to +the swallows as they twittered past, or stayed on +the sharp, high top of the pear tree; to the vehement +starlings, whistling and screeching like Mrs. +Iden herself, on the chimneys; chaffinches "chink, +chink," thrushes, distant blackbirds, who like oaks; +"cuckoo, cuckoo," "crake, crake," buzzing and +burring of bees, coo of turtle-doves, now and then +a neigh, to remind you that there were horses,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_201" id="Page_201">[201]</a></span> +fulness and richness of musical sound; a world of +grass and leaf, humming like a hive with voices.</p> + +<p>When the east wind ceases, and the sun shines +above, and the flowers beneath, "a summer's day +in lusty May," then is the time an Interlude in +Heaven.</p> + +<p>And all this, summer-house and all, had dropped +out of the pocket of Iden's ragged old coat.</p> + +<p>There was a magic power of healing in the influences +of this place which Iden had created. Both +Amadis and Alere Flamma had already changed +for the better.</p> + +<p>That morning when Amaryllis had found them, +just arrived, the one with a portmanteau, and the +other with a carpet-bag, they were both pale to +the last degree of paleness.</p> + +<p>Three years had gone by since Amadis had stayed +at Coombe Oaks before, when Amaryllis was thirteen +and he eighteen; fine romps they had then, a +great girl, and a great boy, rowing on the water, +walking over the hills, exploring the woods; +Amadis shooting and fishing, and Amaryllis going +with him, a kind of gamekeeper page in petticoats. +They were of the same stock of Idens, yet no relations; +he was of the older branch, Amaryllis of the +younger.</p> + +<p>She had grown into a woman; Amadis Iden +into a man.</p> + +<p>Sadly, indeed, he had altered. Looking at him, +she could scarce believe he was the same; so pale, +so thin, so drooping, and fireless—the spark of life<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_202" id="Page_202">[202]</a></span> +sunk into the very ashes. He sat at the dinner-table +that morning like a ghost. He was convalescent +from low fever: that dread disease which has +taken the place of ague in the country. At one +time it was ague; in these times it is low fever.</p> + +<p>At Coombe Oaks they had heard of his illness +in a far-off way, but had received no distinct particulars, +for the news came in a roundabout way +by word of mouth, country-folk never write. The +distance between the two houses was less than ten +miles, and might as well have been five hundred +for all the communication.</p> + +<p>So that the ghastly paleness of his face came +upon her as a spectre in daylight. You could see +at a glance what was wrong—the vital energy had +been sapped; as a tree fades without a branch +broken, or bark scored, fades and withers from the +lack of the mysterious force which brings forth +fresh leaves, so he drooped in his chair. The body—the +tree—was there, but the life was not in it.</p> + +<p>Alere Flamma, aged forty-nine, or nearly, was +pale from other causes, and it was a different kind +of paleness; not bloodlessness, like Amadis, but +something lacking in the blood, a vitiated state. +Too much Fleet Street, in short; too much of the +Oracle—Pantagruel's Oracle of the Bottle.</p> + +<p>His hands shook as he held his knife and fork—oddly +enough, the hands of great genius often do +shake; now and then when he put his glass to his +lips, his teeth snapped on it, and chinked.</p> + +<p>It seemed curious that such puffy, shaky hands<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_203" id="Page_203">[203]</a></span> +could hold a pencil, and draw delicate lines without +a flaw.</p> + +<p>Many who never resort to the Oracle have hands +that tremble nearly as much—the nervous constitution—and +yet execute artists' work of rare excellence.</p> + +<p>Alere's constitution, the Flamma constitution, +naturally nervous, had been shaken as with dynamite +by the bottle, and the glass chinked against +his teeth. Every two or three years, when he felt +himself toppling over like a tree half sawn through, +Alere packed his carpet-bag, and ran down to Coombe +Oaks. When the rats began to run up the wall as +he sat at work in broad daylight, Alere put his slippers +into his carpet-bag and looked out some collars.</p> + +<p>In London he never wore a collar, only a bright +red scarf round his neck; the company he kept +would have shunned him—they would have looked +him up and down disdainfully:—"Got a collar on—had +no breakfast." They would have scornfully +regarded him as no better than a City clerk, the +class above all others scorned by those who use +tools.</p> + +<p>"Got a collar on—had no breakfast." The City +clerk, playing the Masher on thirty shillings a +week, goes without food to appear the gentleman.</p> + +<p>Alere, the artist, drank with the men who used +hammer, and file, or set up type—a godless set, ye +gods, how godless, these setters up of type at four +o'clock in the morning; oysters and stout at 4 a.m.; +special taverns they must have open for them—open<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_204" id="Page_204">[204]</a></span> +before Aurora gleams in the east—Oh! Fleet +Street, Fleet Street, what a place it is!</p> + +<p>By no possible means could Alere work himself +into a dress-coat.</p> + +<p>Could he have followed the celebrated advice—"You +put on a dress-coat and go into society"—he +would soon have become a name, a fame, a taker +of big fees, a maker of ten thousand yearly.</p> + +<p>To a man who could draw like Alere, possessed, +too, of the still rarer talent—the taste to see what +to draw—there really is no limit in our days; for +as for colour, you do not require a genius for colour +in an age of dinginess—why, the point, nowadays, +is to avoid colour, and in a whole Academy you +shall scarcely find as much as would tint a stick of +sealing-wax.</p> + +<p>"You put on a black coat and go into society"—that +is the secret of commissions, and commissions +are fortune. Nothing so clever in the way of +advice has been sent forth as that remark. The +great Tichborne said something about folk that had +money and no brains, and folk that had brains but +no money; and they as has no brains ought to be +so managed as to supply money to those who had. +But even the greatness of the great Tichborne's +observation falls into insignificance before Chesterfield +in one sentence: "Put on a black coat and go +into society."</p> + +<p>What are the sayings of the seven wise men of +Greece compared to <i>that</i>?</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_205" id="Page_205">[205]</a></span></p> +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 500px;"> +<img src="images/i-057.png" width="500" height="84" alt="decoration" title="" /> +</div> + + + +<h2>CHAPTER XXVII.</h2> + + +<div class="figleft" style="width: 120px;"> +<img src="images/b.png" width="120" height="122" alt="B" title="" /> +</div><div class='unindent'>Y no possible means could Alere Flamma +work himself into a dress coat. +The clubs, the houses of the great, the +mutual admiration dinners—those great +institutions of the day—were all closed +to him because of the Dress Coat.</div> + +<p>If he had really desired to enter, of course he +would have squeezed into the evening monkey-skin +somehow; but, in truth, Alere did not want to enter.</p> + +<p>Inside he might have finished a portrait a month +at a thousand guineas—twelve portraits per annum +equals twelve thousand guineas a year; you see I +am looking up the multiplication table, preparatory +to going into the tallow trade.</p> + +<p>What he actually did was to make designs for +book-covers—magnificent book-covers that will one +day fetch their weight in bank-notes—manipulating +a good deal of it himself—"tooling"—for the +libraries of noble connoisseurs. They were equal +to anything ever done in Paris.</p> + +<p>For a week's work—say half-an-hour a day—he +got perhaps about ten pounds. With the ten<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_206" id="Page_206">[206]</a></span> +pounds he was satisfied—ten pounds represents a +good deal of brandy, or stout, or even wine, about +as much as one man can manage at a bout; besides +tobacco, the gallery at the theatre, and innumerable +trifles of that kind. Ten pounds represents a good +deal of street life.</p> + +<p>Sometimes he drew—and engraved—illustrations +for books, being as clever with the engraver's tools +as with the pencil; sometimes he cut out those +odd, fantastic "initials," "ornaments," "finials," +which are now so commonly seen in publications, +catching the classical grotesque of the Renaissance +to perfection, and deceiving the experienced; sometimes +he worked in the press-room in the House of +Flamma, Fleet Street, pulling artists' proofs, or +printing expensively illustrated volumes—numbered, +and the plates destroyed—actual manual work, in +his shirt sleeves.</p> + +<p>He could stop when he liked and take a swig of +stout. That was the Alere style.</p> + +<p>Smoking was forbidden in the old House of +Flamma because of the worm-eaten beams, the +worm-eaten rafters and staircase, the dusty, decayed +bookshelves, the dry, rotten planks of the floor, the +thin wooden partitions, all ready to catch fire at +the mere sight of a match. Also because of the +piles of mouldy books which choked the place, and +looked fit for nothing but a bonfire, but which were +worth thousands of pounds; the plates and lithographic +stones, artists' proofs, divers and sundry +Old Masters in a room upstairs, all easily destructible.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_207" id="Page_207">[207]</a></span></p> + +<p>But Alere, being a son of the house, though not +in command, did not choose to be amenable to rules +and orders in fact, in fiction he was. He smoked +and kept the glue-pot ready on the stove; if a +certain step was known to be approaching the +pipe was thrust out of sight, and some dry glue set +melting, the powerful incense quite hiding the +flavour of tobacco. A good deal of dry glue is +used in London in this way.</p> + +<p>If I could but write the inside history of Fleet +Street, I should be looked upon as the most wonderful +exponent of human life that had ever touched +a pen. Balzac—whom everybody talks of and +nobody has read, because the discrimination of +Paternoster Row has refused him a translation till +quite lately—Zola, who professes to be realistic, +who is nothing if not realistic, but whose writings +are so curiously crude and merely skim the surface; +even the great Hugo, who produced the masterpiece +of all fiction, <i>Les Misérables</i>; all three of +them, the entire host of manuscript-makers, I am +sure I could vanquish them all, if I could only +write the inside life of Fleet Street.</p> + +<p>Not in any grace of style or sweeping march of +diction, but just pencil-jotted in the roughest words +to hand, just as rich and poor, well-dressed ladies +and next-door beggars are bundled into a train, so, +without choice of language, but hustling the first +words anyhow, as it were, into the first compartment. +If I could only get Alere to tell me all he had +seen in Fleet Street, and could just jot it down on the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_208" id="Page_208">[208]</a></span> +margin of a stained newspaper, all the world would +laugh and weep. For such things do go on in Fleet +Street as no man has written yet.</p> + +<p>If only Victor Hugo were alive and young again!</p> + +<p>Alere liked pulling off the proofs in his shirt-sleeves, +swigging his stout, smoking on the sly, +working with all the genius of an inspired mechanic +one moment and dropping into absolute idleness the +next, spending infinite pains in finishing one bit of +work, as if his very life depended on the smoothing +of an edge of paper, putting off the next till the +end of the month, pottering, sleeping, gossiping, +dreaming over old German works, and especially +dreaming over Goethe, humming old German +songs—for he had been a great traveller—sometimes +scrawling a furious Mazzinian onslaught in a +semi-Nihilist foreign print, collecting stray engravings, +wandering hither and thither.</p> + +<p>Alere Flamma, artist, engraver, bookbinder, connoisseur, +traveller, printer, Republican, conspirator, +sot, smoker, dreamer, poet, kind-hearted, good-natured, +prodigal, shiftless, man of Fleet Street, +carpet-bag man, gentleman shaken to pieces.</p> + +<p>He worked in his shirt-sleeves and drank stout, +but nothing vulgar had ever been recorded against +Alere Flamma. He frequented strong company—very +strong meat—but no vile word left his +lips.</p> + +<p>There was a delicacy in all his ways in the midst +of the coarsest surroundings, just as he appeared in +the press-room among the printer's ink in the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_209" id="Page_209">[209]</a></span> +whitest of clean shirt-sleeves, fit to wear with the +abhorred dress-coat.</p> + +<p>In his rooms at his lodgings there were literally +hundreds of sketches, done on all sorts and sizes of +paper, from the inside of an envelope hastily torn +open to elephant. The bureau was full of them, +crammed in anyhow, neither sorted nor arranged; +nothing, of course, could be found if it was wanted. +The drawers of the bookcase—it was his own furniture—were +full of them; the writing-table drawer; +a box in one corner; some were on the mantelpiece +smoked and gritty; some inside his books, most of +which were interleaved in this manner; literally +hundreds of sketches, the subjects as numerous and +varied.</p> + +<p>Views in English country lanes, views on the +Danube, bands playing in band-loving Vienna, old +Highgate Archway, studies from Canterbury Cathedral, +statuary in the Louvre, ships battling with +the north wind in the North Sea—a savage fight +between sail and gale—horses in the meadow, an +aged butler, a boy whipping a top, charcoal-burners +in the Black Forest, studies from the nude—Parisian +models, Jewesses, almost life-size, a drayman +heaving up a huge tankard, overshadowing his face +like Mount Atlas turned over his thumb, designs +to illustrate classical mythology, outlines expressing +the ideas of Goethe—outlines of Marguerite and +Faust among the roses—"He loves me; he loves +me not," big-armed Flemish beauties with breasts +as broad as the Zuyder-Zee was deep in the song,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_210" id="Page_210">[210]</a></span> +roofs of Nuremberg, revolutionary heroes charging +their muskets in the famous year '48, when Alere +had a bullet through his hat, in Vienna, I think; +no end to them.</p> + +<p>Sometimes when Alere had done no work for a +month or two, and his ten pounds were spent, if he +wanted a few guineas he would take a small selection +of these round to the office of a certain illustrated +paper; the Editor would choose, and hand +over the money at once, well aware that it was +ready money his friend needed. They were not +exactly friends—there are no friends in London, +only acquaintances—but a little chummy, because +the Editor himself had had a fiery youth, and they +had met in sunny Wien. That was the only paper +that ever got sketches out of Alere.</p> + +<p>If only Alere would have gone and sketched what +he was <i>asked</i> to sketch! Ah! there is the difference; +he could not do it, his nature would not +let him; he could draw what he saw with his own +eyes, but not what other people wanted him to see. +A merry income he might have made if he would +only have consented to see what other eyes—common, +vulgar eyes—wanted to see, and which he +could so easily have drawn for them.</p> + +<p>Out of these piles of varied sketches there were +two kinds the Editor instantly snapped at: the one +was wild flowers, the other little landscape bits.</p> + +<p>Wild flowers were his passion. They were to +Flamma as Juliet to Romeo. Romeo's love, indeed, +rushed up like straw on fire, a great blaze of<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_211" id="Page_211">[211]</a></span> +flame; he perished in it as the straw; perhaps +he might not have worshipped Juliet next year. +Flamma had loved his wild flowers close upon forty +years, ever since he could remember; most likely +longer, for doubtless the dumb infant loved the +daisies put in his chubby hand.</p> + +<p>His passion they were still as he drew near fifty, +and saw all things become commonplace. That is +the saddest of thoughts—as we grow older the +romance fades, and all things become commonplace.</p> + +<p>Half our lives are spent in wishing for to-morrow, +the other half in wishing for yesterday.</p> + +<p>Wild flowers alone never become commonplace. +The white wood-sorrel at the foot of the oak, the +violet in the hedge of the vale, the thyme on the +wind-swept downs, they were as fresh this year as +last, as dear to-day as twenty years since, even +dearer, for they grow now, as it were, in the earth +we have made for them of our hopes, our prayers, +our emotions, our thoughts.</p> + +<p>Sketch-book upon sketch-book in Alere's room +was full of wild flowers, drawn as he had found +them in the lanes and woods at Coombe Oaks—by +the footpaths, by the lake and the lesser ponds, on +the hills—as he had found them, not formed into +an artificial design, not torn up by the roots, or +cut and posed for the occasion—exactly as they +were when his eye caught sight of them. A difficult +thing to do, but Alere did it.</p> + +<p>In printing engravings of flowers the illustrated<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_212" id="Page_212">[212]</a></span> +magazines usually make one of two mistakes; either +the flower is printed without any surroundings or +background, and looks thin, quite without interest, +however cleverly drawn, or else it is presented +with a heavy black pall of ink which dabs it out +altogether.</p> + +<p>These flowers the Editor bought eagerly, and the +little landscapes. From a stile, beside a rick, +through a gap in a hedge, odd, unexpected places, +Alere caught views of the lake, the vale, the wood, +groups of trees, old houses, and got them in his +magical way on a few square inches of paper. They +were very valuable for book illustration. They +were absolutely true to nature and fact.</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 192px;"> +<img src="images/i-052.png" width="192" height="150" alt="decoration" title="" /> +</div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_213" id="Page_213">[213]</a></span></p> +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 500px;"> +<img src="images/i-051.png" width="500" height="88" alt="decoration" title="" /> +</div> + + + +<h2>CHAPTER XXVIII.</h2> + + +<div class="figleft" style="width: 117px;"> +<img src="images/p.png" width="117" height="120" alt="P" title="" /> +</div><div class='unindent'>ERHAPS the reason Alere never took +to colours was because of his inherent +and unswerving truthfulness of character. +Genuine to a degree, he could +not make believe—could not deceive—could +not masquerade in a dress-coat.</div> + +<p>Now, most of the landscape-painting in vogue +to-day is nature in a dress-coat.</p> + +<p>In a whole saloon of water colours, in a whole +Academy, or Grosvenor Gallery you shall hardly +find three works that represent any real scene in +the fields.</p> + +<p>I have walked about the fields a good deal in my +brief, fretful hour, yet I have never seen anything +resembling the strange apparitions that are hung +on these walls every spring. Apparitions—optical +illusions, lit up with watery, greenish, ghastly, +ghost-light—nothing like them on earth I swear, +and I suspect not in Heaven or Hades.</p> + +<p>Touched-up designs: a tree taken from one place, +a brook from another, a house from another—<i>and +mixed to order</i>, like a prescription by the chemist—xv.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_214" id="Page_214">[214]</a></span> +grs. grass, 3 dr. stile, iiij. grs. rustic bridge. +Nature never plants—nature is no gardener—no +design, no proportion in the fields.</p> + +<p>Colours! Passing a gasworks perhaps you may +have noticed that the surface of the water in the +ditch by the roadside bears a greenish scum, a pale +prismatic scum; this is the colour-box of modern +landscape.</p> + +<p>How horrible the fields would look if they wore +such hues in reality as are accepted on canvas at +the galleries! Imagine these canvas tints transferred +to the sward, the woods, the hills, the +streams, the sky! <i>Dies iræ, dies illæ</i>—it would, +indeed, be an awful day, the Last Day of Doom, +and we should need the curtain at Drury Lane +drawn before our eyes to shut it out of sight.</p> + +<p>There are some who can go near to paint dogs +and horses, but a meadow of mowing grass, not one +of them can paint that.</p> + +<p>Many can <i>draw</i> nature—drawings are infinitely +superior generally to the painting that follows; +scarce one now paints real nature.</p> + +<p>Alere could not squeeze his sketches into the +dress-coat of sham colour for any sacred exhibition +wall whatever.</p> + +<p>One thing Alere never attempted to draw—a +bird in flight. He recognized that it was impossible; +his taste rejected every conventional attitude +that has been used for the purpose; the descending +pigeon, the Japanese skewered birds, the swallow +skimming as heavily as a pillow. You cannot draw<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_215" id="Page_215">[215]</a></span> +a bird in flight. Swallows are attempted oftenest, +and done worst of all.</p> + +<p>How can you draw life itself? What is life? you +cannot even define it. The swallow's wing has the +motion of life—its tremble—its wonderful delicacy +of vibration—the instant change—the slip of the +air;—no man will ever be able to draw a flying +swallow.</p> + +<p>At the feet of this Gamaliel of Fleet Street, Amaryllis +had sat much, from time to time, when the +carpet-bag was packed and Alere withdrew to his +Baden-Baden—<i>i.e.</i>, to Coombe Oaks and apple-bloom, +singing finch, and wild-flowers.</p> + +<p>There were no "properties" in Alere's room at +his lodgings; no odd bits collected during his +wanderings to come in useful some day as make-up, +realistic rock work, as it were, in the picture. No +gauntlets or breast-plates, scraps of old iron; no +Turkish guns or yataghans, no stags' horns, china, +or carvings to be copied some day into an illustration. +No "properties."</p> + +<p>No studio effects. The plaster bust that strikes +the key and tones the visitors' mind to "Art," the +etchings, the wall or panel decorations, the sliding +curtains, the easels in the corner, the great portfolios—the +well-known "effects" were absent.</p> + +<p>A plain room, not even with a north light, plain +old furniture, but not very old—not ostensibly +ancient, somewhere about 1790 say—and this inherited +and not purchased; Flamma cared not one +atom for furniture, itself, old or new; dusty books<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_216" id="Page_216">[216]</a></span> +everywhere, under the table, on the mantelpiece, +beside the coal scuttle; heaps on chairs, quartos on +the sofa, crowds more in his bedroom, besides the +two bookcases and drawers; odd books most of +them, Cornelius Agrippa, <i>Le Petit Albert</i>, French +illustrated works, editions of Faust, music, for +Flamma was fond of his many-keyed flute.</p> + +<p>Great people once now and then called and asked +to see Alere Flamma at the business place in Fleet +Street; people with titles, curiously out of place, +in the press-room, gold leaf on the floor, odour of +printer's ink, dull blows of machinery, rotten planking, +partitions pasted over with illustrations and +stained with beer, the old place trembling as the +engine worked; Flamma, in his shirt-sleeves, talking +to "His Excellency."</p> + +<p>Flamma's opinion, information he could give, +things he knew; abroad they thought much of him.</p> + +<p>Presents came occasionally—a boar's head from +Germany; fine Havana cigars—Alere always had a +supply of the best cigars and Turkish tobacco, a +perennial stream of tobacco ran for him; English +venison; once a curious dagger from Italy, the +strangest present good-natured Alere could possibly +have received!</p> + +<p>Sometimes there came a pressing invitation from +a noble connoisseur to his country seat; Flamma's +views were wanted about the re-arrangement of +the library, the re-binding of some treasure picked +up in a cover all too poor for its value, the building +of another wing, for the artist is the true architect,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_217" id="Page_217">[217]</a></span> +as the princes of Italy knew of old time. Till +the artist is called in we shall never again see real +architecture in the world. Did not Benvenuto +design fortifications? Did not Michael Angelo +build St. Peter's at Rome?</p> + +<p>If my lord duke wants a palace he cannot have +it till he calls in the artist, the Alere Flamma, +to draw it for him; if my lord bishop needs a +cathedral he cannot have it till he calls in the poet-draughtsman, +till he goes to Alere Flamma.</p> + +<p>Our so-called architects are mere surveyors, +engineers, educated bricklayers, men of hard straight +ruler and square, mathematically accurate, and +utterly devoid of feeling.</p> + +<p>The princes of Italy knew better—they called in +the poet and the painter, the dreamers to dream for +them.</p> + +<p>You call in your "practical" architect, and he +builds you a brick box; not for a hundred thousand +pounds in fees could he build you a palace or a +cathedral.</p> + +<p>The most ignorant of men are the "practical" +people. It is meet and fitting that they should be +worshipped and set on high. The calf worshipped +of old was at least golden, and these are of lead.</p> + +<p>But Alere could not go; he would do anything +he was asked in this way; he would take infinite +pains to please, but he could not leave Fleet Street +for any mansion.</p> + +<p>When a man once gets into Fleet Street he +cannot get out.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_218" id="Page_218">[218]</a></span></p> + +<p>Conventionally, I suppose, it would be the right +thing to represent Alere as a great genius neglected, +or as a genius destroyed by intemperance. The +conventional type is so easy—so accepted—so +popular; it would pay better, perhaps, to make +him out a victim in some way.</p> + +<p>He was not neglected, neither was he the victim +of intemperance in the usual sense.</p> + +<p>The way to fame and fortune had always been +wide open to him; there were long intervals when +he did not drink, nor did drink enfeeble his touch; +it was not half so much to struggle against as the +chest diseases from which professional men so often +suffer; I believe if he had really tried or wished he +could have conquered his vice altogether. Neither +of these causes kept him from the foremost rank.</p> + +<p>There was no ambition, and there was no business-avarice. +So many who have no ideal are kept hard +at work by the sheer desire of money, and thus +spurred onward, achieve something approaching +greatness. Alere did not care for money.</p> + +<p>He could not get out of Fleet Street. Ten +pounds was a large sum in the company he frequented; +he did not want any more.</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 62px;"> +<img src="images/i-019.png" width="62" height="62" alt="decoration" title="" /> +</div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_219" id="Page_219">[219]</a></span></p> +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 500px;"> +<img src="images/i-036.png" width="500" height="91" alt="decoration" title="" /> +</div> + + +<h2>CHAPTER XXIX.</h2> + + +<div class="figleft" style="width: 120px;"> +<img src="images/s.png" width="120" height="120" alt="S" title="" /> +</div><div class='unindent'>OMETHING in Fleet Street holds tight +those who once come within its influence. +The cerebellum of the world, +the "grey matter" of the world's +brain, lies somewhere thereabouts. The +thoughts of our time issue thence, like the radiating +spokes of a wheel, to all places of the earth. There +you have touch of the throbbing pulse of the vast +multitudes that live and breathe. Their ideas +come from Fleet Street.</div> + +<p>From the printing-press and the engraver's +wood-block, the lithographic-stone, the etcher's +plate, from book and magazine, periodical and +pamphlet, from world-read newspaper.</p> + +<p>From Fleet Street, the centre whence ideas flow +outwards.</p> + +<p>It is joyous to be in the flower-grown meads; it +is sweet to be on the hill-top; delicious to feel the +swell and the long roll of the hexameter of the +seas; doubtless there is a wild rapture on the summit +of the Himalayas; triumph in the heart of the +African explorer at the river's source. But if once<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_220" id="Page_220">[220]</a></span> +the mind has been dipped in Fleet Street, let the +meads be never so sweet, the mountain-top never so +exalted, still to Fleet Street the mind will return, +because there is that other Mind, without whose +sympathy even success is nothing—the Mind of +the world.</p> + +<p>I am, of course, thinking not only of the thoroughfare, +Fleet Street, but of all that the printing-press +means.</p> + +<p>Alere was no leader of thought, but it was necessary +to him to live and breathe in the atmosphere +of thought—to feel the throb and swell around him—to +be near the "grey matter" of the world's +brain.</p> + +<p>Once a man gets into Fleet Street he cannot get +out. Flamma would not leave it for months of +gilded idleness in any nobleman's mansion.</p> + +<p>The flame must be fed. His name had some +connection with the design of the Roman lamp on +the splendid bindings of the books tooled in the +House of Flamma. <i>Alere Flammam</i>—feed the flame. +The flame of the mind must be fed.</p> + +<p>Sad things happen on the stones of Fleet Street; +if I could but get at it all to write the inside life of +it, it would, indeed, be a book. Stone-cold poverty +hovers about. The rich, living in the fool's paradise +of money, think they know life, but they do not, +for, as was said of the sea——</p> + +<div class='poem'> +Only those who share its dangers<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">Comprehend its mystery.</span><br /> +</div> + +<p>Only those who have shared the struggle literally<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_221" id="Page_221">[221]</a></span> +for bread—for a real, actual loaf—understand the +dread realities of man's existence.</p> + +<p>Let but a morsel of wood—a little splinter of +deal, a curl of carpenter's shaving—lie in Fleet +Street, and it draws to it the wretched human beasts +as surely as the offal draws the beast of the desert +to the camp. A morsel of wood in the streets that +are paved with gold!</p> + +<p>It is so valuable. Women snatch it up and roll +it in their aprons, clasping it tightly, lest it should +somehow disappear. Prowling about from street +to street, mile after mile, they fill their aprons with +these precious splinters of deal, for to those who +are poor fuel is as life itself.</p> + +<p>Even the wealthy, if they have once been ill, +especially of blood-thinning diseases (as rheumatism), +sometimes say they would rather go without +food than coal. Rather emptiness than chill.</p> + +<p>These women know where there are hoardings +erected by builders, where shop-fronts are being +rebuilt, where fires have taken place, where +alterations are proceeding; they know them as +the birds know the places where they are likely +to find food, and visit them day by day for the +scraps of wood and splinters that drop on the +pavement.</p> + +<p>Or they send their children, ragged urchins, +battling for a knot of pine-wood.</p> + +<p>The terror of frost to these creatures is great +indeed. Frost is the King of Terrors to them—not +Death; they sleep and live with death constantly,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_222" id="Page_222">[222]</a></span> +the dead frequently in the room with the living, +and with the unborn that is near birth.</p> + +<p>Alere's ten pounds helped them. The drunkard's +wife knew that Flamma, the drinker, would certainly +give her the silver in his pocket.</p> + +<p>The ragged urchins, battling for a knot of pine-wood, +knew that they could charm the pennies and +the threepenny bits out of his waistcoat; the baked +potatoes and the roasted chestnuts looked so nice +on the street stove.</p> + +<p>Wretched girls whose power of tempting had +gone, and with it their means of subsistence, +begged, and not in vain, of shaky Alere Flamma. +There are many of these wretches in Fleet Street. +There is no romance about them to attract the +charity of the world.</p> + +<p>Once a flower-girl, selling flowers without a +licence in the street, was charged by the police. +How this harshness to the flower-girl—the human +representation of Flora—roused up sentiment in +her behalf!</p> + +<p>But not every starving girl has the fortune to +rouse up sentiment and to be fed. Their faces disfigured +with eruptions, their thin shoulders, their +dry, disordered hair—hair never looks nice unless +soft with its natural oil—their dingy complexions, +their threadbare shawls, tempt no one. They cannot +please, therefore they must starve.</p> + +<p>The good turn from them with horror—Are they +not sin made manifest? The trembling hand of +Alere fed them.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_223" id="Page_223">[223]</a></span></p> + +<p>Because the boys bawl do you suppose they are +happy? It is curious that people should associate +noise with a full stomach. The shoeblack boys, +the boys that are gathered into institutions and +training ships, are expected to bawl and shout +their loudest at the annual fêtes when visitors +are present. Your bishops and deans forthwith +feel assured that their lives are consequently +joyous.</p> + +<p>Why then do they set fire to training ships? +Why do they break out of reformatory institutions? +Bawling is not necessarily happiness. Yet fatuous +fools are content if only they can hear a good uproar +of bawling.</p> + +<p>I have never walked up Fleet Street and the +Strand yet without seeing a starving woman and +child. The children are indeed dreadful; they run +unguarded and unwatched out of the side courts +into the broader and more lively Strand—the ceaseless +world pushes past—they play on the pavement +unregarded. Hatless, shoeless, bound about with +rags, their faces white and scarred with nameless +disease, their eyes bleared, their hair dirty; little +things, such as in happy homes are sometimes set +on the table to see how they look.</p> + +<p>How <i>can</i> people pass without seeing them?</p> + +<p>Alere saw them, and his hand went to his waistcoat +pocket.</p> + +<p>The rich folk round about this great Babylon of +Misery, where cruel Want sits on the Seven Hills—make +a cartoon of that!—the rich folk who<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_224" id="Page_224">[224]</a></span> +receive hundreds on the turn of a stock, who go to +the Bank of England on dividend days—how easily +the well-oiled doors swing open for them!—who +dwell in ease and luxury at Sydenham, at Norwood, +at Surbiton, at Streatham, at Brighton, at Seven-oaks, +wherever there is pure air, have distinguished +themselves lately in the giving of alms, ordained +by the Lord whom they kneel before each Sunday, +clad in silk, scarlet, and fine linen, in their cushioned +pews.</p> + +<p>They have established Homes for Lost Dogs +and Homes for Lost Cats, neither of which are such +nuisances as human beings.</p> + +<p>In the dog institution they have set up an apparatus +specially designed by one of the leading +scientific men of the age. The dogs that are not +claimed in a certain time, or that have become +diseased—like the human nuisances—are put into +this apparatus, into a comfortable sort of chamber, +to gnaw their last bone. By-and-by, a scientific +vapour enters the chamber, and breathing this, the +animal falls calmly to death, painlessly poisoned in +peace.</p> + +<p>Seven thousand dogs were thus happily chloroformed +"into eternity" in one season. Jubilant +congratulations were exchanged at the success of +the apparatus. Better than shooting, drowning, +hanging, vivisection, or starvation!</p> + +<p>Let a dog die in peace. Is not this an age of +humanity indeed? To sell all you have and give +to the poor was nothing compared to this. We<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_225" id="Page_225">[225]</a></span> +have progressed since Anno Domini I. We know +better how to do it now.</p> + +<p>Alere did not seem to trouble himself much +about the dogs; he saw so much of the human +nuisances.</p> + +<p>What a capital idea it would be to set up an apparatus +like this in the workhouses and in conjunction +with the hospitals!</p> + +<p>Do you know, thoughtless, happy maiden, singing +all the day, that one out of every five people +who die in London, die in the workhouse or the +hospital?</p> + +<p>Eighty-two thousand people died in London in +1882, and of these, fourteen thousand expired in +the workhouses, and six thousand in hospitals!</p> + +<p>Are not these ghastly figures? By just setting +up a few Apparatuses, see what an immense amount +of suffering would be saved, and consider what a +multitude of human nuisances would he "moved +on!"</p> + +<p>The poor have a saying that none live long after +they have been in a certain hospital. "He's been +in that hospital—he won't live long." They carry +out such wonderful operations there—human vivisections, +but strictly painless, of course, under +chloroform—true Christian chopping-up—still the +folk do not live long when they come out.</p> + +<p>Why not set up the Apparatus? But a man +must not die in peace. Starvation is for human +nuisances.</p> + +<p>These rich folk dwelling round about the great<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_226" id="Page_226">[226]</a></span> +Babylon of Misery, where Want sits on the Seven +Hills, have also distinguished themselves by yet +another invention. This is the organization of +alms. Charity is so holy we will not leave it to +chance—to the stray penny—we will organize it. +The system is very simple: it is done by ticket. +First you subscribe a few shillings to some organization, +with its secretary, its clerks, its offices, +board-room, and "machinery." For this you receive +tickets.</p> + +<p>If a disagreeable woman with a baby in her arms, +or a ragged boy, or a maimed man asks you for a +"copper," you hand him a ticket. This saves +trouble and responsibility.</p> + +<p>The beggar can take the ticket to the "office" +and get his case "investigated." After an inquiry, +and an adjournment for a week; another inquiry, +and another adjournment for a week; a third inquiry, +and a third adjournment, then, if he be of +high moral character and highly recommended, he +may get his dinner.</p> + +<p>One great advantage is conspicuous in this system: +by no possible means can you risk giving a +penny to a man not of high moral character, though +he be perishing of starvation.</p> + +<p>If a man asks for bread, will ye give him a stone? +Certainly not; give him a ticket.</p> + +<p>They did not understand how to do things in +Judea Anno Domini I.</p> + +<p>This organization of charity saves such a lot of +money: where people used to give away five pounds +they now pay five shillings.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_227" id="Page_227">[227]</a></span></p> + +<p>Nothing like saving money. And, besides, you +walk about with a clear conscience. No matter +how many maimed men, or disagreeable women, or +ragged boys you see, you can stroll on comfortably +and never think about them; your charity is organized.</p> + +<p>If the German thinkers had not found out twenty +years ago that there was no Devil, one would be +inclined to ascribe this spurious, lying, false, and +abominable mockery to the direct instigation of a +Satan.</p> + +<p>The organization of charity! The very nature +of charity is spontaneousness.</p> + +<p>You should have heard Alere lash out about this +business; he called it charity suppression.</p> + +<p>Have you ever seen London in the early winter +morning, when the frost lies along the kerb, just +melting as the fires are lit; cold, grey, bitter, stony +London?</p> + +<p>Whatever <i>can</i> morning seem like to the starved +and chilly wretches who have slept on the floor, and +wake up to frost in Fleet Street?</p> + +<p>The pavements are covered with expectoration, +indicating the chest diseases and misery that thousands +are enduring. But I must not write too +plainly; it would offend.</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 150px;"> +<img src="images/i-020.png" width="150" height="43" alt="decoration" title="" /> +</div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_228" id="Page_228">[228]</a></span></p> +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 500px;"> +<img src="images/i-053.png" width="500" height="85" alt="decoration" title="" /> +</div> + + +<h2>CHAPTER XXX.</h2> + + +<div class="figleft" style="width: 120px;"> +<img src="images/a.png" width="120" height="120" alt="A" title="" /> +</div><div class='unindent'> PRINTER in the office crawled under +the bed of the machine to replace something—a +nut that had dropped; it was +not known that he was there; the +crank came round and crushed him +against the brickwork. The embrace of iron is death.</div> + +<p>Alere fed his helpless children, and apprenticed +them when they were old enough.</p> + +<p>Ten pounds was enough for him—without ambition, +and without business-avarice; ten pounds +was enough for his Fleet Street life.</p> + +<p>It was not only the actual money he gave away, +but the kindness of the man. Have you ever +noticed the boys who work in printing-offices?—their +elbows seem so sharp and pointed, bony, and +without flesh. Instead of the shirt-sleeve being +turned up, it looks as if the pointed elbow had +thrust its way through.</p> + +<p>He always had something for them;—a plate of +beef, soup, beer to be shared, apples, baked potatoes, +now and then half-a-dozen mild cigars. Awful +this, was it not? Printers' boys <i>will</i> smoke; they<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_229" id="Page_229">[229]</a></span> +had better have Flamma's fine tobacco than the vile +imitation they buy.</p> + +<p>They always had a tale for him; either their +mothers, or sisters, or some one was in trouble; +Flamma was certain to do something, however little +might be within his power. At least he went to +see.</p> + +<p>Had a man an income of a million he could not +relieve the want of London; the wretch relieved to-day +needs again to-morrow. But Alere went to see.</p> + +<p>Ten pounds did much in the shaky hands of a +man without ambition, and without business-avarice, +who went to see the unfortunate.</p> + +<p>His own palsied mother, at the verge of life, +looked to Alere for all that the son can do for the +parent. Other sons seemed more capable of such +duty; yet it invariably fell upon Alere. He was +the Man. And for those little luxuries and comforts +that soothe the dull hours of trembling age she +depended entirely upon him.</p> + +<p>So you see the ten-pound notes that satisfied +him were not all spent in drink.</p> + +<p>But alas! once now and then the rats began to +run up the wall in broad daylight, and foolish Alere, +wise in this one thing, immediately began to pack +his carpet-bag. He put in his collars, his slippers, +his sketch-books and pencils, some of his engraving +tools, and a few blocks of boxwood, his silver-mounted +flute, and a book for Amaryllis. He +packed his carpet-bag and hastened away to his +Baden-Baden, to Coombe Oaks, his spa among the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_230" id="Page_230">[230]</a></span> +apple-bloom, the song of finches, and rustle of +leaves.</p> + +<p>They sat and talked in the round summer-house in +Iden's garden, with the summer unfolding at their +knees; Amaryllis, Amadis, Iden, and Flamma.</p> + +<p>By Flamma's side there stood a great mug of +the Goliath ale, and between his lips there was a +long churchwarden pipe.</p> + +<p>The Goliath ale was his mineral water; his +gaseous, alkaline, chalybeate liquor; better by far +than Kissingen, Homburg, Vichy; better by far +than mud baths and hot springs. There is no +medicine in nature, or made by man, like good ale. +He who drinks ale is strong.</p> + +<p>The bitter principle of the aromatic hops went to +his nervous system, to the much-suffering liver, to +the clogged and weary organs, bracing and stimulating, +urging on, vitalizing anew.</p> + +<p>The spirit drawn from the joyous barley warmed +his heart; a cordial grown on the sunny hill-side, +watered with dew and sweet rain, coloured by the +light, a liquor of sunshine, potable sunbeam.</p> + +<p>Age mingling hops and barley in that just and +equitable proportion, no cunning of hand, no +science can achieve, gave to it the vigour of years, +the full manhood of strength.</p> + +<p>There was in it an alchemic power analysis cannot +define. The chemist analyzes, and he finds of +ten parts, there are this and there are that, and the +residue is "volatile principle," for which all the +dictionaries of science have no explanation.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_231" id="Page_231">[231]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Volatile principle"—there it is, that is the +secret. That is the life of the thing; by no +possible means can you obtain that volatile principle—that +alchemic force—except contained in genuine +old ale.</p> + +<p>Only it must be genuine, and it must be old; +such as Iden brewed.</p> + +<p>The Idens had been famous for ale for generations.</p> + +<p>By degrees Alere's hand grew less shaky; the +glass ceased to chink against his teeth; the strong, +good ale was setting his Fleet Street liver in order.</p> + +<p>You have "liver," you have "dyspepsia," you +have "kidneys," you have "abdominal glands," and +the doctor tells you you must take bitters, <i>i.e.</i>, +quassia, buchu, gentian, cascarilla, calumba; aperients +and diluents, podophyllin, taraxacum, salts; +physic for the nerves and blood, quinine, iron, +phosphorus; this is but the briefest outline of your +draughts and preparations; add to it for various +purposes, liquor arsenicalis, bromide of potassium, +strychnia, belladonna.</p> + +<p>Weary and disappointed, you turn to patent +medicines—American and French patent physic is +very popular now—and find the same things precisely +under taking titles, enormously advertised.</p> + +<p>It is a fact that nine out of ten of the medicines +compounded are intended to produce exactly the +same effects as are caused by a few glasses of good +old ale. The objects are to set the great glands in +motion, to regulate the stomach, brace the nerves, +and act as a tonic and cordial; a little ether put in<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_232" id="Page_232">[232]</a></span> +to aid the digestion of the compound. This is +precisely what good old ale does, and digests itself +very comfortably. Above all things, it contains +the volatile principle, which the prescriptions have +not got.</p> + +<p>Many of the compounds actually are beer, bittered +with quassia instead of hops; made nauseous in +order that you may have faith in them.</p> + +<p>"Throw physic to the dogs," get a cask of the +true Goliath, and "<i>drenk un down to the therd hoop</i>."</p> + +<p>Long before Alere had got to the first hoop the +rats ceased to run up the wall, his hand became less +shaky, he began to play a very good knife and fork +at the bacon and Iden's splendid potatoes; by-and-by +he began to hum old German songs.</p> + +<p>But you may ask, how do <i>you</i> know, you're not a +doctor, you're a mere story-spinner, you're no +authority? I reply that I am in a position to know +much more than a doctor.</p> + +<p>How can that be?</p> + +<p>Because I have been a Patient. It is so much +easier to be a doctor than a patient. The doctor +imagines what his prescriptions are like and what +they will do; he imagines, but the Patient <i>knows</i>.</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 150px;"> +<img src="images/i-021.png" width="150" height="83" alt="decoration" title="" /> +</div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_233" id="Page_233">[233]</a></span></p> +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 500px;"> +<img src="images/i-022.png" width="500" height="82" alt="decoration" title="" /> +</div> + + +<h2>CHAPTER XXXI.</h2> + + +<div class="figleft" style="width: 120px;"> +<img src="images/s.png" width="120" height="120" alt="S" title="" /> +</div><div class='unindent'>OME noble physicians have tried the +effect of drugs upon themselves in +order to advance their art; for this +they have received Gold Medals, and are +alluded to as Benefactors of Mankind.</div> + +<p>I have tried the effects of forty prescriptions +upon My Person. With the various combinations, +patent medicines, and so forth, the total would, I +verily believe, reach eighty drugs.</p> + +<p>Consequently, it is clear I ought to receive eighty +gold medals. I am a Benefactor eighty times multiplied; +the incarnation of virtue; a sort of Buddha, +kiss my knees, ye slaves!</p> + +<p>I have a complaisant feeling as I walk about +that I have thus done more good than any man +living.</p> + +<p>I am still very ill.</p> + +<p>The curious things an invalid is gravely recommended +to try! One day I was sitting in that +great cosmopolitan museum, the waiting-room at +Charing Cross station, wearily glancing from time +to time at the clock, and reckoning how long it<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_234" id="Page_234">[234]</a></span> +would be before I could get home. There is nothing +so utterly tiring to the enfeebled as an interview +with a London physician. So there I sat, huddled +of a heap, quite knocked up, and, I suppose, must +have coughed from time to time. By-and-by, a +tall gentleman came across the room and sat down +beside me. "I hope I don't intrude," said he, in +American accents. "I was obliged to come and +speak to you—you look bad. I <i>hate</i> to hear +anybody cough." He put an emphasis on hate, a +long-drawn nasal <i>haate</i>, hissing it out with unmeasured +ferocity. "I <i>haate</i> to hear anybody +cough. Now I should like to tell you how to cure +it, if you don't mind."</p> + +<p>"By all means—very interesting," I replied.</p> + +<p>"I was bad at home, in the States," said he. +"I was on my back four years with a cough. I +couldn't do anything—couldn't help myself; four +years, and I got down to eighty-seven pounds. +That's a fact, I weighed eighty-seven pounds."</p> + +<p>"Very little," I said, looking him over; he was +tall and broad-shouldered, not very thick, a square-set +man.</p> + +<p>"I tried everything the doctors recommended—it +was no use; they had to give me up. At last a +man cured me; and how do you think he did +it?"</p> + +<p>"Can't think—should much like to know."</p> + +<p>"Crude petroleum," said the American. "That +was it. Crude petroleum! You take it just as it +comes from the wells; not refined, mind. Just<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_235" id="Page_235">[235]</a></span> +crude. Ten drops on a bit of sugar three times a +day, before meals. Taste it? No, not to speak +of; you don't mind it after a little while. I had +in a ten-gallon keg. I got well. I got up to two +hundred and fifty pounds. That's true. I got too +fat, had to check it. But I take the drops still, if +I feel out of sorts. Guess I'm strong enough now. +Been all over Europe."</p> + +<p>I looked at him again; certainly, he did appear +strong enough.</p> + +<p>"But you Britishers won't try anything, I suppose, +from the States, now."</p> + +<p>I hastened to assure him I had no prejudice of +that sort—if it would cure me, it might come from +anywhere.</p> + +<p>"You begin with five drops," he said, solemnly. +"Or three, if you like, and work up to ten. It +soon gets easy to take. You'll soon pick up. But +I doubt if you'll get a keg of the crude oil in +this country; you'll have to send over for it. I +<i>haate</i> to hear anybody cough"—and so we +parted.</p> + +<p>He was so much in earnest, that if I had egged +him on, I verily believe he would have got the keg +for me himself. It seemed laughable at the time; +but I don't laugh now. I almost think that good-natured +American was right; he certainly meant +well.</p> + +<p>Crude petroleum! Could anything be more +nauseous? But probably it acts as a kind of cod-liver +oil. Sometimes I wish I had tried it. Like<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_236" id="Page_236">[236]</a></span> +him, I hate to hear anybody cough! Better take +a ten-gallon keg of petroleum.</p> + +<p>Alere's crude petroleum was the Goliath ale, and +he had hardly begun to approach the first hoop, +when, as I tell you, he was heard to hum old German +songs; it was the volatile principle.</p> + +<p>Songs about the Pope and the Sultan</p> + +<div class='poem'> +But yet he's not a happy man,<br /> +He must obey the Alcoran,<br /> +He dares not touch one drop of wine,<br /> +I'm glad the Sultan's lot's not mine.<br /> +</div> + +<p>Songs about the rat that dwelt in the cellar, and +fed on butter till he raised a paunch that would +have done credit to Luther; songs about a King in +Thule and the cup his mistress gave him, a beautiful +old song that, none like it—</p> + +<div class='poem'> +He saw it fall, he watched it fill,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And sink deep, deep into the main;</span><br /> +Then sorrow o'er his eyelids fell,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">He never drank a drop again.</span><br /> +</div> + +<p>Or his thought slipped back to his school-days, +and beating the seat in the summer-house with his +hand for time, Alere ran on:—</p> + +<div class='poem'> +Horum scorum suntivorum,<br /> +Harum scarum divo,<br /> +Tag-rag, merry derry, perriwig, and a hatband,<br /> +Hic hoc horum genitivo—<br /> +</div> + +<div class='unindent'>To be said in one breath.</div> + +<div class='poem'> +Oh, my Ella—my blue bella,<br /> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_237" id="Page_237">[237]</a></span><span style="margin-left: 1em;">A secula seculorum,</span><br /> +If I have luck, sir, she's my uxor,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">O dies Benedictorum!</span><br /> +</div> + +<div class='unindent'>Or something about:</div> + +<div class='poem'> +Sweet cowslips grace, the nominative case,<br /> +And She's of the feminine gender.<br /> +</div> + +<p>Days of Valpy the Vulture, eating the schoolboy's +heart out, Eton Latin grammar, accidence—do +<i>not</i> pause, traveller, if you see <i>his</i> tomb!</p> + +<p>"Play to me," said Amaryllis, and the Fleet-Street +man put away his pipe, and took up his +flute; he breathed soft and low—an excellent +thing in a musician—delicious airs of Mozart +chiefly.</p> + +<p>The summer unfolded itself at their knees, the +high buttercups of the meadow came to the very +door, the apple-bloom poured itself out before +them; music all of it, music in colour, in light, in +flowers, in song of happy birds. The soothing +flute strung together the flow of their thoughts, +they were very silent, Amaryllis and Amadis Iden—almost +hand in hand—listening to his cunning +lips.</p> + +<p>He ceased, and they were still silent, listening to +their own hearts.</p> + +<p>The starlings flew by every few minutes to their +nests in the thatch of the old house, and out again +to the meadow.</p> + +<p>Alere showed how impossible it was to draw a +bird in flight by the starling's wings. His wings +beat up and down so swiftly that the eye had not<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_238" id="Page_238">[238]</a></span> +time to follow them completely; they formed a burr—an +indistinct flutter; you are supposed to see +the starling flying from you. The lifted tips were +depressed so quickly that the impression of them +in the raised position had not time to fade from the +eye before a fresh impression arrived exhibiting them +depressed to their furthest extent; you thus saw the +wings in both positions, up and down, at once. A +capital letter X may roughly represent his idea; the +upper part answers to the wings lifted, the lower +part to the wings down, and you see both together. +Further, in actual fact, you see the wings in innumerable +other positions between these two extremes; +like the leaves of a book opened with your +thumb quickly—as they do in legerdemain—almost +as you see the spokes of a wheel run together as +they revolve—a sort of burr.</p> + +<p>To produce an image of a starling flying, you +must draw all this.</p> + +<p>The swift feathers are almost liquid; they leave +a streak behind in the air like a meteor.</p> + +<p>Thus the genial Goliath ale renewed the very +blood in Alere's veins.</p> + +<p>Amaryllis saw too that the deadly paleness of +Amadis Iden's cheeks—absolute lack of blood—began +to give way to the faintest colour, little more +than the delicate pink of the apple-bloom, though +he could take hardly a wine-glass of Goliath. If +you threw a wine-glassful of the Goliath on the +hearth it blazed up the chimney in the most lively<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_239" id="Page_239">[239]</a></span> +manner. Fire in it—downright fire! That is the +test.</p> + +<p>Amadis could scarcely venture on a wine-glassful, +yet a faint pink began to steal into his face, and +his white lips grew moist. He drank deeply of +another cup.</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 190px;"> +<img src="images/i-023.png" width="190" height="161" alt="decoration" title="" /> +</div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_240" id="Page_240">[240]</a></span></p> +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 500px;"> +<img src="images/i-024.png" width="500" height="91" alt="decoration" title="" /> +</div> + + +<h2>CHAPTER XXXII.</h2> + + +<div class="figleft" style="width: 119px;"> +<img src="images/l.png" width="119" height="120" alt="L" title="" /> +</div><div class='unindent'>ET me try," said Amadis, taking the +handle of the churn from Jearje. The +butter was obstinate, and would not +come; it was eleven o'clock in the +morning, and still there was the rattle +of milk in the barrel, the sound of a liquid splashing +over and over. By the sounds Mrs. Iden knew +that the fairies were in the churn. Jearje had +been turning for hours.</div> + +<p>Amadis stooped to the iron handle, polished like +silver by Jearje's rough hands—a sort of skin sand-paper—and +with an effort made the heavy blue-painted barrel +revolve on its axis.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Iden, her sleeves up, looked from the dairy +window into the court where the churn stood.</p> + +<p>"Ah, it's no use your trying," she said, "you'll +only tire yourself."</p> + +<p>Jearje, glad to stand upright a minute, said, +"First-rate, measter."</p> + +<p>Amaryllis cried, "Take care; you'd better not, +you'll hurt yourself."</p> + +<p>"Aw!—aw!" laughed Bill Nye, who was sitting<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_241" id="Page_241">[241]</a></span> +on a form by the wall under the dairy window. He +was waiting to see Iden about the mowing. "Aw!—aw! +Look 'ee thur, now!"</p> + +<p>Heavily the blue barrel went round—thrice, four +times, five times; the colour mounted into Amadis's +cheeks, not so much from the labour as the unwonted +stooping; his breath came harder; he +had to desist, and go and sit down on the form +beside Bill Nye.</p> + +<p>"I wish you would not do it," said Amaryllis. +"You know you're not strong yet." She spoke as +if she had been his mother or his nurse, somewhat +masterfully and reproachfully.</p> + +<p>"I'm afraid I'm not," said poor Amadis. His +chin fell and his face lengthened—his eyes grew +larger—his temples pinched; disappointment wrung +at his heart.</p> + +<p>Convalescence is like walking in sacks; a short +waddle and a fall.</p> + +<p>"I can tell 'ee of a vine thing, measter," said +Bill Nye, "as I knows on; you get a pint measure +full of snails——"</p> + +<p>"There, do hold your tongue, it's enough to +make anyone ill to think of," said Amaryllis, angrily, +and Bill was silent as to the cod-liver oil virtues of +snails. Amaryllis went to fetch a glass of milk for +Amadis.</p> + +<p>A robin came into the court, and perching on +the edge of a tub, fluttered his wings, cried "Check, +check," "Anything for me this morning?" and so +put his head on one side, languishing and persuasive.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_242" id="Page_242">[242]</a></span></p> + +<p>"My sister, as was in a decline, used to have +snail-oil rubbed into her back," said Luce, the +maid, who had been standing in the doorway with +a duster.</p> + +<p>"A pretty state of things," cried Mrs. Hen, in a +passion. "You standing there doing nothing, and +it's butter-making morning, and everything behind, +and you idling and talking,"—rushing out from the +dairy, and following Luce, who retreated indoors.</p> + +<p>"Hur'll catch it," said Bill Nye.</p> + +<p>"Missis is ——" said Jearje, supplying the +blank with a wink, and meaning in a temper this +morning. "Missis," like all nervous people, was +always in a fury about nothing when her mind was +intent on an object; in this case, the butter.</p> + +<p>"Here's eleven o'clock," she cried, in the sitting-room, +pointing to the clock, "and the beds ain't +made."</p> + +<p>"I've made the beds," said stolid Luce.</p> + +<p>"And the fire isn't dusted up."</p> + +<p>"I've dusted up the fire."</p> + +<p>"And you're a lazy slut"—pushing Luce about +the room.</p> + +<p>"I bean't a lazy slut."</p> + +<p>"You haven't touched the mantelpiece; give +me the duster!"—snatching it from her.</p> + +<p>"He be done."</p> + +<p>"All you can do is to stand and talk with the +men. There's no water taken up stairs."</p> + +<p>"That there be."</p> + +<p>"You know you ought to be doing something;<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_243" id="Page_243">[243]</a></span> +the lazy lot of people in this house; I never saw +anything like it; there's Mr. Iden's other boots to be +cleaned, and there's the parlour to be swept, and the +path to be weeded, and the things to be taken over +for washing, and the teapot ought to go in to Woolhorton, +you know the lid's loose, and the children +will be here in a minute for the scraps, and your +master will be in to lunch, and there's not a soul to +help me in the least," and so, flinging the duster at +Luce, out she flew into the court, and thence into +the kitchen, where she cut a great slice of bread +and cheese, and drew a quart of ale, and took them +out to Bill Nye.</p> + +<p>"Aw, thank'ee m'm," said Bill, from the very +depth of his chest, and set to work happily.</p> + +<p>Next, she drew a mug for Jearje, who held it +with one hand and sipped, while he turned with +the other; his bread and cheese he ate in like +manner, he could not wait till he had finished the +churning.</p> + +<p>"Verily, man is made up of impatience," said +the angel Gabriel in the Koran, as you no doubt +remember; Adam was made of clay (who was the +sculptor's ghost that modelled him?) and when the +breath of life was breathed into him, he rose on his +arm and began to eat before his lower limbs were +yet vivified. This is a fact. "Verily, man is made +up of impatience." As the angel had never had a +stomach or anything to sit upon, as the French say, +he need not have made so unkind a remark; if he +had had a stomach and a digestion like Bill Nye and<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_244" id="Page_244">[244]</a></span> +Jearje, it is certain he would never have wanted to +be an angel.</p> + +<p>Next, there were four cottage children now in +the court, waiting for scraps.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Iden, bustling to and fro like a whirlwind, +swept the poor little things into the kitchen and +filled two baskets for them with slices of bread and +butter, squares of cheese, a beef bone, half a rabbit, +a dish of cold potatoes, two bottles of beer from the +barrel, odds and ends, and so swept them off again +in a jiffy.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Iden! Mrs. Iden! you ought to be ashamed +of yourself, that is not the way to feed the poor. +What <i>could</i> you be thinking of, you ignorant +farmer's wife!</p> + +<p>You should go to London, Mrs. Iden, and join a +Committee with duchesses and earlesses, and wives +of rich City tradesfolk; much more important +these than the duchesses, they will teach you manners. +They will teach you how to feed the poor +with the help of the Rev. Joseph Speechify, and +the scientific Dr. Amœba Bacillus; Joe has Providence +at his fingers' ends, and guides it in the +right way; Bacillus knows everything to a particle; +with Providence and Science together they <i>must</i> +do it properly.</p> + +<p>The scientific dinner for the poor must be composed +of the principles of food in the right proportion: +(1) Albuminates, (2) Hydro-Carbons, (3) +Carbo-hydrates. Something juicy coming now!</p> + +<p>The scientific dinner consists of haricot beans, or<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_245" id="Page_245">[245]</a></span> +lentil soup, or oatmeal porridge, or vegetable pot-bouilli; +say twopence a quart. They can get all +the proteids out of that, and lift the requisite +foot-tons.</p> + +<p>No wasteful bread and butter, no scandalous +cheese, no abominable beef bone, no wretched rabbit, +no prodigal potatoes, above all, No immoral ale!</p> + +<p>There, Mrs. Iden.</p> + +<p>Go to the famous Henry Ward Beecher, that +shining light and apostle, Mrs. Iden, and read, +mark, learn, and inwardly digest what he says:—</p> + +<p>"A man who cannot live on bread is not fit to +live. A family may live, laugh, love and be happy +that eats bread in the morning with good water, +and water and good bread at noon, and water and +bread at night."</p> + +<p>Does that sound like an echo of the voice that +ceased on the Cross?</p> + +<p>Guilty Mrs Iden, ignorant farmer's wife; hide +your beef and ale, your rabbit and potatoes.</p> + +<p>To duchesses and earlesses, and plump City +ladies riding in carriages, and all such who eat +and drink five times a day, and have six or eight +courses at dinner, doubtless once now and then a +meal of vegetable pot-bouilli, or oatmeal porridge, +or lentil soup (three halfpence a pound lentils), or +haricot beans and water would prove a scientifically +wholesome thing.</p> + +<p>But to those who exist all the week on hunches +of dry bread, and not much of that, oatmeal porridge +doesn't seem to come as a luxury. They would<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_246" id="Page_246">[246]</a></span> +like something juicy; good rumpsteak now, with +plenty of rich gravy, broad slices from legs of +mutton, and foaming mugs of ale. They need something +to put fresh blood and warmth into them.</p> + +<p>You sometimes hear people remark: "How +strange it is—the poor never buy oatmeal, or +lentils!"</p> + +<p>Of course they don't; if by any chance they do +get a shilling to spend, they like a mutton chop. +They have enough of farinaceous fare.</p> + +<p>What Mrs. Iden ought to have done had she +been scientific, was to have given each of these +poor hungry children a nicely printed little pamphlet, +teaching them how to cook.</p> + +<p>Instead of which, she set all their teeth going; +infinitely wicked Mrs. Iden!</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 175px;"> +<img src="images/i-025.png" width="175" height="200" alt="decoration" title="" /> +</div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_247" id="Page_247">[247]</a></span></p> +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 500px;"> +<img src="images/i-039.png" width="500" height="89" alt="decoration" title="" /> +</div> + + +<h2>CHAPTER XXXIII.</h2> + + +<div class="figleft" style="width: 120px;"> +<img src="images/y.png" width="120" height="121" alt="Y" title="" /> +</div><div class='unindent'>OU must drink it all—every drop," +said Amaryllis, masterfully, as Amadis +lingered over the glass of milk she had +brought him. He had but half finished +it; she insisted, "Come, drink it all." +Amadis made an effort, and obeyed.</div> + +<p>But his heart was bitter as absinthe.</p> + +<p>Everyone else was strong, and hardy, and manly; +even the women were manly, they could eat and +drink.</p> + +<p>Rough-headed Jearje, at the churn, ate hard +cheese, and drank ale, and turned the crank at the +same time.</p> + +<p>Round-headed Bill Nye sat on the form, happily +munching cheese, oh so happily! Gabriel (of the +Koran) would never believe how happily, sipping +his tall quart-mug.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Iden bustled to and fro, for all her fifty +years, more energetic than all the hamlet put together.</p> + +<p>Luce, the maid, had worked since six, and would +go on hours longer.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_248" id="Page_248">[248]</a></span></p> + +<p>Alere Flamma was smoking and sipping Goliath +ale in the summer-house; he could eat, and drink, +and walk about as a man should.</p> + +<p>Amaryllis was as strong as a young lioness; he +had seen her turn the heavy cheese-tub round as if +it were a footstool.</p> + +<p>He alone was weak, pale, contemptible; unable +to eat strong meat; unable to drink strong drink; +put down to sip milk as an infant; unable to walk +farther than Plum Corner in the garden; unable to +ride even; a mere shadow, a thing of contempt.</p> + +<p>They told him he was better. There was just a +trifle of pink in his face, and he could walk to Plum +Corner in the garden without clinging to Amaryllis's +arm, or staying to steady himself and get his balance +more than three or four times. He had even ventured +a little way up the meadow-path, but it made +him giddy to stoop to pick a buttercup. They +told him he was better; he could eat a very little +more, and sip a wine-glassful of Goliath.</p> + +<p>Better! What a mockery to a man who could +once row, and ride, and shoot, and walk his thirty +miles, and play his part in any sport you chose! +It was absinthe to him.</p> + +<p>He could not stoop to turn the churn—he had +to sip milk in the presence of strong men drinking +strong drink; to be despised; the very servant-maid +talking of him as in a decline.</p> + +<p>And before Amaryllis; before whom he wished +to appear a man.</p> + +<p>And full of ideas, too; he felt that he had ideas,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_249" id="Page_249">[249]</a></span> +that he could think, yet he could scarce set one +foot safely before the other, not without considering +first and feeling his way.</p> + +<p>Rough-headed Jearje, without a thought, was as +strong as the horses he led in the waggon.</p> + +<p>Round-headed Bill Nye, without an idea, could +mow all day in the heat of July.</p> + +<p>He, with all his ideas, his ambitions, his exalted +hopes, his worship of Amaryllis—he was nothing. +Less than nothing—a shadow.</p> + +<p>To despise oneself is more bitter than absinthe.</p> + +<p>Let us go to Al Hariri once again, and hear what +he says. The speaker has been very, very ill, but +is better:—</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>And he prostrated himself long in prayer: then raised +his head, and said:—</p></div> + +<div class='poem2'> +"Despair not in calamities of a gladdening that shall wipe away thy sorrows;<br /> +For how many a simoom blows, then turns to a gentle breeze, and is changed!<br /> +How many a hateful cloud arises, then passes away, and pours not forth!<br /> +And the smoke of the wood, fear is conceived of it, yet no blaze appears from it;<br /> +And oft sorrow rises, and straightway sets again.<br /> +So be patient when fear assails, for Time is the Father of Wonders;<br /> +And hope from the peace of God blessings not to be reckoned!"<br /> +</div> + +<p>How should such a chant as this enter a young +man's heart who felt himself despicable in the sight +of his mistress?<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_250" id="Page_250">[250]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Should you like a little more?" asked Amaryllis, +in a very gentle tone, now he had obeyed her.</p> + +<p>"I would rather not," said Amadis, still hanging +his head.</p> + +<p>His days were mixed of honey and wormwood; +sweet because of Amaryllis, absinthe because of his +weakness.</p> + +<p>A voice came from the summer-house; Flamma +was shouting an old song, with heavy emphasis +here and there, with big capital letters:—</p> + +<div class='poem'> +The jolly old Sun, where goes he at night?<br /> +And what does he Do, when he's out of Sight?<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">All Insinuation Scorning;</span><br /> +I don't mean to Say that he Tipples apace,<br /> +I only Know he's a very Red Face<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">When he gets up in the Morning!</span><br /> +</div> + +<p>"Haw! Haw! Haw!" laughed Bill Nye, with +his mouth full. "Th' zun do look main red in the +marning, surely."</p> + +<p>They heard the front door open and shut; Iden +had come in for his lunch, and, by the sound of the +footsteps, had brought one of his gossips with +him.</p> + +<p>At this Mrs. Iden began to ruffle up her feathers +for battle.</p> + +<p>Iden came through into the dairy.</p> + +<p>"Now, you ain't wanted here," she said. "Poking +your nose into everything. Wonder you don't +help Luce make the beds and sweep the floor!"</p> + +<p>"Can I help'ee?" said Iden, soothingly. "Want +any wood for the fire—or anything?"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_251" id="Page_251">[251]</a></span></p> + +<p>"As if Luce couldn't fetch the wood—and chop +it, as well as you. Why can't you mind your business? +Here's Bill Nye been waiting these two +hours to see you"—following Iden towards the +sitting-room. "Who have you brought in with +you now? Of course, everybody comes in of a +butter-making morning, just the busiest time! +Oh! it's you! Sit still, Mr. Duck; I don't mind +<i>you</i>. What will you take?"</p> + +<p>More ale and cheese here, too; Iden and Jack +Duck sat in the bow-window and went at their +lunch. So soon as they were settled, out flounced +Mrs. Iden into the dairy: "The lazy lot of people +in this house—I never saw anything like it!"</p> + +<p>It was true.</p> + +<p>There was Alere Flamma singing in the summer-house; +Amadis Iden resting on the form; Amaryllis +standing by him; Bill Nye munching; +Jearje indolently rotating the churn with one hand, +and feeding himself with the other; Luce sitting +down to her lunch in the kitchen; Iden lifting his +mug in the bow-window; Jack Duck with his great +mouth full; eight people—and four little children +trotting down the road with baskets of food.</p> + +<p>"The lazy lot of people in this house; I never +saw anything like it."</p> + +<p>And that was the beauty of the place, the "Let +us not trouble ourselves;" "a handful in Peace and +Quiet" is better than set banquets; crumbs for +everybody, and for the robin too; "God listens to +those who pray to him. Let us eat, and drink, and<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_252" id="Page_252">[252]</a></span> +think of nothing;" believe me, the plain plenty, +and the rest, and peace, and sunshine of an old +farmhouse, there is nothing like it in this world!</p> + +<p>"I never saw anything like it. Nothing done; +nothing done; the morning gone and nothing done; +and the butter's not come yet!"</p> + +<p>Homer is thought much of; now, his heroes are +always eating. They eat all through the Iliad, they +eat at Patroclus' tomb; Ulysses eats a good deal +in the Odyssey: Jupiter eats. They only did at +Coombe-Oaks as was done on Olympus.</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 120px;"> +<img src="images/i-027.png" width="120" height="180" alt="decoration" title="" /> +</div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_253" id="Page_253">[253]</a></span></p> +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 500px;"> +<img src="images/i-057.png" width="500" height="84" alt="decoration" title="" /> +</div> + + +<h2>CHAPTER XXXIV.</h2> + + +<div class="figleft" style="width: 120px;"> +<img src="images/a.png" width="120" height="120" alt="A" title="" /> +</div><div class='unindent'>MARYLLIS went outside the court, +and waited; Amadis rose and followed +her. "Come a little way into the +Brook-Field," she said.</div> + +<p>They left the apple-bloom behind +them, and going down the gravel-path passed the +plum trees—the daffodils there were over now—by +the strawberry patch which Iden had planted under +the parlour window; by the great box-hedge where +a thrush sat on her nest undisturbed, though Amaryllis's +dress brushed the branches; by the espalier +apple, to the little orchard-gate.</p> + +<p>The parlour-window—there are no parlours now, +except in old country houses; there were parlours +in the days of Queen Anne; in the modern villas +they have drawing-rooms.</p> + +<p>The parlour-window hung over with pear-tree +branches, planted beneath with strawberry; white +blossom above, white flower beneath; birds' nests +in the branches of the pear—that was Iden.</p> + +<p>They opened the little orchard-gate which pushed +heavily against the tall meadow-grass growing between<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_254" id="Page_254">[254]</a></span> +the bars. The path was almost gone—grown +out with grass, and as they moved they left a broad +trail behind them.</p> + +<p>Bill Nye the mower, had he seen, would have +muttered to himself; they were trespassing on his +mowing-grass, trampling it, and making it more +difficult to cut.</p> + +<p>Her dress swept over the bennets and shook the +thick-stemmed butter-cups—branched like the +golden candlestick, and with flowers of golden flame. +For the burnished petals reflect the sun, and throw +light back into the air.</p> + +<p>Amadis began to drag behind—he could not +walk much farther; they sat down together on the +trunk of an oak that had been felled by a gateway +close to the horse-chestnut trees Iden had planted. +Even with his back leaning against a limb of the +oak, Amadis had to partly support himself with his +hands.</p> + +<p>What was the use of such a man?—He had +nothing but his absurdly romantic name from Don +Quixote to recommend him.</p> + +<p>That was the very thought that gnawed at poor +Amadis's heart as he sat by her side. What use to +care for him?</p> + +<p>Iden's flag-basket of tools lay by the gate, it was +a new gate, and he had been fitting it before he +went in to lunch. His basket was of flag because +the substance of the flag is soft, and the tools, +chisels, and so on, laid pleasant in it; he must have +everything right. The new gate was of solid oak,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_255" id="Page_255">[255]</a></span> +no "sappy" stuff, real heart of oak, well-seasoned, +without a split, fine, close-grained timber, cut on the +farm, and kept till it was thoroughly fit, genuine +English oak. If you would only consider Iden's +gate you might see there the man.</p> + +<p>This gateway was only between two meadows, +and the ordinary farmer, when the old gate wore +out, would have stopped it with a couple of rails, or +a hurdle or two, something very, very cheap and +rough; at most a gate knocked up by the village +carpenter of ash and willow, at the lowest possible +charge.</p> + +<p>Iden could not find a carpenter good enough to +make <i>his</i> gate in the hamlet; he sent for one ten +miles, and paid him full carpenter's wages. He +was not satisfied then, he watched the man at his +work to see that the least little detail was done +correctly, till the fellow would have left the job, +had he not been made pliable by the Goliath ale. +So he just stretched the job out as long as he +could, and talked and talked with Iden, and stroked +him the right way, and drank the ale, and "played +it upon me and on William, That day in a way I +despise." Till what with the planing, and shaving, +and smoothing, and morticing, and ale, and time, +it footed up a pretty bill, enough for three commonplace +gates, not of the Iden style.</p> + +<p>Why, Iden had put away those pieces of timber +years before for this very purpose, and had watched +the sawyers saw them out at the pit. They would +have made good oak furniture. There was nothing<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_256" id="Page_256">[256]</a></span> +special or particular about this gateway; he had +done the same in turn for every gateway on the +farm; it was the Iden way.</p> + +<p>A splendid gate it was, when it was finished, fit +for a nobleman's Home Park. I doubt, if you +would find such a gate, so well proportioned, and +made of such material on any great estate in the +kingdom. For not even dukes can get an Iden to +look after their property. An Iden is not to be +"picked up," I can tell you.</p> + +<p>The neighbourhood round about had always +sneered in the broad country way at Iden's +gates. "Vit for m' Lard's park. What do <i>he</i> +want wi' such geates? A' ain't a got no cattle +to speak on; any ould rail ud do as good as thuck +geat."</p> + +<p>The neighbourhood round about could never +understand Iden, never could see why he had gone +to such great trouble to render the homestead +beautiful with trees, why he had re-planted the +orchard with pleasant eating apples in the place of +the old cider apples, hard and sour. "Why +wouldn't thaay a' done for he as well as for we?"</p> + +<p>All the acts of Iden seemed to the neighbourhood +to be the acts of a "vool."</p> + +<p>When he cut a hedge, for instance, Iden used to +have the great bushes that bore unusually fine May +bloom saved from the billhook, that they might +flower in the spring. So, too, with the crab-apples—for +the sake of the white blossom; so, too, with +the hazel—for the nuts.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_257" id="Page_257">[257]</a></span></p> + +<p>But what caused the most "wonderment" was +the planting of the horse-chestnuts in the corner of +the meadow? Whatever did he want with horse-chestnuts? +No other horse-chestnuts grew about +there. You couldn't eat the horse-chestnuts when +they dropped in autumn.</p> + +<p>In truth Iden built for all time, and not for the +little circumstance of the hour. His gate was +meant to last for years, rain and shine, to endure +any amount of usage, to be a work of Art in +itself.</p> + +<p>His gate as the tangible symbol of his mind—was +at once his strength and his folly. His +strength, for it was such qualities as these that +made Old England famous, and set her on the firm +base whereon she now stands—built for all Time. +His folly, because he made too much of little things, +instead of lifting his mind higher.</p> + +<p>If only he could have lived three hundred years +the greater world would have begun to find out +Iden and to idolize him, and make pilgrimages +from over sea to Coombe Oaks, to hear him talk, +for Iden could talk of the trees and grass, and all +that the Earth bears, as if one had conversed face +to face with the great god Pan himself.</p> + +<p>But while Iden slumbered with his head against +the panel—think, think, think—this shallow world +of ours, this petty threescore years and ten, was +slipping away. Already Amaryllis had marked +with bitterness at heart the increasing stoop of the +strong back.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_258" id="Page_258">[258]</a></span></p> + +<p>Iden was like the great engineer who could +never build a bridge, because he knew so well how +a bridge ought to be built.</p> + +<p>"Such a fuss over a mess of a gate," said Mrs. +Iden, "making yourself ridiculous: I believe that +carpenter is just taking advantage of you. Why +can't you go into town and see your father?—it +would be a hundred pounds in your pocket"—as it +would have been, no doubt. If only Mrs. Iden had +gone about her lecture in a pleasanter manner perhaps +he would have taken her advice.</p> + +<p>Resting upon the brown timber in the grass +Amaryllis and Amadis could just see a corner of +the old house through the spars of the new gate. +Coombe Oaks was a grown house, if you understand; +a house that had grown in the course of +many generations, not built to set order; it had +grown like a tree that adapts itself to circumstances, +and, therefore, like the tree it was beautiful +to look at. There were windows in deep notches, +between gables where there was no look-out except +at the pears on the wall, awkward windows, quite +bewildering. A workman came to mend one one +day, and could not get at it. "Darned if I ever +seed such a crooked picter of a house!" said +he.</p> + +<p>A kingfisher shot across above the golden surface +of the buttercups, straight for the brook, +moving, as it seemed, without wings, so swiftly did +he vibrate them, that only his azure hue was visible, +drawn like a line of peacock blue over the gold.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_259" id="Page_259">[259]</a></span></p> + +<p>In the fitness of things Amaryllis ought not to +have been sitting there like this, with Amadis lost +in the sweet summer dream of love.</p> + +<p>She ought to have loved and married a Launcelot +du Lake, a hero of the mighty arm, only with +the income of Sir Gorgius Midas: that is the +proper thing.</p> + +<p>But the fitness of things never comes to pass—everything +happens in the Turkish manner.</p> + +<p>Here was Amaryllis, very strong and full of life, +very, very young and inexperienced, very poor and +without the least expectation whatever (for who +could reconcile the old and the older Iden?), the +daughter of poor and embarrassed parents, whom +she wished and prayed to help in their coming old +age. Here was Amaryllis, full of poetic feeling +and half a painter at heart, full of generous sentiments—what +a nature to be ground down in the +sordidness of married poverty!</p> + +<p>Here was Amadis, extremely poor, quite feeble, +and unable to earn a shilling, just talking of seeing +the doctor again about this fearful debility, full too, +as he thought at least, of ideas—what a being to +think of her!</p> + +<p>Nothing ever happens in the fitness of things. +If only now he could have regained the health and +strength of six short months ago—if only that, +but you see, he had not even that. He might get +better; true—he <i>might</i>, I have tried 80 drugs and +I am no better, I hope he will.</p> + +<p>Could any blundering Sultan in the fatalistic<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_260" id="Page_260">[260]</a></span> +East have put things together for them with more +utter contempt of fitness? It is all in the +Turkish manner, you see.</p> + +<p>There they sat, happier and happier, and +deeper and deeper in love every moment, on the +brown timber in the long grass, their hearts as full +of love as the meadow was of sunshine.</p> + +<p>You have heard of the Sun's Golden Cup, in +which after sunset he was carried over Ocean's +stream, while we slumber in the night, to land +again in the East and give us the joy of his rising. +The great Golden Cup in which Hercules, too, was +taken over; it was as if that Cup had been filled to +the brim with the nectar of love and placed at the +lips to drink, inexhaustible.</p> + +<p>In the play of Faust—Alere's <i>Faust</i>—Goethe +has put an interlude, an Intermezzo; I shall leave +Amaryllis and Amadis in their Interlude in Heaven. +Let the Play of Human Life, with its sorrows and its +Dread, pause awhile; let Care go aside behind the +wings, let Debt and Poverty unrobe, let Age +stand upright, let Time stop still (oh, Miracle! as +the Sun did in the Vale of Ajalon). Let us leave +our lovers in the Interlude in Heaven.</p> + +<p>And as I must leave them (I trust but for a +little while) I will leave them on the brown oak +timber, sap-stain brown, in the sunshine and +dancing shadow of summer, among the long grass +and the wild flowers.</p> + + + +<div class='copyright'><br /><br /><br /> +CHISWICK PRESS:—C. WHITTINGHAM AND CO., TOOKS COURT,<br /> +CHANCERY LANE.<br /> +</div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_261" id="Page_261">[261]</a></span></p> +<h2>Duckworth & Co.'s "Crown"<br /> +Library</h2> + +<p>The books included in this series are standard copyright works, issued in +similar style at a uniform price, and are eminently suitable for the library +and as prize volumes for advanced students.</p> + +<div class='center'>Size, Demy 8vo. Cloth gilt, gilt top, 5<i>s.</i> net a volume.</div> + + +<div class='center'><br /><i>HANAUER, J. 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Fcap. +8vo. 2<i>s.</i> 6<i>d.</i> net.</div> + +<div class='center'><i>By the Same Author</i></div> + +<div class='hang1'><b>ROSE ACRE PAPERS.</b> Fcap. 8vo. 2<i>s.</i> 6<i>d.</i> net.</div> + +<div class='hang1'><b>LIGHT AND TWILIGHT.</b> Essays. 2<i>s.</i> 6<i>d.</i> net.</div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><div class='hang1'><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_264" id="Page_264">[264]</a></span></div> +<h2>Modern Plays</h2> + +<div class='center'><br /><i>J. COMYNS CARR</i></div> + +<div class='hang1'><b>TRISTRAM AND ISEULT.</b> A Drama in Four Acts. +By J. Comyns Carr. Cloth, 2<i>s.</i> net; Boards, 1<i>s.</i> 6<i>d.</i> net.</div> + + +<div class='center'><br /><i>CLIFFORD, MRS. W. K.</i></div> + +<div class='hang1'><b>THREE PLAYS: Hamilton's Second Marriage—Thomas +and the Princess—The Modern Way.</b> By Mrs. W. K. +Clifford. In One Volume, cloth, crown 8vo. 6<i>s.</i></div> + + +<div class='center'><br /><i>DE L'ISLE ADAM, VILLIERS</i></div> + +<div class='hang1'><b>THE REVOLT AND THE ESCAPE.</b> By Villiers +de L'Isle Adam. Translated by Theresa Barclay. A Re-issue. Cloth. +Crown 8vo. 2<i>s.</i> net.</div> + + +<div class='center'><br /><i>GALSWORTHY, JOHN</i></div> + +<div class='hang1'><b>PLAYS: The Silver Box—Joy—Strife.</b> By John Galsworthy. +Crown 8vo. 6<i>s.</i> <i>Fourth Impression.</i> Also in Single Volumes; +Cloth, 2<i>s.</i> net; Paper Covers, 1<i>s.</i> 6<i>d.</i> net.</div> + + +<div class='center'><br /><i>GALSWORTHY, JOHN</i></div> + +<div class='hang1'><b>JUSTICE; A TRAGEDY IN FOUR ACTS.</b> By +John Galsworthy. <i>Third Impression.</i> Cloth, 2<i>s.</i> net. Paper covers, +1<i>s.</i> 6<i>d.</i> net.</div> + + +<div class='center'><br /><i>GARNETT, EDWARD</i></div> + +<div class='hang1'><b>THE BREAKING POINT: A CENSURED PLAY.</b> +By Edward Garnett. Crown 8vo. 2<i>s.</i> net.</div> + + +<div class='center'><br /><i>HAUPTMANN, GERHART</i></div> + +<div class='hang1'><b>THE COMING OF PEACE (Das Friedensfest).</b> By +Gerhart Hauptmann. A Re-issue. Crown 8vo. Cloth. 2<i>s.</i> net.</div> + + +<div class='center'><br /><i>MARTYN, EDWARD</i></div> + +<div class='hang1'><b>THE HEATHER FIELD and MAEVE.</b> Two Plays +by Edward Martyn, with an Introduction by George Moore. Pott 4to. 5<i>s.</i></div> + + +<div class='center'><br /><i>OSTROVSKY</i></div> + +<div class='hang1'><b>THE STORM.</b> Translated by Constance Garnett. A Re-issue. +Crown 8vo. Cloth. 2<i>s.</i> net.</div> + + +<div class='center'><br /><i>STRINDBERG, AUGUST</i></div> + +<div class='hang1'><b>THE FATHER.</b> Translated by N. Erichsen. A Re-issue. +Crown 8vo. Cloth. 2<i>s.</i> net.</div> + + +<div class='center'><br /><i>SUDERMANN, HERMANN</i></div> + +<div class='hang1'><b>THE JOY OF LIVING (Es Lebe das Leben).</b> By +Hermann Sudermann. Crown 8vo. 4<i>s.</i> 6<i>d.</i> net.</div> + + +<div class='center'><br /><i>VERHAEREN, EMILE</i></div> + +<div class='hang1'><b>THE DAWN (Les Aubes).</b> Translated by Arthur +Symons. A Re-issue. Crown 8vo. Cloth. 2<i>s.</i> net.</div> + + +<div class='center'><br /><i>WOODS, MARGARET L.</i></div> + +<div class='hang1'><b>THE PRINCESS OF HANOVER.</b> By Margaret +L. Woods. A Re-issue. Crown 8vo. Cloth. 2<i>s.</i> net.</div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_1_ad" id="Page_1_ad">[1]</a></span></p> +<h2>A SELECTION FROM<br /> +DUCKWORTH & CO.'S<br /> +LIST OF PUBLICATIONS</h2> + + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 187px;"> +<img src="images/logo.png" width="187" height="200" alt="Emblem" title="" /> +</div> + + +<div class='center'><br /><br /> +<small>3 HENRIETTA STREET, COVENT GARDEN</small><br /> +<small>LONDON, W.C.</small><br /> +</div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_2_ad" id="Page_2_ad">[2]</a></span></p> +<h2>DUCKWORTH & CO.'S<br /> +PUBLICATIONS</h2> + + +<h3>ANIMAL LIFE AND WILD NATURE<br /> +(STORIES OF).</h3> + +<div class='center'><i>Uniform binding, large cr. 8vo. 6s. net.</i></div> + +<div class='hang1'><span class="smcap">Under the Roof of the Jungle.</span> A Book of Animal Life +in the Guiana Wilds. Written and illustrated by Charles +Livingston Bull. With 60 full-page plates drawn from +Life by the Author.</div> + +<div class='hang1'><span class="smcap">The Kindred of the Wild.</span> A Book of Animal Life. By +Charles G. D. Roberts, Professor of Literature, Toronto +University, late Deputy-Keeper of Woods and Forests, +Canada. With many illustrations by Charles Livingston +Bull.</div> + +<div class='hang1'><span class="smcap">The Watchers of the Trails.</span> A Book of Animal Life. +By Charles G. D. Roberts. With 48 illustrations by +Charles Livingston Bull.</div> + +<div class='hang1'><span class="smcap">The Story of Red Fox.</span> A Biography. By Charles G. D. +Roberts. Illustrated by Charles Livingston Bull.</div> + +<div class='hang1'><span class="smcap">The Haunters of the Silences.</span> A Book of Wild Nature. +By Charles G. D. Roberts. Illustrated by Charles +Livingston Bull.</div> + + +<h3>BOOKS ON ART.</h3> + +<div class="hang1"><span class="smcap">Art—The Library of</span>, embracing Painting, Sculpture, Architecture, +etc. Edited by Mrs S. Arthur Strong, LL.D. +<i>Extra cloth</i>, with lettering and design in gold. <i>Large +cr. 8vo</i> (7-3/4 in. × 5-3/4 in.), <i>gilt top, headband. 5s. net a +volume. Inland postage, 5d.</i></div> + + +<div class='center'><br /><small>LIST OF VOLUMES</small></div> + +<div class="hang2"><span class="smcap">Donatello.</span> By Lord Balcarres, M.P. With 58 plates.</div> + +<div class='hang2'><span class="smcap">Great Masters of Dutch and Flemish Painting.</span> By Dr +W. Bode. With 48 plates.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_3_ad" id="Page_3_ad">[3]</a></span></div> + +<div class='hang2'><span class="smcap">Rembrandt.</span> By G. Baldwin Brown, of the University of Edinburgh. +With 45 plates.</div> + +<div class='hang2'><span class="smcap">Antonio Pollaiuolo.</span> By Maud Cruttwell. With 50 plates.</div> + +<div class='hang2'><span class="smcap">Verrocchio.</span> By Maud Cruttwell. With 48 plates.</div> + +<div class='hang2'><span class="smcap">The Lives of the British Architects.</span> By E. Beresford +Chancellor. With 45 plates.</div> + +<div class='hang2'><span class="smcap">The School of Madrid.</span> By A. de Beruete y Moret. With 48 +plates.</div> + +<div class='hang2'><span class="smcap">William Blake.</span> By Basil de Selincourt. With 40 plates.</div> + +<div class='hang2'><span class="smcap">Giotto.</span> By Basil de Selincourt. With 44 plates.</div> + +<div class='hang2'><span class="smcap">French Painting in the Sixteenth Century.</span> By L. Dimier. +With 50 plates.</div> + +<div class='hang2'><span class="smcap">The School of Ferrara.</span> By Edmund G. Gardner. With 50 plates.</div> + +<div class='hang2'><span class="smcap">Six Greek Sculptors.</span> (Myron, Pheidias, Polykleitos, Skopas, +Praxiteles, and Lysippos.) By Ernest Gardner. With 81 plates.</div> + +<div class='hang2'><span class="smcap">Titian.</span> By Dr Georg Gronau. With 54 plates.</div> + +<div class='hang2'><span class="smcap">Constable.</span> By M. Sturge Henderson. With 48 plates.</div> + +<div class='hang2'><span class="smcap">Pisanello.</span> By G. F. Hill. With 50 plates.</div> + +<div class='hang2'><span class="smcap">Michael Angelo.</span> By Sir Charles Holroyd. With 52 plates.</div> + +<div class='hang2'><span class="smcap">Mediæval Art.</span> By W. R. Lethaby. With 66 plates and 120 +drawings in the text.</div> + +<div class='hang2'><span class="smcap">The Scottish School of Painting.</span> By William D. McKay, +R.S.A. With 46 plates.</div> + +<div class='hang2'><span class="smcap">Christopher Wren.</span> By Lena Milman. With upwards of 60 plates.</div> + +<div class='hang2'><span class="smcap">Correggio.</span> By T. Sturge Moore. With 55 plates.</div> + +<div class='hang2'><span class="smcap">Albert Dürer.</span> By T. Sturge Moore. With 4 copperplates and 50 +half-tone engravings.</div> + +<div class='hang2'><span class="smcap">Sir William Beechey, R.A.</span> By W. Roberts. With 49 plates.</div> + +<div class='hang2'><span class="smcap">The School of Seville.</span> By N. Sentenach. With 50 plates.</div> + +<div class='hang2'><span class="smcap">Roman Sculpture from Augustus to Constantine.</span> By Mrs +S. Arthur Strong, LL.D., Editor of the Series. 2 vols. With +130 plates.<br /><br /></div> + + +<div class="hang1"><span class="smcap"><a name="Art_The_Popular_Library_of" id="Art_The_Popular_Library_of"></a>Art, The Popular Library of.</span> Pocket volumes of biographical +and critical value on the great painters, with very +many reproductions of the artists' works. Each volume +averages 200 pages, 16mo, with from 40 to 50 illustrations. +To be had in different styles of binding: <i>Boards gilt, 1s. +net; green canvas and red cloth gilt, 2s. net; limp lambskin, +red and green, 2s. 6d. net.</i> Several titles can also +be had in the popular Persian yapp binding, in box. +<i>2s. 6d. net each.</i></div> + + +<div class='center'><br /><small>LIST OF VOLUMES.</small></div> + +<div class='hang2'><span class="smcap">Botticelli.</span> By Julia Cartwright (Mrs Ady). Also in Persian yapp +binding.</div> + +<div class='hang2'><span class="smcap">Raphael.</span> By Julia Cartwright (Mrs Ady). Also in Persian yapp +binding.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_4_ad" id="Page_4_ad">[4]</a></span></div> + +<div class='hang2'><span class="smcap">Frederick Walker.</span> By Clementina Black.</div> + +<div class='hang2'><span class="smcap">Rembrandt.</span> By Auguste Bréal.</div> + +<div class='hang2'><span class="smcap">Velazquez.</span> By Auguste Bréal.</div> + +<div class='hang2'><span class="smcap">Gainsborough.</span> By Arthur B. Chamberlain.</div> + +<div class='hang2'><span class="smcap">Cruikshank.</span> By W. H. Chesson.</div> + +<div class='hang2'><span class="smcap">Blake.</span> By G. K. Chesterton.</div> + +<div class='hang2'><span class="smcap">G. F. Watts.</span> By G. K. Chesterton. Also in Persian yapp binding.</div> + +<div class='hang2'><span class="smcap">Albrecht Dürer.</span> By Lina Eckenstein.</div> + +<div class='hang2'><span class="smcap">The English Water-Colour Painters.</span> By A. J. Finberg. Also +in Persian yapp binding.</div> + +<div class='hang2'><span class="smcap">Hogarth.</span> By Edward Garnett.</div> + +<div class='hang2'><span class="smcap">Leonardo da Vinci.</span> By Dr Georg Gronau.</div> + +<div class='hang2'><span class="smcap">Holbein.</span> By Ford Madox Hueffer.</div> + +<div class='hang2'><span class="smcap">Rossetti.</span> By Ford Madox Hueffer. Also in Persian yapp binding.</div> + +<div class='hang2'><span class="smcap">The Pre-Raphaelite Brotherhood.</span> By Ford Madox Hueffer.</div> + +<div class='hang2'><span class="smcap">Perugino.</span> By Edward Hutton.</div> + +<div class='hang2'><span class="smcap">Millet.</span> By Romain Rolland.</div> + +<div class='hang2'><span class="smcap">Watteau.</span> By Camille Mauclair.</div> + +<div class='hang2'><span class="smcap">The French Impressionists.</span> By Camille Mauclair.</div> + +<div class='hang2'><span class="smcap">Whistler.</span> By Bernhard Sickert. Also in Persian yapp binding.<br /><br /></div> + + +<div class='hang1'><span class="smcap">Amelung, Walther, and Holtzinger, Heinrich.</span> The +Museums and Ruins of Rome. A Guide Book. Edited +by Mrs S. Arthur Strong, LL.D. With 264 illustrations +and map and plans. 2 vols. New and cheaper re-issue. +<i>Fcap 8vo. 5s. net.</i></div> + +<div class='hang1'><span class="smcap">Burns, Rev. J.</span> Sermons in Art by the Great Masters. +<i>Cloth gilt</i>, photogravure frontispiece and many illustrations. +<i>Cr. 8vo. 6s.</i> Or bound in parchment, <i>5s. net</i>.</div> + +<div class='hang1'>—— The Christ Face in Art. With 60 illustrations in tint. +<i>Cr. 8vo, cloth gilt. 6s.</i> Or bound in parchment, <i>5s. net.</i></div> + +<div class='hang1'><span class="smcap">Bussy, Dorothy.</span> Eugène Delacroix. A Critical Appreciation. +With 26 illustrations. New and cheaper re-issue. +<i>Cr. 8vo. 2s. 6d. net.</i></div> + +<div class='hang1'><span class="smcap">Carotti, Giulio.</span> A History of Art. English edition, +edited by Mrs S. Arthur Strong, LL.D. In four +volumes, with very numerous illustrations in each volume. +<i>Small cr. 8vo. 5s. net each volume.</i></div> + + +<div class='center'> +<table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" summary="Volumes"> +<tr><td align='left'>Vol. I.—<span class="smcap">Ancient Art.</span> 500 illustrations.</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left' colspan='4'>Vol. II.—<span class="smcap">Middle Ages down to the Golden Age.</span></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>Vol. III.—<span class="smcap">The Golden Age.</span></td><td align='left'>[</td><td align='left'><i>In</i></td><td align='left'> <i>preparation.</i></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>Vol. IV.—<span class="smcap">Modern Times.</span></td><td align='left'>[</td><td align='center'>"</td><td align='center'>"</td></tr> +</table></div> + +<div class="hang1"><span class="smcap">Löwy, Emanuel.</span> The Rendering of Nature in Early Greek +Art. With 30 illustrations. <i>Cr. 8vo. 5s. net.</i><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_5_ad" id="Page_5_ad">[5]</a></span></div> + + +<div class='hang1'><span class="smcap">Mauclair, Camille.</span> Auguste Rodin. With very many +illustrations and photogravure frontispiece. <i>Small 4to.</i> +New and cheaper re-issue. <i>7s. 6d. net.</i></div> + +<div class='center'> +<i>See also <a href="#Art_The_Popular_Library_of">Popular Library of Art</a> for other books by Camille Mauclair.</i><br /> +</div> + + + +<h3>GENERAL LITERATURE.</h3> + +<div class='hang1'><span class="smcap">Archer, William</span>, and <span class="smcap">Barker, H. Granville.</span> A +National Theatre. Schemes and Estimates. By William +Archer and H. Granville Barker. <i>Cr. 4to. 5s. net.</i></div> + +<div class='hang1'><span class="smcap">Aspinall, Algernon E.</span> The Pocket Guide to the West +Indies. A New and Revised Edition, with maps, very +fully illustrated. <i>Fcap. 8vo. 5s. net.</i></div> + +<div class='hang1'>—— West Indian Tales of Old. Illustrated. <i>Cr. 8vo. 5s. net.</i></div> + +<div class='hang1'><span class="smcap">Austin, Sarah.</span> The Story without an End. From the +German of Carové. Retold by Sarah Austin. Illustrated +by Frank C. Papé. 8 Illustrations in Colour, +mounted with frames and plate marks. <i>Large cr. 8vo. +Designed end papers. Designed cloth covers, fully gilt, gilt +top, headband. In box. 5s. net.</i></div> + +<div class='hang1'>—— —— With illustrations by Paul Henry. <i>Sq. 8vo. +1s. 6d. net.</i></div> + +<div class='hang1'><span class="smcap">Belloc, Hilaire.</span> Verses. <i>Large cr. 8vo.</i> 2nd edition. +<i>5s. net.</i></div> + +<div class='hang1'>—— and B. T. B. The Bad Child's Book of Beasts. New +edition. 25th thousand. <i>Sq. 4to. 1s. net.</i></div> + +<div class='hang1'>—— and B. T. B. More Beasts for Worse Children. New +edition. <i>Sq. 4to. 1s. net.</i></div> + +<div class='center'><i>See also <a href="#READERS_LIBRARY">Readers' Library</a> and <a href="#Shilling_Net_Series">Shilling Series</a> for other books by H. Belloc.</i></div> + +<div class='hang1'><span class="smcap">Biron, H. C.</span> "Sir," Said Dr Johnson. Selections from +Boswell's "Life of Johnson," arranged under comprehensive +headings. <i>Demy 8vo. 6s. net.</i></div> + +<div class='hang1'><span class="smcap">Bourne, George.</span> Change in the Village: A study of the +village of to-day. <i>Cr. 8vo. 5s. net.</i></div> + +<div class='center'><i>See the <a href="#READERS_LIBRARY">Readers' Library</a> for other books by George Bourne.</i></div> + +<div class='hang1'><span class="smcap">Boutroux, Emile.</span> The Beyond that is Within, and other +Lectures. <i>Fcap. 8vo. 3s. 6d. net.</i></div> + +<div class='center'><i>See the <a href="#Crown_Library">Crown Library</a> for another book by Professor Boutroux.</i><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_6_ad" id="Page_6_ad">[6]</a></span></div> + +<div class='hang1'><span class="smcap">Brooke, Stopford A.</span> The Onward Cry: Essays and +Sermons. New and Cheaper Edition. <i>Cr. 8vo. 2s. 6d. +net.</i></div> + +<div class='center'><i>See also the <a href="#READERS_LIBRARY">Readers' Library</a> and <a href="#Roadmender_Series">Roadmender Series</a> for other +books by Stopford Brooke.</i></div> + +<div class='hang1'><span class="smcap">Chapman, Hugh B.</span>, Chaplain of the Savoy. At the Back +of Things: Essays and Addresses. <i>Cr. 8vo. 5s. net.</i></div> + +<div class='hang1'><span class="smcap">Collier, Price.</span> England and the English, from an American +point of view. <i>Demy 8vo. 7s. 6d. net.</i> Also a +popular edition, with Foreword by Lord Rosebery. +<i>Fcap. 8vo. 2s. 6d. net.</i></div> + +<div class='hang1'>—— The West in the East: A study of British Rule in India. +<i>Demy. 8vo. 7s. 6d. net.</i></div> + +<div class='hang1'><span class="smcap">Coulton, G. G.</span> From St Francis to Dante. A Historical +Sketch. Second edition. <i>Demy 8vo. 12s. 6d. net.</i></div> + +<div class='hang1'><span class="smcap"><a name="Crown_Library" id="Crown_Library"></a>Crown Library, The.</span> <i>Demy 8vo, cloth gilt, gilt top. 5s. +net a volume.</i></div> + + + + +<div class='hang2'><span class="smcap">The Rubá'iyát of 'Umar Khayyám</span> (Fitzgerald's 2nd Edition). +Edited, with an Introduction and Notes, by Edward Heron Allen.</div> + +<div class='hang2'><span class="smcap">Science and Religion in Contemporary Philosophy.</span> By +Emile Boutroux.</div> + +<div class='hang2'><span class="smcap">Wanderings in Arabia.</span> By Charles M. Doughty. An abridged +edition of "Travels in Arabia Deserta." With portrait and +map. In 2 vols.</div> + +<div class='hang2'><span class="smcap">Folk-Lore of the Holy Land</span>: Moslem, Christian, and Jewish. +By J. E. Hanauer. Edited by Marmaduke Pickthall.</div> + +<div class='hang2'><span class="smcap">Life and Evolution.</span> By F. W. Headley, F.Z.S. With upwards +of 100 illustrations. New and revised edition (1913).</div> + +<div class='hang2'><span class="smcap">The Note-Books of Leonardo da Vinci.</span> Edited by Edward +McCurdy. With 14 illustrations.</div> + +<div class='hang2'><span class="smcap">The Life and Letters of Leslie Stephen.</span> By F. W. Maitland. +With a photogravure portrait.</div> + +<div class='hang2'><span class="smcap">The Country Month by Month.</span> By J. A. Owen and G. S. +Boulger. With 20 illustrations.</div> + +<div class='hang2'><span class="smcap">Spinoza</span>: His Life and Philosophy. By Sir Frederick Pollock.</div> + +<div class='hang2'><span class="smcap">The English Utilitarians.</span> By Sir Leslie Stephen. 3 vols.</div> + + + +<div class='center'> +<table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" summary="Volumes"> +<tr><td align='left'>Vol. </td><td align='right'>I.</td><td align='left'> <span class="smcap">James Mill.</span></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>Vol. </td><td align='right'>II.</td><td align='left'> <span class="smcap">Jeremy Bentham.</span></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>Vol. </td><td align='right'>III.</td><td align='left'> <span class="smcap">John Stuart Mill.</span></td></tr> +</table></div> + + +<div class='hang2'><span class="smcap">Critical Studies.</span> By S. Arthur Strong. With Memoir by Lord +Balcarres, M.P. Illustrated.<br /><br /></div> + + + + +<div class='hang1'><span class="smcap">Cutting Ceres.</span> The Praying Girl. Thoughtful Religious +Essays. <i>Sq. cr. 8vo. 3s. 6d. net.</i><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_7_ad" id="Page_7_ad">[7]</a></span></div> + +<div class='hang1'><span class="smcap">Darwin, Bernard, and Rountree, Harry.</span> The Golf +Courses of the British Isles. 48 illustrations in colour +and 16 in sepia. <i>Sq. royal 8vo. 21s. net.</i></div> + +<div class='hang1'><span class="smcap">De la Mare, Walter.</span> The Three Mulla Mulgars. A +Romance of the Great Forests. With illustrations in +colour. <i>Cr. 8vo. 5s. net.</i></div> + +<div class='hang1'><span class="smcap">Doughty, Chas. M.</span> Adam Cast Forth. A Poem founded +on a Judæo-Arabian Legend of Adam and Eve. <i>Cr. 8vo. +4s. 6d. net.</i></div> + +<div class='hang1'>—— The Cliffs. A Poetic Drama of the Invasion of Britain +in 19—. <i>Cr. 8vo. 5s. net.</i></div> + +<div class='hang1'>—— The Clouds: a Poem. <i>Large cr. 8vo. 5s. net.</i></div> + +<div class='hang1'>—— The Dawn in Britain. An Epic Poem of the Beginnings +of Britain. In six vols. Vols. 1 and 2, <i>9s. net</i>; Vols. 3 +and 4, <i>9s. net</i>; Vols. 5 and 6, <i>9s. net.</i> The Set, <i>27s. net.</i></div> + +<div class='center'> +<i>See also <a href="#Crown_Library">Crown Library</a> for another work by C. M. Doughty.</i><br /> +</div> + +<div class='hang1'><span class="smcap">Fairless, Michael.</span> Complete Works. 3 vols. In slip +case. <i>Buckram gilt. 7s. 6d. net.</i></div> + +<div class='center'> +<i>See also the <a href="#Roadmender_Series">Roadmender Series</a>.</i><br /> +</div> + +<div class='hang1'>—— The Roadmender. Illustrated in Colour by E. W. Waite. +<i>Cloth gilt, gilt top. 7s. 6d. net. In a Box.</i></div> + +<div class='hang1'>—— —— Illustrated in photogravure from drawings by +W. G. Mein. In slip case. <i>5s. net.</i></div> + +<div class='hang1'><span class="smcap">Falconer, Rev. Hugh.</span> The Unfinished Symphony. New +and Cheaper Edition. <i>Cr. 8vo. 2s. 6d. net.</i></div> + +<div class='hang1'><span class="smcap">Flaubert, Gustave.</span> The First Temptation of St Anthony. +A new translation by R. Francis. A fine edition on +imit. hd.-made paper. <i>Large cr. 8vo. 7s. 6d. net.</i></div> + +<div class='hang1'><span class="smcap">Graham, R. B. Cunninghame.</span> Charity. <i>Cr. 8vo. 6s.</i></div> + +<div class='hang1'>—— Faith. <i>Cr. 8vo. 6s.</i></div> + +<div class='hang1'>—— Hope. <i>Cr. 8vo. 6s.</i></div> + +<div class='hang1'>—— His People. <i>Cr. 8vo. 6s.</i></div> + +<div class='center'> +<i>See also <a href="#READERS_LIBRARY">Readers' Library</a> and <a href="#Shilling_Net_Series">Shilling Series</a> for other books by Cunninghame Graham.</i><br /> +</div> + +<div class='hang1'><span class="smcap">Haselfoot, F. K. H.</span> The Divina Commedia of Dante +Alighieri. Translated line for line in the <i>terza rima</i> of +the original, with Introduction and Notes. Second +edition, revised, corrected, and further annotated. <i>Demy +8vo. 12s. net.</i><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_8_ad" id="Page_8_ad">[8]</a></span></div> + +<div class='hang1'><span class="smcap">Headlam, Cecil.</span> Walter Headlam: Letters and Poems. +With Memoir by Cecil Headlam. With photogravure +portrait. <i>Demy 8vo. 7s. 6d. net.</i></div> + +<div class='hang1'><span class="smcap">Henderson, Archibald.</span> Mark Twain. A Biography. +With 8 photographs by Alvin Langdon Coburn. <i>Large +cr. 8vo. 5s. net.</i></div> + +<div class='hang1'>—— Interpreters of Life and the Modern Spirit: Critical +Essays. With a photogravure portrait of Meredith. <i>Cr. +8vo. 5s. net.</i></div> + +<div class='hang1'><span class="smcap">Hill, M. D., and Webb, Wilfred Mark.</span> Eton Nature-Study +and Observational Lessons. With numerous +illustrations. In two parts. <i>3s. 6d. net each.</i> Also the +two parts in one volume, <i>6s. net</i>.</div> + +<div class='hang1'><span class="smcap">Hammond, Rev. Joseph.</span> Six Necessary Things for Christians +to Know. A Theology for the Plain Man. <i>Cr. +8vo. 2s. 6d. net.</i></div> + +<div class='hang1'><span class="smcap">Hudson, W. H.</span> A Little Boy Lost. With 30 illustrations +by A. D. McCormick. <i>Sq. cr. 8vo. 3s. 6d. net.</i></div> + +<div class='center'> +<i>See also <a href="#READERS_LIBRARY">Readers' Library</a> and <a href="#Shilling_Net_Series">Shilling Series</a> for other books by W. H. Hudson.</i><br /> +</div> + +<div class='hang1'><span class="smcap">Hueffer, Ford Madox.</span> The Critical Attitude. Literary +Essays. <i>Sq. cr. 8vo. Buckram. 5s. net.</i></div> + +<div class='center'> +<i>See also <a href="#READERS_LIBRARY">Readers' Library</a> and <a href="#Art_The_Popular_Library_of">The Popular Library of Art</a> for other books by Ford Madox Hueffer.</i><br /> +</div> + +<div class='hang1'>—— <span class="smcap">High Germany: Verses.</span> <i>Sq. cr. 8vo, paper covers. +1s. net.</i></div> + +<div class='hang1'><span class="smcap">Hughes, Rev. G.</span> Conscience and Criticism. With Foreword +by the Bishop of Winchester. New and Cheaper +Edition. <i>Cr. 8vo. 2s. 6d. net.</i></div> + +<div class='hang1'><span class="smcap">Hutchinson, T.</span> Lyrical Ballads by William Wordsworth +and S. T. Coleridge, 1798. With certain poems of 1798, +Introduction and Notes. <i>Fcap. 8vo.</i> New and Revised +Edition. With 2 photogravures. <i>3. 6d. net.</i></div> + +<div class='hang1'><span class="smcap">Jefferies, Richard.</span> The Story of My Heart. By Richard +Jefferies. A New Edition Reset. With 8 illustrations +from oil paintings by Edward W. Waite. <i>Demy 8vo.</i> +The pictures mounted with frames and plate marks. +Designed Cover. <i>Cloth gilt, gilt top, headband. In Box. +7s. 6d. net.</i></div> + + + + +<div class="blockquot"><p>Also a Large Paper Edition limited to 150 numbered copies, printed on +Imit. Hand-made Paper, illustrations mounted on vellum with decorative +borders in gold. Bound in buckram, in slip case. <i>21s. net.</i></p></div><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_9_ad" id="Page_9_ad">[9]</a></span></p> + + + +<div class='hang1'><span class="smcap">Joubert, Joseph.</span> Joubert: A Selection from His Thoughts. +Translated by Katharine Lyttleton, with a Preface by +Mrs Humphry Ward. New Edition. In a slip case. +<i>Large cr. 8vo. 5s. net.</i></div> + +<div class='hang1'><span class="smcap">Kropotkin, Prince.</span> Ideals and Realities in Russian +Literature. Critical Essays. By Prince Kropotkin. +<i>Demy 8vo. 7s. 6d. net.</i></div> + +<div class='hang1'><span class="smcap">Langlois, Ch. V., and Seignobos, Ch.</span> An Introduction to +the Study of History. New Edition. <i>5s. net.</i></div> + +<div class='hang1'><span class="smcap">Lawrence, D. H.</span> Love Poems and others. <i>Cr. 8vo. 5s. net.</i></div> + +<div class='center'> +<i>See under <a href="#NOVELS_AND_STORIES">Novels</a> for another book by this author.</i><br /> +</div> + +<div class='hang1'><span class="smcap">Le Gallienne, Richard.</span> Odes from the Divan of Hafiz. +Freely rendered from Literal Translations. <i>Large sq. 8vo.</i> +In slip case. <i>7s. 6d. net.</i></div> + +<div class='hang1'><span class="smcap">Lethaby, W. R.</span> Westminster Abbey and the King's Craftsmen. +With 125 illustrations, photogravure frontispiece, +and many drawings and diagrams. <i>Royal 8vo. 12s. 6d. +net.</i></div> + +<div class='hang1'>—— Westminster Abbey as a Coronation Church. Illustrated. +<i>Demy 8vo. 2s. 6d. net.</i></div> + +<div class='center'> +<i>See also <a href="#Art_The_Popular_Library_of">The Library of Art</a> for "Mediæval Art" by W. R. Lethaby.</i><br /> +</div> + +<div class='hang1'><span class="smcap">Loveland, J. D. E.</span> The Romance of Nice. A Descriptive +Account of Nice and its History. With illustrations. +<i>Demy 8vo. 6s. net.</i></div> + +<div class='hang1'><span class="smcap">Lytton, the Hon. Mrs Neville.</span> Toy Dogs and their +Ancestors. With 300 illustrations in colour collotype, +photogravure, and half-tone. <i>4to. 30s. net.</i></div> + +<div class='hang1'><span class="smcap">Mahaffy, R. P.</span> Francis Joseph the First: His Life and +Times. By R. P. Mahaffy. <i>Cr. 8vo. 2s. 6d. net.</i></div> + +<div class='hang1'><span class="smcap">Mahommed, Mirza, and Rice, C. Spring.</span> Valeh and +Hadijeh. <i>Large sq. 8vo. 5s. net.</i></div> + +<div class='hang1'><span class="smcap">Mantzius, Karl.</span> A History of Theatrical Art in Ancient +and Modern Times. With Introduction by William +Archer. In six volumes. With illustrations from photographs. +<i>Royal 8vo. 10s. net each vol.</i></div> + +<div class="hang2">Vol. I.—The Earliest Times. Vol. II.—Middle Ages and Renaissance. +Vol. III.—Shakespeare and the English Drama of his +Time. Vol. IV.—Molière and his Time. Vol. V.—Great +Actors of the 18th Century. Vol. VI.—<i>In preparation.</i></div> + +<div class='hang1'><span class="smcap">Marczali, Henry.</span> The Letters and Journal, 1848-49, of Count +Charles Leiningen-Westerburg. <i>Demy 8vo. 7s. 6d. net.</i><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_10_ad" id="Page_10_ad">[10]</a></span></div> + +<div class='hang1'><span class="smcap">Marjoram, John.</span> New Poems. <i>Fcap. 8vo. 2s. net.</i></div> + +<div class='hang1'><span class="smcap">Moore, T. Sturge.</span> Poems. <i>Square 8vo. Sewed, 1s. net +a volume.</i></div> + + + +<div class='center'> +<table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" summary="Moore's Poems"> +<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap">The Centaur's Booty.</span></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap">The Rout of the Amazons.</span></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap">The Gazelles, and Other Poems.</span></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap">Pan's Prophecy.</span></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap">To Leda, and Other Odes.</span></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap">Theseus, and Other Odes.</span></td></tr> +</table></div> + + +<div class='center'> +Or, in one volume, <i>bound in art linen. 6s. net.</i><br /> +</div> + +<div class='hang1'>—— A Sicilian Idyll, and Judith. <i>Cloth. 2s. net.</i></div> + +<div class='hang1'>—— <ins title="Transcriber's Note: original reads 'Mariamne'">Marianne</ins>. A Drama. <i>Qr. bound. 2s. net.</i></div> + +<div class='hang1'><span class="smcap">Nassau, R. H.</span> Fetichism in West Africa: Forty Years' +Observations of Native Customs and Superstitions. 12 +illustrations. <i>Demy 8vo. 7s. 6d. net.</i></div> + +<div class='hang1'><span class="smcap">Nevill, Ralph, and Jerningham, C. E.</span> Piccadilly to +Pall Mall. Manners, Morals, and Man. With 2 photogravures. +<i>Demy 8vo. 12s. 6d. net.</i></div> + +<div class='hang1'><span class="smcap">Nevill, Ralph.</span> Sporting Days and Sporting Ways. With +coloured frontispiece. <i>Demy 8vo. 12s. 6d. net.</i></div> + +<div class='hang1'>—— The Merry Past. Reminiscences and Anecdotes. +With frontispiece in colour collotype. <i>Demy 8vo. +12s. 6d. net.</i></div> + +<div class='hang1'><span class="smcap">Pawlowska, Yoï</span> (Mrs Buckley). A Year of Strangers. +Sketches of People and Things in Italy and in the Far +East. With copper-plate frontispiece. <i>Demy 8vo. 5s. +net.</i></div> + +<div class='center'> +<i>See under <a href="#NOVELS_AND_STORIES">Novels</a> for another book by this author.</i><br /> +</div> + +<div class='hang1'><span class="smcap">Peake, Prof. A. S.</span> Christianity, its Nature and its Truth. +<i>25th Thousand. Cr. 8vo. 2s. 6d. net.</i></div> + +<div class='hang1'><span class="smcap">Phillipps, L. March.</span> The Works of Man. Studies of +race characteristics as revealed in the creative art of the +world. <i>Cr. 8vo. 7s. 6d. net.</i></div> + +<div class='hang1'><span class="smcap">Plays, Modern.</span> <i>Cloth. 2s. net a volume.</i></div> + + + +<div class='center'> +<table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" summary="Plays"> +<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap">The Revolt and the Escape.</span> By Villiers de L'Isle Adam.</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap">Hernani.</span> A Tragedy. By Frederick Brock.</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap">Tristram and Iseult.</span> A Drama. By J. Comyns Carr.</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap">The Likeness of the Night.</span> By Mrs W. K. Clifford.</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap">The Silver Box.</span> By John Galsworthy.</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap">Joy.</span> By John Galsworthy.</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap">Strife.</span> By John Galsworthy.</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_11_ad" id="Page_11_ad">[11]</a></span><span class="smcap">Justice.</span> By John Galsworthy.</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap">The Eldest Son.</span> By John Galsworthy.</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap">The Little Dream.</span> By John Galsworthy, (<i>1s. 6d. net.</i>)</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap">The Pigeon.</span> By John Galsworthy.</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap">The Breaking Point</span>: a Censured Play. By Edward Garnett.</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap">The Coming of Peace.</span> By Gerhart Hauptmann.</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap">Peter's Chance.</span> A Play. By Edith Lyttelton.</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap">The Storm.</span> By Ostrovsky. Translated by Constance Garnett.</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap">The Secret Woman.</span> A Drama. By Eden Phillpots.</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap">Curtain Raisers.</span> One Act Plays. By Eden Phillpots.</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap">The Father.</span> By August Strindberg.</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap">There Are Crimes and Crimes.</span> By August Strindberg.</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap">Miss Julia. The Stronger.</span> Two Plays. By August Strindberg.</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap">Creditors. Pariah.</span> Two Plays. By August Strindberg.</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap">Roses.</span> Four One Act Plays. By Hermann Sudermann.</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap">Morituri.</span> Three One Act Plays. By Hermann Sudermann.</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap">Five Little Plays.</span> By Alfred Sutro.</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap">The Dawn</span> (Les Aubes). By Emile Verhaeren. Translated by Arthur Symons.</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap">The Princess of Hanover.</span> By Margaret L. Woods.</td></tr> +</table><br /></div> + +<div class="hang1">The following may also be had in paper covers. Price +<i>1s. 6d. net a volume</i>.<br /><br /></div> + + + +<div class='center'> +<table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" summary="More plays"> +<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap">Tristram and Iseult.</span> By J. Comyns Carr. (<i>Paper boards.</i>)</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap">The Likeness of the Night.</span> By Mrs W. K. Clifford.</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap">The Silver Box.</span> By John Galsworthy.</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap">Joy.</span> By John Galsworthy.</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap">Strife.</span> By John Galsworthy.</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap">Justice.</span> By John Galsworthy.</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap">The Eldest Son.</span> By John Galsworthy.</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap">The Little Dream.</span> By John Galsworthy, (<i>1s. net.</i>)</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap">The Pigeon.</span> By John Galsworthy.</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap">Peter's Chance.</span> By Edith Lyttelton.</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap">Curtain Raisers.</span> By Eden Phillpotts.</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap">Five Little Plays.</span> By Alfred Sutro.</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap">The Secret Woman.</span> A Censored Drama. By Eden Phillpotts.</td></tr> +</table></div> + +<div class='hang1'><span class="smcap">Three Plays.</span> By Mrs W. K. Clifford. (Hamilton's Second +Marriage, Thomas and the Princess, The Modern Way.) +In one vol. <i>Sq. post 8vo. 6s.</i></div> + +<div class='hang1'><span class="smcap">Plays</span> (First Series). By John Galsworthy. Three Plays +(Joy, Strife, The Silver Box) in one vol. <i>Small sq. post +8vo. 6s.</i></div> + +<div class='hang1'><span class="smcap">Plays</span> (Second Series). By John Galsworthy. Three Plays +(Justice, The Little Dream, The Eldest Son) in one +vol. <i>Small sq. post 8vo. 6s.</i><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_12_ad" id="Page_12_ad">[12]</a></span></div> + +<div class='hang1'><span class="smcap">Plays.</span> By August Strindberg. (The Dream Play, The Link, +The Dance of Death, Part I.; The Dance of Death, +Part II.) Translated with an Introduction and Bibliography +by Edwin Björkman. With frontispiece portrait +of Strindberg. In one volume. <i>Cr. 8vo. 6s.</i></div> + +<div class='hang1'><span class="smcap">Plays.</span> By Anton Tchekoff. (Uncle Vanya, Ivanoff, The +Seagull, The Swan Song.) With an Introduction. +<i>Cr. 8vo. 6s.</i></div> + +<div class='hang1'><span class="smcap">Reid, Stuart J.</span> Sir Richard Tangye. A Life. With a +portrait. New and Cheaper re-issue. <i>Cr. 8vo. 2s. 6d. +net.</i></div> + +<div class='hang1'><span class="smcap">Roadmender Series, The.</span> The volumes in the series are +works with the same tendency as Michael Fairless's +remarkable book, from which the series gets its name: +books which express a deep feeling for Nature, and a +mystical interpretation of life. <i>Fcap. 8vo, with designed +end papers. 2s. 6d. net.</i><br /><br /></div> + + + + +<div class='hang2'><span class="smcap">The Sea Charm of Venice.</span> By Stopford A. Brooke.</div> + +<div class='hang2'><span class="smcap">Magic Casements.</span> By Arthur S. Cripps.</div> + +<div class='hang2'><span class="smcap">The Roadmender.</span> By Michael Fairless. Also in <i>limp lambskin, +3s. 6d. Velvet calf yapp, 5s. net.</i> Illustrated Black and White +Edition, <i>cr. 8vo, 5s. net.</i> Also Special Illustrated edition in +colour from oil paintings by E. W. Waite, <i>7s. 6d. net.</i> Edition de +Luxe, <i>15s. net.</i></div> + +<div class='hang2'><span class="smcap">The Grey Brethren.</span> By Michael Fairless. Also in <i>limp lambskin, +3s. 6d. net; Velvet calf, 5s. net; Ecrasé persian. 5s. net.</i></div> + +<div class='hang2'><span class="smcap">The Gathering of Brother Hilarius.</span> By Michael Fairless. +<i>Limp lambskin, 3s. 6d. net; Velvet calf, 5s. net; Ecrasé persian, +5s. net.</i></div> + +<div class='hang2'><span class="smcap">A Modern Mystic's Way.</span> (Dedicated to Michael Fairless.)<br /></div> + +<div class='hang2'><span class="smcap">Thoughts of Leonardo da Vinci.</span> Selected by Edward McCurdy.<br /></div> + +<div class='hang2'><span class="smcap">Longings.</span> By W. D. McKay.<br /></div> + +<div class='hang2'><span class="smcap">From the Forest.</span> By Wm. Scott Palmer.<br /></div> + +<div class='hang2'><span class="smcap">Pilgrim Man.</span> By Wm. Scott Palmer.<br /></div> + +<div class='hang2'><span class="smcap">Winter and Spring.</span> By Wm. Scott Palmer.<br /></div> + +<div class='hang2'><span class="smcap">Vagrom Men.</span> By A. T. Story.<br /></div> + +<div class='hang2'><span class="smcap">Light and Twilight.</span> By Edward Thomas.<br /></div> + +<div class='hang2'><span class="smcap">Rest and Unrest.</span> By Edward Thomas.<br /></div> + +<div class='hang2'><span class="smcap">Rose Acre Papers</span>: including Horæ Solitariæ. By Edward Thomas.<br /><br /></div> + + + +<div class="hang1"><span class="smcap">Rosen, Erwin.</span> In the Foreign Legion. A record of actual +experiences in the French Foreign Legion. <i>Demy 8vo.</i> +New and Cheaper Edition. <i>3s. 6d. net.</i></div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_13_ad" id="Page_13_ad">[13]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="READERS_LIBRARY" id="READERS_LIBRARY">READERS' LIBRARY, THE.</a></h2> + + +<div class='center'><i>Copyright Works of Individual Merit and Permanent Value +<br />by Authors of Repute.</i><br /> + +Library style. <i>Cr. 8vo. Blue cloth gilt, round backs.<br /> +2s. 6d. net a volume.</i><br /></div> + +<div class='hang1'><span class="smcap">Avril.</span> By Hilaire Belloc. Essays +on the Poetry of the French +Renaissance.</div> + +<div class='hang1'><span class="smcap">Esto Perpetua.</span> By Hilaire Belloc. +Algerian Studies and Impressions.</div> + +<div class='hang1'><span class="smcap">Men, Women, and Books: Res +Judicatæ.</span> By Augustine Birrell. +Complete in one vol.</div> + +<div class='hang1'><span class="smcap">Obiter Dicta.</span> By Augustine +Birrell. First and Second Series +in one volume.</div> + +<div class='hang1'><span class="smcap">Memoirs of a Surrey +Labourer.</span> By George Bourne.</div> + +<div class='hang1'><span class="smcap">The Bettesworth Book.</span> By +George Bourne.</div> + +<div class='hang1'><span class="smcap">Studies in Poetry.</span> By Stopford +A. Brooke, LL.D. Essays on +Blake, Scott, Shelley, Keats, etc.</div> + +<div class='hang1'><span class="smcap">Comparative Studies in Nursery +Rhymes.</span> By Lina Eckenstein. +Essays in a branch of +Folk-lore.</div> + +<div class='hang1'><span class="smcap">Italian Poets since Dante.</span> +Critical Essays. By W. Everett.</div> + +<div class='hang1'><span class="smcap">Villa Rubein, and Other +Stories.</span> By John Galsworthy.</div> + +<div class='hang1'><span class="smcap">Progress, and Other Sketches.</span> +By R. B. Cunninghame Graham.</div> + +<div class='hang1'><span class="smcap">Success: and Other Sketches.</span> +By R. B. Cunninghame Grahame.</div> + +<div class='hang1'><span class="smcap">Green Mansions.</span> A Romance +of the Tropical Forest. By W. H. +Hudson.</div> + +<div class='hang1'><span class="smcap">The Purple Land.</span> By W. H. +Hudson.</div> + +<div class='hang1'><span class="smcap">The Heart of the Country.</span> +By Ford Madox Hueffer.</div> + +<div class='hang1'><span class="smcap">The Soul of London.</span> By Ford +Madox Hueffer.</div> + +<div class='hang1'><span class="smcap">The Spirit of the People.</span> By +Ford Madox Hueffer.</div> + +<div class='hang1'><span class="smcap">After London—Wild England.</span> +By Richard Jefferies.</div> + +<div class='hang1'><span class="smcap">Amaryllis at the Fair.</span> By +Richard Jefferies.</div> + +<div class='hang1'><span class="smcap">Bevis.</span> The Story of a Boy. By +Richard Jefferies.</div> + +<div class='hang1'><span class="smcap">The Hills and the Vale.</span> +Nature Essays. By Richard +Jefferies.</div> + +<div class='hang1'><span class="smcap">The Greatest Life.</span> An inquiry +into the foundations of character. +By Gerald Leighton, M.D.</div> + +<div class='hang1'><span class="smcap">St Augustine and his Age.</span> +An Interpretation. By Joseph +McCabe.</div> + +<div class='hang1'><span class="smcap">Between the Acts.</span> By H. W. +Nevinson.</div> + +<div class='hang1'><span class="smcap">Essays in Freedom.</span> By H. W. +Nevinson.</div> + +<div class='hang1'><span class="smcap">Parallel Paths.</span> A Study in +Biology, Ethics, and Art. By +T. W. Rolleston.</div> + +<div class='hang1'><span class="smcap">The Strenuous Life, and Other +Essays.</span> By Theodore Roosevelt.</div> + +<div class='hang1'><span class="smcap">English Literature and +Society in the Eighteenth +Century.</span> By Sir Leslie +Stephen.</div> + +<div class='hang1'><span class="smcap">Studies of a Biographer.</span> First +Series. Two Volumes. By Sir +Leslie Stephen.</div> + +<div class='hang1'><span class="smcap">Studies of a Biographer.</span> +Second Series. Two Volumes. +By Sir Leslie Stephen.</div> + +<div class='hang1'><span class="smcap">Interludes.</span> By Sir Geo. Trevelyan.</div> + +<div class='hang1'><span class="smcap">Essays on Dante.</span> By Dr Carl +Witte.</div> + + + + +<div class="blockquot"><p>"Messrs Duckworth's admirable Readers' Library."—<i>Bookman.</i></p> + +<p>"A series which is well worth following. Excellent reading."—<i>Athenæum.</i></p> + +<p>"That excellent series. The work of some of our most distinguished contemporaries."—<i>Daily +News.</i></p> + +<p>"In a class apart from cheap reprints . . . as enjoyable to the most fastidious as first +editions."—<i>The Manchester Guardian.</i></p></div><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_14_ad" id="Page_14_ad">[14]</a></span></p> + + +<div class='hang1'><span class="smcap">Social Questions Series.</span></div> + +<div class='hang2'><span class="smcap">Makers of Our Clothes.</span> A Case for Trade Boards. By Miss +Clementina Black and Lady Carl Meyer. <i>Demy 8vo. 5s. net.</i></div> + +<div class='hang2'><span class="smcap">Sweated Industry and the Minimum Wage.</span> By Clementina +<span class="smcap">Black</span>. With Preface by A. G. Gardiner. <i>Cloth, crown 8vo. +2s. net.</i></div> + +<div class='hang2'><span class="smcap">Women in Industry: From Seven Points of View.</span> With +Introduction by D. J. Shackleton. <i>Cloth, crown 8vo. 2s. net.</i></div> + +<div class='hang2'><span class="smcap">The Worker's Handbook.</span> By Gertrude M. Tuckwell. A handbook +of legal and general information for the Clergy, for District +Visitors, and all Social Workers. <i>Cr. 8vo. 2s. net.</i></div> + + +<div class="hang1"><span class="smcap">Saints, The.</span> An entirely New Series of Lives of the Saints, +in separate volumes. <i>Cr. 8vo, scarlet art vellum, gilt +lettered, gilt top. 2s. 6d. net each volume.</i></div> + + +<div class='center'> +<table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" summary="The Saints"> +<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap">S. Ambrose.</span> By the Duc de Broglie.</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap">S. Antony of Padua.</span> By the Abbé Albert Lepitre.</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap">S. Augustine.</span> By Prof. Ad. Hatzfeld.</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap">S. Cajetan.</span> By R. de Maulde la Clavière.</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap">S. Chrysostom.</span> By Aimé Puech.</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap">S. Clotilda.</span> By Prof. G. Kurth.</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap">S. Dominic.</span> By Jean Guiraud.</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap">S. Francis of Sales.</span> By A. D. Margerie.</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap">S. Ignatius of Loyola.</span> By Henri Joly.</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap">S. Jerome.</span> By the Rev. Father Largent.</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap">S. Joan of Arc.</span> By L. Petit de Julleville.</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap">S. John Vianney: Curé d'Ars.</span> By Joseph Vianney.</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap">S. Louis.</span> By Marius Sepet.</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap">S. Mary the Virgin.</span> By René Marie de la Broise.</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap">S. Nicholas I.</span> By Jules Roy.</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap">S. Patrick.</span> By l'Abbé Riguet.</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap">S. Peter Fourier.</span> By L. Pingaud.</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap">S. Teresa.</span> By Henri Joly.</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap">S. Thomas à Becket.</span> By Mgr. Demimuid.</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap">S. Thomas More.</span> By Henri Bremond.</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap">S. Vincent de Paul.</span> By Prince Emmanuel de Broglie.</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap">The Psychology of the Saints.</span> By Henri Joly.</td></tr> +</table></div> + +<div class='hang1'><span class="smcap">Duckworth's <a name="Shilling_Net_Series" id="Shilling_Net_Series"></a>Shilling Net Series.</span> <i>Cloth, cr. 8vo.</i></div> + + + +<div class='center'> +<table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" summary="Duckworth's Shilling Net Series"> +<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap">Caliban's Guide to Letters.</span> By Hilaire Belloc.</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap">South American Sketches.</span> By W. H. Hudson.</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap">Stories from De Maupassant.</span></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap">Success.</span> By R. B. Cunninghame Graham.</td></tr> +</table></div> + +<div class='hang1'><span class="smcap">Smalley, George W.</span> Anglo-American Memories. First +Series (American). With a photogravure frontispiece. +<i>Demy 8vo. 12s. 6d. net.</i></div> + +<div class='hang1'>—— Second Series (English). <i>Demy 8vo. 12s. 6d. net.</i></div> + +<div class='hang1'><span class="smcap">Spielmann</span>, Mrs M. H., and <span class="smcap">Wilhelm, C.</span> The Child of +the Air. A Romantic Fantasy. Illustrated in colour +and in line. <i>Sq. cr. 8vo. 5s. net.</i><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_15_ad" id="Page_15_ad">[15]</a></span></div> + +<div class='hang1'><span class="smcap">Stephen, H. L.</span> State Trials: Political and Social First +Series. Selected and edited by H.L. Stephen. With +two photogravures. Two vols. <i>Fcap. 8vo. Art vellum, +gilt top. 5s. net.</i></div> + +<div class='hang2'>Vol. I.—Sir Walter Raleigh—Charles I.—The Regicides—Colonel +Turner and Others—The Suffolk Witches—Alice Lisle. Vol. II.—Lord +Russell—The Earl of Warwick—Spencer Cowper and +Others—Samuel Goodere and Others.</div> + +<div class='hang1'>—— State Trials: Political and Social. Second Series. +Selected and edited by H.L. Stephen. With two +photogravures. Two vols. <i>Fcap. 8vo. 5s. net.</i></div> + +<div class='hang2'>Vol. I.—The Earl of Essex—Captain Lee—John Perry—Green and +Others—Count Coningsmark—Beau Fielding. Vol. II.—Annesley—Carter—Macdaniell—Bernard—Byron.</div> + +<div class='hang1'><span class="smcap">Stopford, Francis.</span> Life's Great Adventure. Essays. By +Francis Stopford, author of "The Toil of Life." <i>Cr. +8vo. Cloth. 5s. net.</i></div> + +<div class='hang1'><span class="smcap">Studies in Theology.</span> A New Series of Handbooks, being +aids to interpretation in Biblical Criticism for the use of +the Clergy, Divinity Students, and Laymen. <i>Cr. 8vo. +2s. 6d. net a volume.</i></div> + +<div class='hang2'><span class="smcap">The Christian Hope.</span> A Study in the Doctrine of the Last Things. +By W. Adams Brown, D.D., Professor of Theology in the Union +College, New York.</div> + +<div class='hang2'><span class="smcap">Christianity and Social Questions.</span> By the Rev. William +Cunningham, D.D., F.B.A., Archdeacon of Ely. Formerly +Lecturer on Economic History to Harvard University.</div> + +<div class='hang2'><span class="smcap">Faith and its Psychology.</span> By the Rev. William R. Inge, D.D., +Dean of St Paul's.</div> + +<div class='hang2'><span class="smcap">Protestant Thought before Kant.</span> By A. C. McGiffert, Ph.D., +D.D., of the Union Theological Seminary, New York.</div> + +<div class='hang2'><span class="smcap">The Theology of the Gospels.</span> By the Rev. James Moffat, B.D., +D.D., of the U.F. Church of Scotland, sometime Jowett Lecturer +in London, author of "The Historical New Testament," +"Literary Illustrations of the Bible," etc.</div> + +<div class='hang2'><span class="smcap">A History of Christian Thought since Kant.</span> By the Rev. +Edward Caldwell Moore, D.D., Parkman Professor of Theology +in the University of Harvard, U.S.A.</div> + +<div class='hang2'><span class="smcap">Revelation and Inspiration.</span> By the Rev. James Orr, D.D., +Professor of Apologetics in the Theological College of the United +Free Church, Glasgow.</div> + +<div class='hang2'><span class="smcap">A Critical Introduction to the New Testament.</span> By Arthur +Samuel Peake, D.D., Professor of Biblical Exegesis and Dean of +the Faculty of Theology, Victoria University, Manchester.</div> + +<div class='hang2'><span class="smcap">Philosophy and Religion.</span> By the Rev. Hastings Rashdall, +D.Litt. (Oxon.), D.C.L. (Durham), F.B.A., Fellow and Tutor +of New College, Oxford.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_16_ad" id="Page_16_ad">[16]</a></span></div> + +<div class='hang2'><span class="smcap">Text and Canon of the New Testament.</span> By Prof. Alexander +Souter, M.A., D.Litt., Professor of Humanity, Aberdeen +University.</div> + +<div class='hang2'><span class="smcap">Christian Thought to the Reformation.</span> By Herbert B. Workman, +D.Litt., Principal of the Westminster Training College.</div> + + +<div class='hang1'><span class="smcap">Tomlinson, H. M.</span> The Sea and the Jungle. Personal experiences +in a voyage to South America and through the +Amazon forests. By H. M. Tomlinson. <i>Demy 8vo. +7s. 6d. net.</i></div> + +<div class='hang1'><span class="smcap">Vaughan, Herbert M.</span> The Last Stuart Queen: Louise +Countess of Albany. A Life. With illustrations and +portraits. <i>Demy 8vo. 16s. net.</i></div> + +<div class='hang1'><span class="smcap">Waern, Cecilia.</span> Mediæval Sicily. Aspects of Life and +Art in the Middle Ages. With very many illustrations. +<i>Royal 8vo. 12s. 6d. net.</i></div> + +<div class='hang1'><span class="smcap">Williams, Alfred.</span> A Wiltshire Village. A Study of +English Rural Village Life. By Alfred Williams. <i>Cr. +8vo. 5s. net.</i></div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="NOVELS_AND_STORIES" id="NOVELS_AND_STORIES"></a>NOVELS AND STORIES</h2> + + +<div class='hang1'><span class="smcap">Anonymous.</span> The Diary of an English Girl. <i>Cr. 8vo. 6s.</i></div> + +<div class='hang1'><span class="smcap">Bone, David W.</span> The Brassbounder. A tale of seamen's +life in a sailing ship. With illustrations by the Author. +<i>Cr. 8vo. 6s.</i></div> + +<div class='hang1'><span class="smcap">Bone, Gertrude.</span> Provincial Tales. With frontispiece by +Muirhead Bone. <i>Cr. 8vo. 6s.</i></div> + +<div class='hang1'><span class="smcap">Bone, Muirhead and Gertrude.</span> Children's Children. A +Tale. With 60 drawings by Muirhead Bone. <i>Large +Cr. 8vo. 6s. net.</i> [Vellum Edition, limited to 250 +copies, signed and numbered. <i>25s. net.</i>]</div> + +<div class='hang1'><span class="smcap">Brookfield, Chas. H.</span> Jack Goldie: the Boy who knew +best. Illustrated by A. E. Jackson. <i>Cr. 8vo. 5s.</i></div> + +<div class='hang1'><span class="smcap">Brown, Vincent.</span> A Magdalen's Husband. A Novel. +Fourth Impression. <i>Cr. 8vo. 6s.</i></div> + +<div class='hang1'>—— The Dark Ship. A Novel. <i>Cr. 8vo. 6s.</i></div> + +<div class='hang1'>—— The Disciple's Wife. A Novel. <i>Cr. 8vo. 6s.</i></div> + +<div class='hang1'>—— The Sacred Cup. A Novel. <i>Cr. 8vo. 6s.</i></div> + +<div class='hang1'><span class="smcap">Calthrop, Dion Clayton.</span> King Peter. A Novel. With a +Frontispiece. <i>Cr. 8vo. 6s.</i></div> + +<div class='center'> +<i>See also <a href="#Shilling_Net_Series">Duckworth's Two Shilling Net Novels</a> for another book by Dion Clayton Calthrop.</i><br /> +</div> + +<div class='hang1'><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_17_ad" id="Page_17_ad">[17]</a></span></div> + +<div class='hang1'><span class="smcap">Cawtley, C. Holmes.</span> The Weaving of the Shuttle. A +Yorkshire Novel. <i>Cr. 8vo. 6s.</i></div> + +<div class='hang1'><span class="smcap">Clifford</span>, Mrs W. K. Woodside Farm. A Novel. <i>Cr. +8vo. 6s.</i></div> + +<div class='hang1'><span class="smcap">Connolly, J. B.</span> Wide Courses: Tales of the Sea. Illustrated. +<i>Cr. 8vo. 6s.</i></div> + +<div class='center'> +<i>See also <a href="#Shilling_Net_Series">Duckworth's Two Shilling Net Novels</a>.</i><br /> +</div> + +<div class='hang1'><span class="smcap">Davies, W. H.</span> Beggars. Personal Experiences of Tramp +Life. <i>Cr. 8vo. 6s.</i></div> + +<div class='hang1'>—— A Weak Woman. A Novel. <i>Cr. 8vo. 6s.</i></div> + +<div class='hang1'>—— The True Traveller. A Tramp's Experiences. <i>Cr. +8vo. 6s.</i></div> + +<div class='hang1'><span class="smcap">Davis, Richard Harding.</span> Once upon a Time. Stories. +Illustrated. <i>Cr. 8vo. 6s.</i></div> + +<div class='hang1'>—— The Man who could not Lose. Stories. Illustrated. +<i>Cr. 8vo. 6s.</i></div> + +<div class='hang1'>—— The Red Cross Girl. Stories. Illustrated. <i>Cr. +8vo. 6s.</i></div> + +<div class='hang1'><span class="smcap">Dodge, Janet.</span> Tony Unregenerate. A Novel. <i>Cr. 8vo. 6s.</i></div> + +<div class='hang1'><span class="smcap">Drake, Maurice.</span> Wrack. A Tale of the Sea. <i>Cr. 8vo. 6s.</i></div> + +<div class='hang1'><span class="smcap">East, H. Clayton.</span> The Breath of the Desert. A Novel of +Egypt. <i>Cr. 8vo. 6s.</i></div> + +<div class='hang1'><span class="smcap">Filippi, Rosina.</span> Bernardine. A Novel. <i>Cr. 8vo. 6s.</i></div> + +<div class='hang1'><span class="smcap">Fogazzaro, Antonio.</span> The Poet's Mystery. A Novel. <i>Cr. +8vo. 6s.</i></div> + +<div class='hang1'><span class="smcap">Forbes, Lady Helen.</span> It's a Way they have in the Army. +A Novel. <i>Cr. 8vo. 6s.</i></div> + +<div class='hang1'>—— The Bounty of the Gods. A Novel.</div> + +<div class='hang1'>—— The Polar Star. A Novel. <i>Cr. 8vo. 6s.</i></div> + +<div class='hang1'><span class="smcap">Garnett</span>, Mrs R. S. Amor Vincit. A Romance of the +Staffordshire Moorlands. <i>Cr. 8vo. 6s.</i></div> + +<div class='center'> +<i>See also <a href="#Shilling_Net_Series">Duckworth's Two Shilling Net Novels</a> for another Novel by Mrs Garnett.</i><br /> +</div> + +<div class='hang1'><span class="smcap">Garshin, W.</span> The Signal, and other Stories. Translated +from the Russian.</div> + +<div class='hang1'><span class="smcap">Glyn, Elinor.</span> Beyond the Rocks. A Love Story. <i>Cr. +8vo. 6s.</i> Also an edition in <i>paper covers. 1s. net.</i></div> + +<div class='hang1'>—— Halcyone. A Novel. <i>Cr. 8vo. 6s.</i></div> + +<div class='hang1'>—— His Hour. A Novel. With a photogravure frontispiece. +<i>Cr. 8vo. 6s.</i><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_18_ad" id="Page_18_ad">[18]</a></span></div> + +<div class='hang1'>—— The Vicissitudes of Evangeline. With +Coloured Frontispiece. <i>Cr. 8vo, 6s.</i> Also an edition in +<i>paper covers, 1s. net.</i></div> + +<div class='hang1'>—— Reflections of Ambrosine. With Coloured Frontispiece. +<i>Cr. 8vo. 6s.</i></div> + +<div class='center'> +<i>See also <a href="#Shilling_Net_Series">Duckworth's Two Shilling Net Novels</a>.</i><br /> +</div> + +<div class='hang1'>—— Three Weeks. A Romance. With Coloured Frontispiece. +<i>Cr. 8vo. 6s.</i></div> + +<div class='hang1'>—— The Visits of Elizabeth. With Photogravure Frontispiece. +<i>Cr. 8vo. 6s.</i></div> + +<div class='hang1'>—— Elizabeth Visits America. With a Photogravure +Frontispiece. <i>Cr. 8vo. 6s.</i></div> + +<div class='center'> +<i>See also <a href="#Shilling_Net_Series">Duckworth's Two Shilling Net Novels</a>.</i><br /> +</div> + +<div class='hang1'>—— The Damsel and the Sage: A Woman's Whimsies. +With a Photogravure Portrait. <i>Cr. 8vo.</i> In slip case. +<i>5s. net.</i></div> + +<div class='hang1'>—— Sayings of Grandmamma. From the Writings of +Elinor Glyn. <i>Fcap. 8vo.</i> With Photogravure Portrait. +<i>Persian yapp. 2s. 6d. net. Also in parchment, 1s. net.</i></div> + +<div class='hang1'>—— The Reason Why. With Frontispiece in Colour. +<i>Cr. 8vo. 6s.</i></div> + +<div class='hang1'><span class="smcap">Gorky, Maxim.</span> The Spy. A Tale. By Maxim Gorky. +<i>Cr. 8vo. 6s.</i></div> + +<div class='hang1'>—— Twenty-six Men and a Girl. Stories. <i>Cr. 8vo. +Cloth, 2s. net.</i></div> + +<div class='hang1'><span class="smcap">Hayter, Adrian.</span> The Profitable Imbroglio. A Tale of +Mystery. <i>Cr. 8vo. 6s.</i></div> + +<div class='hang1'><span class="smcap">Holmes, Arthur H.</span> Twinkle. A Novel. <i>Cr. 8vo. 6s.</i></div> + +<div class='hang1'><span class="smcap">Horlick, Jittie.</span> A String of Beads. A Tale. Illustrated +in Colour. <i>Cr. 8vo. 6s.</i></div> + +<div class='hang1'><span class="smcap">Johnson, Cecil Ross.</span> The Trader: A Venture in New +Guinea. A Novel. <i>Cr. 8vo. 6s.</i></div> + +<div class='hang1'><span class="smcap">Le Sage, A. B.</span> In the West Wind. A Cornish Novel. +<i>Cr. 8vo. 6s.</i></div> + +<div class='hang1'><span class="smcap">Lipsett, E. R.</span> Didy: The Story of an Irish Girl. +<i>Cr. 8vo. 6s.</i></div> + +<div class='hang1'><span class="smcap">Maclagan, Bridget.</span> The Mistress of Kingdoms. A Novel. +<i>Cr. 8vo. 6s.</i></div> + +<div class='hang1'><span class="smcap">Martindale, Elizabeth.</span> Margaret Hever. A Novel. <i>Cr. +8vo. 6s.</i><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_19_ad" id="Page_19_ad">[19]</a></span></div> + +<div class='hang1'><span class="smcap">Maud, Constance Elizabeth.</span> Angelique: le p'tit Chou. +A Story. <i>Cr. 8vo. 6s.</i></div> + +<div class='center'> +<i>See also <a href="#Shilling_Net_Series">Two Shilling Net Novels</a> for another book by Miss Maud.</i><br /> +</div> + +<div class='hang1'><span class="smcap">Maupassant, Guy de.</span> Yvette, and other Stories. Translated +by A.G. <i>Cr. 8vo. 6s.</i></div> + +<div class='center'> +<i>See also <a href="#Shilling_Net_Series">Shilling Net Library</a> for another volume of Maupassant.</i><br /> +</div> + +<div class='hang1'><span class="smcap">Monkhouse, Allan.</span> Dying Fires. A Novel. <i>Cr. 8vo. 6s.</i></div> + +<div class='hang1'><span class="smcap">Napier, Rosamond.</span> The Faithful Failure. A Novel of the +Open Air. <i>Cr. 8vo. 6s.</i></div> + +<div class='hang1'>—— The Heart of a Gypsy. A Novel. <i>Cr. 8vo. 6s.</i></div> + +<div class='hang1'><span class="smcap">Pawlowska, Yoï.</span> Those that Dream. A Novel of Life in +Rome To-day. <i>Cr. 8vo. 6s.</i></div> + +<div class='hang1'><span class="smcap">Roberts, Helen.</span> Old Brent's Daughter. <i>Cr. 8vo. 6s.</i></div> + +<div class='hang1'><span class="smcap">Schofield, Lily.</span> Elizabeth, Betsy, and Bess. A Tale. +<i>Cr. 8vo. 6s.</i></div> + +<div class='hang1'>"<span class="smcap">Shway Dinga.</span>" Wholly without Morals. A Novel of +Indo-Burman Life. <i>Cr. 8vo. 6s.</i></div> + +<div class='hang1'><span class="smcap">Tchekhoff, Anton.</span> The Kiss: Stories. <i>Cr. 8vo. 6s.</i></div> + +<div class='hang1'><span class="smcap">Travers, John.</span> Sahib Log. A Novel of Regimental Life +in India. <i>Cr. 8vo. 6s.</i></div> + +<div class='hang1'>—— In the World of Bewilderment. A Novel. <i>Cr. 8vo. 6s.</i></div> + +<div class='hang1'><span class="smcap">Tylee, E. S.</span> The Witch Ladder. A Somerset Story. +<i>Cr. 8vo. 6s.</i></div> + +<div class='hang1'><span class="smcap">Vaughan, Owen</span> (Owen Rhoscomyl). A Scout's Story. A +Tale of Adventure. Illustrated. <i>Cr. 8vo. 2s. 6d.</i></div> + +<div class='hang1'>—— Isle Raven. A Welsh Novel. <i>Cr. 8vo. 6s.</i></div> + +<div class='hang1'>—— Old Fireproof: Being the Chaplain's Story of Certain +Events in the South African War. <i>Cr. 8vo. 6s.</i></div> + +<div class='hang1'>—— Sweet Rogues. A Romance. <i>Cr. 8vo. 6s.</i></div> + +<div class='center'> +<i>See also <a href="#Shilling_Net_Series">Duckworth's Two Shilling Net Novels</a> for another book by Owen Vaughan.</i><br /> +</div> + + +<div class='hang1'><span class="smcap"><a name="Duckworths_Series_of_Popular_Novels" id="Duckworths_Series_of_Popular_Novels"></a>Duckworth's Series of Popular Novels.</span> <i>2s. net.</i></div> + + + + + +<div class='center'> +<table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" summary="Duckworth's Series of Popular Novels"> +<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap">The Prodigal Nephew.</span> By Bertram Atkey.</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap">The Dance of Love.</span> By Dion Clayton Calthrop.</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap">Woodside Farm.</span> By Mrs W. K. Clifford.</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap">The Crested Seas.</span> By James B. Conolly. Illustrated.</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap">The Infamous John Friend.</span> By Mrs R.S. Garnett.</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap">Elizabeth visits America.</span> By Elinor Glyn.</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap">Reflections of Ambrosine.</span> By Elinor Glyn.</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap">A Motor-Car Divorce.</span> By Louise Hale. Illustrated.</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap">No Surrender.</span> By Constance Elizabeth Maud.</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap">The Secret Kingdom.</span> By Frank Richardson.</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap">Vronina.</span> By Owen Vaughan. With Coloured Frontispiece.</td></tr> +</table></div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_20_ad" id="Page_20_ad">[20]</a></span></p> +<h2>BOOKS ON APPROVAL</h2> + + +<div class='center'><span class="smcap">Messrs</span> DUCKWORTH & CO.'s Publications may be obtained +through any good bookseller. Anyone desiring to examine a +volume should order it subject to approval. The bookseller can +obtain it from the publishers on this condition.<br /><br /> + +<i>The following Special Lists and Catalogues will be sent +Post Free on request to any address:—</i><br /><br /></div> + + +<div class='hang2'>A GENERAL CATALOGUE OF PUBLICATIONS<br /><br /></div> + +<div class='hang2'>A COLOURED PROSPECTUS OF NEW ILLUSTRATED CHILDREN'S BOOKS<br /><br /></div> + +<div class='hang2'>A DESCRIPTIVE LIST OF "THE READERS' LIBRARY"<br /><br /></div> + +<div class='hang2'>A DESCRIPTIVE LIST OF "THE LIBRARY OF ART" AND "THE POPULAR LIBRARY OF ART"<br /><br /></div> + +<div class='hang2'>A DESCRIPTIVE LIST OF "THE SAINTS SERIES"<br /><br /></div> + +<div class='hang2'>A DESCRIPTIVE LIST OF THEOLOGICAL WORKS<br /><br /></div> + +<div class='hang2'>AND FULL PROSPECTUSES OF "THE ROADMENDER SERIES" AND "MODERN PLAYS"<br /></div> + + + +<div class='center'><br /><br /> +DUCKWORTH & COMPANY<br /> +3 HENRIETTA STREET, COVENT GARDEN, LONDON<br /> +</div> +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 323px;"> +<img src="images/backcover.jpg" width="323" height="500" alt="Back Cover" title="" /> +</div> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +<div class='tnote'><h3>Transcriber's Notes:</h3> +<p>Obvious punctuation errors repaired.</p> + +<p>The remaining corrections made are indicated by dotted lines under the corrections. Scroll the mouse over the word and the original text will <ins title="Transcriber's Note: original reads 'apprear'">appear</ins>.</p></div> + +<div>*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 30087 ***</div> +</body> +</html> |