initial commit of ebook 36810HEADmain

7 files changed, 10622 insertions, 0 deletions

diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..6833f05
--- /dev/null
+++ b/.gitattributes
@@ -0,0 +1,3 @@
+* text=auto
+*.txt text
+*.md text
diff --git a/36810-0.txt b/36810-0.txt
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..70ba688
--- /dev/null
+++ b/36810-0.txt
@@ -0,0 +1,5078 @@
+The Project Gutenberg eBook, Crying for the Light, Vol. 3 [of 3], by J.
+Ewing Ritchie
+
+
+This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with
+almost no restrictions whatsoever.  You may copy it, give it away or
+re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included
+with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org
+
+
+
+
+
+Title: Crying for the Light, Vol. 3 [of 3]
+       or Fifty Years Ago
+
+
+Author: J. Ewing Ritchie
+
+
+
+Release Date: July 21, 2011  [eBook #36810]
+
+Language: English
+
+Character set encoding: UTF-8
+
+
+***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK CRYING FOR THE LIGHT, VOL. 3 [OF
+3]***
+
+
+Transcribed from the 1895 Jarrold and Sons edition by David Price, email
+ccx074@pglaf.org.  Many thanks to Norfolk and Norwich Millennium Library,
+UK, for kindly allowing their copy to be used for this transcription.
+
+    “This is the condition of humanity; we are placed as it were in an
+    intellectual twilight where we discover but few things clearly, and
+    yet we see enough to tempt us with the hope of making better and more
+    discoveries.”
+
+                                                             —BOLINGBROKE.
+
+
+
+
+Crying for the Light
+or Fifty Years Ago
+
+
+                                                           J Ewing Ritchie
+                                                   Author of ‘East Anglia’
+
+                                * * * * *
+
+                                                                     Vol 3
+
+                                * * * * *
+
+London: Jarrold and Sons
+       Warwick Lane E.C.
+         1895
+
+
+
+
+CONTENTS OF VOL. III.
+
+CHAPTER                                            PAGE
+       XXII.  AT THE CATTLE-SHOW                      1
+      XXIII.  THE FUNERAL                            36
+       XXIV.  THE HONEYMOON                          48
+        XXV.  A REVELATION                           65
+       XXVI.  THE ITALIAN COUNTESS                   82
+      XXVII.  IN BRUSSELS                           114
+     XXVIII.  A COUNTRYMAN IN TOWN                  131
+       XXIX.  THE COLONEL                           159
+        XXX.  ROSE RETIRES FROM THE STAGE           183
+       XXXI.  CHIEFLY ABOUT THE LAND                201
+      XXXII.  CONSULTATION                          223
+     XXXIII.  THE FINAL RESOLVE                     247
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXII.
+AT THE CATTLE-SHOW.
+
+
+Again we are at Sloville, on the occasion of the anniversary of the
+flourishing Agricultural Society of the county—an occasion which fills
+the town with rosy-faced, ruined British farmers; which blocks up all the
+leading streets with flocks and herds of oxen and sheep from a thousand
+hills, and which not a little astonishes and vexes the soul of the
+true-born son of the soil, as he contemplates new-fangled machinery of
+every variety and for every purpose; alarms him with ominous forebodings
+of a time when, Othello-like, he will find his occupation gone, and the
+rascally steam-engine doing the work, and taking the bread out of the
+mouth of an honest man.  He thinks of Swing and sighs.  That mysterious
+personage had a way of putting down threshing-machines which was
+satisfactory for a time; but, alas! steam is king, and it is vain to
+fight with him.  It is steam quite as much as the wickedness of the
+landlord, incredible as it may seem to the Radical politician, which has
+emptied the country and filled the town.  It would be all right if steam
+would work off our surplus population.  Alas! it does nothing of the
+kind, and each year the labourer finds himself of less account; nor can
+there be any change for the better till we get the people back on to the
+land, away from the crowded city with its ever-increasing drudgery and
+toil.  Perhaps when they have settled Ireland our wise men of Gotham may
+look at home.  There is plenty for them to do there.  It is high time
+that we do something for our bold peasantry, once their country’s pride.
+
+It is a fine, bright, sparkling morning, one rare in England, but to be
+made the most of when it comes.  There are no clouds in the sky, and
+there is scarce a breath of air to bring them down from the vasty deep
+above.  Every hedgerow is bright with flowers, and musical with the song
+of birds.  Overnight there was a shower, which laid the dust and added a
+touch of freshness to the emerald meadows.  On every side ancient oaks
+and wide-reaching elms cast a grateful shade.  What can be dearer than an
+English landscape on such a day?  Even the thatched clay cottage, with
+its roses and honeysuckle, looks picturesque, and the brown cows suggest
+more than milk as they lie chewing the cud, apparently at peace with
+themselves and all below.  Here and there amidst the trees is the
+red-brick manor-house, or the old-fashioned farmhouse, or the gray spire
+of the village church, where from time immemorial the tribes have
+repaired.  Yesterday, it were, they were teaching there the Mass; now the
+Mass is unsung, and we have the doctrines and Articles of the Church of
+England, which seem sadly at variance with one and another.  To-morrow
+what shall we hear there?  Who can say?  Man and his opinions change only
+in our villages, the face of Nature remains the same.  You travel all the
+world over, and you come back to your native village to find it ever the
+same, only a little smaller, that is all.
+
+From the lodge of a neighbouring hall rides forth a cavalcade; Sir Watkin
+Strahan, well-mounted, is the leader of the party.  A fair girl, the rich
+merchant’s daughter, is by his side; on the other is the rich merchant
+himself.  Behind them follows a groom in livery, perhaps the best rider
+of the lot.  As they leave the gate the keeper hands Sir Watkin an
+ill-written epistle on a dirty piece of paper, which Sir Watkin
+indignantly tears to pieces without reading.  ‘If the contents are of
+importance,’ he says to himself, ‘they will come before him in a more
+legitimate manner.’
+
+‘’Tis that old woman from the workhouse,’ says the lodge-keeper to the
+groom, who gives a knowing smile in reply as he passes out.  ‘She’s a
+good deal arter the maister,’ she replies, ‘but he’s not one to take up
+with the likes of her.  She’s a cool one, at any rate.’
+
+They are now on the turnpike which leads to Sloville, and hence to London
+itself.  The crowd thickens as they near the town.  The tenants on the
+estate are numerous, and Sir Watkin has a word for them all.  He inquires
+after their families; as to the state of their oxen and asses; what kind
+of a season it has been with them, and how the crops are getting on.  The
+tenants are careful not to reply too cheerily.  They are talking to their
+landlord, and he may put up the rent if they brag too much.
+
+The London merchant is charmed.  He has a lot more money than Sir Watkin,
+but it brings him no gratified courtesies either abroad or at home.  He
+is suspicious even of his chief clerk.  Everyone seems to look up to Sir
+Watkin.  There is something in being a landowner, and the bearer of any
+kind of hereditary title.
+
+‘Why,’ he asks himself, ‘does not the Queen make baronets of such as
+himself?  Men who add to British wealth, who carry British commerce all
+over the world; without whom England would never have become mistress of
+the seas.  Infinitely superior is the British merchant to the British
+landlord.  Yet, how much we think of the one, how little of the other.
+Will it ever be so?’ he asks himself.  Wise as he is, he fails to
+anticipate a time when circumstances shall break the power of the
+landlord, and the produce of Canada and America make the land an
+unsaleable commodity.
+
+As a matter of theory nothing can be more ideally beautiful than the
+landed system under which England has become great and flourishing; nor
+was any other system possible at the time it became developed in our
+midst.  The sovereign apportioned the land between his nobles as a reward
+for their devotion to his service.  As they became strong, they acted as
+a check on the sovereign himself; as the middle class began to grow
+strong by commerce, they acted as a check on each, and king and noble
+felt their importance and their power, and were ready to attach them to
+their side.  It is to the credit of our aristocracy that they aimed to be
+the leaders of the people; that they did not sink into mere courtiers;
+that they were bold and hardy—ready to take their share in the fighting
+and adventure which became the necessity of our insular position.  It is
+more to their credit that the relation between them and their tenants was
+pleasant and mutually advantageous.  The great landlord was a power in
+the land, a centre of civilization, the friend of all within his sphere
+of influence.  His sons served the State—in the army and navy and the
+Church.  The farmer and the labourer had much in common; they worked side
+by side, ate at the same table, talked the same language, and were
+equally ready to do the will of their superiors.  In time there grew up a
+different state of things; with that love of money which is the root of
+all evil, society became revolutionized—the landlord wanted higher rents;
+the farmer aspired to be a gentleman, and the poor labourer was deprived
+of his bit of common, of his sports and pastimes; his cottage was pulled
+down, and he had to end his days in the workhouse or in some city slum;
+and now Hodge has only the beer-shop or the Primitive Methodist chapel to
+look to for sympathy and friendship.  The man of to-day is the man who
+makes money, no matter how.
+
+At the time of which I write, the old tradition in favour of the landlord
+was still in force, and Sir Watkin was glad to show his City friends how
+all did him honour as they made their way amidst the ever increasing
+throng on their way to the cattle-show.
+
+And the young lady—what of her?  Her bosom swells, and her eye sparkles
+with pride.  Her only recollection of her grandfather is that of a feeble
+old man dressed in rusty black, dependent for his bread and cheese on his
+more vigorous and successful son.
+
+Sir Watkin had a hall full of the portraits of his ancestors.  Some had
+been great lawyers, some soldiers and sailors—all more or less connected
+with the State.  And, then, what a monarch was a landlord in his domains,
+almost armed with the power of life and death!  How much pleasanter the
+talk of such a man than of one who was in a counting-house all day, and
+whose favourite literature was to be found in the money articles of the
+_Times_!  Should she become Lady Watkin?  Certainly it would be very
+nice, if she could not manage to secure a lord.  In default of the
+latter, she made herself very agreeable to her host, who was old enough
+to be her father, and who, if he was an Israelite, was not altogether
+without guile.
+
+At length our illustrious friends reach Sloville, or rather the outskirts
+of the town, where the Agricultural Show is held.  Here the sheep are
+inspected; and then they pass on to the shorthorns and Herefords; and
+then, very evident in more ways than one were the pigs of Berks and
+Hants, and other choice breeds.  How they were watched by the fat farmers
+with sympathetic eyes!  How the rustic chawbacon doted on them!  We hear
+much of the roast beef of old England, but dearer to the national heart
+is its roast pork, especially when it comes to us in the shape of roast
+pig, immortalized by the charming Elia, and the theme—the fitting
+theme—of one of his most eloquent essays: ‘See him,’ he writes, ‘in the
+dish—his second cradle—how meek he lieth!  Wouldst thou have the innocent
+grow up to the grossness and indocility which too often accompany maturer
+swinehood?  Ten to one he would have proved a glutton, a sloven, an
+obstinate, disagreeable animal wallowing in all manner of filthy
+conversation.  From these sins he is happily snatched away.’
+
+    ’Ere sin could blight or sorrow fade,
+    Death came with timely care.’
+
+The horses, as the nobler animals, had a field to themselves.  It was
+there the multitude flocked, for every Englishman thinks he knows more of
+horses and can manage them better than anyone else; all were there, from
+the Leviathan cart-horses, such as we see in brewers’ drays, to the
+light-built hack on which my lady canters across the park.  Here Sir
+Watkin, as became him, was oracular, as he went from one to the other of
+the candidates for the honours of the day, looked into his mouth and
+inspected his teeth, felt his hoofs and prodded his sides, took off his
+hat and beat a tattoo with his riding-whip in order to get a good idea of
+the animal’s performance, whilst the ostler with a straw in his mouth
+stood admiring.  The farmers were proud, for Sir Watkin was a
+connoisseur, and knew a thing or two.
+
+Next to the horses, the ladies affected the poultry.  Perhaps a time will
+come when the British farmer will condescend to think of such small fry,
+and divert into his own pocket the millions we send to France and
+elsewhere for eggs and poultry.  Sir Watkin did not care much about
+them—nor did the British merchant—so long as he got his fresh egg for
+breakfast, and his little bit of the breast with a glass of sherry for
+lunch; but the lady was not to be gainsaid, and so a half-hour was
+devoted to the noisy neighbourhood of Brahmas and Dorkings and
+Cochin-Chinas; while rival cocks—happily far apart—challenged each other
+to mortal combat, and proudly hurled defiance from the prison walls.  A
+short distance off we the improved ploughs and tumbrels and waggons, and
+the reaping machines, for which we are indebted to America, and which
+testify how much may be done by machinery on large farms held by farmers
+of sufficient means.  Here the spectators were of a more select class,
+high farming not being in everyone’s way.  Instead of the rosy, stupid,
+sleek bucolic, you saw men learned in machinery, and with some of the
+smartness of the town men, bent on improvement and eager to turn science
+to profitable account.  Wheat was threshed and dressed in the most
+efficient manner.  The rustic farmer stared, open-mouthed, questioning
+whether it were safer to continue as his fathers before him or to give in
+to machinery which promised him such beneficent results.  As it was, he
+seemed to be much exercised in his mind.  The elder men shook their
+heads, the young ones seemed ready for novelty.  Perhaps the truth lay
+between the two.  Had we not of late suffered much from potato disease?
+said the old farmer, and did one ever hear of that before we had the
+railway?  That was a poser, as they thought, which there was no getting
+over, however plausible the speech of agricultural implement maker or
+vendor of artificial manure.
+
+As usual, the refreshment booths were the most patronized parts of the
+exhibition.  There the learned and the ignorant, the old-fashioned farmer
+and the man of the present time, met on an equality.  There was to be
+found the touch of nature which makes the whole world kin.  The
+townspeople understood that part of the business as well as the farmer
+who had come out for a spree; and in a little while the fun was fast and
+furious.
+
+The outskirts of the field devoted to the exhibition assumed the aspect
+of a fair.  Here a crowd witnessed that popular domestic drama known as
+Punch and Judy.  There the youths of the district played madly with Aunt
+Sally.  In one quarter champions from London demonstrated the art of
+self-defence; in another was Mrs. Jarley with her moral wax-works.  The
+peasantry were in great force, as they always are when beer is to be had
+or anything out of the way to be seen.  So dense was the crowd it was a
+wonder someone was not hurt, as reckless farmers, under the influence of
+beer, and in order to show off the prowess of their steeds, galloped up
+and down.  Boys, of course, were always in the way.  Unfortunately a
+special providence watched over them.
+
+All at once Sir Watkin Strahan found that he was followed by an old woman
+in a workhouse garb, who had got out for a holiday, and who had evidently
+been indulging in liquor to an extent that embarrassed her movements and
+impaired her forces of speech.  It was a very disagreeable situation for
+him.  He was well known to everyone there, and, besides, he had a lady
+under his escort in whose eye he wished to assume a good figure.  As a
+popular landlord and well-known county man, so far he had succeeded to
+his heart’s content.
+
+The swells had deferred to his opinion; the farmers had applauded his
+jokes, whilst their wives and daughters beamed with smiles; and the
+plebeians had eyed him with reverence from afar.  Representatives of
+leading firms had besought his attention and patronage as they explained
+the peculiar merits of their own machines.  His own part in the show had
+been very successful.  He had won a prize with one of his own bullocks,
+his sheep were classed in A 1, and his fine porkers, of the real
+Berkshire breed, had attracted honourable mention; but wherever he went,
+there was this old hag in his way, making signs to him which he could not
+or would not understand.  All at once he was separated from his friends,
+and the woman, seeing her opportunity, rushed at him.
+
+‘What the deuce do you want?’ said he angrily, holding up his riding-whip
+as if about to hit her.
+
+‘I’ve got something to say to yer honour.’
+
+‘Well, say on,’ said he impatiently.
+
+‘But I cant say it here,’ was the reply.
+
+‘I suppose,’ said the Baronet, ‘you want some money?  There is half a
+crown,’ continued he, hastily tossing it her.  ‘But don’t spend it in
+beer, my good woman; you have had too much already.’
+
+‘No, ’tis not money.  I can tell yer honour something you would like to
+know.’
+
+‘Much obliged, I am sure; but I fear you are labouring under a delusion.’
+
+‘No, no, Sir Watkin.’
+
+‘You’re drunk, I tell you.  Be off, or I’ll give you in charge.’
+
+‘Me drunk, Sir Watkin?  A poor lone widow as has lived respectable in
+Sloville for years, though unfortunate, but that is neither here nor
+there.  Me drunk?  No, no, Sir Watkin!’
+
+‘But I tell you you are, my good woman.’
+
+‘Drunk or sober, Sir Watkin, you must listen to me.’
+
+‘I’ll do nothing of the kind.’
+
+‘If you don’t hear me, Sir Watkin, you’ll be sorry as long as you live.’
+
+By this time the crowd had been attracted to the spot, and the situation
+was becoming unpleasant to the Baronet, who formed the centre of an
+amazed group, to whom the annoyance of the Baronet and the tipsy gravity
+of the woman were more than slightly amusing.
+
+Sir Watkin attempted to move off.
+
+The poor woman endeavoured to stop him.  In the attempt she overbalanced
+herself, and fell prostrate on the earth, to the intense delight of the
+spectators, who enjoyed the scene amazingly.
+
+‘Sir Watkin, I say,’ said his persecutor, rising slowly from her
+recumbent position; ‘Sir Watkin, I say!’
+
+But the baronet was gone, and, instead, the woman found herself being
+assisted gently off the ground by an efficient policeman, who, seeing a
+crowd of a peaceful character, thought it becoming to interfere.
+
+Had the crowd been of a different complexion, and had there been any
+fighting going on, the chances are the policeman—with the usual instinct
+of his order for a sound skin or an uncracked skull—would have been
+looking steadfastly in quite an opposite direction.  They all do it, and
+it is natural.
+
+The man had already asked Sir Watkin if he would have her given in
+charge, an offer Sir Watkin declined.  He had no wish, he said, to be
+hard on her; he only wished her to leave him alone.  That was quite
+enough.
+
+The crowd naturally sided with the Baronet.  He was the great man of the
+district.
+
+‘What business had a wretched woman like that to interfere with him?
+Just like her imperence!’ said the majority.
+
+One or two, more curious than the rest, followed the woman, with a view
+to learn further particulars; but she was, for a wonder, reticent.  She
+was not Sall—but Sall’s friend and ally.  Not if wild horses were to drag
+her in twain would she disclose her secret.  It was one between Sir
+Watkin and herself alone.
+
+Sir Watkin rejoined his friends, trusting that they had not been
+eye-witnesses of his adventure.
+
+Just at that moment he had no wish to have scandal or mystery attaching
+to his name.  Hitherto, his appearance had been quite a success, and the
+British merchant and his daughter were duly impressed with the respect
+and attention he had everywhere commanded.
+
+‘We’ve missed you much, Sir Watkin,’ said the lady in a tone which
+flattered his vanity and raised his hopes.
+
+‘Yes, the crowd cruelly separated us for a few minutes.’
+
+‘A few minutes!’ said the lady; ‘it seemed to me a long time.’
+
+‘You make me proud,’ said the Baronet.  ‘It is something to be missed by
+one who has always so many admirers.’
+
+‘You flatter me, Sir Watkin.  But, seriously, what was all the fuss
+about?’
+
+‘Only a tipsy woman.’
+
+‘How shocking!  But, good gracious, there she is again.’
+
+Sir Watkin looked in the direction pointed out, and, sure enough, there
+was his old enemy.  Conducted off the ground by one gate, she had
+reappeared by another, and was bearing down, amidst the jeers of the _oi
+polloi_, straight upon himself.
+
+‘Confound her impudence!’ he exclaimed.  ‘I wish I had given her in
+charge.’
+
+‘Sir Watkin, I say!  Sir Watkin, hear me!  I’ve something very particular
+to say.’
+
+‘Yes, but you can’t say it now, my good woman.  Don’t you see I am
+engaged?’
+
+Again a crowd assembled in full expectation of some fun—an extra
+entertainment not included in the day’s programme.
+
+Again, fortunately, the policeman appeared.
+
+‘Now, my good woman,’ said he, ‘he hoff.  Don’t you see you are creatin’
+a disturbance?’
+
+‘I am a-doin’ w’at?’ asked the party addressed.
+
+‘You are a-creatin’ a disturbance and hinterferin’ with the gentry.  It
+is agen the law.  You’d best take yourself off.’
+
+‘Oh, I am a-goin’, but I must speak to Sir Watkin first.’
+
+‘Call at the Hall, old gal, and leave your card, and then Sir Watkin will
+be delighted to see you,’ cried one in the crowd.  ‘The family dine at
+seven.  Don’t forget the hour.’
+
+‘Yes,’ said another, ‘Sir Watkin will be pleased to see such a beauty.
+He’ll want you to stop with him a month.  Sir Watkin knows a pretty gal
+when he sees one—no one better.’
+
+But by this time Sir Watkin and his party were off.  His groom had come
+to the rescue and brought up the horses, and they remounted, leaving the
+tipsy woman to scream after him in vain.
+
+This time, however, her blood was up, and she refused to be led quietly
+off.  Another constable came to the rescue of his mate, and she was
+carried off, kicking and struggling all the while.  Her cries filled the
+air and reached the Baronet’s party.
+
+‘’Tis very annoying, but one can’t help such things on a public day like
+this,’ said he in an apologetic tone to the lady.  ‘The poor woman must
+be cracked, I think.
+
+‘It makes one ashamed of one’s sex,’ was her reply.
+
+‘Such conduct ought not to be allowed.  The police aren’t half sharp
+enough,’ said the British merchant.  ‘What do we pay rates and taxes for,
+I should like to know, but to prevent such disturbances?’
+
+The British merchant evidently expected the British public to be as
+subdued and deferential as his clerks in his counting-house, when they
+appeared in his august and imposing presence, or as his debtors, when
+bills were overdue.
+
+The ladies of his party had left the field early—their ears stunned with
+the noisy scene:
+
+    ‘With the striking of clocks,
+    Cackle of hens, crowing of cocks,
+    Lowing of cow and bull and ox,
+    Bleating of pretty pastoral flocks.’
+
+Sir Watkin and his friend, the British merchant, had stopped to dine at
+the grand banquet held on the occasion, in the leading hotel of the town.
+An Englishman can do nothing without a public dinner.  Sir Watkin had to
+take the chair.
+
+‘You will excuse me, won’t you?’ said he to the young lady, as he parted
+with her.
+
+‘Oh, yes!’ said she gaily.  ‘I am quite aware property has its duties as
+well as its rights.’
+
+‘Well, I think it is well to be neighbourly when one has the chance.  But
+I give you my word of honour, I would far sooner ride back with you.’
+
+‘Well, the best of friends must part,’ said the lady.  ‘But you will be
+home in good time.  _Au revoir_!  Pray, take care of papa,’ said the
+lady, as she returned to the carriage that was to take her and some other
+ladies to the Hall, under the care of the vicar of the parish.
+
+Meanwhile, Sir Watkin made his way with his friend to the leading hotel
+of Sloville, where a heavy dinner of the old-fashioned type—such as was
+dear to the farmer years ago—was prepared, where the feeding and the
+drinking were alike trying to the stoutest nerve and the strongest
+digestion, and where the after-dinner oratory was of a truly bucolic
+character.
+
+The farmers were delighted to find their landlord in the chair, and
+listened to him as if he were an oracle.  The dinner was a great success.
+As chairman, the Baronet had especially distinguished himself.
+
+There were fireworks in the evening, and a Bacchanalian orgy such as
+Sloville had rarely beheld.  But the Baronet and his friend did not stop
+for that, but got back to the Hall in time to finish the day with a ball.
+The old Hall was gayer that night than it had been for a long time.  All
+the old family plate had been brought forth for the occasion, and
+everywhere was light and music and laughter—and bright the lamps shone on
+
+    ‘Fair women and brave men.’
+
+The revelry was loud and long, and hours after the ladies had retired the
+men had remained in the smoking-room to drink soda and brandy, and to
+talk of hunting exploits, of horses, of women, and of wine.
+
+The shades of night had passed, and the golden dawn was glittering in the
+east.  The sun was commencing like a giant refreshed to renew his daily
+course—the simile is old, but it is true, nevertheless.  A slight
+mist—prelude of a hot day—dimmed the valley below the Hall, and marked
+the line of the little trout stream, where Sir Watkin had loved to fish
+when a boy.  In the grand old trees around, the birds were commencing
+their morning song of praise, while the heavy rooks were preparing to
+take their usual flight in search of food.  The pheasants were feeding in
+the surrounding park.
+
+Not yet had man gone forth to his daily toil, and there was peaceful
+slumber in the trim cottage and the snug farmhouse alike.  Now and then
+the shrill cry of the petted peacock awoke the woods, or the clamour of
+the early cock.
+
+Sir Watkin lingered to enjoy the loveliness of the rural scene and the
+freshness of the morning air.  For awhile something even of sentiment
+filled his heart.  What had he done that all that lovely landscape should
+he his?  How could he have lived as he had in London and Paris, in Vienna
+or Rome?  Was it true that there was a God, as they told him in church,
+and as he had learned on his mother’s knee—who had given him all these
+things richly to enjoy, and would demand, sooner or later, an account of
+his stewardship?  Then he looked at the glass, and was shocked as he saw
+how bloodshot were his eyes, how dark the skin underneath; how clear were
+the lines marked by dissipation on his cheek and brow.
+
+Well, it was time he settled down.  He had not behaved well to his first
+wife, he admitted, but that was no reason why be should not treat his
+second wife well.  Then he was little better than a lad—now he was a man
+who had seen something of the world and who knew the value of peace and
+quietness.  And so resolving, he dismissed his man and undressed.
+
+Even then sleep was shy in coming.  He had a puzzle to distract him to
+which he could find no answer.  What had that old tipsy female at the
+cattle-show got to tell him?—what was the secret she pretended to have in
+her possession?  Was the mystery ever to be solved?  He had seen in her
+something to remind him of a girl who had once been in his service, but
+it could not be her.  Surely she had not become what he saw.  Sir Watkin
+forgot that the beauty of a woman, when she takes to drink and low
+company, is of a very evanescent character.
+
+Sleep—Nature’s restorer, balmy sleep—how hard it is to get when you want
+it!  The morrow was to be an important day.  It was to decide his fate.
+The fair guest had looked lovingly on him as she left the drawing-room.
+There was something in the way in which her hand lingered in his own that
+suggested to the Baronet hope.  The worldly-minded father was, at any
+rate, safe, and was prepared to invest handsomely in a titled son-in-law.
+He, the latter, had been of late in a somewhat shady state; there were
+many whispers about him in society, and not to his credit.  It was clear
+that in certain transactions, like other young and foolish scions
+(considering how they are brought up it is almost impossible for them to
+be otherwise), he had suffered considerable pecuniary loss—or, in other
+words, been uncommonly well fleeced.  Stately dames who ruled in
+Belgravia did not seem to him as genial as formerly; doors that were once
+opened freely were now closed.  Low Radical newspapers occasionally
+hinted that he was no credit to the class who neither toil nor spin.  It
+even began to dawn on the Baronet that his career had not been a
+brilliant one.
+
+Half sleeping and half waking, there came to him unpleasant thoughts, and
+dreams equally so—of women whom he had betrayed, of friends who had
+trusted to him in vain, of splendid opportunities he had missed, of time
+and strength frittered away on trifles, or what was worse.  He must yet
+be a power in the land—he would yet leave behind him a name—he would yet
+have the world at his feet.  With a title and with money what cannot a
+man do in this land of ours? asked the Baronet of himself.  Fellows of
+whom he thought nothing, whom he knew as inferiors at Eton or at
+College—poor, patient, spiritless plodders—had passed him in that battle
+of life which after all is only a Vanity Fair.
+
+Such thoughts as these kept the Baronet wide awake, much to his disgust.
+It was the dinner, it was the wine, it was the cigar that kept him awake.
+Perhaps they did.  But there was something else that did so, though the
+Baronet did not see it—the accusal of a conscience in which he did not
+believe, the workings of a divine law which he laughed at.
+
+The next day no one was up early, and no one made his appearance at the
+breakfast-table save the elderly members of the party.  Most of the
+gentlemen visitors overslept themselves, and the ladies were served in
+their own rooms.  Then came the carriages and the departure of the
+guests—some to town, some to fashionable health resorts.  Business
+required the presence of the great merchant in London, and he took his
+daughter with him.  Sir Watkin managed to get down in time to see them
+off, and to promise to follow them next day.  The lady left quite
+content; she knew what was to come, and what would be her reply.
+
+Very dull and gloomy seemed the old house as the company one by one
+departed.  Sir Watkin took up the morning papers—there was nothing in
+them; the society journals—he was better informed than their writers.  No
+novel could interest him in his then state of mind.  He had a headache;
+he would go for a ride, a sovereign remedy for such maladies as gentlemen
+in his station suffer from.  Accordingly the horse was brought round, and
+he was in the saddle.  He would be back before dark, and did not require
+his groom, and he trotted gaily away from the ancestral Hall under the
+ancestral oaks, along the gravelled drive through the park, feeling a
+little fresher for the effort.  He would see his steward, and have a talk
+with him on business matters.
+
+At the lodge-gate he stopped for a moment to order a general smartening
+up of that quarter.  Alas! on the other side was an objectionable old
+woman, a friend who had before given him so much trouble.  Sir Watkin’s
+disgust was only equalled by his anger.  He was in no amiable mood, as
+the old woman clearly saw.  She almost wished she had not come; she felt
+all of a tremble, as she said, as she asked him kindly to stop and hear
+what she had got to say.  He muttered something very much unlike a
+blessing on his tormentor.  He would have ridden over her had he not
+stopped his horse, which strongly opposed the idea of stopping.  Could
+that old creature have any claim on him?  The idea was ridiculous.  And
+as to listening to her, why, that was quite out of the question for so
+fine a gentleman.  She made an effort to clutch the rein.  The
+high-spirited steed resented the indignity.  In the scuffle the Baronet
+was unseated, and was taken up insensible.
+
+‘Sure ’nough he’s dead as a stone,’ said the ploughman, who had first
+noticed him.
+
+‘He’s nothing of the kind,’ said the gate-keeper, who was soon on the
+spot, ‘Get on the horse and ride to Sloville for the doctor,’ said he to
+the ploughman, while he and the other servants bore the body to the
+lodge-gate, where it was laid upon a bed.
+
+The doctor came.  ‘No bones broken,’ said he, after a cursory
+examination, ‘but a severe concussion of the brain.  Draw down the
+blinds; put ice on his forehead; keep him quiet, and he may yet rally.
+In the meantime I will telegraph to London for the great surgeon, Sir
+Henry Johnson.  If anybody can save him he can.’
+
+The hours that day in that low lodge moved very slowly.  No wife, no
+mother, no sister was there.  The old mother had left that day for
+Scotland.  Only one sister was alive, and she was with her husband in
+Italy; only the housekeeper from the Hall was there to sit and watch and
+sigh, for she had known Sir Watkin from a baby, and was as proud of him
+as it behoved her to be, never believing any of the scandals connected
+with his name, and, indeed, scarcely hearing of them, for his wilder life
+was out of her sight and hearing.  At home he was the model English
+gentleman; and then, again, when evil things were said of him, she
+refused to listen.
+
+‘It was not her place,’ she said, ‘to hear bad spoken of any of the
+family of which she and hers generations before had been retainers.’
+
+About mid-day came a telegram to say that the great Sir Henry was coming
+down, and that there was to be a carriage at the railway-station to meet
+him.  In a couple of hours after came Sir Henry himself—a calm, dignified
+man of science, who lived in a world of which science is god, and was
+interested in humanity as a subject of dissection or operation.  Apart
+from that, he had a poor opinion of human nature.
+
+‘It is a bad case—very bad,’ said he to the country doctor, who had
+explained to him all the particulars of the accident.  ‘It is a very bad
+case, but I think science is equal to the emergency.  I suppose we must
+have an operation.  I have brought my assistant with me, and my case of
+instruments.  We’d better begin at once.’  Turning to look at the
+insensible patient, the great Sir Henry exclaimed: ‘I have come down for
+nothing; Sir Watkin is dead!’
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXIII
+THE FUNERAL.
+
+
+‘Worldly people,’ wrote one of our greatest novelists, ‘never look so
+worldly as at a funeral.’  The truth of this was very apparent at the
+funeral of the deceased Baronet.  There was the usual parade of outward
+grief at the churchyard, and in the town all the blinds were drawn down
+and the shops shut—with the exception of those set apart for the sale of
+beer and wine and spirits, which were rather better patronized than
+usual.  It is said grief makes men thirsty.  That certainly was the case
+at Sloville, for the usual topers of the place had been increased in
+number by the addition of numerous thirsty souls from all the adjacent
+country, drawn together not so much by grief as by a pardonable
+curiosity.
+
+Heavily tolled the bell of the old-fashioned church, in the gloomy vaults
+of which slept the family ancestors, whose varied virtues were recorded
+in marble in all parts of the building, and whose rotting carcases
+poisoned the atmosphere of the place, and had done so for many
+generations.
+
+When are we going to reform this and to cremate our dead, so that we may
+go to church in safety and with no fear of detriment to our physical
+well-being?  The ancients burnt their dead.  Is there any earthly reason
+why we moderns should not do the same?  I know none, except a stupid
+prejudice unworthy of a generation that loves to think itself
+enlightened, and that flatters itself it is wiser than any that has gone
+before.  If it is to be talked of after death, surely the urn can be as
+fitting a remembrance of the departed as the costly and cumbrous marble
+monument, with its deception and untruth.  ‘Five languages,’ writes Sir
+Thomas Brown, of Norwich, ‘secured not the epitaph of Gordianus.  The man
+of God lives longer without a tomb than any by one visibly interred by
+angels, and adjudged to obscurity, though not without some marks
+directing human decency.  Enoch and Elias, without either tomb or burial,
+in an anomalous state of being, are the great examples of perpetuity in
+their long and living memory, in strict account being still on this side
+death and having a late part yet to act upon the stage of earth.’  In
+vain is all earthly vanity, but there is no vanity so vain as that
+connected with the grave.  ‘Yet man is a noble animal,’ as the same
+writer remarks, ‘splendid in ashes, and pompous in the grave!’
+
+And thus it was at the funeral of the deceased Baronet.  All the clergy
+round had come to do him honour, and all the county families had come to
+put in an appearance—or, at any rate, sent their empty carriages to
+follow in the procession, which is supposed to be the same as attending
+one’s self.  A fashionable undertaker from town had been retained for the
+occasion, and never did men wear so mournful an expression as he and his
+many men.  I had almost written ‘merry’ men, for none were merrier when
+the dismal farce was over and they were back to town—refreshed by
+stimulants, with which they had been plentifully supplied.
+
+There was a great crowd in the church—a great crowd in the churchyard,
+and a great crowd all the way from the Hall.  The heir, the deceased’s
+brother, naturally came in for a good deal of criticism, and he was quite
+equal to the occasion—apparently mourning for the deceased as if he had
+loved him as much as everyone was aware he had done the reverse.
+Relatives from all parts were there, hoping against hope that they might
+find their names put down for something in the will.  The tenantry made a
+decent show, for to many of them the deceased was a man after their own
+hearts—fond of sport, of racing, of good cheer, of fast living.  All the
+world loves a gay spendthrift more than a sober and careful man who tries
+to live within his means and to save a little money.  The enlightened
+British workman has, as a rule, an intense hatred for the capitalist, who
+is, after all, his best friend.
+
+The peasantry were there in great force, glad to have a show of any kind
+to relieve the dull monotony of their lives—though feeling that it would
+make little difference to them who reigned at the Hall, and expecting
+little: as it had gone forth that the new Baronet was somewhat of a
+skinflint, and that little was to be expected from the mother and
+daughters who were in future to take up their residence at the old Hall.
+It is needless to add that the tradesmen of the town were present in
+great numbers.  They knew on which side their bread was buttered.
+Tradesmen generally do.  At any rate there was show enough and funereal
+pomp to give occasion for the county paper of the following Saturday to
+devote considerable space to the affair, which—so the reporter wrote,
+with a touch of imagination which did him credit—had saddened the county
+and made everyone deplore the sudden and untimely decease of one of its
+most distinguished men.
+
+The deceased Baronet had been the great man of the district—a leading
+magistrate, with power to ameliorate the condition of the poor—a power
+that he had never used.  The workhouse was old and unhealthy, yet he had
+opposed every effort to build a better one; the relieving-officers were
+drunkards, and generally unable to keep their accounts correctly.  The
+selection of such officers was, in fact, a job in order to make provision
+for some aged, feeble, drunken bankrupt, a boon companion of the farmers;
+nor were the medical officers much better.  The outdoor paupers were
+victims of the grossest abuses.  The aged were set to eke out their
+miserable existence by breaking stones on the road, and thus these poor
+creatures, half-clad, ill-fed, and suffering from rheumatism, had to work
+on the bleak roadside, exposed to the inclemency of the weather, till
+they ceased to be a parochial charge at all; and, as a rule, their homes
+were unfit for human habitation.  The vagrants suffered from the grossest
+ill-usage.  One quarter of the workhouse, ill or scarcely provided with
+bedding accommodation, was appropriated to a class consisting of honest
+seekers for work, tramps, vagabonds, and thieves of all ages, huddled
+indiscriminately together, using or listening to the vilest language,
+initiated in the mysteries of vice and crime, quarrelling and fighting.
+There were no vagrant wards, and any attempt to introduce them was
+strenuously resisted, and thus, in spite of the Reformed Poor Law, as it
+was called, the state of the poor grew more wretched every day.
+
+Sir Watkin knew all this.  A word from him would have inaugurated a
+better state of things, but he never spoke that word.  He was far too
+busy in his pursuit of pleasure to think of the poor on his estate, or to
+plead their cause, and the guardians were content to let things slide.
+
+Dr. Chalmers maintained that the one main drawback to the effectual
+working of the new Poor Law would be the defective attendance at the
+boards of the landlords, and, as far as Sloville was concerned, the
+doctor was right.  Had the deceased Baronet discharged the duties of his
+position, and concerned himself about the welfare of the poor, he might
+have been a blessing to the district.  As it was, he was very much the
+reverse.  In his time, as in that of the old Hebrew Psalmist, it might
+truly be said: ‘The wicked in his pride doth persecute the poor.’
+
+A few days and the astonishment of the town was over, and the sun was
+gay, and the earth as fair as ever.  Nature takes no heed of death; it
+keeps on all the same its eternal way.  The common people had their talk
+of old scandals, and the lodge-keeper became quite an oracle as he hinted
+at the appearance of an old woman at the gate, and expressed his wonder
+at what had become of her.  He went so far as to hint at the possession
+of mysterious knowledge, of which the presumptive heir would be glad to
+avail himself; but gradually even that form of mild excitement passed
+away.  The public soon got over the event, as it generally does.
+
+In the gay world, of which Sir Watkin had been a leading figure so
+recently, things went on much as usual.  The old captain in the club, it
+is true, felt the loss of a man younger than himself, and on whom he had,
+to a certain extent, leaned.  The manager of the Diamond Theatre was
+inconsolable, as his bills were many in the hands of the Jews, and he
+looked to the Baronet to take them up as they fell due.  A little regret
+and wonder was expressed that the deceased Baronet did not cut up quite
+so well as was expected.  Well, of course, he was a gentleman, and you
+can’t expect a gentleman to be a good man of business.  But a good many
+who lost by the deceased were not quite so easily consoled.  It is
+pleasant to be able to pay twenty shillings in the pound, but that is not
+the whole duty of man, nevertheless.  If Shakespeare had been unfortunate
+in business, if Milton had had to make an arrangement with his creditors,
+we should have thought just as well of them; nor does one think a penny
+the worse of De Foe, that he was in pecuniary difficulties, or of Dick
+Steele that he could not make both ends meet, or of Goldsmith that he
+left two thousand pounds of debt behind him.  In the case of Sir Watkin
+Strahan the estate was strictly settled, and only his debts of honour got
+paid.  As it was, there was little left for the new Baronet to start
+with.
+
+And this state of things is the consequence of the law of primogeniture,
+says the ignorant reformer.  It is not so.  Our laws of settlement are to
+be blamed as unfair and unjust.  The main causes of agricultural
+depression, and of continued wrongdoing on the part of landed
+proprietors, are the laws which allow the owners to make deeds and wills
+which for many years, and often long after the owners’ deaths, prevent
+the land from being sold, or the estate from being divided, no matter how
+expedient it may be that it should he sold, or no matter how foolish or
+extravagant the owner may be.  Mr. Kay illustrates this in a case in
+which he had acted as trustee.  This estate, about fifty or sixty years
+ago, came into the hands of a young nobleman, whom he calls Lord A., when
+he was twenty-one.  He married when he was twenty-two, and the
+marriage-deed gave him only a life interest in the estate, and settled
+the property on his children.  He had one child, and as soon as that
+child was twenty-one another deed was made, giving that child only a life
+interest in the estate, and settling it after his death on the children
+he might leave in succession.  Lord A. was an extravagant and reckless
+man.  He hunted the county; he kept open house; he lived as if his estate
+were ten times as great as it really was.  He gambled and lost heavily.
+He raised money on his life interest.  He finally fled from England
+deeply in debt, and lived abroad.  The remainder of the life interest was
+sold to a Jew, who knew that he would lose all when Lord A. died, and
+found his only profit in thinning the woods.  That state of things lasted
+forty years.  The farmers had no leases or any security for expenditure.
+The Jew would not spend a penny, nor would the gentleman who took the
+mansion, because he could not tell when he might be turned out; and the
+tenantry were prevented from doing fairly to the land or to themselves.
+There was no one to support the schools or the church, or to look after
+the labourers on the estate.  The farm-buildings fell into decay; the
+land was not properly drained or cultivated; the plantations were
+injured, and the mansion was dilapidated.  And all this vast extent of
+mischief was the result of the deeds which the law had allowed the lord
+and his heir to execute.  Nor are such cases isolated.  Nor is it
+possible to over-estimate the wretchedness and poverty they create in
+rural England.  Perhaps, in time, Englishmen will demand the abolition of
+laws which entail such bitter wrong on the community at large.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXIV
+THE HONEYMOON.
+
+
+At that very time—in autumn, when everyone is supposed to be out of town
+and blinds are drawn down in all Belgravia; when the moors of Scotland
+and the health resorts of our own highly-favoured land or of the
+Continent are crammed, and white-winged yachts, like sea-fowl or flakes
+of snow, bedeck the peaceful waters of the Solent, and sparkle as they
+shine along our summer seas—a small party might be seen drawing up at the
+registrar’s office somewhere in the neighbourhood of the Strand.  No one
+knew what was going on, and the single brougham at the door attracted
+little attention.  The first to get out was our old friend Buxton, the
+medical man; then came Wentworth, a little gayer than usual.  In another,
+which followed immediately, were Rose, looking lovelier than ever and
+perhaps a trifle more serious, and her mother, a quiet old lady, much
+given to garrulity when she had a chance, and to self-effacement when she
+found no one wanted to hear her.  The poor old soul had no idea of being
+married at the registrar’s.  The business was a very simple one—merely to
+make a declaration before the officer appointed for that purpose that
+they were to be married, and to sign a declaration to that effect, which
+was duly witnessed ere it was sent away to be preserved among our
+national archives.  This done and the registrar’s fee paid, they drove
+away as quietly as they came to the Midland Railway Station in the Euston
+Road, where they had a pleasant lunch; and thence the newly-married
+couple took the train to the busy city of Liverpool, ever overflowing
+with a very migratory population.  Here to-day, gone to-morrow.  Of
+course they did not stop there long.  The next day they left the dark
+cloud of Liverpool smoke behind for the romantic Isle of Man.
+
+One of the first things they did was to take a trip round the island, and
+we will accompany them.  For this purpose we step on board the _King
+Orrey_, as she lies at the Douglas Pier.  King Orrey was one of the
+far-famed Monarchs of the Isle, and is now commemorated in a way of which
+he could have no idea.
+
+We are off in good time, and as the day is tempting we have rather a
+numerous company on board, and no wonder, for it is not every day that
+you can see England, Scotland, Ireland, and Wales in the course of a few
+hours.  The legendary history of the Isle of Man at any rate matches that
+of any of the countries above-named.  It is true the scepticism of modern
+times has dealt hardly with them.  No Eleanor, Duchess of Gloucester, was
+imprisoned in the old Castle of Peel; no St. Patrick ever resided there,
+or even ever stepped from Peel to Ireland to Christianize the people
+there.  It is also affirmed, and the candid student who sees the Ireland
+of to-day must admit there is a good deal in the affirmation, that if St
+Patrick ever did take that wonderful step, at any rate he was not very
+successful as regards the main object of his trip.  Few people now
+believe that when the Manx men were fighting the ancient Britons on the
+other side of the water, St. German raised such a hallelujah as to make
+the ancient Britons run away.  In the same way modern unbelief suspects
+the story of the Giant who had three legs, and was the terror of the
+land, or of that floating island which rises in Soderick Bay every seven
+years, and then remains on the surface thirty minutes, no one yet having
+had the courage to place a Bible on any part of it, lest in any case of
+failure the enchanter might cast his club over Mona also.  Likewise we
+may scorn the legend which tells us how St. Trisman’s is left incomplete
+on account of the malice of an evil spirit, who, for want of better
+employment, amused himself by throwing down the roof every time it was
+put on, accompanying his achievement with a loud fiendish laugh of
+satisfaction.  As well we might credit the Fenella of ‘Peveril of the
+Peak’ as a living reality, and not a wild conception of Sir Walter
+Scott’s busy brain.  Indeed, if the tourist to that lovely health
+resort—lovely I call it, in spite of the holiday-makers and tourists,
+mostly denominated Lancashire Cotton Balls—believes all he hears, the
+chances are that he becomes, to quote Sir Walter—
+
+    ‘Speechless, ghastly, wan,
+    Like him of whom the story ran,
+    That spake the spectre hound in Man.’
+
+But the captain cries, ‘Go ahead,’ the last bell rings, and we are off.
+Apparently it is anticipated that our wants will be numerous.  We are
+expected not to venture to sea without a good supply of ‘all round the
+island sweets;’ ragged urchins offer us lucifer matches, aged females
+freshly-gathered fruits, and apparently it is presumed we cannot enjoy
+the day without purchasing a guide to the island, or photographs of the
+principal attractions.  Of course the musicians are on board long before
+we are, as well as a poor fellow who is expected to keep the company on
+the broad grin all the trip by means of his songs and chaff.
+
+‘Poor fellow, I pity thee somewhat, in spite of thy sons and grandsons.
+Thy sow, with a litter of eight “poops,”’ as he calls them; ‘thy
+readiness to liquor up and spout nonsense.  You’re not such a fool as you
+look, however, and that is a consolation.’
+
+Mountebanks, whether in Church and State, in business, or on the deck of
+an excursion steamer, generally manage to make their nonsense pay, often
+better than other men their sense.
+
+‘Rose,’ says Wentworth, ‘let us watch the beauty of Douglas as we steam
+out of the Bay.  In a little while we shall see Snaefell, monarch of Manx
+mountains.  We shall pass the little glen which leads to Laxey, with that
+wonderful wheel of which we hear so much, and then we are in Ramsey.
+Leaving Ramsey for the Point of Ayr, a lighthouse familiar to the traders
+between Barrow and Belfast, we shall note how the aspect of the land is
+changed, and that a sandy shore has taken the place of the rocks, which,
+looking across the water, seem to set England and Scotland at defiance.
+In a little while we shall be off Peel, with its ancient Castle and its
+hardy fishermen.  The further we go, the bolder becomes the scenery.
+There we shall see a cavern which no one yet has had the courage to
+explore, but which our captain will tell us leads to Port St. Mary.  Then
+the steam-pipe whistles, and the rocks re-echo the whistle as we float
+along.  Then we come to cliffs white with sea-gulls, who, startled by our
+approach, flap their heavy wings and fly like snowflakes.  As we come to
+the Calf of Man the picturesqueness of the scene is increased tenfold as
+the rocks in their wildness guard their native shores.  Fain would we
+linger, but our steamer urges on her wild career, and we must needs go
+with her.  All we can do is to admire from a distance the rough and
+rugged coast, with its tiny bay, where the swimmer might enjoy his
+pastime, only disturbed, it may be, by a merman bold, or a mermaid a
+little bolder, as is the habit of the female, or by a glimpse of the
+great sea-serpent, which assuredly is to be found, if anywhere, haunting
+these azure waters, and then we are back in Douglas in time for dinner.’
+
+‘Yes, I know,’ said the lady, laughing.  ‘The dinner you will be thinking
+of all the while.’
+
+‘How unkind of you to say so.  We shall have a quarrel if you talk like
+that.’
+
+‘Is it not time?’ said Rose, as she turned to him a look more bewitching
+than she had ever cast upon the buckram hero of the stage.
+
+‘Perhaps so.  We have been married a week.’
+
+‘Good gracious!’ said the lady archly; ‘only a week!  I thought it had
+been much longer.’
+
+‘I am sure you did nothing of the kind.  There, I’ve caught you telling
+stories already.’
+
+‘But you know we did not get married according to ordinary notions of
+propriety.  We did not go to a fashionable church.  We had no fashionable
+people to see us made one, and there were none to wish us God-speed as we
+took the cab to the Midland Railway _en route_ for Liverpool.  So what
+can you expect?’
+
+‘And worst of all,’ said Wentworth, laughing, ‘we got married—’
+
+‘At the registrar’s office,’ said Rose, shrugging up her shoulders and
+making a face with a sad expression of horror, adding, after an interval:
+‘And I don’t believe anyone knows it yet.’
+
+‘So much the better.  What has the world got to do with our private
+affairs?  What to us is the world or the world’s laws?’
+
+‘Upon my word, Wentworth, you are talking as improperly as ever.’
+
+‘Yes.  I fear I’ve got that bad habit, and I don’t expect I shall ever
+get rid of it as long as I live.  You and I can talk plainly.  We need
+not try to humbug each other.  It is little we have to trouble ourselves
+about Mrs. Grundy.  The law has bound us together, but we are bound
+together by something stronger than the law, I hope.’
+
+‘Hope, Wentworth, is not the word.  You know it,’ said Rose, as she
+lovingly looked into his somewhat grave and worn face.
+
+On board the steamer thus the newly-married couple talked.  Marriages are
+of many kinds.  For some we have to thank God, for others, alas! the
+devil.
+
+Referring to his marriage, William Hutton, the far-famed Birmingham
+historian, writes: ‘I never courted her, nor she me, yet we, by the close
+union with which we were cemented, were travelling towards the temple of
+Hymen without conversing upon the subject.  Such is the happy effect of
+reciprocal love.’  This reciprocal love generally leads to matrimony, and
+thus it was Rose and Wentworth had married.  A good deal is to be said
+against the institution.  Matrimony is not always a bed of roses.  If the
+roses are there, they are often furnished with an intolerable supply of
+thorns.  There can be no doubt of the fact that in many cases matrimony
+has led to an immense amount of misery.  It has kept in chains men and
+women who had been better apart.  It has made for them life dull, blank,
+sunless, joyless, a thing only to terminate with death.  It is hard that
+men and women thus ill-mated are not permitted to burst their fetters and
+be free.  Take, for instance, the case of Mehetabel Wesley, the younger
+sister of the celebrated founder of Wesleyanism.  Her heart was sensitive
+and full of love.  We know what the mother of the Wesleys was—a stern,
+hard woman, whose first duty as a mother, according to her own statement,
+was to break the wills of her children.  The father left his wife’s bed
+because, when he prayed for King William, she would not say amen.  None
+of the girls seemed to have married happily, but this, the youngest and
+fairest of them all, had a Benjamin’s mess of misery.  Her father
+compelled her to suffer the brutality of a marriage with a low wretch
+utterly unfit to be her lord and master.  Was not her marriage an
+immorality?  Was it not a shame that society should have compelled her to
+live with such a man?—so much so ‘that her only hope,’ as she told a
+friend, was death, ‘because we Methodists always die in transports of
+joy.’  But what do men and women know of each other, as a rule, before
+marriage?  Very little, indeed.  Hence so much of the wretchedness of the
+wife, of the immorality of the man.  I fear that it is the married men
+who chiefly sustain and create the vices of our great cities.  Hence the
+bitter cry of him—our chief poet—the stern Puritan, who wrote in strains
+that can never die—
+
+    ‘Of man’s first disobedience and the fruit
+    Of that forbidden tree, whose mortal taste
+    Brought death into the world and all our woe,’
+
+on man’s behalf.  Hence the earnestness with which he pleaded for relief
+to him who finds himself bound fast ‘to an image of earth, with whom he
+looked to be the co-partner of a sweet and pleasant society.’  However,
+Milton is practically not so much an advocate for divorce as is generally
+supposed.  It is well known that he took his wife back, and they lived
+happily together till her death, There is generally a _modus vivendi_,
+unless the husband and wife be altogether foolish.  Neither man nor woman
+in the long run can withstand true love, and it is hard to break a tie
+which once seemed desirable, and which is easily made bearable,
+especially when the young ones come and play around the hearth.  Fathers
+and mothers find it hard to leave their offspring, even if in the
+commerce of life they have found each other out.  The children bring with
+them the old atmosphere of tenderness and love.
+
+Returning to Douglas, Wentworth found a telegram to the effect that Sir
+Watkin Strahan had suddenly died of apoplexy.
+
+‘Not very surprising,’ said Wentworth.
+
+Sir Watkin belonged to the past in that respect rather than the
+present—to the age of port wine drinkers, when men got real port wine,
+and did not seem to be much the worse for it.  The light wines of France
+had little charm for him, and soda-water and seltzer were equally
+obnoxious.  His medical man had warned him, but Sir Watkin laughed at his
+warnings.  He came of a long-lived family.  His father and his
+grandfather had alike far exceeded their threescore years and ten when
+they were gathered to their fathers, and Sir Watkin argued that so it
+would be with him, a blunder which nearly cost him his life.
+
+A later telegram, however, gave the particulars of the sad accident.
+
+‘This is a sad ending to a pleasant day,’ said Wentworth, as they climbed
+the rock on which they had pitched their tent.  Below was the town, with
+its noisy merry-makers.  Up there, amongst the roses and the myrtles,
+they were alone.  Over there was England, while between them lay a
+gorgeous ocean, on which scarce a ship was to be seen, blue as the
+heavens above, save where tinged by the crimson and gold of the setting
+sun.  ‘How pleasant it is here!’ continued Wentworth; ‘no work to do, no
+friends to bother, no letters to worry.’
+
+Rose burst out laughing.
+
+‘Why do you laugh when I try to be poetical?’
+
+‘Because, dear boy,’ was the reply, ‘it is not in your line, and because
+I see the postman coming up the hill with the letter-bag.’
+
+Away rushed Wentworth to meet him with an ardour by no means consistent
+with his recent speech.  The fact is, however tired of life we may be,
+however happy in some rural retreat, however absorbed and enraptured with
+one another a man and wife may be—especially during the idle season known
+as the honeymoon—there is a mysterious fascination in the appearance of
+the postman, and we bless the memory of Sir Rowland Hill.
+
+‘There are no end of letters and newspapers.  I vote we don’t look at
+them till after breakfast to-morrow, I will have a cigar, and you can
+work.’
+
+‘Yes, that is how you men talk.  I am to work like a slave, while you are
+to lie on the grass smoking.  But I suppose I must do as you tell me, for
+
+    “Sufferance is the badge of all our tribe.”
+
+I tell you what—if you’re lazy, I will be lazy, too.’
+
+‘Yes, that is what I meant.’
+
+‘Then why did you not say so, sir?’
+
+‘I did.  When I tell a woman to work, of course I mean that you are to
+sit and do nothing.’
+
+‘Yes, but I am not going to do nothing.  I am going to read what looks to
+me a very extraordinary letter.  It bears the Sloville post-office mark.
+It was addressed to London, and here it has followed us all the way from
+town.  I must look at it—it is such a scrawl.’
+
+‘Remember our compact.’
+
+‘No, I don’t.  I must open this letter—I am dying to read it.’
+
+‘Oh, the curiosity of woman,’ said Wentworth, as he smoked his cigar.
+
+Presently Rose gave a shriek.
+
+‘What is it all about?’ asked Wentworth.
+
+‘There, read it for yourself,’ Rose exclaimed.
+
+It was as follows:
+
+    ‘DEAR MADAME,
+
+    ‘That pore boy as you took from Sloville, is the true son and heir of
+    Sir Watkin Strahan, go to horspitle in the Boro’ where a woman named
+    Sally is hill.  She can prove it—but she can’t live long.  Hopin’
+    this will find you in ’elth as it leaves me at this present time, I
+    am yours most respectfully a sincere friend to the pore boy.’
+
+‘Wentworth,’ said Rose energetically, ‘we must leave here by the first
+boat to-morrow morning.’
+
+‘What a bore.  I suppose we must.  And so fades away love in a cottage,’
+exclaimed Wentworth, as he went indoors to help his wife to pack up.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXV.
+A REVELATION.
+
+
+No sooner was Rose in London than she made her way to the hospital
+indicated in the anonymous note which had been the cause of her and her
+husband’s unwelcome return to town.
+
+She had never been inside a hospital before.  There was something
+bewildering in its vastness and its antiquity.  Close by ran swift the
+current of City life, ever turbid and boisterous.  In there all was calm
+and still.  The one thought that brightened and hallowed the spot was the
+life that had been saved, especially among the poor, to whom our great
+hospitals are indeed a blessing and a boon.
+
+‘I want to see a patient in the women’s ward,’ said Rose to the porter,
+as she alighted at the entrance.
+
+The porter expressed his fear that she had come in vain, unless she had a
+better clue to identification.
+
+In his despair he sent the lady in the direction of the women’s ward, and
+there her difficulties began anew.  There were many poor suffering ones
+in the women’s wards.  How could they tell where was the one she sought?
+As she was waiting, one of the staff came downstairs.
+
+‘Good heavens!’ he exclaimed; ‘Miss Howard, how came you here?’
+
+He knew the actress, and at once rushed to rescue her from the dilemma.
+
+Rose had little to go by.  The note had been sent from Sloville.  It was
+clear that someone connected with Sloville was lying ill—perhaps
+dying—there.  Under the guidance of one of the nurses she went softly
+from one bed to another.  One nurse after another was appealed to.  At
+length one was found who had the charge of a case in one of the wards.
+Her patient had at times spoken of the town in question; but she was ill,
+very ill, and the nurse was afraid any excitement might be fatal.  When
+the medical man in charge of the case was consulted he shook his head
+despairingly.  The thread of life was nearly worn out.  A woman from
+Sloville had been there to see her, and the little talk between the two
+had considerably increased the patient’s danger.  Originally the woman in
+question had been run over by a cab outside one of the theatres.  Her
+constitution was entirely gone, and the injuries inflicted on the system
+had been serious.  After three months’ nursing she had been sufficiently
+healed to leave the hospital, and had led a more or less wandering life.
+Then she had gone down hop-picking in Kent; had caught cold; that cold
+had settled on her lungs.  There was no earthly hope for her, and there
+she lay, wrestling not for dear life, but with grim death.  But there was
+no immediate danger.  Good nursing and tender care might lengthen her
+days for a short season.
+
+‘If Miss Howard would return to-morrow, the doctor would try and get her
+into a proper state for a little talk.’
+
+‘I would rather see her now,’ said the lady.
+
+‘Impossible, madam; quite impossible, madam,’ said the medico, and Rose
+had reluctantly to retire.
+
+‘Surely I have enough on hand,’ said she to herself, ‘if all the note
+hints is true.  People said when I left the stage I should find life tame
+and dull.  I have not found it so at present.  I believe no life is tame
+and dull if one is determined to make the most of it.  After she had left
+the stage, Mrs. Siddons, from the want of excitement, was never happy.  I
+am not a Mrs. Siddons, happily,’ said the retired actress to herself.
+
+The morning came, and Rose was again at the hospital.  The medical man
+was there to meet her, and they went together to the patient’s bedside.
+In that emaciated face, purified by disease from its former grossness,
+few would have recognised ‘our Sally.’
+
+We are a merciful people.  Let our tramps live as they may, we take good
+care of them in our hospitals.
+
+‘Father never gives beggars anything,’ said a little boy to one of the
+fraternity in a small country town; ‘but he always prays for them.’
+
+We may show a stern face to the tramp; but once inside a hospital we give
+him something more than prayers—proper food, trained nursing, the best
+science that can be procured for love or money.  Comforts, nay, luxuries,
+he could never procure for himself.  Indeed, in all desirable respects,
+he is as well off as a millionaire.
+
+But to return to our Sally, lying there calmly in her clean bed, in a
+long and lofty ward, apparently indifferent to all external things,
+simply satisfied with life such as it was.
+
+‘A lady has come to see you,’ said the doctor, in his pleasant tones, ‘A
+lady from Sloville.’
+
+‘Take her away.  I am that bad I can’t speak to her.’
+
+‘Are you quite sure you don’t want to see her?  She says you sent her a
+letter to come.’
+
+‘No, it warn’t me.  It was that Sloville woman as was here last week.  I
+told her not to bother, and now she’s gone and done it.’
+
+A fit of coughing came, and conversation ceased.
+
+Then the nurse administered a little stimulus, and that revived her.
+
+‘Leave us alone,’ said the poor woman.
+
+The others withdrew, and Rose stepped forward.
+
+‘You’ve been good to my boy,’ said the patient slowly, as if it were hard
+to talk.
+
+‘What do you mean?  The boy I took from Sloville?’
+
+‘Yes.’
+
+‘But someone has written to me to say that he is the heir of Sir Watkin
+Strahan.’
+
+‘Yes, he is.  I stole him.’
+
+‘Stole him!  Why, how could you do such a thing?’ asked the actress
+excitedly.
+
+‘For revenge!’ exclaimed the poor woman, with all the energy she could
+collect, and then fell back exhausted.  For a time both were silent, and
+Rose watched with pity the face, stained by intemperance and sensuality
+and all evil living, wondering what could be the connection between that
+poor pauper in the hospital and the proud deceased Baronet.
+
+‘Read this paper,’ said the poor woman.
+
+    ‘Oct. 187-.  Saw my pore boy on a brogham at the theatre.  I knowed
+    him at once.  His father is Sir Watkin Strahan, and he was on the box
+    of Miss Howard’s brogham.  I lost him as I was going to speak to him.
+    The peeler told me to be off.’
+
+‘Then, it was you that left him at Sloville, where I took him up?’
+
+‘Yes,’ said the poor woman feebly, adding: ‘Come nearer.’
+
+Rose complied with the request.
+
+‘I was an underservant in Sir Watkin’s house.  He was a wicked man.  He
+took a fancy to me.  I war young and good-looking, and a fool.’
+
+The old, old story, thought Rose to herself, for the poor woman gave her
+plenty of time to think, so slowly and feebly did the words come out of
+her mouth.
+
+‘One day the missus came and caught me in his room.  I was turned out
+into the street, without a character and without a friend.  I vowed I’d
+be even with him, and I run off with his boy.’
+
+‘How could you manage that?’
+
+‘Oh, that was easy enough.  The nursemaid was allus a talking to the
+sodgers in the park.  And an Italian Countess helped me.  She had an idea
+that if she could get rid of the child and the wife she would marry the
+master.’
+
+‘But was no effort made to get the child back?’
+
+‘Oh yes!  But I managed to get a dead baby, the very moral of his’n.  An
+Italian lady staying in the house helped me.  I dressed it in his
+clothes.  The master thought it his own, and had it buried in the family
+vault.’
+
+‘That was very wrong of you.’
+
+‘Perhaps it was.  But had not the master and missus both wronged me?
+Arter that I got married, but me and my husband were always quarrelling
+about the boy, and that made me take to drink, and then, when I lost my
+husband, I drank worse and worse.’
+
+‘And then you went on the tramp, and left the boy at Sloville, and I took
+him.’
+
+‘Yes.’
+
+‘He is a good boy.’
+
+‘He allus was.’
+
+‘But why did you not see him righted?’
+
+‘I did one day.  I had a letter sent to Sir Watkin, and he sent me word
+it was all a lie, that his boy was dead.  Then his lady died, and he went
+abroad, and—’
+
+‘And you never saw him again?’
+
+‘Only twice.  When I saw him outside your theater and tried to speak to
+him.  But he pushed me into the street, and then I met with my accident.
+He’s a hard un and a bad un.’
+
+‘And when again?’
+
+‘Not very long ago; when they had the election at Sloville.  I was there
+and he too, but he would not look at me.  Oh, he was harder than ever!’
+
+‘Speak not of him now—he’s dead.’
+
+‘Dead!  Oh, dear!’ said the woman.  ‘Do you mean to say he’s really
+dead?’
+
+‘Yes,’ said the actress, ‘he died only a few days since.’
+
+‘And I am dying—oh, dear!  What a wicked woman I’ve been!  What mischief
+I’ve done!’
+
+‘What do you mean?’
+
+‘Why, I meant to restore the boy.’
+
+‘It is too late—the boy has no father now.  Is this truth you tell me?
+It is a strange story.’
+
+‘The truth, so help me God.’
+
+Then she sank back utterly overcome.  At length she said:
+
+‘I’ve not long to live, have I?’
+
+‘I fear not.’
+
+‘You’ll see me buried decent?’
+
+‘Yes, I will.’
+
+‘And you’ll be kind to the boy and see that he has his rights?’
+
+‘If I can.’
+
+‘That makes me feel better.’
+
+‘I am glad of that.’
+
+‘You are kind.’
+
+‘How can I be otherwise?  You’re but a woman, and I am no more.’
+
+‘They’re all kind here,’ said the woman, sobbing.
+
+‘It is because they love God.’
+
+‘Ah, so the parson says.  Sir Watkin used to tell me the parson told
+lies.’
+
+‘And you believed him?’
+
+‘Yes—I don’t now.’
+
+‘God is our Father, and He loves us all.’
+
+‘What, me?’
+
+‘Yes, you.’
+
+‘What, me, with all my wickedness?’
+
+‘Yes, you and I, with all our guilt and sin.  His heart pants with
+tenderness for all.  He has no pleasure in the death of the wicked, but
+that he should turn to Him and live.  He sent Jesus Christ, His Son, to
+save us.’
+
+‘Do you believe that?’
+
+‘Yes, with all my heart.  I should be wretched indeed if I did not.
+Daily my prayer is, “God be merciful to me, a sinner.’”
+
+‘Ah, I like to hear you talk.  I’ve not heerd such talk since I was a
+gal, and then I did not believe it.  But it does me good now.’
+
+‘Yes, but I must not talk any longer, or you will be excited and get
+worse.  Try and have a little sleep, and I will go home and pray for
+you.’
+
+‘Thanks, miss,’ said the woman gratefully; ‘you’ll come and see me
+to-morrow?’
+
+‘Yes, I will,’ said Rose, as she turned to go home.
+
+But that to-morrow never came.  At midnight the summons came, and all
+that was left of ‘our Sally’ was a silent form of clay.
+
+Some of us go out of the world one way and some another.
+
+Happy they who can exclaim, with Cicero, ‘O preclarum diem,’ or with
+Paul, ‘I know in whom I have believed;’ or with Job, ‘Though worms
+destroy this body, yet in my flesh shall I see God.’
+
+Unhappy those who with dim eye, as it restlessly sweeps the horizon of
+the future, can see no beacon to a haven of light, no pole-star pointing
+to a land of eternal rest—
+
+    ‘No God, no heaven, no earth in the void world—
+    The wide, gray, lawless, deep, unpeopled world.’
+
+Rose rushed home as rapidly as the cab she hired could carry her.
+Wentworth was in.
+
+‘What am I to do?’ she said, as she told him the whole story.
+
+‘Better send for the boy,’ he said.
+
+‘Oh no, not yet.  He is comfortable where he is, learning to be a sailor.
+He’s fond of the sea, and it will be a pity to take him from it.’
+
+The fact is, the young waif, as Rose thought him, was placed, at her
+expense, on board one of the training-ships lying off Greenhithe.  They
+are noble institutions, these training-ships—saving lads who, if left to
+themselves, might become tempted by circumstances or bad companions into
+crime, and at the same time supplying us with what we English
+emphatically require at the present day—English sailors on whom captains
+can rely on board our merchant ships and men-of-war.  There was no
+difficulty in getting the actress’s _protégé_ there, and there he was
+rapidly training into a good sailor and a fine fellow, well-built,
+obedient to his superiors, handy, and hardy, and sturdy, morally and
+physically, as all sailors should be.
+
+The next thing was to talk to a lawyer.  In this wicked world lawyers are
+necessary evils.  Sometimes, however, they do a great deal of good.  The
+lawyer recommended Wentworth to call on the family lawyer of the deceased
+Baronet.  He came back looking unhappy and uncomfortable, as people often
+do when they have interviews with lawyers who are supposed to be on the
+other side.  He found him in comfortable quarters on a first floor in
+Bedford Row, Holborn, looking the very image of respectability—bald, and
+in black, with an appearance partly suggestive of the fine old clergyman
+of the port-wine school, with a touch of the thorough man of the world; a
+lawyer, in short, who would give an air of plausibility and rectitude to
+any cause in which he was embarked.
+
+To him Wentworth apologized for making an intrusion.
+
+‘No apology at all was needed, my dear sir.  Happy to make your
+acquaintance.  I have not only read your books—very clever, too, Mr.
+Wentworth—but I heard of you more than once through Sir Watkin Strahan.’
+
+‘Perhaps in no complimentary terms?’
+
+‘Well, you know the late Baronet was a man of strong passions, and, when
+annoyed, I must admit that his language was what we might call a little
+unparliamentary.’
+
+‘It is about his business I have called.  You are aware there is an
+heir?’
+
+‘Oh yes; Colonel Strahan, the brother.’
+
+‘I don’t mean him.  A son.’
+
+‘A son!  Impossible.  The deceased baronet had only one son, and the fine
+fellow—’
+
+‘Is now alive.’
+
+‘Nonsense, my dear sir.  He was buried in the family vault, after the
+doctor and the family were satisfied of his identity, and I was present
+at the funeral.  There was a coroner’s inquest held in order to leave no
+room for doubt.’
+
+‘I think not,’ said Wentworth, as he proceeded to unfold the details of
+his case, to which the lawyer listened at first with a severely judicial
+air, and then with an incredulous smile.
+
+‘Is that all you’ve got to say?’ he asked, when Wentworth had finished
+his statement.
+
+‘Pretty much so,’ replied Wentworth.
+
+‘Then,’ replied the lawyer, with a triumphant air, ‘we have little to
+fear.  Sergeant B.’—naming a popular advocate of the day—‘would laugh the
+case out of court in a quarter of an hour.  You have a quarrel with the
+deceased.  Your good lady has—to put it not too strongly—been insulted
+and shamefully ill-treated by him.  Who would believe that, in promoting
+this suit—should you be so ill-advised as to do that—you came into court
+with clean hands?  The idea is perfectly preposterous.’
+
+The worst of it was that Wentworth, as he withdrew, was compelled to own
+that there was not a little truth in what the lawyer had said.
+
+It was not law but equity that was required in his particular case.  In
+England law and equity, alas! have often different meanings.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXVI.
+THE ITALIAN COUNTESS.
+
+
+‘How lovely!’ said a lady to a gentleman on the deck by her side, as they
+were drinking in all the beauty of the scene as one of the fine ships of
+the Orient Company dropped her anchor in the Bay of Naples.  ‘And look
+what a swarm of boats have come out to greet us!’
+
+They were a swarm indeed, some of them with divers to exhibit their
+prowess, some with fruit and flowers, some with the lava ornaments in the
+manufacture of which the Neapolitans exhibit such exquisite skill, and
+others with musicians—vocal and instrumental—keeping up for the time
+quite a serenade.  These Neapolitans gain but little, it is to be feared,
+on such occasions, but the Neapolitans are a frugal people, and make a
+little go a long way.
+
+The lady was Rose, the gentleman by her side was her husband.
+
+‘Yes; and see, one of the boats has a young girl who has come on deck
+with flowers, which she is fastening in the gentlemen’s coats in hope of
+a small fee.  How pretty she looks!’
+
+The girl approached Rose, to whom she offered a flower.
+
+‘Why, it speaks the language of hope,’ said Rose.  ‘I take it as a good
+omen that here we shall find the Italian lady of whom we have come in
+search.’
+
+‘Let us hope that it may be so.  We have no time to lose if we mean to go
+on shore.  The health officer has done his duty, and given leave for the
+captain to land his passengers.  Let us hasten to get on board the steam
+launch.  I see already they have got our luggage.  Fortunately for me
+there is not much of it.’
+
+And in a few minutes they were at the custom-house.  The only difficulty
+was a small box of cigars, on which Wentworth had to pay a most
+exorbitant duty.
+
+At the end of the quay they found a crowd of coachmen waiting for hire,
+shouting and gesticulating in the wildest manner.  Rose was quite
+frightened at their appearance, and with the noise they made.  However,
+they found one who did not charge more than double the ordinary fare to
+drive them to the hotel.  As they drove along they encountered, of
+course, some of the awful drain smells for which the city has long been
+famous.
+
+‘I don’t wonder, now,’ said Rose, as they pulled up before a grand hotel,
+‘at the saying, “See Naples and die.”  How can people live where such
+smells are met with everywhere?  But if that Italian Countess is alive we
+may find her.  Perhaps she can help us to establish our boy’s claim.’
+
+That same morning an Italian Countess came home from her daily drive in a
+great state of trepidation.  She had seen an English face that she
+remembered but too well—it was that of Miss Howard, the celebrated
+actress.  She had ordered the coachman to keep the lady in sight; but
+that was impossible, the crowd was too great, and she returned home not a
+little agitated.  Was it fancy or fact? was a question she could not
+determine.
+
+What could she do?  Well, she drove off to the English Consul next day.
+Perhaps he could tell her.  Alas, he was in utter ignorance of the
+matter.
+
+There were the hotels; she would drive to them and make inquiries.  There
+were only a few of them, as a rule, patronized by the English.  It would
+be easy to make inquiries.  She did so, but she could hear of no Miss
+Howard at any of them.  All day long she was driving up and down the
+principal streets, but in vain.  There is not much to see in Naples
+itself, it is the country round that is the attraction, and Rose and her
+husband were out all day long studying the remains of Pompeii, climbing
+up Mount Vesuvius, sailing to Sorrento or Capri, exploring the ruins of
+Baiæ, and the grave of Virgil.  There was much to see, and they had no
+intention to let the grass grow under their feet.  Daily they returned at
+a late hour to their hotel, charmed but wearied; and thus they had but
+little time to spend in the streets, looking at the shops, or studying
+the manners and customs of the people.
+
+The Countess pondered over the matter deeply.  She lived a retired life
+herself; she had few friends; her establishment was on a very moderate
+scale.  There were those who said she was not a Countess, that her title
+was merely an assumed one.  This was unfair, as most of the ladies one
+meets in Naples are Countesses, and the presumption therefore was in
+favour of her ladyship’s claims.  Countess or no Countess, she was in a
+very troubled state.  She had seen a face that reminded her of old times
+in London—of her intrigue with Sir Watkin Strahan—of her worming herself
+into the confidence of his lady—of her participation in the abduction of
+the heir—in fact, of her revenge; and she sighed as she thought how
+little good she had gained by it.  Her ladyship’s maid was alarmed.  What
+had come to the Countess it was beyond her power to imagine.
+
+‘Have you anything on your mind?’ said her old Italian priest as he sat
+in the first-floor of one of the villas that looked over Naples on to its
+lovely bay and the sea beyond, whilst Vesuvius on the left was
+indicating, in its usual way, that it was suffering a good deal in its
+inside.  The old priest lunched with her ladyship every day.
+
+‘Anything on my mind?’ said the lady.  ‘Oh, dear father, no.  Why talk to
+me in this way this bright afternoon, when all nature seems so bright and
+gay?  Ah, it is a beautiful world when one is young—the terraces, the
+gardens, the flowers, the blue sea, the old castle beneath, the streets
+with the jewellers’ shops, the fine churches with their sacred services
+and sacred paintings.  How I love them all!  I could not live away from
+La Belle Naples.  Oh, that I could stay here for ever!’
+
+‘That were a foolish wish, daughter,’ said the holy man.  ‘Naples is very
+fine and its bay is beautiful, but you have something better to look at.
+See, the crucifix!  Behold Who bleeds and suffers there—Who founded the
+Catholic Church of which I am a humble member, and in whose name I speak.
+At one time, if I may believe what I hear, you were not quite so fond of
+Naples as you seem to be now.  I have heard that you went to the land of
+the heretics—that Island of England which has so long denied the faith,
+but which I am glad to find is abandoning its heresy, repenting of its
+sin, and returning to the Holy See.  When we see the sister of an English
+Prime Minister find salvation in the bosom of the Holy Church, when our
+sacred officials are run after in all the highest circles, when they
+astonish all London by their works of charity and labours of love, by
+their eloquence and learning and saintly lives; when these Islanders,
+insolent and haughty as they are to one another, crowd as they do to
+Rome, and prostrate themselves at Rome’s feet as they do, we know that
+the end is near—that the time of the triumph of the one Catholic and
+Universal Church, to whom St. Peter committed the care of the keys, is at
+hand.  Pray that that blessed time may soon arrive.  I have been to St.
+Paul’s—I know Westminster Abbey—it would rejoice my heart to hear that
+once more there was performed in them the Holy Service of the Mass.’
+
+‘Holy father, that is my daily prayer.’
+
+‘I am glad to hear you say so.  But tell me, when you were among the
+heretics were you always a daughter of the Church?’
+
+‘Always, holy father.  I fulfilled my mission—you know what that was.’
+
+‘I have heard something of it.’
+
+‘I should think so,’ replied the lady with a smile.  ‘I had money, and I
+drew around me its worshippers.  I was of an old Italian family, and
+stood well in the upper London circles.  I had beauty—smile not, holy
+father, though you see me old and yellow and wrinkled—and beauty, as you
+know, never spreads its net in vain.  I believe, also, I had wit, and wit
+goes far in that land of fogs and foxhunters, of prudish women and
+milksops, of cant and humbug.’
+
+‘Ah,’ said the monk, with a smile of approbation, ‘you seem not to have
+liked those English—those heretics—those lunatic sightseers who, as they
+never can be happy at home, come to us to forget their sorrows, and who
+fancy that by doing so they are amusing themselves.’
+
+‘Truly no, holy father.  How could I?  They do not even worship the
+Virgin Mary!’
+
+The holy father shook his head and sighed.
+
+‘I think, daughter, you wished to have a chat with me.  There was
+something on your mind.’
+
+‘Holy father, you are right; and as I cannot come to church to make
+confession I have sent for you.’
+
+‘Yes; in the name of the Holy Father, and armed with his authority, I may
+hear confession and grant, to the truly penitent, absolution.  The
+Apostle Peter had that power, he received it from the great Head of the
+Church; and our Popes—His true followers—have ever used that power for
+the cure of poor sinners, for the good of the Church, for the glory of
+His Blessed Name.  We humble ministers hear private confessions.  It is a
+sacred privilege, to be guarded jealously; but I know its value.  I have
+seen how the weak and erring mortal who has confessed to his priest has
+had a heavy weight taken off his heart, has lost the cares and sorrows
+which were darkening and shortening his days, has gained joy and gladness
+as he thus realizes the Divine favour and feels certain that after the
+pangs of death are over we shall rescue him from the pains of purgatory,
+and he shall pass away to the mansions of the new Jerusalem, shall walk
+its golden streets, shall drink of its surpassing joys, shall join in its
+celestial harmonies, and take his stand with the great company of the
+elect gathered by the labours of the Holy Catholic Church out of every
+age and country under heaven.  This is what we gain by means of the Mass,
+and yet the heretics scoff at the service and audaciously assert—in this
+respect only following the arch-heretic, Luther—that the Mass is simply a
+means for getting money out of the pockets of the people.’
+
+‘What awful blasphemy!’ said the lady with a shudder, at the same time
+making the sign of the cross.  ‘Glad indeed was I to leave that horrid
+country.  It is full of Free Catholics.’
+
+‘Free Catholics!’ said the priest, in a tone of alarm.  ‘What can they
+be?’
+
+‘Alas, holy father! they are everywhere—in Paris, in Brussels, in London.
+They are only Catholics in form, but not in heart.  In fact, they are no
+better than Protestants.’
+
+‘Not exactly—if they keep up the forms of the Holy Church they are better
+than Protestants,’ said the priest, ‘who in denying the form deny the
+faith, as the holy Apostle says, and are worse than infidels.  But, my
+daughter, time is wearing away.’
+
+‘Ah, truly, holy father, it is luncheon-time.  Already I hear by the gong
+that it is served.’
+
+The father knew the rules of the house, and timed his visit accordingly.
+Soup, fowl, fish, with cut of roast lamb, a choice bottle of Italian
+wine—it won’t bear transplanting, nor a sea voyage—a few grapes and green
+figs, with a cigarette and a demitasse of coffee, were not to be
+despised.  He found alike his piety and his benevolence all the better
+for such a feast.  The Countess kept a cook and a butler, and they were
+neither of them novices by any means.  There has been good eating and
+drinking on the shores of the Bay of Naples, at any rate since the time
+of the Romans.  Naples owes its fame, and probably its existence, to the
+superlative loveliness of its situation.  As old Sam Rogers sang:
+
+             ‘Not a grove,
+    Citron or pine or cedar: not a grot
+    Seaward, and mantled with the gadding vine,
+    But breathes enchantment;’
+
+and thus it was that the _bon vivants_ of the old world loved the
+favoured spot—that Baiæ was the Brighton of the Romans.  Between it and
+Puteoli rolled the Lucrine Lake, over which skimmed the small yachts of
+fashionable visitors, while around were the oyster-beds for the luxurious
+tables of Rome.  It was there Sergius Orata of blessed memory established
+the fine oyster-beds which have ever since been a model for all
+succeeding ages, and a name grateful in the ears of the epicure.
+
+The lady and her guest had coffee served up in an adjoining apartment.
+The lady lit up her cigarette, the gentleman did the same.  It is
+wonderful how tobacco quickens the conversational powers.  High-born
+dames, as well as Irish fish women, in this respect own the influence of
+the seductive weed.
+
+‘Ah, father,’ said the Countess, ‘you have known me long.  I have
+confidence in you.’
+
+‘Yes; I have known madame long—friend of the good cause, a supporter of
+the true Church—liberal with her money and her time, strict in the
+observance of holy days.  What would you, my daughter?’
+
+‘Ah, father,’ said the lady with a sigh; ‘it was not always so—I have
+lived.’
+
+‘Yes; many of us who now pose as saints can say as much,’ said the holy
+father.  ‘What a blessed thing it is to be able to find out what is true
+life, what are true joys—the ecstasy of being lost in the Divine Being,
+of being waited on by angels, hasting to guide one the way to Paradise,
+of appealing to the sweet Virgin Mary, of having her as an intercessor
+night and day for our sins in the court of Heaven!  Compared with these
+things, what are the pleasures of sense and sin—which are soon vanished,
+and always leave a sting behind?’
+
+‘Oh yes, father; I can feel and realize all this, but I am not happy.  I
+am in great anxiety—I have a great weight on my mind.  My medical man
+tells me to avoid excitement, that I suffer from disease of the heart,
+that any day I may have an attack which may be attended with fatal
+consequences.’
+
+‘Oh, dear madame, calm yourself.  You look well—madame speaks and walks
+well.  There is assuredly little serious to contemplate.  These doctors,
+who are they?—ignorant quacks who, for their own selfish ends, make us
+believe that we are on the way to death when in reality we are in the
+enjoyment of health and strength.  Remember how, in a cholera year, Death
+met the Devil as he was on his way to Vienna.  “I shall slay twenty
+thousand people,” said Death.  In a day or two they met again.  “Ah!”
+said the Devil, “only ten thousand died of cholera.”  “Ah,” said Death,
+“that is true.”  “How, then,” asked the Devil, “did you make up your
+number?”  “Easy enough,” was the reply; “ten thousand were killed by the
+cholera and the other ten died of fright!”  Ah, these doctors, they do a
+lot of mischief!  They are also, I fear, men of science—that is, men of
+no religion.  It is dangerous for one’s soul to have them about us.  It
+is the priest, your ladyship, who is the true friend of all in sickness
+or adversity, or doubt or sorrow.’
+
+‘Oh, father, I believe you.  And now to business.’
+
+‘With all my heart.’
+
+‘There is no one who is likely to overhear us?’
+
+‘None.  The house is silent as the grave,’ of which it really reminded
+one with its funereal embellishments, its ghastly pictures of saints and
+martyrs—the work of old masters they said, horrible to look on—and
+crucifixes of every kind.  In some parts of Italy this show is supposed
+to indicate the possession of true piety, and that, like charity, covers
+a multitude of sins.
+
+‘Well, father, let me state a case in which I am interested.’
+
+‘I am all attention.’
+
+‘In the fair city of Florence there was a girl, fair in person, a fine
+figure, a sunny face, a gift of song.  She was the child of pious parents
+in the neighbouring mountains.  The father was an officer in the Pope’s
+army.  When all Europe dashed its armies, not in vain, against the holy
+rock of St. Peter’s, the father died as a brave man should.  The mother
+lived on on her small estate on the mountains.  The girl loved the city,
+and the museums, and the gardens, and the picture galleries.  She would
+not go back to the solitude of her country home; in fact, she ran away,
+and one morning she met an English milor.  He was rich, he was handsome,
+he was well-born; he told her he loved her to distraction—she would
+always be happy with him.  In a foolish hour the silly girl went on board
+milor’s yacht, that was lying in the bay—just as the yachts of milors lie
+there to-day.’
+
+‘Ah! that was bad,’ said the priest.
+
+‘Yes, it was indeed, holy father,’ continued the lady.  ‘The girl
+remained there; she believed in the milor; she learnt his language; she
+amused his idle hours.  He did not know his own mind; she did not know
+hers, and both thought they were happy.’
+
+‘It was bad,’ said the priest.  ‘Evil came of it.  You need tell me no
+more.  Evil always comes of such liaisons.  Where the Church does not
+bless, the great enemy of souls, like a roaring lion, comes in.’
+
+‘But there is a good deal more to be told.’
+
+‘Proceed, madam, I am all attention.’
+
+‘The milor was lost sight of.  The lady appears in London.  Socially, she
+had kept her reputation untouched; she assumed an Italian title of
+nobility.  There are only too many in London, especially among rich
+parvenues, who throw open their doors to anyone with a foreign title,
+whether real or assumed.’
+
+‘So I have heard, madam.’
+
+‘The Italian lady in this way made many acquaintances and some
+friendships.  Amongst the latter was a lady in weak health, and in great
+trouble of body and mind.  The Italian lady was interested in her; she
+seemed so sad and sorrowful—almost as sad and sorrowful as herself.  The
+lady had many confidences to make.  She was the wife of the rich milor;
+she was about to present him with a child—a son and heir it was to be
+hoped.  She dreaded the event, she was so weak and sad.’
+
+‘“What will you?” said the Italian lady to the English one.  “That you
+come and stay with me—that you be my companion and friend.  Everything
+shall be placed in your hands.”  The Italian lady was delighted.  In the
+first place it would give her an opportunity to meet her English milor
+again; perhaps to regain her old authority over him.  Alas! she was
+mistaken.’
+
+‘And it was quite as well, too,’ said the priest.  ‘Her better part was
+that of a penitent; it was only thus the ministers of the Church could
+absolve her of her sin.’
+
+‘Milor had lost all interest in the Italian woman who had given up to him
+her youth, her love, her innocence, and her life.  Milor felt no pleasure
+at once more recognising her as established in his grand house in town as
+the friend and companion of his wife.’
+
+‘Was this madame, this Italian Countess, this friend of yours, very much
+distressed, was she broken-hearted?’ asked the priest with a quiet smile.
+
+‘Not exactly.  Her idea was to take a grand revenge.’
+
+‘Ah! that is more the way of Italians.  But what was that revenge?  Did
+she stab the milor? did she poison his wife?’
+
+‘Neither the one nor the other.  As one of the household—as its mistress
+as it were for the time being—she saw how she could revenge herself in a
+better way.’
+
+‘Revenge!  Ah, that is sinful, I fear,’ said the priest.  ‘“Vengeance is
+mine, saith the Lord.”  Hear David, “O Lord, to whom vengeance belongeth,
+show Thyself.”  Ah, it may be sweet for a time,’ said the priest, as he
+shook his head.
+
+‘Holy father,’ replied the lady, ‘you are right, as you always are.  We
+women have not men’s heads, we have only hearts, and those hearts often
+fill us with bad passions.’
+
+‘I fear that is too true,’ said the priest.  ‘But pray proceed with your
+narrative.’
+
+‘Well, her plans were artfully laid.  The servants were her creatures.
+The medical man was her dupe.  She had sole command of the mansion.  The
+poor dying wife had begged her to take the trouble off her hands.  Milor
+fancied she was his slave; he in reality was her dupe.  She made him
+believe that his child was dead.  She did more, she paid some women to
+take care of a child which she pretended, with strict injunctions to
+secrecy, was the heir.  Gold did it all.  At that time the lady had
+plenty of gold.’
+
+‘Which might have been better spent in the service of the Holy Catholic
+Church, which needs the treasures of the faithful, and gives them
+interest for the money, which will yield rich fruit through the countless
+ages of eternity.’
+
+‘Ah, my friend did not think of such things.  She was in the world and of
+it.  There, in that island of heretics, she had given up her religious
+observances, and had almost lost her religious faith.  Oh, how much
+better it is for the woman to stop in the land where the poetry of youth
+ripens and matures, till in her old age she has all the ardour and the
+blessedness of a devotee.’
+
+‘You speak truly and well,’ said the priest, with an approving smile; and
+though he did not often smile, his smile, when it did appear on his
+marble face, was encouraging.
+
+‘My father,’ said the penitent, weeping, ‘I can keep up the deception no
+longer—I speak of myself!’
+
+‘I thought as much,’ he replied.  ‘I am afraid you have done a great
+wrong.  But what has become of the child?’
+
+‘I know not; and the father is dead.’
+
+‘Oh,’ said the priest, ‘you should have brought him to Italy and placed
+him in the school of the Monastery of St. Joseph.’
+
+‘Yes, holy father, I ought to have brought him up in the true faith.  I
+hear his father is dead; I hear they believe there is no heir; I hear the
+brother and his family are now in possession of the estate.  I know all
+about them.  They are of the Low Church school which hates our faith,
+abuses its priests, and even the Holy Father—’
+
+‘Hush!’ said the priest, ‘do not sully your lips with the foolishness and
+wickedness of these poor Protestants.  I have heard them talk their
+blasphemies in Naples, and even at Rome itself.  It is the holy
+Inquisition that we need to put a stop to such vile calumnies.’
+
+‘I had my revenge; but I know not what became of the boy.  If we could
+gain his rights we could make a Catholic of him.  I am no longer a
+penitent, holy father.  I feel as if I had been a mighty instrument in
+paving the way for the return of the true religion to that unhappy land.
+Here,’ placing in the priest’s hand a handsome casket, ‘are the documents
+which will establish his claim.  You go to London.  You will see the
+lawyer of the family; he cannot deny the claim.  Oh, I feel so joyful!
+I’ve gained my revenge! and is it not a sanctified one, as it is for the
+good of the Church?’
+
+‘Daughter,’ said the priest, ‘I would fain say in the language of the
+Holy Book, “Many daughters have done well, but thou hast surpassed them
+all.”  Still, it seems to me so marvellous, I can scarcely understand
+it.’
+
+‘The mystery is being cleared up.  I saw an English actress in the street
+yesterday, who I believe can help us in the matter.  But in the meanwhile
+let us see these documents.  We shall have done a great work for the
+Church if we can take these documents, find the child, establish his
+claims in a court of law, and secure him as a true son of the Church.
+Ah, that will be grand!’ said the Countess joyfully.  ‘I gain a son for
+the Church.’
+
+‘Heaven will reward you, daughter,’ said the priest; ‘but hasten and
+fetch the casket.’
+
+The Countess left the room to find it.  In a little while she returned
+with it in her hands.
+
+‘There it is,’ said she, as she handed it to the priest.
+
+‘What a lovely casket!’ said the priest.
+
+‘Ah, one thinks of what it contains,’ said the lady; ‘a title—an estate—a
+life, which will all be handed over to the Church.’
+
+With a trembling hand the priest opened it; the Countess in an equally
+excited state looking on.
+
+In the casket was an official-looking wrapper.
+
+‘It is all right,’ said the Countess; ‘break the seal and master its
+contents.’
+
+‘All in good time,’ said the priest.  ‘Don’t agitate yourself; be calm.’
+
+‘I am,’ said the Countess; ‘but delay not.  Secure the prize; the hour
+has come.’
+
+Suddenly the priest turned red and white.  ‘In the name of the Holy
+Father,’ he said, ‘what have we here?’
+
+‘Why, documents of the highest importance.’
+
+‘Nothing of the kind,’ exclaimed the priest in a rage.  ‘Nothing but an
+old English newspaper,’ as he threw it on the ground, with something that
+sounded like a rather expressive Italian oath.
+
+The lady shrieked and nearly fainted away, only she thought better of it.
+The situation, it occurred to her, would be neither interesting nor
+picturesque.  Alas! she had no help for it.  That English maid-servant,
+of whom she fancied she had made a dupe, was more than a match for her
+after all, and had tampered with the documents she had carefully sealed
+and religiously guarded these many years.
+
+All she could do was weep, and weep she did, till she nearly wept herself
+to death, failing of her long-treasured scheme of revenge.  Of her
+servant she had lost all trace.  To find her was out of the question; her
+only hope was in Miss Howard.
+
+But they never met.  The Countess and the priest could do nothing; and
+Rose and her husband soon tired of the fruitless search and returned, to
+remember in after years the delights of the Bay of Naples—‘the most
+beautiful spot in the world,’ writes George Eliot.  Everything takes us
+back to the past.  It was in the bay that pious Æneas landed.  Caligula,
+and Nero, and Tiberius, all loved the spot.  The grotto of the Sybil was
+near, too; the tomb of Virgil is yet shown in that neighbourhood.  Capua,
+famed for its luxury and ease, was not far off.  No wonder the world
+flocks to the Bay of Naples.  I stay at the Hotel de Vesuve, kept by Mr.
+Mella, well-known to English members of the Coaching Club, and where I
+find excellent accommodation.  And he tells me 80,000 visitors pass
+through his hotel in the course of a year.  It is a classical education
+to stop in Naples for a while.  I love it best in the summer, when you
+can revel on green figs, and apricots, and peaches, and oranges for a
+song.  In the winter there are fogs and snow at times.  But there is this
+drawback in the summer, and that is its intense heat, which drives
+everyone away.  From the deck of the steamer the view is charming, as
+Naples with its terraces, and castles, and hills rises before you; and at
+night, when all is still, and the gas-lamps glitter all round the bay for
+miles, it looks like fairyland.
+
+In Naples itself there is little to see, with the exception of the
+museum, which, when Garibaldi was Dictator, was thrown open to the
+public, and in which some, or rather all, the most precious works of art
+discovered in Pompeii are preserved.  It is not enough to go to
+Pompeii—you must visit the museum in Naples as well.  But the brasses and
+the marbles in the museum are especially fine, such as the Farnese Bull,
+and the Farnese Hercules, and the Roman Emperors.  In the churches there
+is little to see, and nothing to admire.  There are showy shops in the
+Toledo, and at the end, as you enter, an arcade as handsome as is to be
+found anywhere in Europe.  There are good public gardens where you may
+hear excellent music on a summer night, and no city has better tramcars,
+and more civil drivers and conductors.  I have no fault to find with the
+cabs, except that their drivers never leave you alone, and lie in wait
+for you at your going out and coming in.  It is in its crowded and
+bustling streets that the charm of Naples consists.  Surely there never
+was a people who lived so much in the open air, and drank so much water
+flavoured with lemon.  The Neapolitans are a sober people, and
+industrious as well.  They are fearfully taxed, and, with their scanty
+wages, how they manage to make both ends meet is a mystery.  They are
+much given to sleep in the summertime anywhere, on the broad street or
+the sea-wall; and of a Sunday afternoon they are much given to crowd into
+some rickety old cart, and tear along as fast and far as the horse can
+go.
+
+There is very little beauty among the common people, and you have plenty
+of scope for observation, as women dress their back hair in the broad
+streets, and the babies are washed in the same public manner.  Nor can
+you wonder that this is so, as you contemplate the dingy streets and high
+houses, divided by narrow lanes, just like Yarmouth Rows, where no fresh
+air can enter, no ray of sunlight can shine.  What strikes a stranger
+especially is the awful noise.  There is an everlasting clatter of wheels
+and cracking of whips, and braying of donkeys—and in Naples they bray
+louder than anywhere else; and how the hawkers shout! and they are
+numerous, and seem to supply everyone.  It is amusing to see them
+transacting business.  The customer is high up in the balcony, suspended
+in mid air.  She needs a bit of fish, and she lets down a basket to the
+hawker below.  That gives rise to a good deal of talk, as the Neapolitans
+are a much-gesticulating people.  If a bargain is struck, the basket is
+hauled up with the fish inside.
+
+An old French writer complained of the English people that they were very
+ignorant, as they never spoke French.  In a similar spirit the ignorance
+of the Neapolitans struck me.  None of them could speak a word of
+English.
+
+There are others who call it the City of Flowers.  This is nothing but a
+mistake.  But the cactus grows everywhere, and thus, wherever you go—on
+the rail, or by the villa, or the flat-roomed cabin where the poor
+peasant lives—you have a good display of green; and in the public gardens
+the palm-tree grows luxuriantly, and you are reminded of the tropics at
+every step; and thus the hot hours glide peacefully on, while the
+retailers of lemon and water do a roaring trade, and the ragged who have
+no money curl themselves in the dark arches, met with at every corner,
+and sleep the sleep of the just.  All Naples is asleep in the middle of
+the day, and even the policeman nods.  Happily he has little to do, as,
+ignorant and priest-ridden as the people may be, they never get drunk.
+At night the city is gay, as families, old and young, rush off to the
+music-hall, or to hear the bands play, or to navigate the peaceful waters
+by the light of Chinese lanterns.  I suppose they fancy they cool
+themselves.  The fact is, Naples is always hot in summer.  All day long
+the burning sun bakes up the streets and the shops, and the old bits of
+rocks, all built over; and the heat seems to me to radiate from them all
+night long.  If it were not for the tramcars, which are numerous and
+cheap, and the conductors of which are uncommonly civil and well-behaved,
+locomotion would be impossible.  There are no flags more trying than
+those of Naples, and as the cabs drive all over the road you are never
+safe.  People who are deaf, who are old and infirm, are in constant
+danger, in spite of the thundering crack of the cabman’s whip, or the
+ear-splitting note of the conductor’s horn.  Motion seems to begin about
+five, and still the tumult rages as I retire to rest.
+
+After all, the chief fault I find with the people is the way they work
+their horses and donkeys.  The latter, at any rate, have a hard time of
+it, as they drag the heavy load on a cart of two long poles with beams
+laid across of the most primitive order.  I fancy the old country cart
+remains as it was in the time of the Romans.  Sometimes a horse or mule
+or bullock is harnessed on one side; but the patient ass, who does the
+chief of the work, no one seems to pity.
+
+On a hot day it also stirs my indignation to see a horse dragging a cart
+with fourteen or fifteen strapping men inside, and on a Sunday everyone
+seems to drive, and as fast as he can.  The swell and the costermonger
+all tear along at a frightful pace, and thus secure—what in England some
+good people are trying to insure—a pleasant Sunday afternoon.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXVII.
+IN BRUSSELS.
+
+
+‘Of course, this is a plant, my dear.’
+
+‘Really, Colonel,’ said the lady addressed, ‘I wish you would not use
+such improper language; children so easily pick up slang.  You ought to
+be very careful.  It is too bad, just as we are about to move to England,
+where you will take your rightful place in county society as head of our
+ancient family.’
+
+‘You’re right there,’ said the Colonel to his lady in a laughing tone;
+‘you’re right there, I believe.  We are one of the oldest families in the
+country.  It was one of them who was with Noah in the ark.  You recollect
+the old epitaph—
+
+    ‘“Nobles and heralds, by your leave,
+       Here lies what once was Matthew Prior,
+    The son of Adam and of Eve,
+       Can Bourbon or Nassau go higher?”’
+
+‘Colonel,’ said the lady, ‘I am ashamed of you.’
+
+‘What for, dearest?’
+
+‘For quoting such a worldly poet.  We were not allowed to read him in
+school.  I am sure many of his poems are highly improper.’
+
+‘Oh, then you’ve looked into him, have you?’
+
+‘Certainly not,’ said the lady, with an affected shake of her head.
+
+‘Then how can you condemn him?’
+
+‘Easily enough.  He was of the world.  His was an unsanctified genius.
+He had no part or lot in the one thing needful.’
+
+‘At any rate,’ replied the Colonel, ‘he’s buried in Westminster Abbey.’
+
+‘The more’s the pity.’
+
+‘And he was the friend of the clergy.’
+
+‘Yes, of the carnal and unregenerate.  There are too many of such, alas,
+in the Church of England—wolves in sheep’s clothing.’
+
+The lady was an Evangelical of the bitterest type.
+
+‘Well, dear, we won’t discuss the question,’ said the Colonel meekly.
+‘What am I to reply to this letter?’
+
+‘What, the letter from London, from Mr. Wentworth?  Short and sharp.  Say
+the idea is perfectly ridiculous.  We can hear of no compromise.  It is
+quite out of the question for us to give up our rights just as Providence
+has opened to us a means of extended usefulness.  Mr. Wentworth is only a
+newspaper writer, a man of no position in society, and I am told his wife
+was actually an actress.’
+
+‘Yes, I believe so,’ said the Colonel.  This was enough.  The Colonel’s
+lady was one of the elect—a model in a certain section of society of holy
+living.  Yet, under a sanctified exterior, she was as hard, and bitter,
+and selfish, and uncharitable as it was possible for any woman to be, and
+the beauty of it was, that she thought herself, and was considered by her
+friends, to be in a state of exalted spiritualism, living in close
+communion with God.
+
+Such people are by no means uncommon, the creatures of a self-deception
+of a most odious kind.  Their language is full of Scripture phraseology;
+they delight in pious hymns; all their reading is confined to pious
+biographies, especially religious diaries, the morbid revelations of
+which record at nauseous length their diseased state of mind, which they
+assume to be the direct results of a Divine inspiration and tokens of a
+Divine love.  When they are in distress, it is not the natural result of
+the circumstances in which they are placed, or the conditions of ordinary
+life, but the Divine will and purpose.  If they neglect the laws of
+health, and are ill in consequence, it is the Lord’s doing.  If they lose
+their money owing to imprudence in trusting it in rotten companies, it is
+the Lord’s doing.  If trade is bad and creature comforts fail, or they
+live beyond their means and are in embarrassed circumstances, it is the
+Lord’s doing, to wean them from the world and its sinful vanities, and to
+lead them back to Himself.
+
+There are no mysteries to them; all is clear, and their knowledge of the
+Divine way is only equalled by their thorough acquaintance with those of
+His great adversary the devil.  In them, peace of mind is the result of
+this knowledge.  To the carnal mind their self-sufficiency and
+self-satisfaction is amusing.  It is almost beautiful, the smile with
+which they listen to one another, and the calm contempt with which they
+regard everyone not of their way of thinking.  By the side of them an
+iceberg is genial, and their power is as great as their faith.  All the
+artillery of heaven is in their hands.  Peace is theirs, but it is truly
+a peace that passeth all understanding; they are not as other men are.
+To the outer world their cry is, ‘Procul este, profani!’
+
+But let us return to the Colonel’s lady.
+
+She continues:
+
+‘We are not wealthy, you see,’ she was wont to say to the kind-hearted
+Belgian ladies, when they called on her for a subscription.  ‘We are, I
+may say, living quite up to our income, and we have got our duty to do to
+the family, and the Colonel keeps the money-bags so tight that I can
+never get a franc.  But what I can do I do, and, after all, it matters
+little—the contemptible dross of the world—if I can give to the needy the
+riches, that never fade nor pass away, of the Divine Word.’
+
+And thus the lady excused to herself, as so many of us do, her lack of
+true charity.
+
+‘Well,’ said the Colonel, ‘what shall I say to this Wentworth?’
+
+‘Take no notice of him.  Refer him to your lawyer in London.  The path of
+duty is very clear.  We find ourselves, by a merciful interposition of
+Providence, restored to our rightful position in society.  You to take
+your place as the head of one of the old county families, I to still
+labour for my blessed Master in a sphere of increased usefulness.  You
+owe it to your family to at once take possession of the title and estate,
+and not to have a moment’s delay.’
+
+‘But,’ said the Colonel, ‘if there should be a grain of truth in this
+cock-and-bull story it might be awkward.  I should like to have an
+inquiry made about this boy.’
+
+‘Pray, do nothing of the kind.  You only open the way to fraud and
+imposition.  Your late brother never treated us fairly.  He was often
+positively rude to me, and his son—if this boy is such—has no claims on
+us.’
+
+‘Well,’ said the Colonel, ‘I should not like to behave shabbily.’
+
+‘What do you mean, Colonel?’ said the lady indignantly.  ‘I am not the
+one to recommend you to do that.  The boy is no concern of ours.  We take
+what the law gives us.  It is a duty we owe to society to do that.  I am
+aware,’ added the lady, ‘that Sir Watkin had a son, that the infant was
+stolen, and that the dead body was placed in the family vault.  Not all
+the lawyers in London, and they are bad enough, can upset that.’
+
+‘But suppose the wrong child was buried?’
+
+‘Fiddle-de-dee!’ said the lady.  ‘We know better than that.  The estates
+are fairly ours, and we return to England as soon as we can to take our
+rights.  Mr. Wentworth and his wife between them have concocted this
+villainous story, which no decent person would ever think of believing.’
+
+Wentworth and his wife were quite aware of that; they believed in the
+boy, who was—to judge from the family portraits—a striking representation
+of the deceased Baronet at his time of life.  But would the world believe
+it? that was the question to be asked.
+
+Poor Sally on her deathbed had no inducement to tell a lie.
+Unfortunately, she had kept her secret too long.  She had hoped to have
+made a harvest of the boy, but death had come to her, and all her hopes
+had ended in the grave.  As is often the case, she was too clever by
+half.
+
+Wentworth and his wife had an unpleasant time of it.  Indeed, the family
+lawyer had intimated in a genial mood that he might possibly feel it his
+painful duty to place them in the dock, on a charge of conspiracy to
+defraud—a situation for which neither of them had any fancy.  Their best
+friends seemed to regard the story with suspicion.  What jury would be
+convinced by the testimony of ‘our Sally,’ whose head was generally
+fuddled with drink, and whom they could not even produce in court?  It
+was true that the lad very much resembled the deceased Baronet.  It was
+quite within probability that the latter was his father, but that did not
+legally make him the son and heir.  It was felt that they had better talk
+over the matter with the lad himself, who was then an officer on board
+one of the floating hotels plying between Liverpool and New York.
+
+Accordingly, Rose undertook the task of interviewing him in one of those
+sumptuous hotels for which Liverpool is famed.  The boy had never heard
+of Sir Watkin, nor were his recollections of the deceased Sally of a very
+decided character.  He had, however, never believed that she was his
+mother, and from her mysterious hints when under the influence of drink
+he had come to the conclusion that he had been stolen, though when or why
+he could not make out.
+
+It is true there was an old woman at Sloville, a pal of Sally’s, the one
+who had written to Rose, who had the identical dress which the baby wore
+when it was stolen, but it was felt that the production of the article in
+question in court would not much advance matters.  She had not stolen the
+baby.  She could only say that the deceased Sally had asserted she had,
+and had bidden her be quiet, as one day or other she would astonish
+everybody by the wonderful revelation she had it in her power to make.
+It was true that Sally had been suspected, and the more so that she was
+no more to be seen, having been clever enough to put the detectives on
+the wrong scent.
+
+It was hinted that an Italian lady had been mixed up in the matter.  The
+world said there had been an intrigue between the Baronet and a fair
+Italian, and that thus she had revenged herself for his throwing her
+overboard.
+
+‘Actresses,’ continued the Colonel’s lady, ‘are not particular sort of
+people, and newspaper writers are not much better, I believe.  I can’t
+think how old county families can be civil to them.  In my young days
+such an idea would have been scouted, and I must say then they knew their
+place.  My papa helped the local printer to start a paper on condition
+that it was to support Church and State.  Occasionally my papa had the
+man up in the Castle, and would sit down to a bottle of port with him,
+but he never took any notice of him elsewhere, nor ever introduced him to
+his family.  I believe the man was a very respectable tradesman.  He was
+regular in his attendance at church, and always stood by our family in
+election contests; but the modern literary man gives himself the most
+ridiculous airs, fancies he is a genius because he can scribble, and that
+he can wield the destinies of the nation because he is connected with
+some low paper.  I hear he belongs to clubs, and goes into society just
+as if he were a gentleman.  Every time,’ added the lady piteously, ‘every
+time that I take up an English newspaper, I see the country going to the
+bad, the people more intolerant of good government, the upper classes
+more careless as to the future, recklessly acting in accordance with the
+motto, “Let us eat and drink, for to-morrow we die.”  The Sunday is
+desecrated by all classes, and the Lord will have no pity in the day of
+His wrath for Sabbath-breakers.  The philosophers are in favour of
+Godless education, and now they tell me there are people who argue that
+Atheists have a right to sit in a Christian Parliament.  Oh dear! the
+vials of God’s wrath will soon be flung down upon that unhappy country.
+The signs of the times tell us that we have reached the beginning of the
+end.  There will be weeping and wailing and gnashing of teeth, and the
+day of the Lord shall come.’
+
+The gallant Colonel was accustomed to that sort of thing, and took it
+calmly.  Whether he believed what his wife said I don’t know.  He always
+acted as if he did; never contradicted her, as he had found that to be no
+use; attended her to church, sat out with well-bred polish the dreary
+minutes devoted to staring the domestics out of countenance called family
+prayers.  He was always ready at his wife’s bidding to attend
+Bible-readings for the select few, and when joked on the subject by his
+chums, if he had any at his club, never gave railing for railing, but
+took it as if it was a cross laid on him to bear.
+
+That he was a sincere believer no one, however, who caught him apart from
+the presiding influence of his wife believed for a moment.  He swore too
+much for that, and occasionally he had been heard, when sentimental and
+under the influence of wine, to refer to Cremorne, to Evans’s and the
+Cider Cellars, to the Closerie du Lilas, to the Mabille, and other places
+in London and Paris where wicked people, in old times, were wont to enjoy
+themselves after their kind.  Beneath his frosted exterior there was a
+good deal of the old Adam yet.
+
+Once upon a time, according to William of Malmesbury, a merchant named
+Swelf had been in the habit of calling on the holy St. Wolstan once a
+year, to receive his advice in the healing of his spiritual ailments.
+After giving the needed absolution, the prelate observed:
+
+‘You often repeat the sins which you have confessed, because, as the
+proverb goes, opportunity makes the thief.  Wherefore, I advise you to
+become a monk, which if you do, you will not long have the opportunity
+for these sins.’
+
+Upon this, the other rejoined that he could not possibly become a monk,
+because he found it so difficult to bring his mind to it.
+
+‘Go your ways,’ said the bishop, in somewhat of a passion: ‘a monk you
+will become, whether you choose it or not, but only when the appliances
+and means of vice have waxen old in you;’ which fact, adds the historian,
+‘we afterwards witnessed, because when now broken down by old age, he
+betook himself to our monastery.’
+
+It was the decay of nature rather than the growth of grace which made
+that man a monk.  What we lack in old age is the power to sin.  The body
+ceases to be the servant of the senses.  We lead a better life possibly,
+from a conventional point of view, but is it not often terribly against
+the grain?  A man gives up a dissipated career because his strength is
+not equal to its demands.  His vitality has been prematurely exhausted.
+
+The conversation referred to took place in the breakfast-room of one of
+the attractive residences lining the route to the Bois du Cambre, which
+all my readers know is one of the fairest suburbs of Brussels, and of
+which, as most of them have gone there, I doubt not, to spend a happy
+day, I need say no more.  The family did not reside there, but far away
+in the suburb, where rents and wages and provisions were alike cheap.
+The Colonel had gone abroad to educate his daughters more cheaply than he
+could in London, and the plan had so far succeeded that the young ladies
+had managed to read a good many French novels, the perusal of which not a
+little interfered with the enjoyment of family prayers, Bible-reading,
+and religious conferences, to which they were invariably taken by their
+mamma, and other means of grace.  The family funds had been rather
+restricted, and at Brussels the mamma had assured herself that there was
+an exceptionally attractive Evangelical ministry in the Church of
+England, under the special license of the Bishop of London, and that was
+enough for her, the Colonel merely considering he could vegetate more
+cheaply in Belgium than in London.  But they were all quite ready to
+leave for England; the Colonel to strut as a baronet and landed
+proprietor, the young ladies with a view to the matrimonial market—for,
+alas! they had met with few eligibles in Brussels—and the mamma that she
+might carry on on a larger scale and with increased success the
+missionary operations of which she had been the centre in Brussels.  If
+she had not done much good among the people, she had—and that was her one
+great reward—managed considerably to annoy the priests, who glared at her
+with evil eyes as they watched her sallying forth daily with her bag of
+tracts.  Money it was hard to get out of the Colonel’s lady, even in the
+most urgent cases; but no one was more ready with her tracts.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXVIII.
+A COUNTRYMAN IN TOWN.
+
+
+‘What has brought you to town?’ asked Wentworth one morning, as they were
+sitting in Clifford’s Inn, to a visitor who had just put in an
+appearance.  His garb denoted his profession.  He was the Presbyterian
+minister who had acted as Wentworth’s friend at the time of the election.
+
+‘Well, I’ve come on rather important business.  There is an old woman in
+the workhouse who maintains that the deceased Baronet has left a son who
+is heir to the title and estate.  And thus I came up to London; but I
+have been run off my legs.  I give you my word of honour, you won’t catch
+me in a hurry in London again.’
+
+‘How is that?’ asked Wentworth.
+
+‘Well, the fact is, London is the last place in the world for anyone to
+visit.  It is too big, too crowded, too noisy, too fatiguing, and at
+every step you are surrounded with danger.  The omnibus and the cab ever
+threaten one with annihilation, and the pickpocket is always on the
+watch.  The bicycle is a terror by night, as is the irrepressible
+youngster who converts every quiet corner into a skating-rink.  As to the
+air you breathe, it is full of microbes; your daily bread is white with
+alum.  A wise man will also avoid its milk and cream and water.  Yet all
+of us have to go to London more or less, and there are people who can
+live nowhere else.  Human nature can easily assimilate itself to the
+conditions which surround it.  Fortunately, there is a good deal of
+indiarubber in all of us.  Of this the Londoner avails himself, and
+thinks himself the finest, smartest, cleverest fellow in the world,
+though he sees Brother Jonathan shutting him out of his markets, and
+opens his doors to foreign paupers, whom not a Government under heaven
+save his own would tolerate for a moment.’
+
+‘Well, you’re right there.  But what is your particular grievance?’
+
+‘Grievances, you may say.  They are like the hairs on my head; which,
+by-the-bye, are not so numerous as they were once.’
+
+‘So I see,’ said Wentworth with a smile.
+
+‘To make the most of a short visit to London,’ continued the speaker,
+‘you must arrange your plans, and I did mine.  My first object was to
+find out a gentleman who had written to me.  Before leaving home, I had
+written to say that I would call on him on the Tuesday at his chambers in
+Pall Mall.  When in due time I got there, I found he had gone to Scotland
+for ten days, but that his son had opened my letter and had waited for me
+till twelve o’clock, when he had started for an estate which his father
+was laying out with a view to building operations.  Accordingly, I
+resolved to follow him, and then my troubles began.  I started on an
+omnibus for Euston station; arrived there, I partook of luncheon, having
+twenty minutes to wait.  “How do the trains run to Bushey?” I asked of an
+official.  “There is one at twenty minutes to two, and another at the
+quarter,” was the reply; and I learned on the same reliable authority
+that the quarter to two train got there first.  Accordingly, I waited for
+it, and when the guard came round to inspect the tickets, he confirmed
+what the official in the hall had said; adding that I was to change at
+Harrow.  It was thus with a light heart I started, and left the train at
+Harrow, feeling sure that in a few minutes I should be landed at my
+destination.  Alas, the train had gone, and I had to wait, sad and
+solitary, for an hour.  At Bushey, a woman on whom I called informed me
+that her husband and the gentleman of whom I was in search had gone to
+the Board School.  It is needless to add that they had done nothing of
+the kind.  In the dust and under a blazing sun, I made my way to an
+estate which was being cut up into building ground.  No Mr. T.—the man I
+sought—was to be seen; but it was the land I sought.  “Was there any more
+of it?”  “No,” said a workman, “that was all.”  I felt he was wrong, that
+there must be more; but I tramped over the ground and made my way back to
+the station, to wait another dreary half-hour.  In time, passengers for
+London began to assemble on the platform.  Two of them passed me.  One of
+them, I suppose, remembered me, as he spoke to his companion, a much
+younger man, who came up to tell me he was the one I sought.  “Had I seen
+the estate?”  “Yes.”  “What did I think of the view opposite the hall?”
+I explained I had never been there.  The workman it appeared, had led me
+wrong, and as it was essential that I should see it, it was agreed that I
+must have a fly and view the ground.  I did so; and got back to town
+about eight, feeling that unnecessarily I had lost the greater part of
+the day.
+
+‘The next day I rose betimes to carry out my well-arranged plans.  I
+slept in the City, that I might better carry them out.  In the first
+place I made my way to see a gentleman in Fenchurch Street.  He was out.
+Then I made my way to a great manager’s office in Bishopsgate Street; he
+had not arrived.  Then I made my way to the great doctor in Manchester
+Square.  I have a liver; it had gone wrong, and I knew, such is my
+experience of the doctor, that he would set it right in the twinkling of
+an eye.  Alas! the doctor had gone out, and that meant running up there
+again the next day, and that meant my not being able to hear Henry
+Melvill’s Golden Lecture; a thing on which, in the country, I had set my
+heart.  However, I had a little consolation in reserve.  An editor in
+Paternoster Row owed me a small sum of money.  All the years I had known
+him I had never found him absent from his post.  I would call on him, and
+he would give me a cheque.  I did call, and he had gone down to
+Bournemouth for a week.  Close by was another friend, the chairman of a
+well-known literary club that dine together every Friday evening.  I had
+never dined with them, though repeatedly invited.  I would be in town on
+Friday, and I would spend the evening dining with the club.  It is rather
+dull work sitting in the smoking-room of a hotel of a night.
+Accordingly, I called on my friend to inform him of my intention to
+accept his proffered hospitality, and you can imagine my disappointment
+when the doorkeeper at my friend’s place of business informed me that he
+was at Folkestone.  In my disappointment, I wrote to an old friend living
+on the Brighton Parade, that I would run down the next day in time for
+dinner, and pass the night under his hospitable roof.  There was much we
+had to say to each other, as he was a retired Colonial, with whom I
+wished to talk over Colonial affairs.  As soon as the train had arrived
+at London-super-Mare, I made my way joyfully to his house, feeling sure
+of a hearty welcome.  All the blinds were suspiciously drawn down.  After
+ringing the bell twice an aged housekeeper came to the door; the family
+had gone to town for the season.  I turned away to a hotel, where the
+accommodation was moderate; but fortunately the charge was the same.  On
+the Friday, back to town with an empty purse, I made my way to an office
+where I knew I could get the needful.  Alas! the gentleman I wanted to
+see was out.  For the first time in his life, I believe, Mr. W. was
+away—gone to the Handel Festival.’
+
+‘Well, you seem to have been rather unfortunate.’
+
+‘And oh, the terrors of that night!  I could not get a wink of sleep.
+The room was so sultry and confined.  I opened the window, and then the
+noise of cabs at all hours kept me awake.  Then I got nervous, and
+wondered what I should do in case of a fire; and sleep that night was out
+of the question; in fact, I’ve been wonderfully seedy all the time I have
+been in town.  But I have more to say if you care to listen.’
+
+‘Pray proceed,’ said Wentworth.  ‘I am all attention.’
+
+‘Let me record two other experiences.  I have a friend who keeps a
+boarding-house in a certain square not a hundred miles from Holborn.  He
+had often asked me to stay a night with him; he could help me with
+materials for an article I wanted to write; I would spend my last night
+there.  Of course, I found him out, and the house so full that any bed
+there was out of the question.  One little incident in the course of my
+troubles is rather amusing and characteristic.  A West-End swell lately
+forced himself on my acquaintance.  His talk is all of lords and ladies
+and people in high life, in whom I take no interest whatever.  I even am
+sick of the woeful tittle-tattle of the newspapers, and never read it.
+But I met my fine gentleman accidentally.  He was delighted to see me,
+inquired most politely after the welfare of my family, hoped I would
+manage to run up to a certain fashionable exhibition—the most pleasant
+lounge in town of a summer evening—and then bade me good-morning as
+coolly as if he had never gone out of his way to beg me to make his house
+my home the next time I was in London.  And this is London life, and a
+fair illustration of how a countryman gets on when there, and of the
+utter impossibility of accomplishing anything there in a reasonable time.
+It is wiser—better far—to stay at home and get your business done by
+writing.  Londoners love writing.  There is a difficulty I have with a
+limited liability company in a matter of five shillings, and we are as
+far from getting it settled as ever, though we have been corresponding on
+it for half a year.  But London, with its worrying days and sleepless
+nights, is to be avoided by any who regards his health or temper or
+pocket.  I have quite made up my mind that I will never visit London
+again—at any rate, not till the next time.  And there is another thing
+that disgusted me.  I was at a public dinner last night, and had to sit
+for three hours listening to awful speeches.’
+
+‘Well, they are generally tedious,’ said Wentworth.  ‘I have had to
+attend a good many at one time or other.’
+
+‘Yes, but there was such a waste of time; all sorts of irrelative toasts
+obviously introduced merely for the purpose of affording mediocre
+aldermen and M.P.’s a chance of airing their vocabulary.  But worst of
+all,’ said the minister, ‘was the awful amount of guzzling and feeding.
+Everyone seemed only intent on getting as many of the good things on his
+plate as he could.  And as to the champagne, the gentlemen, as they
+called themselves, seemed as if they had never tasted any before, and as
+if they would never have the chance again.  Many of them were quite
+drunk, and the whole affair soon resolved itself into a drunken orgy.  I
+was quite disgusted with my species.  No one who would wish to think well
+of humanity ought to attend a public dinner.  The wine being provided,
+they seemed as if they could not have enough of it.  It was positively
+sickening.’
+
+‘And yet Thomas Walker advocates the public dinner.  Indeed, he goes so
+far as to say that to ensure good parochial government, good dinners
+should be provided for the authorities.  The aim should be, he tells us,
+to procure the best services at the cheapest rate, and in the most
+efficient way, and there is no system so cheap or efficient as that of
+the table.  The Athenians, in their most glorious days, rewarded their
+citizens who had deserved well of the State by maintaining them at the
+public expense in Prytaneum or Council Hall.  The table also is a mode of
+payment for services to be performed which goes further than any other,
+and will command greater punctuality, greater attention, and greater
+regularity.  When properly regulated it is the bond of union and harmony,
+the school for the improvement of manners and civilization, the place
+where information is elicited and corrected better than anywhere else;
+and I believe, after all,’ said Wentworth, ‘old Walker was right.’
+
+‘And pray who was Walker?’
+
+‘Thomas Walker was the author of “The Original,” a book highly popular
+with our forefathers and well worthy to be read by their sons.  Walker
+was a police magistrate in London.  “The Original” appeared in
+twenty-nine parts.  Since then it has been republished in a volume.  The
+first number appeared in May, 1835.  He was ill when he commenced it, and
+died before it was completed.  Almost his last essay in it was on “The
+Art of attaining High Health.”  It is curious to reflect that it was
+written by a man at whose door death was already knocking.  He died
+suddenly in Brussels, the early age of fifty-two.  By all means, I
+repeat, read Walker.’
+
+‘So I will.  I am quite aware there are two sides to every question.’
+
+‘According to Walker, City feasting has many advantages.  He is of
+opinion that it creates a good deal of public spirit; as long as men are
+emboldened by good cheer, they are in no danger of becoming slaves.  The
+City Halls, with their feasts, their music, their associations, are, he
+says, so many temples of liberty; and I believe that after all Walker was
+right I speak from experience; and yet there are evils connected with the
+system.’
+
+‘Evils!’ exclaimed indignantly his ascetic friend, ‘I believe there are.
+And last night I saw what I never saw before, and never wish to see
+again: men dressed in evening costume—respectable people, apparently—all
+eating and drinking to excess.  I hope they all got home, but they could
+scarcely find their way after dinner to the room where tea and coffee
+were served up; utterly unable to take a part in any rational
+conversation.’
+
+‘Ah, again let me quote Walker!’ exclaimed Wentworth.  ‘“Anybody can
+dine, but few know how to dine so as to ensure the greatest quantity of
+health and enjoyment.”  I am coming to believe that aristology, or the
+art of dining, has yet to be discovered.  When ladies are admitted to
+these banquets there will, at any rate, be less of that eating and
+drinking to excess which so disgusted you last night.’
+
+‘Well, the sooner that good time comes the better,’ said Wentworth’s
+friend; ‘but we have female feasts in Sloville which do a great deal of
+harm.’
+
+‘You amaze me,’ said Wentworth.  ‘What do you call the feast?’
+
+‘The Dorcas.  It is a society made up of ladies who belonged to the
+congregation, and who worked at useful articles to be distributed among
+the poor, the ladies paying half a crown each to buy the material, and
+putting threepence into the plate handed round at each meeting, to be
+devoted to the same purpose.  On the night when my wife attended, there
+was an unusually large attendance.  The grocer’s wife believed in a good
+cup of tea, and butter which was not margarine, and in other dainties
+which her guests were not slow to appreciate.  To her credit be it said
+that at no other house had the members such a really good tea.  On these
+occasions a good deal of talk took place.
+
+‘Said one, “Where is that Jane Brown?”
+
+‘“Oh,” said another, “she said she could not leave her mother.”
+
+‘“A pretty excuse,” said another.  “I’ll be bound to say that if there
+was any entertainment going on she could manage to leave her mother for
+that.”
+
+‘“Ah!” said another old lady, with a shake of her head, “girls are not
+what they used to be.  I don’t know what we are coming to.”
+
+‘“Oh, you may well say that,” said the deacon’s wife.  “We are living in
+sad times.  It quite grieved me to hear our minister say on Sunday that
+people believed in Christ.  They never did, and they never will.  The
+world will always hate Christ, because of its wickedness.  It is only the
+elect that can be saved.  The world, or rather the carnal heart, is
+always at emnity with God.”
+
+‘“Yes, dear,” repeated the old lady, “you are right there; the wicked
+won’t come to Christ.  It is not to be expected as they should.”
+
+‘Then another interrupted with the remark: “That girl Smith is never seen
+in the chapel now.”
+
+‘“Oh no! she takes herself off to Church.  She says her mother has been
+very poor and bad, and no one came near her but the Rector and his wife,
+who were very kind.”
+
+‘“Ah, there it is again,” said the old lady; “the loaves and fishes.”
+
+‘“For my part, I think we’re well rid of such people.  We don’t want ’em,
+and the Church is quite welcome to ’em.  There’s that man Brown, who fell
+off the ladder when he was at work.  The Rector called on him, and sent
+him a bottle of wine and some cold meat, and he has never been to meetin’
+since.  And now I hear he has sent his children to the Church
+Sunday-school.”
+
+‘“Well, what can you expect?” replied the old lady.  “It is my opinion
+that that man Brown never had the root of the matter in him at all, and
+yet I can remember when he used to come to meetin’ regular.  It is very
+shocking when people behave like that.  The men in the town are getting
+worse and worse.  They tell me there is a lot of low Sunday papers from
+London come into the town, and the men read ’em all day long.”
+
+‘“Yes,” said a gushing girl who was present, and who could keep silence
+no longer, “that’s quite true.  When I go round with the tracts they
+refuse to take them in; and such nice tracts too, it quite breaks my
+heart.  And then there is our new supply; he takes the men’s part.  He
+took up one of my tracts the other day and asked me if I really thought
+working men could stand such reading.  I asked him if he read the tracts,
+and he said no; he thought he could employ his time much better.”
+
+‘“And yet,” said the old lady, “our dear old minister used to say one
+tract may save a soul; but lor’, the young men they send us from the
+colleges, as they call them, think very little of saving souls.”
+
+‘“I fear that’s too true,” said the deacon’s wife.  “People don’t preach
+the Gospel as they used to.”
+
+‘And that is true,’ said the Presbyterian parson to Wentworth.  ‘They say
+I am a Unitarian; but the orthodox certainly are much nearer to me than
+they were.  It did them good to hear damnation dealt out to others who
+did not think as they did.  God the Father, Christ the Elder Brother,
+were little in their thoughts.  It was God the Angry Judge, it was Christ
+saying, “Depart, ye cursed, into everlasting torment,” of whom it did
+them good to hear.  They quite relished the torments—the endless torments
+of the lost.  Not to dwell on them in a sermon was not to preach the
+Gospel.  Hard, stern, unforgiving were these ladies of the Dorcas.  It is
+to be hoped that their charities at Christmas-time to the poor of the
+meeting, in the shape of flannel and other garments, did good.  Charity
+covers a multitude of sins, and if they talked scandal, why, do not
+others do the same?  A sister with more brains than the rest, and of
+equal piety, does now and then make a sensible remark.  But at any rate,
+my wife said she would never go to one of their meetings again.’
+
+‘I have heard of it,’ said Wentworth; ‘but I have never attended one.’
+
+‘Be thankful you have not.’
+
+‘Why, I thought, in my ignorance, they were gatherings of benevolent
+ladies, to work for benevolent ends!’
+
+‘Ah, that is what they pretend to be, but things are not what they seem.
+Believe me, Mr. Wentworth, that the Dorcas as it is conducted in country
+towns is a mockery, a delusion and a snare.’
+
+Wentworth shook his head and groaned.
+
+‘Yes, that is so; my wife went to one, as I have said.  It was her first
+attendance and her last.  The professed object was work for the poor, the
+real one scandal.  The women talked of all the other women in the town;
+how this one went on when her husband was away; how forward was one young
+miss, and how sly another; how mean was this man, how extravagant that.
+There was a good deal more talking than working, and the over-righteous
+were the worst of all, and the most uncharitable.  Never was there a more
+unpleasant display of feminine littleness.  But, bless me, I am gossiping
+myself, when I came here on a very pressing occasion.  And now, after
+this preliminary remark, let us proceed to business.  It is one which you
+can help most materially.’
+
+‘Pray proceed,’ again remarked Wentworth.
+
+‘It is one that requires a good deal of thinking about.’
+
+‘So much the better.  I always love to have a nut to crack.’
+
+‘We have an old woman in Sloville Workhouse who says there is an heir to
+the Strahan estates.’
+
+‘I know it,’ said Wentworth.
+
+‘Well, this old woman has told her story all over the town, and everyone
+believes it.’
+
+‘But why did she not tell her story before?’
+
+‘Well, her explanation is that the other woman got her to conceal it,
+with the view of making money, but their difficulty was how to tell a
+story which would not incriminate themselves.  Once or twice she sent an
+anonymous letter to the late Baronet, but he took no notice of it; and
+then she tried to speak to him, but he would not let her; and she was
+terribly afraid of him, as she says he was such a hard, arbitrary,
+imperious sort of man.’
+
+‘Well, we all know he was that,’ said the other.  ‘He certainly was not a
+man to stick at anything where his passions, or his prejudices, or his
+interests were concerned.  But where is the woman now?’
+
+‘In the workhouse.  She says she had quite lost sight of the other one,
+till she found her in a London hospital, where she went to see her.  But
+the poor thing was too far gone to be of any good, and now she says they
+have both been made fools of, and they had better have let the child
+alone, so far as making any money out of the transaction.’
+
+‘Was the new Baronet told of it?’
+
+‘He was.  I wrote to him on the subject.’
+
+‘And what did he say?’
+
+‘Virtually that it was like my impudence, and that he hoped he should
+never hear from me again.’
+
+‘Well, that was not encouraging.’
+
+‘Then I wrote again.’
+
+‘And so did I,’ said Wentworth, ‘and this was the reply.’
+
+Wentworth read as follows:
+
+    ‘“SIR,
+
+    ‘“In reply to yours of the 19th inst., I have only to say that I
+    consider your letter founded on complete misapprehension of the facts
+    of the case.  The deceased Baronet had no heir but myself, and any
+    attempt to set up a claim on behalf of another will be firmly
+    resisted.  Trusting that this is an end of the matter, and that I
+    shall be troubled with no further communications on the subject,
+
+                                                      ‘“I am, yours truly,
+                                                   ‘“HUGH ROBERT STRAHAN.”
+
+‘Now hear the wife.  She adds a P.S. as follows:
+
+    ‘“I have been informed that you are a writer for the newspapers.  Let
+    me hope that you are not one of the Sadducees against whom our Lord
+    warned His disciples.  Please read carefully the General Epistle of
+    Jude.  If I had the means I should like to see it hung up in all our
+    newspaper offices.  Possibly you have met with some of my little
+    tracts.  I am not proud of my literary talents.  All boasting is
+    unbecoming, and the true humble Christian feels that he is an
+    unprofitable servant after all; but I am constrained to add that with
+    the Lord’s blessing they have been made useful in bringing many who
+    were in darkness and sitting in the valley of the shadow of death
+    into His own marvellous light.  Be assured that at the throne of
+    grace this morning I particularly remembered the case of your poor
+    _protégé_, who is much to be pitied.  Oh, it grieves me to the heart
+    to see how much we all make of wealth and rank!  What is gold but
+    dust and ashes?  What are titles but less than the small dust of the
+    balance in the eyes of the Lord?”
+
+‘Well, did Sir Watkin ever hear the story?’
+
+‘I don’t know.  The woman told me she left a note for him at the lodge,
+of which, however, he took no notice.’
+
+‘I should think not.’
+
+‘And once, she says, she tried to stop him; but he was angry and
+threatened her, and the police took her off.  It was at the time of our
+last show, when Sir Watkin had, as you can remember, a grand party at the
+Hall.  I never saw him in better spirits.  It seemed as if he was going
+to marry a young lady with what he always wanted particularly—a lot of
+money.’
+
+‘That’s the case, I fear, with most of us.’
+
+‘Yes,’ said the other.  ‘In this respect we are most of us on an
+equality.  But I must say this for Sir Watkin, that he would not make
+money, as some people make it nowadays, by feathering his nest at the
+expense of the public.  It is to his credit that he lent his name to no
+doubtful speculation, though he was often asked to do so.  He never was a
+company promoter.’
+
+‘Well, but about this woman’s story?’
+
+‘I tell you as she told it me.’
+
+‘I know it all,’ said Wentworth, ‘and have known it long.  The Colonel,
+who claims the entailed estate, is in London.  Let us go and see him;’
+and away they went to hunt him up at a swell military club of which he
+was a member.
+
+The new heir was barely civil.  When he heard what they had to say, he
+replied:
+
+‘I am sure the family are much obliged to you; but look here, Mr.
+Wentworth, I am not a lawyer, but I am, I trust, a humble Christian.  My
+wife and I have made this subject a matter of prayer.  I have taken it in
+my closet to the Lord.  My conscience approves of the course I take.  I
+am in the path of duty.  I have the interests of my family to think of.
+I don’t talk to you as a man of the world.  There was a time, I own, when
+I did belong to that class, but then I knew no better.  But I ask you, as
+a Christian man, how can I act otherwise?’
+
+‘Why, you might come and hear what the poor woman has got to say for
+herself,’ said the Presbyterian parson.  ‘You might follow the clue she
+might give you.  You might save yourself from what seems to me the
+commission of a cruel wrong.  You might act fairly to a lad who I believe
+has a better title to the estate than you have.  In short, you might do
+to others as you would have others do to you.’
+
+‘You can quote Scripture, then.’
+
+‘Yes, I can; but it seems to be of little use.’
+
+‘You are right, sir.  We are told the devil can quote Scripture.  To the
+carnal heart the Scripture is a sealed book.  It is only as the Spirit
+opens the eyes of the believer that he can read aught.’
+
+‘I thought, on the contrary,’ said Wentworth, ‘Scripture was so plain
+that a wayfaring man, though a fool, could not err therein.  But I did
+not come to discuss such questions.  I have to ask you, sir, to pause
+before you take possession of the estate.’
+
+‘Well, sir,’ said the new heir, ‘you have come and you have asked me.’
+
+‘Yes, and you will pause?’
+
+‘Not for an instant.  Why should I?  By these distressing visitations of
+Providence, I have come into the possession of property and a title.  It
+is the Lord’s doing and it is marvellous in my eyes.  I never sought this
+nor expected this.’
+
+Wentworth looked at the speaker.  There seemed no particular reason why
+the Lord should have interfered in this matter on his behalf, he thought;
+but then Wentworth was not of the elect, and knew little as to what the
+Lord was about.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXIX.
+THE COLONEL.
+
+
+Society was startled in the autumn of the year to which these events
+relate by the announcement that Colonel, otherwise Sir Robert Strahan had
+been shot in a duel on the Belgian frontier.  The world wondered why he
+had to fight a duel.  He had the reputation of being an austere and
+strait-laced man, a great stickler for the proprieties, a strict observer
+of conventional forms, regular in his attendances on Church ordinances,
+and very ready to judge harshly of the failings of others.  In all the
+land there was none so proud and priggish, and his wife rejoiced greatly
+at the work of her hands in transforming a man of the world into a
+Christian of the regulation pattern.
+
+There were, it is true, many of his fellow-officers and former companions
+who wondered at rather than admired the change, who questioned its
+genuineness, and believed, in heart, the Colonel was still the same as
+when, in his younger days, he played somewhat notoriously the part of a
+man about town; but then the world is always uncharitable, and its men
+and women are of a sceptical turn of mind, and ready to doubt people who
+affect to be superior to their neighbours; and now their hour of triumph
+had arrived.
+
+This saintly Colonel was no better than other people.  In Brussels,
+unknown to his wife, he had gambled heavily and incurred great losses.
+In the public dining-hall of the ancient Spartans there was a notice to
+the effect that no one was to repeat outside the conversation that took
+place within.  In the club of which the Colonel was a member a similar
+law of honour prevailed, and as the place was outwardly respectable, and
+was situated in the most respectable _quartier_, and as its members were
+men who moved in the first circles on the Continent, it was assumed, of
+course, that nothing took place but what was respectable.  And it was
+presumed that if its members kept late hours the fact was due to the
+interesting conversations of the men on the political and other stirring
+questions of the times.  In reality the place was a gambling den of the
+worst description, where the losers were far greater in numbers than the
+winners; and amongst the former was our pious Colonel, who had immense
+faith in his own play, as in everything else that he did, and whose
+occasional gains, only by confirming his own good opinion of himself,
+helped him further into the mire.
+
+Then all at once it became known that the worthy Colonel had other
+children than his legitimate ones.  In certain quarters he passed under a
+feigned name—as Captain Smith—and children learned to know him under that
+alias.  It was a pleasant retreat for the good man when the old Adam was
+rather strong and seemed ready to crush the renewed man; and thus he led,
+as many do, a double life.
+
+Most men have their weak moments, their time of temptation, and too often
+they succumb, but then the falling off is only for a time.  But in the
+Colonel’s case it had unfortunately grown into a settled habit.
+
+My lady little dreamt of what was passing.  She had other things to think
+of than her husband or his doings.  She was active—perhaps, rather too
+active—in her sphere, in good works.  The bluest Evangelical blood was in
+her veins, and when in London no one was a more frequent visitor to the
+country houses of pious bankers and brewers than herself.  In them she
+was a diamond of the purest water, shining with every Christian grace and
+virtue.  She had addressed drawing-room meetings, she had aided in many a
+crusade against Popery and Ritualism and other evil things.  If any
+Liberal and devoted clergyman was to be persecuted for trying to elevate
+the people by Christian ideas not in accordance with her own, she was the
+first to raise the cry of heresy, to rouse up sleepy bishops, to raise
+the cry of ‘Treason in the sanctuary!’ to alarm the warders at the gate,
+to flood the land with cheap tracts and pious newspapers.  At Exeter
+Hall, during the May meetings, there was no more ardent attendant; and
+her life in Brussels was much the same, though on a smaller scale.
+
+Once, at Louvain, I saw a statue in the cathedral to the memory of Dr.
+Stapleton.  I could not make out who Dr. Stapleton was, or why he was
+thus honoured.  Baedeker and Murray knew him not.  Accidentally one day
+turning over the pages of Froude—certainly one of the most graceful of
+historians—I discovered that Dr. Stapleton, living at Louvain, was the
+means of communication, in the ‘spacious times of Queen Elizabeth,’
+between the Pope on the one side and the Roman Catholics in England on
+the other.  At Brussels her ladyship acted in a similar way, though on a
+smaller scale.  It was she who kept alive the communication between the
+Belgian and the English Evangelicals, and helped to circulate among the
+former the goody-goody literature in which the latter greatly rejoiced.
+Her activity in the matter was intense.  She was always writing to
+England for supplies—which were sent her without any cost to herself—and
+in her continental drawing-room, and at her receptions, sleek divines and
+elect ladies were not few, ever ready to bewail the degeneracy of the
+times, the growth of Popery and Republicanism and Atheism.
+
+Perhaps it was they who frightened the Colonel away.  At any rate it is
+manifest that he would have been a better husband had she been a better
+wife.  When the news came of his brother’s death it is needless to say
+that the Colonel was quite ready for a change of life and scene.  Indeed,
+Belgium was getting too hot for him.  The lady who passed as Mrs. Smith
+had discovered the real name and status of her protector.  One of the
+boys—the result of this domestic arrangement—had gone to a Protestant
+meeting, and there on the platform, and as one of the speakers, was
+Captain Smith—announced to the meeting as Colonel Strahan.  It was not
+long before his mother learned the news, nor was it long before she
+turned that news, as far as her pecuniary resources were concerned, to
+uncommonly good account.
+
+The little domestic arrangement which had been so pleasant at first was
+now very much the reverse.  To shake off the woman was now impossible,
+and her silence could only be secured at an extravagant price.  She had
+threatened to follow him to Sloville, and it required all his ingenuity
+to keep the matter a secret.
+
+Already he had made up his mind to stand for the county division; already
+his name had been ostentatiously paraded as president or vice-president
+of certain famous religious societies, whose headquarters were London.
+Already, under the auspices of my lady, the Hall had become the
+headquarters of the Low Church party.
+
+It was hinted to the Baronet that if he could win the county at the
+election he might possibly be made a peer.  And now this Belgian woman
+had found him out and rendered his life insupportable.  What was he to
+do?  He could not for the life of him tell.  There was no one to advise,
+no one to whom he could tell his trouble.  The spirit of a man can
+sustain his infirmity, but a wounded spirit who can bear?  One thing he
+did do, which he had better not have done—he went over to Brussels again
+to see what could be done.  He had better have kept away.
+
+And there was another matter, too, which gave him trouble.  The
+reputation of the Bank was in danger.  At the death of his brother
+unpleasant rumours respecting its stability had been put in circulation.
+The late Baronet had, as it was well known, an unpleasant habit of making
+ducks and drakes of his money.  It was the hope of the new one that by
+his own reputation in pious circles he should be able to live down the
+evil rumours, and to revive the credit of the Bank.  In this way his wife
+had done him good service, and thus he had secured continued confidence
+in some quarters and large advances in others.  But there were people in
+the money market who had their suspicions as to the investments of the
+Bank and the way in which it was managed.  More than one capitalist had
+withdrawn his deposit, and the working partners were growing anxious.
+Indeed, on the morning of his departure for Brussels they had an
+interview with Sir Robert on the rather shaky position of affairs.  They
+had lost money on the London Stock Exchange.  Some of the mining
+speculations in which they were engaged had proved disastrous.  A great
+contractor whom they had financed had come to grief.  It was true that
+their London agents had come to their rescue, not that they were
+over-confident as to the Bank’s affairs, but that they feared the panic
+its suspension would create.  But it was believed that the temporary
+embarrassment might be tided over.  Trade was reviving, and already some
+of their worst investments were taking a hopeful turn.  Hope told a
+flattering tale, and at any rate there was no occasion for despair.  Much
+was expected from the reputation of the new head of the firm in religious
+circles; much from a more careful conduct of its officers; much from the
+improved condition of the money market.  Still the Baronet was not happy,
+and it was with anything but a light heart that he set out for the
+Belgian capital.  His wife offered to accompany him, but he declined the
+offer.  In reality she had no wish to go, or she would have gone, you may
+be sure of that.
+
+Thus it was in no amiable mood the Baronet once more found himself in his
+old quarters, in the gay and pleasant city which the clever diplomacy of
+Lord Palmerston helped to raise to the dignity of a European capital and
+the seat of a monarchy, which if not ancient is at any rate very
+respectable.  His first object was to keep Mrs. Smith quiet, which, at a
+considerable cost, he succeeded in doing.  Then he dined at the club,
+drank heavily, played high, lost his money and his temper, and became so
+insulting to one of the barons with whom he played, that when he got back
+to the hotel he found there a challenge awaiting him to fight a duel.
+This was rather more than he had bargained for, but he could not help
+himself.  As an officer—though a retired one—he felt that he could not
+refuse.  A hot-headed Irishman acted as his second, and was so charmed
+with the idea of the _éclat_ of having to do with a duel, though only in
+the capacity of a second, that instead of doing all that he could to put
+it off, he did all that was in his power to promote it.  Accordingly it
+was arranged that the aggrieved parties should meet in an obscure village
+on the French frontier, where they would be sure to be unobserved.  The
+Belgian baron’s aim was deadly, and Sir Robert Strahan was no more.
+Short, very short had been his reign, and now it was all over.  Speedily
+was the news telegraphed to the Hall, where everyone was shocked at the
+unexpected catastrophe.  Her ladyship grieved deeply, the girls were in
+despair.  It was hard, just as Providence was opening up a way for their
+good, and they had conquered the difficulties of a continental exile—it
+was hard to have all the bitterness of the hated past revived.  In due
+time the body was brought back, and there was another stately funeral and
+another nine days’ wonder.  At first everyone attributed the Baronet’s
+death to an accident.  Such was the version which it seemed wise for many
+reasons—family, religious, and commercial—to circulate.  But in time the
+real truth leaked out, first in private letters and then in the society
+journals; and there came a run on the Bank, which the partners were not
+prepared to meet, and which they could not have met had they been
+prepared.  And there was no alternative but to put up the shutters and to
+close the doors.
+
+Deep and dire was the consternation spread all over Sloville when it was
+known that the Bank doors were shut.  Sloville was a rising place.  Some
+spirited individual or other was always introducing new industries or
+putting up new buildings.  Speculation was rife; and the leading
+tradesmen had all large accounts at the Bank, as well as the leading
+hotel-keepers.  All the farmers of the district, as their fathers before
+them, banked in an establishment so ancient, so well-connected, so
+renowned.
+
+‘They ha’ got £500 of my money,’ said an angry agriculturist, as he
+banged away, and banged in vain, at the doors, on which a notice was
+posted to the effect ‘that in consequence of a temporary difficulty the
+Bank had suspended business for a few days.’
+
+‘They might ha’ given a fellar a hint,’ exclaimed another aggravated
+individual.
+
+Every minute the crowd increased.  Of widows who had put into the Bank
+their little all—many of them in tears—and of many who had overdrawn
+their accounts and trembled at what the result might be to themselves,
+never had there been got together a more excited crowd.  Would the Bank
+open its doors again?  Was it possible that they were actually shut?  If
+the Bank were bankrupt, what would be the dividend to be paid?  It was
+the one great topic of discourse at the market, or in the streets, or in
+the shops and hotels; indeed wherever man met man, even at church doors.
+
+The Church was hit rather hard, for the money had been nearly raised for
+the erection of a new church, and all the money subscribed for the
+purpose had been placed in the Bank.  The funds of all the working men’s
+societies had also been placed there, and they were gone—all the
+hard-earned savings of a life, all the wise provision of the small
+tradesman or the thrifty operative against a rainy day.  Everywhere was
+grief and disappointment and despair.  It was a sorry sight to see the
+manager, whom everyone in the town regarded as a friend.  Never was man
+more popular or trusted.  He always wore a smile upon his face; that
+smile was gone—vanished as the last rose of summer.  He shut himself up,
+and was to be seen in the streets no more.  He had no conception of what
+was to happen till there came to him a telegram, as he was sitting down
+to breakfast with his smiling wife and ruddy, fat-cheeked little ones,
+that he was not to open the Bank doors.  And they were never opened
+again, with the result that many other doors were closed as well, that
+millowners had to stop, that their workmen had to be discharged, that for
+many a poor widow had to resort to the workhouse, and that when matters
+came to be inquired into closely, it was found that the family at the
+Hall had been the main cause of the calamity which had suddenly
+overwhelmed the town and neighbourhood.
+
+Bitter were the denunciations made against them.  It was unpleasant.  The
+widow and her daughters wisely fled.  They had not been to blame; they
+were utterly ignorant of the matter—had nothing to do with it in any way,
+but the public of Sloville regarded them as the worst of robbers,
+nevertheless.  Her ladyship felt that her influence was gone, and she and
+the young ladies moved to a more congenial neighbourhood, where her
+ladyship’s Christian graces flourished more than ever, and where she was
+deemed by the select few who gathered at her ladyship’s dreary parties as
+one who had been deeply tried in the furnace of affliction, and who had
+come out of it as refined gold.  It was held, however, as a matter of
+regret, that on her ladyship’s daughters the painful visitation of
+Providence produced no such hallowed and sanctifying effect.  To make
+matters worse, one of them betook herself to a convent, where, as she
+told her friends—some of whom, however, rather doubted her statement—she
+found a peace and happiness she had never known before.
+
+In due time there was a sale at the Hall, at which all the townspeople
+attended, glad to run up and down from one room to another, to tread the
+antique stairs, the stately corridors, and to seat themselves on seats
+and on sofas, some of which were as old as the days of Queen Anne.  Jews
+from Wardour Street came down in shoals, to pick up articles of bijoutry
+and virtu, to get hold of the old-fashioned ancestors in enormous
+waistcoats and knee-breeches and full-bottomed wigs, to do duty
+elsewhere.  Filthy hands dogs’-eared the choice books in the library,
+while snobs bought the deceased Baronet’s carefully-selected stock of
+wine at absurdly extravagant rates.  Everything went to the
+hammer—carriages and horses, and all the outdoor effects, all the farming
+and agricultural stock.  The sale lasted a week, and brought so many
+people from far and near as to give quite a stimulus, and to give to the
+place somewhat of its former gaiety.  Shopkeepers and hotel-keepers once
+more began to smile, and thus, in time, the effect of the sad disaster
+seemed to pass away.
+
+The only thing to be regretted was that the old Hall was doomed.  No
+gentleman would buy it, as it was too near to the town, and no townsman
+was rich enough to buy such a place to live in.  Further, as the Hall was
+in a tumble-down state, and required a good deal of repair of an
+expensive character, it was pulled down, and the material distributed all
+over the county.  In time a manufactory occupied the site of the old
+Hall, and long rows of dull red cottages grew up where once there were
+velvet lawns, and gravel walks, and beds of roses.
+
+And thus there vanished for ever from the face of the earth another of
+
+    ‘The stately homes of England—
+       How beautiful they stand
+    Amidst their tall ancestral trees,
+       Through all the pleasant land.’
+
+It is not always that the stately home is the scene of domestic felicity.
+It is not true that it is unknown in the humble workman’s home.  It is to
+be believed that, as the workman’s home is elevated, it will be redolent
+not merely of manly virtues—the ability to fight the battle of life and
+win—but of the graces which at one time the upper ten seemed to consider
+as their exclusive privilege; and thus, if the cottager waxes strong, we
+need not deplore that the stately home with all its high-born
+associations has passed away.
+
+At Sloville there passed away not only the stately home, but the family
+that lorded it long.  Thus time changes and we change with it.  Thus old
+things pass away and all things become new.  Thus we may look for a new
+heaven and earth, wherein dwelleth righteousness—a righteousness
+inconsistent with a civilization that pampered the rich and depressed the
+poor, that desolated the cottage to add to the splendour of the hall.  It
+is of the many, not of the few, that we have to think in these democratic
+days.
+
+And the young heir, what became of him?  He was little disappointed when
+it was hinted to him that he was heir to a bankrupt estate and a
+dishonoured name.  He was young, active, healthy, stout-hearted,
+perfectly willing to fight the battle of life to the best of his ability.
+He was fond of his profession, had been successful in it, and was in no
+hurry to relinquish it.  He had seen a little of aristocratic life at a
+distance, and he was not enamoured of it; it seemed to him unnatural and
+mischievous.  They had many lads from our public schools and men from our
+universities on board ship, and it seemed to him that they were
+extravagant, thoughtless, fond of pleasure, frivolous, and useless, and
+brought up in an altogether wrong way.  If they did nothing else he held
+that they smoked and drank and ate more than was good for them, that they
+wasted a good deal of time in gambling and dissipation, in reading French
+novels, in the music-hall and the theatre.  He did not believe that
+society was in a good state when the few were born rich and the many
+poor.  All healthy life seemed to him to be founded on hard work; the
+curse had been changed into a blessing, and man was only happy and kept
+out of mischief as he lived by the sweat of his brow.  A lazy life had no
+charm for him, even though he lived in a fine mansion, had servants to
+wait on him, was clad in purple and fine linen, and fared sumptuously
+every day.  A gentleman in the conventional sense of the term he could
+never, and would never, be; that, at any rate, was clear.
+
+‘Well, my boy,’ said the actress, as they met in Liverpool, where they
+had both come on purpose, ‘what do you think?  Would you like to be a
+gentleman, and lead such a life as your father?’
+
+‘Certainly not.’
+
+‘Why not?’
+
+‘Because I like hard work.  I am comfortable as I am.  I am fond of the
+sea, and if I live to be a captain my utmost ambition will be fulfilled.
+I have seen a good many gentlemen, on board ship and when I have been to
+the theatre, and they seem to be a poor, helpless lot, as if they did not
+know what to do with themselves, with their eyeglasses and their high
+collars.’
+
+‘But they don’t all wear high collars and eye-glasses.’
+
+‘No, but most of them do.’
+
+‘Think of what you give up—the society of high life—your position in the
+county.’
+
+‘I have, and I don’t care about it.  Swells don’t suit me, and I shan’t
+suit them.  I don’t want to be a landlord where the farmers cannot afford
+to pay any rent.  I don’t want to be bothered with a lot of servants who
+will be most respectful in my presence, and who will laugh at me behind
+my back.  I don’t want to be stuck up as a mark for needy adventurers and
+fawning parasites.  I cannot believe that society in England will last
+long in its present position; that the wealth of the country shall be in
+the hands of the few, who toil not, neither do they spin, and that the
+men who make that wealth, without whom it could not exist, shall be
+stowed away in unhealthy cities to live, and breed, and die in such
+bitterness of poverty as can be found nowhere else.  Does not James the
+Apostle tell the rich man to go to and howl? and I believe that end is
+near; that is, as soon as the working man has his political rights—a boon
+that now cannot be long delayed.  No, property of the kind you speak of
+has no charms for me; rather give me
+
+    ‘“A life on the ocean wave,
+    A home on the rolling deep.”
+
+It is thus I can carry out the mission of the age, to break down the
+barriers created by the prejudices and ignorance of nations, to make men
+realize by means of international commerce that we are members one of
+another, and that God has made of one blood “all nations that dwell on
+the face of the earth.”’
+
+‘Why, my dear boy,’ said the actress, ‘you are quite a Radical, and a
+philosopher as well.  Where did you get your ideas from?  From the
+newspapers?’
+
+‘Not a bit.’
+
+‘Where from then?’
+
+‘From the Book of Books—the Bible.  I have loved to think of such things
+in the watches of the night as I have been alone on deck.’
+
+‘Well, you have thought to some purpose,’ said the actress.  ‘Wentworth
+will be delighted.  I am sure you will fall in with our plan.’
+
+‘What is that?’
+
+‘I’ll tell you as soon as I have seen Wentworth.’
+
+‘You’ll hear from me soon,’ said the actress, as she seated herself in
+the train, and glided along the iron road till London was reached in
+safety and in good time.  Nor were Wentworth and his wife sorry at his
+decision.  They infinitely preferred him as he was, and thus the matter
+was allowed to drop, to the infinite regret of a sharp firm of City
+lawyers, who were quite ready to do battle for the lad’s right, with a
+chance of making money out of the case somehow before they had done with
+it.  The family lawyers were quite content to let things remain as they
+were.  They had lost money by the family, and had no more wish to trouble
+themselves about their concerns.  There was no chance of anyone coming
+forward to claim the family honours, and the name of Strahan was dropped
+out of the book of the baronetage of England for ever.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXX.
+ROSE RETIRES FROM THE STAGE.
+
+
+‘I think,’ said Rose to her husband that night, ‘I shall give up the
+stage.  I have been without an engagement long; I have refused everything
+of the kind.’
+
+‘Yet, darling, you are not growing old.’
+
+‘No, it is not that.’
+
+‘But what?’
+
+‘That I care less and less for the artificial atmosphere of the stage.
+We lead such a conventional life and breathe such a conventional air;
+there is so much of insincerity.  “Suppose any given theatre,” writes Mr.
+Thomas Archer in one of his clever essays, “suppose any given theatre
+suddenly turned into a Palace of Truth, and all the members of the
+company forced to state their true opinion of each other’s performances,
+the Palace of Truth would be a pandemonium.”  And then there are other
+considerations.’
+
+‘For instance?’
+
+‘Well, to begin with, the atmosphere of self-consciousness in which the
+actor lives and moves and has his being.  Mr. Henry James tells us the
+artist performs great feats in a dream; we must not wake him up lest he
+should lose his balance.  The actor, alas! has always to be wide awake—to
+think of the applause to be won.  I am sure too much of that sort of life
+cannot be good for anyone.’
+
+‘And I have long been expecting you to say as much.’
+
+‘But you are not sorry, are you?’
+
+‘On the contrary; it is the very thing I have been looking for all along.
+It is nice to feel when the public applaud an actress that she is your
+own; but how much nicer to feel as I do now,’ said Wentworth, with a
+loving caress, ‘that she is all my own!  You were happy on the stage; you
+will be ten times happier off it.’
+
+‘Ah, that I know well enough.’
+
+‘I fancy you little people of the mimic world are rather inclined to
+overrate your importance.  By the side of it the editorial “we” is
+modesty itself.  You actors and actresses are not such great folk after
+all.  Admired one day, forgotten the next!  As I think of all the men and
+women I have known upon the stage, who were lions of their day, for whom
+the public went into fits of madness, and then see how completely they
+are forgotten, it has always seemed to me that to illustrate the vanity
+of life and the nothingness of human applause I should point to the
+stage.’
+
+One morning there came the manager of the theatre.
+
+‘No, I shall never go back to the stage,’ replied the actress.
+
+‘Why not, my dear?’ said the manager, a gentleman of showy manners, and
+suspected of being rather over-sweet.
+
+‘Because I don’t like the life behind the scenes.’
+
+‘I am surprised to hear that.  If you knew how young ladies of really
+good position bother me to give them a trial!’
+
+‘Ah, they are ignorant.’
+
+‘Yes,’ said the manager; ‘remember the old lines:
+
+    ‘“Where ignorance is bliss,
+    ’Tis folly to be wise.’”
+
+‘Folly or not,’ replied Rose, ‘my eyes have been opened by experience.
+Once I was ignorant as they, and thought how delightful the life behind
+the scenes must be; but now I know better.  I only wish I could have a
+quiet chat with some of those stage-struck girls, and warn them before it
+is too late.  The life is only possible for the children of parents who
+are on the stage.  It is the atmosphere in which they have been brought
+up.  But as to other girls, the stage is the last thing they should think
+of if I had my way.’
+
+‘But what do you object to?’
+
+‘Why, to everything: the language one is obliged to hear; the dresses,
+which are often actually indecent; the way in which one is persecuted by
+men supposed to be gentlemen—the free-and-easy way in which they attempt
+familiarities is decidedly unpleasant.  No, I have been behind the
+scenes; I have no more illusions on that score.  I have done with the
+whole affair.  I am off the boards, and I have no wish to reappear on
+them again.’
+
+‘No money will tempt you?’ said the manager.
+
+‘None,’ was the reply.
+
+‘You will be exposed to no inconvenience, you know.’
+
+‘That is true; but I should have to give my sanction to much that I
+disapprove of.  You must reform what goes on behind the scenes.’
+
+‘Oh, that is impossible.’
+
+‘That’s what I fear.’
+
+‘Well, as you’ve made up your mind, it is no use, I fear, discussing the
+subject any longer.’
+
+His appeal was in vain.
+
+She did not want money, she did not care for applause; she had plenty of
+excitement in real life.  She wanted time to think, and read, and feel.
+Behind the footlights every night, what time has actor or actress to
+realize the great ends of life as something real, and not a show with its
+pretended tragedy or farce?
+
+‘In fact,’ said the lady, ‘I wish to live and not to act.’
+
+‘And then return to the stage when you are getting old,’ said the manager
+in dismay.  ‘Well, the public are indulgent, I admit.  A favourite is a
+favourite, whether old or young.  There are old men and women now on the
+stage who ought to have retired years ago.  They cannot act decently;
+with all their making up they are scarcely presentable.  Their memory and
+their power are gone, or something very like it, still the public
+applaud.  They do not understand what failures the poor creatures have
+become, and they praise them as liberally as when they were in their
+prime and could act.  One cannot much wonder that under the circumstances
+the veteran actor lags superfluous on the stage.’
+
+‘But are they not afraid of the newspaper critics?’
+
+Here the manager laughed.
+
+‘Excuse me—that is too ridiculous.  Who cares for theatrical criticism?
+Of course, we managers are civil to the critics, who give themselves
+amusing airs, and have a high opinion of their own abilities, and we get
+an advertisement gratuitously, which, of course, is an advantage.  But a
+theatrical critic always swims with the stream—applauds what the public
+applaud, and blames what they blame.  The public don’t care a rap for the
+theatrical critic.  I often wonder newspaper editors take the trouble to
+print what they write.  That no one reads it, except on a wet Sunday,
+they know as well as I.  But you will come back to us soon?’ said the
+manager, with his most beseeching air.
+
+‘No, I think not,’ said the lady.  ‘The life is too exciting to be
+healthy, either for the heart or the head.  It is all very well for a
+little while, but not for long.  I have been happy on the stage, but I
+believe I shall be equally happy off.  Let the younger ones have a
+chance.  Every dog has his day.’
+
+And the manager departed, thinking that the lady had made a great
+mistake, that perhaps she only needed a little more pressing.  At any
+rate, he said, as he bowed himself out:
+
+‘Madame, you shall hear from me again.’
+
+‘It is no use,’ was her reply.
+
+‘I am glad you have come to such an opinion.  I also have obtained my
+freedom,’ said Wentworth.  ‘My work at the newspaper office is done.  It
+has been rather unpleasant of late.  The proprietors depend on the
+Liberal Government; the Liberal Government fancy that to me it is due
+that a Tory was returned for Sloville.  It was hinted to me that I was
+too independent—too negligent as to the interests of the party; that I
+was not severe enough on the sins of the opposition; that, in short, I
+was not enough of a party hack.  Our manager is a keen party man; indeed,
+he expects one of these days to be knighted.  And now I am free, and so
+are you, and we can set about a work I have long had in contemplation.
+You and I have often talked of Southey’s and Coleridge’s pantisocracy—I
+believe the time has come for some such an enterprise.  It is true they
+never carried it out, it is true that when Robert Owen tried to do
+something of the kind it failed; but that is no reason why we should
+fail.’
+
+‘Of course not,’ said Rose.  ‘Yes, let us emigrate.  Let us leave Sodom
+and Gomorrah to their fate.  The sooner we are off the better.’
+
+‘Let us have old Buxton down to talk over the matter,’ said Wentworth,
+making a signal by applying the poker to the ceiling.
+
+In a moment or two he was in the room, a big burly man, with a big head
+and a big beard—given to the immoderate use of tobacco; averse to wearing
+new clothes, and not overfond of soap and water; rather inclined to be
+lazy; ready to say with Lord Melbourne, when reforming action was
+proposed: ‘Why can’t you leave it alone?’  Such men have their uses in a
+land where fussy people—as much with a view to their own personal
+gratification as to the welfare of the public—are always putting
+themselves forward; attempting to wash the blackamoor white, to have the
+Ethiopian change his skin or the leopard his spots.
+
+‘What’s up now?’ said he as he shuffled in.  ‘You look uncommonly grave.’
+
+‘Listen to me,’ said Wentworth.  ‘You have read my article in this
+morning’s paper?’
+
+‘Not a line.’
+
+‘Read it then.’
+
+Buxton shrugged his shoulders and sat down.
+
+Wentworth continued:
+
+‘Listen to my ideas, which I have published in the paper.’
+
+‘By all means.’
+
+‘If in the multitude of counsellors there is safety, the England of
+to-day has little to fear, in spite of the undeniable facts that she is
+losing her trade and commerce, that her national debt seems impossible of
+payment, that her expenditure increases as her income declines, and that
+the unemployed and pauper class threaten, like the lean kine Joseph saw
+in his dream, to swallow up all the rest.  As long as I can remember I
+have heard statesmen, and clergymen of all denominations, and politicians
+of all creeds, say something must be done; and they are still saying it
+in the most hopeless of tones, and with air the most dejected.  We have
+not had our French Revolution yet.  At the worst, the hungry mobs have
+contented themselves with an occasional raid on an unfortunate butcher or
+baker, or on some imprudent jeweller, whose attractive windows have
+proved too strong a temptation for the horny-handed.  In the meanwhile,
+people of a hopeful turn of mind tell us—and truly—that the working
+classes were never better off, better paid, or better fed.  But still,
+somehow or other, it is apparent that outside of the hopeless pauperism
+which the idiotic legislation of our fathers has called into
+existence—outside the depraved, whom drink and dishonesty have removed
+from the ranks of labour, to swell the bitter cry which ever ascends from
+city slums, where all foul things congregate, and where decent life is
+impossible—there are hundreds, nay, thousands, who are ready to work, but
+for whom, though to seek it they rise early and sit up late, no work is
+to be had.  Is there any hope for such?  Are they to be uncared for till
+they have lost all heart, and sink down to the pit of misery and despair,
+never more, till death comes to them as a friend, to rise again?  Is it
+not time that we think of them?  In Ireland, a hundred patriots would
+have rent the air with the story of their wrongs.  In England, we take
+small note of them.  Yet they are our flesh and blood, with honest hearts
+and hands.  A scheme has been devised for their benefit.  That it is
+worth a trial, few who can examine it can doubt.
+
+‘The idea of this new remedy is that, now when agricultural land is to be
+had for next to nothing, farms should be bought on which home colonies
+may be planted, and labour provided sufficient for self-support.
+
+‘The fact is,’ said Wentworth, ‘we have rather a grand scheme in view.  A
+gentleman is ready to purchase land in America or Canada or one of the
+Colonies; to plant it with poor people who can find no work at home, nor
+are likely to do so, if they stop here all their lives.  And he wants me
+to go out as manager; I am quite ready to do so.  And Rose is anxious for
+the experiment to be tried—indeed, far more so than myself.’
+
+‘That is a matter of course—novelty has always charms for woman.’
+
+‘And woman,’ said Rose, ‘is always ready to lend a helping hand to any
+philanthropic scheme.’
+
+‘Well, it requires a good deal of thinking about.’
+
+‘And we have thought about it long,’ said Wentworth; ‘and the more we
+think about it the better we like it.  But we want you to accompany us.’
+
+‘In what capacity?’
+
+‘As medical man.’
+
+‘And you think I would turn my back on London, and give up my easy life,
+to undertake all this responsibility?’
+
+‘Well, I don’t see why you should not,’ said Wentworth.  ‘You are not
+doing much good here, you know.’
+
+‘And why should I, when everyone is fussing about doing good and in the
+meantime doing a great deal of mischief, interfering with the working of
+the unalterable laws of the universe, washing blackamoors white, trying
+to make empty sacks stand upright?’
+
+‘Yes, but we are going to do nothing of the kind.  We are only finding
+homes and work for men and women who can find in the old country neither
+the one nor the other—to save them from sinking into hopeless pauperism,
+to help them to live happy and healthful lives.  What have you to say
+against our scheme?’
+
+‘Really, now I think about it, I can’t say anything against it, supposing
+that you have a proper site for the experiment, that you take proper
+people, and that you have sufficient capital to make a fair start.’
+
+‘Oh, as to that, everything has been provided for.  Each colonist will
+have a bit of ground, which he will pay for in time by his labour.  We
+intend working on the old lines, not to be led away by communistic ideas.
+Each man will do the best he can for himself, and in so doing will be
+best for all.  What do you think, Buxton, of the scheme?’
+
+‘Why, like all her ladyship’s ideas, it is excellent.’
+
+‘Pretty flatterer!’ said Rose.
+
+‘He wants to cut me out,’ said Wentworth.  ‘He was always envious of my
+superior abilities.’
+
+‘As he had every reason to be,’ said Rose.
+
+‘Come, that’s too bad,’ said Buxton, turning to Rose, ‘after the way in
+which I buttered you up just now.  Two to one ain’t fair.  But to return
+to business.’
+
+‘Hear, hear,’ said Wentworth.
+
+‘If I had a family—which, thank Heaven, I have not—I would not stop in
+England a day.  If I had a lad to plant out in the world as you have, I’d
+send him off to America or the Colonies to-morrow.’
+
+‘Because?’
+
+‘Because it’s all up in old England in the first place; and in the second
+place, because if it were not so, the New World offers better
+opportunities for a young fellow than the old.  May I dwell upon these
+topics?’
+
+‘Certainly, by all means.’
+
+‘Well, I have met a good many Americans lately, and they have put new
+ideas into my head—’
+
+‘Not before they were wanted!’ said Wentworth.
+
+‘Speak for yourself, sir, if you please,’ said Buxton, with an assumed
+offended air.
+
+‘Oh, I beg pardon!  Pray proceed.’
+
+‘I was going to say,’ said Buxton, ‘until interrupted in this unmannerly
+manner, you are enthusiasts, I am not.  I doubt the dream of a new heaven
+and a new earth.  It has done good in its time, I admit.  It was the
+thought of the Messiah that was to come that nerved the heart of the Jew
+as he sat by the waters of Babylon and wept as he remembered Zion.  Paul
+and the Apostles expected the new heaven and the new earth before they
+laid down their lives as martyrs for their inspiring faith.  Upheld by
+the same living hope, tender and delicate maidens have gone to the grave
+exulting, and have glorified God at the stake or in the dungeon or on the
+scaffold.  “The end of all things is at hand,” is ever the cry of the
+churches.  It was that of Luther in his day, and is that of the
+Evangelicals in ours, who, if an earthquake destroys a town, or a deluge
+sweeps over the land, or the cholera breaks out in the East, or there are
+wars and rumours of wars, tell us these are the dread signs to mark the
+coming of the Son of Man with His saints to judge the earth.  I feel
+rather inclined to believe with old Swedenborg that that day is past.
+The talk of a Millennium makes me sick.  It is a delusion and a sham.
+Such men as Dr. Cumming, with their long array of dates and their wild
+dreams of the fulfilment of prophecy, make men like myself sceptics.  It
+is clear to us that the odds, at any rate, are against the Christian.’
+
+‘I don’t know,’ said Rose.  ‘But this is a business scheme.  We are not
+in search of the Millennium.’
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXXI.
+CHIEFLY ABOUT THE LAND.
+
+
+For three months an Englishman sits in sackcloth and ashes.  The
+matter-of-fact reviewer will tell me this is not so; and he is right and
+so am I.
+
+London is not a place to live in in winter; there is, unfortunately, no
+place in England that is.  People talk of the weather.  They cannot help
+themselves.  In his old age Dr. Johnson wrote, ‘I am now reduced to think
+and am at last content to talk of the weather.’  That was a sign that the
+Doctor at last had fallen low.  As Burney writes: ‘There was no
+information for which Dr. Johnson was less grateful than for that which
+concerned the weather.’  If any one of his intimate companions told him
+it was hot or cold, wet or dry, windy or calm; he would stop them by
+saying: ‘O-oh, O-oh!  You are telling me of that of which none but men in
+a mine or a dungeon can be ignorant.  Let us bear with patience or enjoy
+in quiet elementary changes either for the better or the worse, as they
+are never secrets.’  Nevertheless, the state of the weather continues in
+all circles an unfailing theme.  Bad weather affects the spirits by
+depressing them, fine raises them.  We are attuned to every action of the
+outer atmosphere.  Our suicides in November are known all the world over.
+It is scarcely possible to be cheerful on a dull, cold, raw, foggy day.
+I wonder people who can afford to go away and have no pressing claims at
+home do not rush off to the Riviera in search of its blue sky, its summer
+suns, its wealth of flowers, its richer life for the delicate, or the
+infirm or old.
+
+‘We must get out of England,’ said Wentworth to his wife, one dull wintry
+morn, when the raw cold seemed to fill every apartment in the house, and
+the outlook into the busy street only revealed half-starved figures in
+all their wretchedness.  ‘We must get out of England, and the sooner the
+better.’
+
+‘Yes, I’ve long been thinking so; but the question is, where to go.  We
+have got to think of other people besides ourselves, and of other affairs
+than our own.  But with our tastes and habits we can live cheaply
+anywhere, and I have no wish to go where we shall meet a lot of idle rich
+people only seeking to guard themselves from the English winter and
+spending life in frivolous indulgence.  Let us take the question
+seriously.’
+
+‘That is just what I am trying to do,’ was the reply.  ‘We are not too
+old for a grand experiment.’
+
+‘But are you prepared to give up journalism?’
+
+‘Yes, I am.  I see a new spirit abroad, one which I detest.’
+
+But one thing remained to Wentworth of the teaching of his early years: a
+love of Liberal principles; an enthusiasm for humanity; a deep yearning
+for the mental and moral elevation of the people—ideas deeply cherished
+in the Nonconformist families of the past generation.  In every home the
+struggle for reform, the hatred of slavery, the desire to give the Roman
+Catholics fair play, the struggle for the repeal of the Test and
+Corporation Acts, the need of a national and unsectarian system of
+education, were held to be objects of paramount importance, and were the
+subjects of daily converse.  In every rural village meetings were held at
+the chapels in their favour, and if there were no great orators to attend
+them, what was said at them sank into prepared soil, and bore a rich
+harvest.  It was in East Anglia as it was all over England.  The
+agitation went from one chapel to another.  A line of communication was
+thus established, wrote William Hazlitt, whose father was a Unitarian
+minister in Shropshire, by which the flame of civil and religious liberty
+is kept alive, and nourishes its smouldering fires, unquenchable like the
+fires in the Agamemnon of Æschylus, placed at different stations that
+waited for ten long years to announce with their blazing pyramids the
+destruction of Troy.  It was from such centres came the soldiers who were
+to win the people’s victories in spite of the nominees of Tory lords and
+rotten borough-mongers, of pensioners and place-men, of time-serving
+priests and fawning courtiers who then ruled the land, and who fattened
+on the taxes wrung from an unrepresented and oppressed and a
+discontented—and a justly discontented—nation.  Young hearts burned
+within them as they listened to Liberal orators, or read the speeches of
+such men as Henry Brougham or Dan O’Connell, or studied Liberal
+newspapers; and they longed for the time when they, too, should gird on
+the shield and buckler and do battle for the Right.  In vain timid
+ministers and aged deacons uttered warning voices and shook their heads
+at the new spirit which was abroad, quoted Scripture about obeying them
+that have rule over you, hinted at the danger to spirituality of life and
+feeling by mixing in the rough warfare of the political world.  As well
+might they scream to the stormy blast.  The current was too strong: they
+had to swim with it or be drowned.  It was a grand time of awakening.
+The world has seen nothing like it since.  To Wentworth it was a baptism,
+the effect of which was never to pass away.  Buxton, as usual, continued
+his morning smoke.
+
+‘Hear me,’ said Wentworth, as Rose rushed out of the room, declaring that
+she knew all he had to say.  Wentworth continued: ‘As long as I can
+remember, the “condition of England question,” as Carlyle called it, or,
+as we term it, in more sensational phraseology, “the bitter cry of the
+outcast,” has afforded painful matter of reflection to the statesman, the
+philanthropist, the philosopher, and the divine.  It is always coming to
+the front, and it will always be coming to the front, even if you hang
+all the bad landlords and jerry-builders, get rid of the bloated
+capitalist, and divide the estates of the aristocracy and the millions of
+the capitalists among the poor of the East-end.  The working classes are
+not to be confounded with the men and women who herd like beasts in the
+wretched dens of the east.  Underneath the lowest of them there is a
+conservative residuum whom it is impossible to get rid of, whose
+condition it is appalling to contemplate.  They are the men who won’t
+work; who won’t go where work is to be had; who come to London when they
+should never have left their country home; who sell their manhood for a
+pot of beer: casuals who, born in a poor-house or a prison, children of
+shame from the first, mostly spend their lives alternately tramping the
+streets and in the workhouse or the gaol.  As London increases in
+population, so do they.  We have seen such men offered fair work by
+hundreds, but they prefer filth and laziness, with the chance of an
+appeal to the humane.  “Pull down the rookery,” and the rooks won’t fly
+away.  Burn all the fever and vice laden dens of the outcast, and there
+he is still, a disgrace and shame—not so much, as sensational writers
+pretend, to our civilization and religion as to our common manhood.  Ever
+since we have known anything of the churches—whether Established or
+Free—it seems to us that they have aimed as much at the temporal as the
+spiritual improvement of the outcast.  We have yet to learn that it is a
+disgrace to our civilization that it does not interfere with God’s law,
+that the wrong-doer must pay for his wrong-doing, whatever that may
+be—that if you lose your chance, another will take it—that it is too late
+to go harvesting in winter; that the victory is to the strong, that he
+that will not work shall not eat—those who forget this, who idle away the
+precious moments, are soon sitting in the outer darkness of the outcast,
+where there is weeping, and wailing, and gnashing of teeth.
+
+‘It amuses us, or would, were not the subject so awful—for it may be
+taken as a sober truth that outside the bottomless pit there is no such
+utter damnation as is to be found among the outcast—to find clever
+writers talking of the constant neglect of the last hundred years, and to
+ponder over the remedies.  It is now the fashion to recommend better
+houses to be built at the expense of the community.  If we were to get
+free trade in land, more will be done to remove the congestion in our
+great cities than by the erection of improved dwellings, which will
+rather intensify the evil.  The more society does for the outcast the
+more will their number and their poverty alike increase.  The remedy is
+worse than the disease.  Every halfpenny you give to the undeserving is
+so much taken from the deserving.  Every benefit you confer on the pauper
+is at the expense of the honest, respectable poor, who have a prior
+claim.  Against State action the argument is still stronger.  In the
+first place, the State cannot deal honestly and fairly by the people.
+What it does is ill done, and at double expense.  The people who pay the
+taxes are often as badly off as those for whose benefit they are spent.
+A slight addition to the taxation of a wealthy peer or capitalist will
+not deprive him of a single luxury, but it may send a small, struggling
+tradesman into the _Gazette_.  We are a nation of shopkeepers, and it is
+easy to perceive that a time may come when our heavy taxation may cripple
+us in our trade with foreign competitors, when they will supply the
+markets, on which we have hitherto depended, when, in fact, we shall have
+little left to us but our National Debt.’
+
+‘Go on,’ said Buxton.  ‘You are getting rather prosy, but if it relieves
+your feelings, pray proceed.’
+
+‘Well, then,’ said Wentworth, ‘I will.  A gentleman sends me a scheme of
+a cooperative home colony, which will give the settlers three good meals
+a day, a house, a full suit of clothing every year, education for their
+children, and an allotment of half an acre of land, which shall be
+entirely at the disposal of the head of the family so long as he makes a
+good use of it and renders proper service during the regular working
+hours.  For the purchase of fuel or tea and coffee, and such things as
+cannot be grown in this climate, the director will sell in the public
+market any surplus produce such as eggs, butter and poultry, far too much
+of which we get from abroad.  One-sixth of the harvest and other produce
+will be sold to pay the salaries of director and foremen.  A farm of
+three hundred and forty acres in the Isle of Sheppey, for instance, can
+be had if it be deemed desirable.  If we get a population of five hundred
+on it, fifty acres of wheat will supply the settlement with all the bread
+that can be eaten there.  If the cows were stall-fed, one hundred acres
+of land would keep over a hundred head of cattle, and such a herd would
+supply all the requisite milk, cheese, butter, beef and hides every year
+in abundant quantities.  Flax could be cultivated and linen woven.  A
+flock of sheep could be tended on the estate sufficient to yield five
+pounds of wool every year per head of the population.  There would be no
+expense for manure, as the settlement would provide it all.  Are you
+weary?’ said Wentworth.
+
+‘Not particularly.  Pray proceed.  But why not try it—why not begin a
+scheme of the kind at once?’
+
+‘All we have to do is to get the people back to the land.  By the
+establishment of such home colonies work will be offered in rural
+districts to men and women who would otherwise be driven into our great
+cities to increase the pauperism which threatens our whole social
+edifice.  The scheme, if carried out, will encourage habits of industry
+and thrift—unlike the work given in our workhouses, which demoralizes and
+degrades the recipients; it will help the societies instituted to
+distribute charity, as it will offer strong men and women healthy labour
+rather than doles, which they are ashamed to accept, which they do not
+ask for, and which, when taken, have a tendency to break down that spirit
+of independence and self-reliance which lies at the foundation of all
+decent manhood; and lastly, and this is an immense benefit, it would
+prevent land now in cultivation from becoming a desert.  It seems to me
+this of itself is no common recommendation of the plan, when farmers are
+giving up farming, and their farms either allowed to run to waste or
+farmed by the landlords at a heavy loss.  Our great Free Traders never
+dreamt of this when they got Parliament and the people to destroy
+Protection, yet such are the facts we have to face.’
+
+‘And yet there are people who believe in Cobden still,’ said Buxton.
+
+‘I knew him well,’ said Wentworth, ‘and a better man never lived.  He was
+right in the main, though his enthusiasm led him astray, and no wonder.
+Let me, in the language of Goldsmith remind you—
+
+             ‘“How wide the limits stand
+    Between a splendid and a happy land.”’
+
+Buxton laughed when Wentworth had finished his rhapsody.  Buxton was
+given to laughter.  He was not a man who took life very seriously.
+Perhaps he would have done better had he done so as far as his own
+personal interests were concerned.  As Swift said of Arbuthnot, it might
+be said of him, that he knew his art better than his trade.
+
+‘Wait a moment,’ he said, as he rushed out of the room to his own den,
+whence he returned with an old faded handbill, which was as follows:
+
+                                SPENCE’S PLAN
+
+                    for Parochial Partnerships in the Land
+                     is the only effectual remedy for the
+                   distress and oppressions of the people.
+                The Landholders are not Proprietors-in-Chief;
+                  they are but the _Stewards_ of the Public,
+                      for the LAND IS THE PEOPLE’S FARM.
+               The expenses of the Government do not cause the
+                                 misery that
+              surrounds us, but the enormous exactings of those
+                              _Unjust Stewards_,
+                  Landed monopoly is indeed equally contrary
+                                to the benign
+                  Spirit of Christianity, and destructive of
+                  the Independence and Morality of Mankind.
+                    ‘The Profit of the Earth is for all.’
+            Yet how deplorably destitute are the great mass of the
+                                   People!
+                  Nor is it possible for their situations to
+                           be radically amended but
+                       by the establishment of a system
+                      founded on the immutable bases of
+                             Nature and Justice.
+                Experience demonstrates its necessity, and the
+                              Rights of Manhood
+                      require it for their presentation.
+
+    To obtain this important object by extending the knowledge of the
+    above system, the Society of Spencean Philanthropies has been
+    established.  Further information of its principles may be obtained
+    by attending any of its sectional meetings, where subjects are
+    discussed calculated to enlighten the human understanding; and where,
+    also, the regulations of the society may be procured, containing a
+    complete development of the Spencean system.  Every individual is
+    admitted free of expense who will conduct himself with decorum.
+
+‘I never heard of Spence,’ said Wentworth.
+
+‘Of course not,’ said Buxton.  ‘In these days of boasted progress we know
+nothing of what has been.  Radicals always ignore the past.  You really
+need a little enlightenment.  Shall I enlighten you?’
+
+‘By all means.’
+
+‘It was in 1775 Mr. Spence began his public career.  Like most original
+thinkers, he commenced in the country.  His political opinions were first
+pronounced in the form of a lecture read before the Newcastle
+Philosophical Society in 1775, and printed immediately afterwards, from
+which time, he says, he went on continually publishing them in some shape
+or other.  They are fully explained in his “Constitution of Spensonia: a
+Country in Fairy Land Situated Somewhere between Utopia and Oceana.”
+According to his scheme, the land belongs to the people, and individuals
+should rent the land from their respective parishes, the rent
+constituting the national revenue, and the surplus, after all expenses
+were paid, was to be divided equally amongst all the parishioners.  The
+larger estates were to be let for one-and-twenty years, and at the
+expiration of that term relet by public auction, the smaller ones by the
+year, and the larger ones sub-divided according to the increase of
+population.  The legislative power was to be vested in an annual
+Parliament elected by universal suffrage, women voting as well as men.
+The executive was to be in the hands of a council of twenty-five, half of
+which was to be renewed annually.  Every fifth day there was to be a
+Sabbatical rest, not a Sabbath, for no provision was made for public
+worship, and in the new world no mention was to be made of parsons,
+though the constitution was to be proclaimed in a more or less religious
+form.  At the end of the pamphlet, as it was published, was an epilogue,
+intimating the flight of poverty and misery from this lower world, and
+there was an appeal:
+
+    ‘“Let us all join heart and hand
+       Through every town and city,
+    Of every age and every sex,
+       Young men and maidens pretty,
+    To haste this golden age’s reign
+       On every hill and valley,
+    Then Paradise shall greet our eyes
+       Through every street and alley.”’
+
+‘Ah,’ said Wentworth, ‘I see there is nothing new under the sun.’
+
+‘But the taxes?’ said Buxton.  He continued: ‘This scheme was published
+long before the French Revolution broke out.  Up in the north there had
+risen a solitary and original thinker who advocated female voting,
+universal suffrage, annual Parliaments, and had got hold of the
+idea—which has led many of our modern apostles to fame and fortune—that
+the land lay at the root of the Condition of England question, that all
+private property in land must be destroyed, and that it must be done at
+once.
+
+‘Spence, then, was, to use the cant of the present day, a Progressist.
+To him belongs the honour of having first presented the land question in
+all its bearings to the general public.  What was his reward?—a
+Government prosecution with a fine of £20 and a year’s imprisonment at
+Shrewsbury.  Well might a nobleman, as Wilberforce tells us, show him the
+picture of crucified Christ, and bid him mark the end of a Reformer.
+
+‘One cause of Spence’s failure is obvious—he tried to do too much.  “When
+I began to study,” says he, “I found everything erected on certain
+unalterable principles.  I found every art and science a perfect whole.
+Nothing was in anarchy but language and politics.  But both of these I
+reduced to order; the one by a new alphabet, the other by a new
+constitution.”  Of what he called his natural or philosophical
+orthography we know but little, save that one of his works was printed in
+it.  Had he aimed at less he would have accomplished more.  He was no
+vulgar demagogue; that trade was not a paying one when Spence proclaimed
+himself “the unpaid advocate of the disinherited seed of Adam.”  “This,
+gentlemen,” he exclaimed when on his trial—he was too poor to retain
+attorney or counsel for his defence—“this, gentlemen, is the Rights of
+Man; and upon this Book of Nature have I built my commonwealth, and the
+Gates of Hell shall not prevail against it.”  He added, as well he might:
+“I solemnly avow that what I have written and published has been done
+with as good a conscience and as much philanthropy as ever possessed the
+heart of any prophet-philosopher or apostle that ever existed.”
+
+‘It was all in vain.  The Government of the day feared the result of his
+teaching.  Had he set up for a philosopher and clothed his ideas in
+mystic language, perhaps he might have been overlooked; but he published
+what he called “Pig’s Meat” for the people, and that made him dangerous.
+He had no friends and became an easy prey.  He was poor, he stood alone,
+and was generally held to be little better than a lunatic; even the
+professed friends of liberty kept aloof from him.  Well might be exclaim,
+as he did before his judges, “Perhaps, my lords, I have entertained too
+high an opinion of human nature, for I do not find mankind very grateful
+clients.”  After his trial and imprisonment Spence became an itinerant
+vendor of books and pamphlets, chiefly his own works, which he carried
+about in a vehicle constructed for the purpose.  He died somewhere about
+1812, while Britons were hard at work on sea and in every land in Europe
+setting right public matters according to their fashion—paying foreigners
+to fight for their own independence, singing all the while that they
+never would be slaves.’
+
+‘We are wiser now,’ said Wentworth.
+
+‘Perhaps,’ was the cynical reply.  ‘You are everlastingly talking,’ he
+continued, ‘of an outcast London; but, after all, it is on outcast London
+that the chief blame of its misery lies.  Let us have an Act for the
+Prevention of Cruelty to Children, and at once, in outcast London, where
+boys and girls become fathers and mothers before they are out of their
+teens, and when they have no chance of earning a living, and know not and
+care not for the little ones they bring into the world.  In respectable
+London a man does not marry till he fancies he can keep a wife.  In
+outcast London it is the reverse.  In such a case population represents
+the thoughtlessness of the nation.  In many cases it represents the most
+brutal selfishness.  Men and women can’t complain if they reap what they
+have sown; but have not we a right to say a word on behalf of the
+children?  For men and women to bring up their children in the way in
+which it is done in outcast London is a crime.  To bring a baby into the
+world to lead a diseased and wretched life where it can never get a
+mouthful of wholesome food, a ray of sunlight, a particle of fresh air,
+to curse a young life that God meant to be so full of bliss, is a crime
+so awful that we can see no fitting punishment.  To improve outcast
+London the first thing is to stop the supply.  There is no remedy if
+reckless pauperism is to be allowed to grow rampant in our midst.
+
+‘One word more,’ said Wentworth.  ‘Suppose we think more of the decent
+poor, and less of the outcast.  Suppose we give the respectable working
+man as much sympathy as we give his good-for-nothing brother.  Suppose we
+take the sober operative as much by the hand as we do the inebriate.
+Suppose we act on the idea that industry is honourable, and that the men
+who live by it are men to be honoured; that the world with all its
+blessings is for the worker, whether he tills the soil or ploughs the
+deep, whether he builds the loftiest viaduct or burrows in the deepest
+mine.’
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXXII.
+CONSULTATION.
+
+
+They were sitting one morning at breakfast—that pleasantest of meals,
+unless you have to be up at an unusually early hour to catch the train
+and be off to London.  Modern life is not such an improvement on that of
+the past as we are apt to fancy.  The breakfast was the one meal at which
+people could meet and discuss matters—private, local, political,
+literary, or religious, in an informal way.  We have no pleasant
+breakfast in these more ostentatious days, when society is too large to
+admit of friendship; but it seems to me that in my younger days we got a
+good deal more pleasure out of life.  No wonder, then, that we sigh for
+the good old times, and long for their revival; that we have Queen Anne
+furniture, and houses built in what is called the Elizabethan style, and
+an effort to do away with the rail, and to revive the far-famed coaches
+with four horses which were the delight of the nation in the Georgian
+days.
+
+I can call well to mind the time when I held the coachman of a certain
+Royal Mail, which made its appearance in our benighted village about
+breakfast-time, to have been one of the most eminent men of the day, and
+felt at least a foot taller when, as was his wont, he gave me, boy as I
+was, a friendly nod of recognition.  As to seeing the horses changed,
+that was a scene I would not have missed on any account.  How we all
+stood admiring as the panting steeds, which had galloped gloriously their
+stage, were led sweating away, and the fresh team, with cloths on, and
+their hoofs newly-cleaned, and everything about them bright and shiny,
+took the vacant places!  What a pleasure it was to see them as they stood
+pawing the ground, impatient to be off!  How glad we were when the
+coachman, as he climbed up into his lofty seat, and gathered up the reins
+in his capacious hand, gave the signal, ‘Let ’em go!’  How beautiful it
+was to us lads to see the coach bound off like a thing of life, while the
+guard blew a farewell flourish on his horn, and the horses settled down
+steadily to their work after a playful flourish or two!
+
+Woe is me!  I, and other miserable sinners like unto me, come to town
+through tunnels, and over the tops of houses, or along cuttings in which
+one gets an unlovely view of the backs of dirty houses and slovenly
+yards, in a closely-packed railway carriage, where we can neither talk,
+nor hear, nor read, and grow nervous as the engine screams and shrieks on
+all occasions, while the railway porters close the doors with a bang
+sufficient to send one into a fit.  Life in our railway age is hard for
+us all.
+
+Wentworth and his wife were at breakfast, as I have said.  London had
+been disturbed by rumours as to the claim to the titles and estates of
+the deceased Baronet.  Newspapers were not so full of twaddle as they are
+now; that spawn of the press, the newspaper interviewer, had not as yet
+sprung into existence.  But still then, as now, there was a great deal of
+unmeaning gossip that did manage to find its way into the columns of the
+weekly and daily journals.  It has ever been so.  Apparently, it seems as
+if it ever will be so.  The fashion originated in the servants’ hall.  ‘A
+chambermaid to a lady of my acquaintance,’ writes Dean Swift, ‘when
+talking with one of her fellow-servants, said: “I hear it is all over
+London already that I am going to leave my lady.”’  In this respect she
+resembled the footman who, being newly married, desired his comrade to
+tell him freely ‘what the town really thought of it.’  From the servants’
+hall the habit spread to Grub Street, and thence to the West-End, to
+become the leading feature in journals only written for men, or
+gentlemen, or ladies, as circumstances required.  We laugh at the old
+divine who wrote a threepenny pamphlet against France, and who, being in
+the country, hearing of a French privateer hovering along the coast, fled
+to town and told his friends that they need not wonder at his haste,
+which he accounted for from the fact that the King of France, having got
+intelligence of his whereabouts, had sent a privateer on purpose to carry
+him away.  How ridiculous was good Dr. Gee, Prebendary of Westminster,
+who wrote a small paper against Popery!  Being ordered to travel on the
+Continent for his health, he disguised his person and assumed another
+name, as he fancied he would be murdered, or put into the Inquisition.
+But are we less ridiculous, or rather has not that ridiculous
+exaggeration of the personal, which is the foundation of newspaper
+twaddle, become more of a nuisance than ever?
+
+Again, we all of us think too much of money and money-making.  Is it not
+time that we utter a word of warning in the matter?  It is inconvenient
+to have no money, most of us know by practical experience; but the
+possession of much of it is not after all a guarantee of respectability
+of character, or individual capacity.  We call ourselves a Christian
+people, we profess to be actuated by Christian principles.  The Master
+was a poor man—a carpenter’s son—His disciples were poor men.  If any
+class are particularly referred to in the New Testament as far from the
+kingdom, they are the rich.  All modern society is based on the opposite
+idea.  We give the rich man the chief place in the synagogue.  The
+society journals delight to do him honour.  He has even made church-going
+the fashion.  This is no age of poor geniuses.  Our artists, our poets or
+teachers are all of the well-to-do.  A Burns, or a Bloomfield, would be
+thought nothing of in our time.  The modern woman is impossible in a poor
+community.  When a lady writer is described in our magazines and
+newspapers, the writer dwells at painful length on the costliness of her
+surroundings; her dresses, her parties, the expensiveness of her
+furniture, and the signs of wealth she everywhere displays.  The
+millions—how they toil and how miserably they live!  The rich—what an
+idle life they lead!  And then think of the way in which that wealth,
+which is often a curse to them, is obtained!  Far away indeed is the new
+heaven and the new earth in which dwelleth righteousness; infamous as are
+the means by which the wealth we envy and admire is obtained, how ready
+we are to do homage to its possessor, poor as he may be in spirit, and
+unclean and unlovely in his life!  Wentworth saw, as we all do, this
+unsatisfactory side of all human affairs.  The time had come, he thought,
+for an effort for something better, for a state in which the wealth
+earned by the labourer should be more equitably distributed.  There was a
+divine order in life, he believed, which had been lost sight of, and
+forgotten, and the result was unmitigated poverty and wretchedness.  For
+this society was responsible, and especially its rulers, who had
+increased the sufferings of the poor, who had trampled on the weak, who
+had played into the hands of the rich and the strong; he did not believe,
+as some of our modern lights do, that the masses were always right and
+the classes always wrong.  It seemed to him that there were good and bad
+amongst them all, that circumstances were such, that there was little
+hope of change for the better.  Circumstances were too strong for the
+individual to conquer.  Take intemperance, for instance, the main cause
+of England’s wretchedness; how is it possible to grapple with that in
+society, where intoxicating drink is deemed, in most circles, a daily
+necessity of life?
+
+‘You must form new social conditions,’ said Buxton as he entered: ‘I have
+just left,’ he said, ‘a friend of mine.  We were fellow students.  He was
+the leader in all the classes, and graduated with high honours.  He took
+his doctor’s degree and then became a clergyman, acquired great
+popularity, was the means of drawing together a large congregation,
+became one of the ornaments of the temperance platform, was for awhile a
+power in Exeter Hall, had everything that heart could wish, a charming
+wife, a comfortable income, a large family; and now he has become a sot
+and a drunkard, and I see no hope for him as long as he lives.  I can
+only believe that he was born with a hereditary taint—and that after
+fighting against it all his life, it has broken out at last and proved
+his master.’
+
+‘Then you think drunkenness is a disease, and that a man is not
+responsible for it?’
+
+‘In many cases I do, and I smile when I hear the parson denounce him as
+guilty of a heinous sin, or the judge brand him as a criminal offender.
+Examine the drunkard’s body after death, and you see in the stomach, in
+the liver, in the heart and brain signs of a diseased condition.  At the
+same time, I am ready to admit that there are many who drink out of mere
+cussedness or who are so wretched that they take to it for temporary
+relief; or who just drink because they live in a drunken set, and like to
+do as others around them do.  Whatever the immorality, the vice, or the
+sin of drunkenness, in a very large number of cases the drunkard is more
+to be pitied than blamed, as the subject of disease.  If you get him to
+take the pledge, the chances are that he will break it, and that the last
+state of that man will be worse than the first.’
+
+‘Ah! that helps me to what I have been long thinking of,’ replied
+Wentworth.
+
+‘What is that—a community planted where no drink can be had?  That is all
+very well; but while you are about it, you may as well go a step further.
+There are other hereditary diseases besides drunkenness: why permit them?
+Man is an animal,’ said Buxton.  ‘I am, of course, speaking only from a
+medical point of view.  What do we do with animals?  Why, we stamp out
+the disease, and thus we get a new generation.  It is thus we battle with
+lung disease in bullocks, swine fever and glandered horses.  We must
+stamp out disease in men and women as we stamp it out of other animals.’
+
+‘And then pay compensation to the owner.  That would be rather a costly
+matter.’
+
+‘No; I would put it the other way.  Take, for instance, a consumptive
+couple in humble life.  They marry early.  The mother has a large family.
+The father dies of consumption before he has reached middle age, after
+being in a hospital for months, supported at the public expense, and he
+leaves his children, if they live, to be supported by the parish.  If
+there is to be compensation, it is not the State that ought to be asked
+to pay it.  If drink be one cause of poverty, surely hereditary disease
+is another.  In a perfect community neither should be allowed to exist.
+Think of such awful things as epilepsy and insanity, and cancer and
+scrofula, none of which science can cure!  Why not ask society to stamp
+them out?  It is downright wickedness to allow them to be propagated in
+our midst.’
+
+‘Public opinion would never consent to that.’
+
+‘No,’ replied Buxton; ‘I am quite aware of that; but I would create a
+public opinion that would regard such marriages with horror, and then
+they would gradually become rare.  Men and women have duties to society,
+and have to think of something else than the gratification of selfish
+passion or mere animal instinct.  It is thus hereditary disease may
+disappear, and the nation be all the stronger and happier and richer.  I
+know there are good people who look upon such afflictions as the result
+of the Lord’s chastening hand, and as they bury wife, or husband, or son,
+or daughter, learn to kiss the rod—as they call it—and to thank the Lord
+that He thus is weaning them from the world, and preparing them for a
+better world, whither they tell us their loved ones are already gone.  I
+have no sympathy with that state of mind.  It seems to me almost
+blasphemous, as the bereavements they rejoice in for their supposed
+sanctifying effects are simply the natural result of their own folly and
+imprudence and disregard of natural law.  In the days of ignorance how
+did we treat the insane?  Why, they were regarded as victims of Divine
+wrath, and the priest was called in—and of course well paid—to exorcise
+the evil spirit.  That we do not do so now is a proof that we are a
+little wiser than our fathers—that, in fact, we are not quite such
+thundering fools; but we have a good deal yet to learn, nevertheless.’
+
+‘The fact is,’ said Wentworth, ‘a man must learn to deny himself for the
+public good.  Rather a difficult task that.  If the victim of hereditary
+disease refuses to marry and have children, hereditary disease will die
+out.  Is not that asking too much of human nature?’
+
+‘There we must appeal to the law for the protection of the general
+public.  The community is of more importance than the individual.’
+
+‘But there is no law that cannot be evaded.’
+
+‘Exactly so.  Laws against drunkenness are constantly broken, but they
+have a beneficial effect nevertheless.  A prohibitory liquor law goes too
+far.  To act on the idea that a glass of claret, or beer, or cider does
+mischief to anyone is absurd.  Walter Mapes was right when he wrote in
+praise of drink.  As the old monk writes—
+
+    ‘“A glass of wine amazingly enliveneth one’s internals.”’
+
+‘You are right there,’ replied Wentworth.  ‘Last summer I was at a
+seaside watering-place.  There had been a regatta there, and I had
+written a description of it for our paper.  In a day or two after the
+event was celebrated by a grand dinner at the leading hotel, to which I
+was invited.  Unfortunately, on the day of the dinner I was desperately
+ill.  My head was splitting; my skin was as tough as the hide of a
+rhinoceros; I ached in every limb.  I went to the medical men of the
+district; there were two of them in partnership.  No. 1 made me believe
+that I was in a bad way; No. 2 made me out worse.  “Could I go to the
+dinner?” I asked.  “By no means,” was the reply.  “Take this medicine, go
+home and go to bed, and we will come and see you in the morning.”  Ill as
+I was, I went to the dinner.  It was a very jovial one, and I sat
+drinking champagne till late.  I went home, slept like a top, and woke up
+as well as I ever was in my life.  The next morning the doctor came.
+“Ah,” he said, “I see you look all the better for my medicine.”  I said,
+“I did not take a drop of your medicine.  I went to the dinner, drank
+champagne all night, and it was that which cured me.”  “Very strange
+that,” said the doctor.  “The very things we think poison have often
+quite a contrary effect.”  My own opinion is that if I had taken the
+medicine I should have been ill for a week at least.  I don’t take wine
+as a daily drink, because I can’t afford it, for one reason, and for
+another because I believe, taken daily, it has a mischievous effect.  But
+there are times when it does good, and life is not so joyous that we can
+afford to dispense entirely with the pleasant stimulus of wine.  I would
+not prevent its manufacture.  No society has ever existed without the
+winecup for its feasts and holidays.  I would not put down the liquor
+traffic.  I would only shut up the drink shops.  It is they that cause
+the drunkenness which does so much mischief, and there is no need for
+their existence at all.
+
+‘But let us hear what her ladyship has to say,’ said Buxton.
+
+‘What are you talking about?’ she said.
+
+‘A regenerated State.’
+
+‘Ah, there is need for it,’ she said.  ‘But how are you to get it?  That
+is the question.’
+
+‘Oh, nothing is easier.  Buy a farm in Essex and form there a model
+society.’
+
+‘With a cheap train to take your people to London in an hour or two?
+That will never do.’
+
+‘Well, then, let us go to Canada and plant our Utopia there.’
+
+‘And fail, as others have done,’ said she.
+
+‘But we shall take picked men and women, and with them we cannot fail.’
+
+‘But they are not immortal.’
+
+‘Happily,’ said Buxton, ‘none of us are that.  We’ve all got to die and
+make room for the new generation.’
+
+‘And can you answer for the new generation?’ asked Rose, ‘that they will
+remain shut up in your Utopia to labour, not each for himself, but for
+mutual benefit; that they will conform to your ideas as regards drinking
+and matrimony; that no selfish passion will run riot; that no serpent
+will come into that paradise to tempt another Eve; that the new Adam will
+be wiser than the old one?’
+
+‘Why, I thought you were in favour of the idea,’ said her husband.
+
+‘But I am a woman.’
+
+‘And therefore have a full right to change your opinion,’ added Buxton.
+
+‘Of course, there must be some failures.  It is by them we learn how to
+succeed,’ replied Wentworth.  ‘We learn from the failure of past
+organizations the way to form better and more successful ones.  Are there
+not successful Shaker settlements in America?’
+
+‘You make me laugh,’ said the lady.
+
+‘This is no laughing matter.  We are very much in earnest.’
+
+‘Well, if you are in earnest, let me have the selection of the candidates
+for the new society.’
+
+‘Very good; but I am afraid you will only pass the good-looking ones, and
+forget the old time-honoured maxim that “handsome is as handsome does.”’
+
+‘A maxim I laugh to scorn.’
+
+‘Of course you do.’
+
+‘Well, you want healthy men and women, don’t you?  And good looks are
+only to be found with physical health.  It is by over-eating and
+over-drinking and over-working that you get a diseased and ugly race.  Go
+to our east coast seaside resorts and see what fine men and women there
+are there.  Contrast them with the operatives of the mine and factory.
+They scarcely seem to belong to the same race.  A good-looking girl is
+happier than a plain one.  You men are all for good looks.  A fine
+physical organization indicates something more desirable.  Nor do I blame
+them.  “The soul is form, and doth the body make.”  The homage we pay to
+beauty in man or woman is but rational.  What made Alcibiades a power in
+Athens but his good looks?  Did not Jew and Greek alike agree in doing
+honour to Adonis?  The outward form indicates the inner disposition.  If
+men are to have a brighter world we must people it with brighter people.
+But I think on the whole you had better stop where you are.  Society in
+one way does improve.  Progress is slow—but institutions are hard to
+remove, bad habits harder still.  Why go out into the wilderness to teach
+people to be content with an agricultural life?  Better fifty years of
+Europe than a cycle of Cathay.  Better to bear the ills we have than fly
+to those we know not of.’
+
+‘Your ladyship is poetical!’
+
+‘Not a bit of it—only practical, as we women always are when you men are
+up in the clouds.  I believe, as soon as the peasant has got back to the
+hind, we shall have a new era for England, I believe the agricultural
+labourer who is helped to emigrate to Canada can better his condition at
+once.  But I am not an agricultural labourer.  I have no wish to pass my
+days in milking cows and rearing poultry; I have no wish to pass my days
+thousands of miles away from London, or Paris, or Rome.  Am I not the
+heir of all the ages underneath the sun?  I am for stopping at home and
+doing all the good I can.  I do not feel called upon to dress like a guy,
+as the Shaker women do; nor do I see how you can make any settlement that
+can last.  It may succeed for a time, if the conditions are favourable,
+and you select the men and women whom you take out.  But as the old ones
+die off and the young people grow up there will be all sorts of
+difficulties.  Wordsworth, Southey, and Coleridge had similar dreams.  It
+was fortunate for them and the world that they were unable to carry them
+out.  They did much better work at home.  As long as human nature remains
+what it is we must build on the old lines.’
+
+‘How then, would you regenerate society?’
+
+‘By the regeneration of the individual.  What is society but a collection
+of men?  Save the man and the mass are saved.  Buxton believes in
+science; Wentworth, you believe in politics.  Well, both are means to an
+end; but more is required.’
+
+‘And that is?’
+
+‘Christ in the heart.’
+
+‘Rather an exploded idea in these enlightened times.  Why, you take us
+back to the dark ages!’ said Buxton.
+
+‘Dark ages, indeed!  At any rate they were ages of faith—when men
+believed in God, and did mighty works.  Alas! we have no such men now.’
+
+‘And why not?’
+
+‘Because this is the age of material organization, of mechanical
+progress, of the exaltation of the mass over the individual, of an
+artificial equality; an age that has lost faith, an age of despair, when
+the rich man cries “Let us eat and drink, for to-morrow we die;” when the
+statesman recklessly legislates, believing “After me the deluge;” when
+the people “feed on lies.”  “The light shineth in the darkness, and the
+darkness apprehendeth it not.”’
+
+‘Nevertheless,’ said Wentworth, ‘I feel inclined to make a start in
+Canada.  Rose, I know, will come after a little pressing; and if you will
+come with us, I have a friend who has placed some land at my disposal.  I
+have found some men and women of the right stamp who are ready to
+emigrate.  They live in unhealthy homes, they have bad food, and are
+diseased in consequence.  They are surrounded by evil companions, and
+that leads them into crime.  Man is, to a certain extent, the creature of
+circumstance.
+
+‘Yes, that is too true,’ replied Buxton; ‘but what do you propose as the
+remedy?’
+
+‘Well, that is what I am coming to.  Remove the pauper, place him in a
+new world, and with better surroundings, and he will become a better man.
+My friend is quite prepared to do so; he is ready to help the poor to
+emigrate to the colonies or America.’
+
+‘But if the colonies or America will not have them, what are you to do?
+They may object—in fact, they do object to the poor of this country being
+thrown destitute and helpless on their shores.’
+
+‘That is true; but my friend is resolved to send out only deserving men
+and women whose characters will be carefully inquired into, and to send
+them out under competent guides.  He proposes to buy a large estate in
+some eligible part of the world, where land is cheap, where the climate
+is healthy, and where all that is wanted to develop the fruits of the
+earth, and to ensure health and happiness to the people, is human labour.
+Of course, he does not propose to deal with the masses; but he has an
+idea, that if he makes an attempt and it succeeds, other wealthy and
+benevolent men will follow his example, and thus the amount of crime, and
+misery, and poverty in England may be diminished.’
+
+‘But why not try such a scheme in England?’
+
+‘The expense is too great; the rates and taxes are too heavy, and the
+difficulties created by land-laws and lawyers are too great.  Besides,
+there would always be the danger of the men breaking away in sudden fits
+of ill-humour and discontent, and getting back to their old bad habits
+and evil companionship.  They must leave all the evils of the old world
+behind them and start clear.  You will come with us, Buxton?’
+
+‘With all my heart,’ was the reply.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXXIII.
+THE FINAL RESOLVE.
+
+
+The following letter was addressed to her _protégé_ in Liverpool by Rose
+immediately after the consultation already described:
+
+    ‘MY DEAR BOY,
+
+    ‘Wentworth and I have formed a scheme for the future in which we hope
+    you will unite.
+
+    ‘We propose to establish a co-operative self-supporting community on
+    the other side of the Atlantic.
+
+    ‘Old England is played out.  It may be that there is a new England to
+    arise out of the ashes of the old, but it seems rather that—like
+    Rome, and Athens, and Tyre, and India, and Babylon, and Corinth, and
+    Carthage—its glory has passed away.  The democracy will rule the
+    land, and that means the separation of Ireland and England, the ruin
+    of the landlords and of the capitalists, who in their turn will be
+    sacrificed to the popular demand for a theoretical right.  A member
+    of Parliament will simply have to be the mouthpiece of his
+    constituents; he will be imposed on them, in ninety-nine cases out of
+    a hundred, by an assembly of wealthy, ambitions men, prepared to do
+    anything to retain their hold of power.
+
+    ‘Parliament or the State will have to interfere between fools and the
+    results of their folly.  The wretch who gets drunk and starves his
+    wife and children will have to be taken under the care of the State.
+    The lazy loafer, who cannot and will not work, will have to be
+    maintained by the community.  There is to be no coercion and no
+    compulsion, and everybody is to be allowed to drive to the devil in
+    the way most convenient.  Economic law is to be set aside to gratify
+    the demands of the people who want to be known as patriots, and who
+    will thus put into men’s heads ideas they would never have dreamed
+    of.  Probably a fierce Communism will ravage the land, and by
+    destroying the wealthy increase tenfold the hardships of the poor.
+    It is because England has been the reverse of all this—because it has
+    been the land of men who have preferred to do their duty rather than
+    talk of their rights; who have gained with the strong arm and the
+    manly heart victory over the earth and all it holds, that England has
+    been the home of as noble a race—mixed, as it may be, of Celts and
+    Saxons—as ever sailed the ocean or ploughed the land.
+
+    ‘What has England now to fall back on but a rapidly-exhausting coal
+    supply, an overwhelming debt, establishments—civil, and naval, and
+    military—preposterous in good times, wicked now when our trade is
+    declining everywhere, and the number daily increases of people who
+    have no work to do?  Shutting their eyes to all the dangers of the
+    situation, we see the State split up into two parties—the one in
+    possession of power clinging to it at whatever cost of principle or
+    consistency, and the outs equally ready to pay the same price to get
+    in.
+
+    ‘And then we have a Church which is a sort of half-way house to Rome,
+    and a conventional form of worship by thousands who call themselves
+    Christians, but are really heathen at heart; and hence a growing
+    class of men who delight to call themselves Atheists, and who fancy
+    that they are more enlightened than other men because they refuse to
+    bow the knee to a supreme Being.  We are weary of all this.  On the
+    other side of the Rocky Mountains, where the Pacific, with its warm
+    wind, sweeps up the slopes of the Canadian Rocky Mountains, we have
+    secured a large tract of country, with mines, and fertile valleys,
+    and rivers abounding with fish.  The region is romantic.  The country
+    is fertile, and it is far from the Old World, with its sin, its
+    sorrow, its difficulty of living, and its corroding care.  There,
+    freed from the icy conventionalisms of the Old World, we shall lead
+    happy and useful lives—all engaged in remunerative labour that shall
+    leave abundant time for the cultivation of the mental powers, and
+    where none will be exhausted by overwork, either of body or of mind.
+    And we hope you will join our party.’
+
+                                * * * * *
+
+                                 THE END.
+
+                                * * * * *
+
+                                * * * * *
+
+                  BILLING AND SONS, PRINTERS, GUILDFORD.
+
+                                * * * * *
+
+                  _Second Edition_.  _Price_ 7_s._ 6_d._
+
+
+
+
+EAST ANGLIA:
+
+
+           Personal Recollections and Historical Associations.
+
+               BY J. EWING RITCHIE (‘CHRISTOPHER CRAYON’).
+
+                                * * * * *
+
+                          OPINIONS OF THE PRESS.
+
+‘Very interesting.’—_Daily Graphic_.
+
+‘A pleasant, good-natured book.’—_Echo_.
+
+‘It will be read with a rush by everyone who takes it up.’—_British
+Weekly_.
+
+‘We cordially recommend Mr. Ritchie’s book to all who wish to pass an
+agreeable hour and to learn something of the outward actions and inner
+life of their predecessors.  It is full of sketches of East Anglian
+celebrities, happily touched if light limned.’—_East Anglian Daily
+Times_.
+
+‘A very entertaining and enjoyable book.  Local gossip, a wide range of
+reading and industrious research, have enabled the author to enliven his
+pages with a wide diversity of subjects, specially attractive of East
+Anglians, but also of much general interest.’—_Daily Chronicle_.
+
+‘The work is written in a light gossipy style, and by reason both of it
+and of the variety of persons introduced is interesting.  To a Suffolk or
+Norfolk man it is, of course, especially attractive.  The reader will go
+through these pages without being wearied by application.  They form a
+pleasant and entertaining contribution to county literature, and “East
+Anglia” will, we should think, find its way to many of the East Country
+bookshelves.’—_Suffolk Chronicle_.
+
+‘The book is as readable and attractive a volume of local chronicles as
+could be desired.  Though all of our readers may not see “eye to eye”
+with Mr. Ritchie in regard to political and theological questions, they
+cannot fail to gain much enjoyment from his excellent delineation of old
+days in East Anglia.’—_Norwich Mercury_.
+
+‘“East Anglia” has the merit of not being a compilation, which is more
+than can be said of the great majority of books produced in these days to
+satisfy the revived taste for topographical gossip.  Mr. Ritchie is a
+Suffolk man—the son of a Nonconformist minister of Wrentham in that
+county—and he looks back to the old neighbourhood and the old times with
+an affection which is likely to communicate itself to his readers.
+Altogether we can with confidence recommend this book not only to East
+Anglians, but to all readers who have any affinity for works of its
+class.—_Daily News_.
+
+‘Mr. Richie’s book belongs to a class of which we have none too many, for
+when well done they illustrate contemporary history in a really charming
+manner.  What with their past grandeur, their present progress, their
+martyrs, patriots, and authors, there is plenty to tell concerning
+Eastern counties; and one who writes with native enthusiasm is sure to
+command an audience.’—_Baptist_.
+
+‘Mr. Ritchie, known to the numerous readers of the _Christian World_ as
+“Christopher Crayon,” has the pen of a ready, racy, refreshing writer.
+He never writes a dull line, and never for a moment allows our interest
+to flag.  In the work before us, which is not his first, he is, I should
+think, at his best.  The volume is the outcome of extensive reading, many
+rambles over the districts described, and of thoughtful observation.  We
+seem to live and move and have our being in East Anglia.  Its folklore,
+its traditions, its worthies, its memorable events, are all vividly and
+charmingly placed before us, and we close the book sorry that there is no
+more of it, and wondering why it is that works of a similar land have not
+more frequently appeared.’—_Northern Pioneer_.
+
+‘It has yielded us more gratification than any work that we have read for
+a considerable time.  The book ought to have a wide circulation in the
+Eastern Counties, and will not fail to yield profit and delight wherever
+it finds its way.—_Essex Telegraph_.
+
+‘Mr. Ritchie has here written a most attractive chapter of autobiography.
+He recalls the scenes of his early days, and whatever was quaint or
+striking in connection with them, and finds in his recollection ready
+pegs on which to hang historical incidents and antiquarian curiosities of
+many kinds.  He passes from point to point in a delightfully cheerful and
+contagious mood.  Mr. Ritchie’s reading has been as extensive and careful
+as his observation is keen and his temper genial; and his pages, which
+appeared in the _Christian World Magazine_, well deserve the honour of
+book-form, with the additions he has been able to make to them.’—_British
+Quarterly Review_.
+
+                                * * * * *
+
+           LONDON: JARROLD & SONS, PATERNOSTER BUILDINGS, E.C.
+
+
+
+
+***END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK CRYING FOR THE LIGHT, VOL. 3 [OF
+3]***
+
+
+******* This file should be named 36810-0.txt or 36810-0.zip *******
+
+
+This and all associated files of various formats will be found in:
+http://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/3/6/8/1/36810
+
+
+
+Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions
+will be renamed.
+
+Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no
+one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation
+(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without
+permission and without paying copyright royalties.  Special rules,
+set forth in the General Terms of Use part of this license, apply to
+copying and distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works to
+protect the PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm concept and trademark.  Project
+Gutenberg is a registered trademark, and may not be used if you
+charge for the eBooks, unless you receive specific permission.  If you
+do not charge anything for copies of this eBook, complying with the
+rules is very easy.  You may use this eBook for nearly any purpose
+such as creation of derivative works, reports, performances and
+research.  They may be modified and printed and given away--you may do
+practically ANYTHING with public domain eBooks.  Redistribution is
+subject to the trademark license, especially commercial
+redistribution.
+
+
+
+*** START: FULL LICENSE ***
+
+THE FULL PROJECT GUTENBERG LICENSE
+PLEASE READ THIS BEFORE YOU DISTRIBUTE OR USE THIS WORK
+
+To protect the Project Gutenberg-tm mission of promoting the free
+distribution of electronic works, by using or distributing this work
+(or any other work associated in any way with the phrase "Project
+Gutenberg"), you agree to comply with all the terms of the Full Project
+Gutenberg-tm License (available with this file or online at
+http://www.gutenberg.org/license).
+
+
+Section 1.  General Terms of Use and Redistributing Project Gutenberg-tm
+electronic works
+
+1.A.  By reading or using any part of this Project Gutenberg-tm
+electronic work, you indicate that you have read, understand, agree to
+and accept all the terms of this license and intellectual property
+(trademark/copyright) agreement.  If you do not agree to abide by all
+the terms of this agreement, you must cease using and return or destroy
+all copies of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works in your possession.
+If you paid a fee for obtaining a copy of or access to a Project
+Gutenberg-tm electronic work and you do not agree to be bound by the
+terms of this agreement, you may obtain a refund from the person or
+entity to whom you paid the fee as set forth in paragraph 1.E.8.
+
+1.B.  "Project Gutenberg" is a registered trademark.  It may only be
+used on or associated in any way with an electronic work by people who
+agree to be bound by the terms of this agreement.  There are a few
+things that you can do with most Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works
+even without complying with the full terms of this agreement.  See
+paragraph 1.C below.  There are a lot of things you can do with Project
+Gutenberg-tm electronic works if you follow the terms of this agreement
+and help preserve free future access to Project Gutenberg-tm electronic
+works.  See paragraph 1.E below.
+
+1.C.  The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation ("the Foundation"
+or PGLAF), owns a compilation copyright in the collection of Project
+Gutenberg-tm electronic works.  Nearly all the individual works in the
+collection are in the public domain in the United States.  If an
+individual work is in the public domain in the United States and you are
+located in the United States, we do not claim a right to prevent you from
+copying, distributing, performing, displaying or creating derivative
+works based on the work as long as all references to Project Gutenberg
+are removed.  Of course, we hope that you will support the Project
+Gutenberg-tm mission of promoting free access to electronic works by
+freely sharing Project Gutenberg-tm works in compliance with the terms of
+this agreement for keeping the Project Gutenberg-tm name associated with
+the work.  You can easily comply with the terms of this agreement by
+keeping this work in the same format with its attached full Project
+Gutenberg-tm License when you share it without charge with others.
+
+1.D.  The copyright laws of the place where you are located also govern
+what you can do with this work.  Copyright laws in most countries are in
+a constant state of change.  If you are outside the United States, check
+the laws of your country in addition to the terms of this agreement
+before downloading, copying, displaying, performing, distributing or
+creating derivative works based on this work or any other Project
+Gutenberg-tm work.  The Foundation makes no representations concerning
+the copyright status of any work in any country outside the United
+States.
+
+1.E.  Unless you have removed all references to Project Gutenberg:
+
+1.E.1.  The following sentence, with active links to, or other immediate
+access to, the full Project Gutenberg-tm License must appear prominently
+whenever any copy of a Project Gutenberg-tm work (any work on which the
+phrase "Project Gutenberg" appears, or with which the phrase "Project
+Gutenberg" is associated) is accessed, displayed, performed, viewed,
+copied or distributed:
+
+This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with
+almost no restrictions whatsoever.  You may copy it, give it away or
+re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included
+with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org
+
+1.E.2.  If an individual Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work is derived
+from the public domain (does not contain a notice indicating that it is
+posted with permission of the copyright holder), the work can be copied
+and distributed to anyone in the United States without paying any fees
+or charges.  If you are redistributing or providing access to a work
+with the phrase "Project Gutenberg" associated with or appearing on the
+work, you must comply either with the requirements of paragraphs 1.E.1
+through 1.E.7 or obtain permission for the use of the work and the
+Project Gutenberg-tm trademark as set forth in paragraphs 1.E.8 or
+1.E.9.
+
+1.E.3.  If an individual Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work is posted
+with the permission of the copyright holder, your use and distribution
+must comply with both paragraphs 1.E.1 through 1.E.7 and any additional
+terms imposed by the copyright holder.  Additional terms will be linked
+to the Project Gutenberg-tm License for all works posted with the
+permission of the copyright holder found at the beginning of this work.
+
+1.E.4.  Do not unlink or detach or remove the full Project Gutenberg-tm
+License terms from this work, or any files containing a part of this
+work or any other work associated with Project Gutenberg-tm.
+
+1.E.5.  Do not copy, display, perform, distribute or redistribute this
+electronic work, or any part of this electronic work, without
+prominently displaying the sentence set forth in paragraph 1.E.1 with
+active links or immediate access to the full terms of the Project
+Gutenberg-tm License.
+
+1.E.6.  You may convert to and distribute this work in any binary,
+compressed, marked up, nonproprietary or proprietary form, including any
+word processing or hypertext form.  However, if you provide access to or
+distribute copies of a Project Gutenberg-tm work in a format other than
+"Plain Vanilla ASCII" or other format used in the official version
+posted on the official Project Gutenberg-tm web site (www.gutenberg.org),
+you must, at no additional cost, fee or expense to the user, provide a
+copy, a means of exporting a copy, or a means of obtaining a copy upon
+request, of the work in its original "Plain Vanilla ASCII" or other
+form.  Any alternate format must include the full Project Gutenberg-tm
+License as specified in paragraph 1.E.1.
+
+1.E.7.  Do not charge a fee for access to, viewing, displaying,
+performing, copying or distributing any Project Gutenberg-tm works
+unless you comply with paragraph 1.E.8 or 1.E.9.
+
+1.E.8.  You may charge a reasonable fee for copies of or providing
+access to or distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works provided
+that
+
+- You pay a royalty fee of 20% of the gross profits you derive from
+     the use of Project Gutenberg-tm works calculated using the method
+     you already use to calculate your applicable taxes.  The fee is
+     owed to the owner of the Project Gutenberg-tm trademark, but he
+     has agreed to donate royalties under this paragraph to the
+     Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation.  Royalty payments
+     must be paid within 60 days following each date on which you
+     prepare (or are legally required to prepare) your periodic tax
+     returns.  Royalty payments should be clearly marked as such and
+     sent to the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation at the
+     address specified in Section 4, "Information about donations to
+     the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation."
+
+- You provide a full refund of any money paid by a user who notifies
+     you in writing (or by e-mail) within 30 days of receipt that s/he
+     does not agree to the terms of the full Project Gutenberg-tm
+     License.  You must require such a user to return or
+     destroy all copies of the works possessed in a physical medium
+     and discontinue all use of and all access to other copies of
+     Project Gutenberg-tm works.
+
+- You provide, in accordance with paragraph 1.F.3, a full refund of any
+     money paid for a work or a replacement copy, if a defect in the
+     electronic work is discovered and reported to you within 90 days
+     of receipt of the work.
+
+- You comply with all other terms of this agreement for free
+     distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm works.
+
+1.E.9.  If you wish to charge a fee or distribute a Project Gutenberg-tm
+electronic work or group of works on different terms than are set
+forth in this agreement, you must obtain permission in writing from
+both the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation and Michael
+Hart, the owner of the Project Gutenberg-tm trademark.  Contact the
+Foundation as set forth in Section 3 below.
+
+1.F.
+
+1.F.1.  Project Gutenberg volunteers and employees expend considerable
+effort to identify, do copyright research on, transcribe and proofread
+public domain works in creating the Project Gutenberg-tm
+collection.  Despite these efforts, Project Gutenberg-tm electronic
+works, and the medium on which they may be stored, may contain
+"Defects," such as, but not limited to, incomplete, inaccurate or
+corrupt data, transcription errors, a copyright or other intellectual
+property infringement, a defective or damaged disk or other medium, a
+computer virus, or computer codes that damage or cannot be read by
+your equipment.
+
+1.F.2.  LIMITED WARRANTY, DISCLAIMER OF DAMAGES - Except for the "Right
+of Replacement or Refund" described in paragraph 1.F.3, the Project
+Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation, the owner of the Project
+Gutenberg-tm trademark, and any other party distributing a Project
+Gutenberg-tm electronic work under this agreement, disclaim all
+liability to you for damages, costs and expenses, including legal
+fees.  YOU AGREE THAT YOU HAVE NO REMEDIES FOR NEGLIGENCE, STRICT
+LIABILITY, BREACH OF WARRANTY OR BREACH OF CONTRACT EXCEPT THOSE
+PROVIDED IN PARAGRAPH 1.F.3.  YOU AGREE THAT THE FOUNDATION, THE
+TRADEMARK OWNER, AND ANY DISTRIBUTOR UNDER THIS AGREEMENT WILL NOT BE
+LIABLE TO YOU FOR ACTUAL, DIRECT, INDIRECT, CONSEQUENTIAL, PUNITIVE OR
+INCIDENTAL DAMAGES EVEN IF YOU GIVE NOTICE OF THE POSSIBILITY OF SUCH
+DAMAGE.
+
+1.F.3.  LIMITED RIGHT OF REPLACEMENT OR REFUND - If you discover a
+defect in this electronic work within 90 days of receiving it, you can
+receive a refund of the money (if any) you paid for it by sending a
+written explanation to the person you received the work from.  If you
+received the work on a physical medium, you must return the medium with
+your written explanation.  The person or entity that provided you with
+the defective work may elect to provide a replacement copy in lieu of a
+refund.  If you received the work electronically, the person or entity
+providing it to you may choose to give you a second opportunity to
+receive the work electronically in lieu of a refund.  If the second copy
+is also defective, you may demand a refund in writing without further
+opportunities to fix the problem.
+
+1.F.4.  Except for the limited right of replacement or refund set forth
+in paragraph 1.F.3, this work is provided to you 'AS-IS', WITH NO OTHER
+WARRANTIES OF ANY KIND, EXPRESS OR IMPLIED, INCLUDING BUT NOT LIMITED TO
+WARRANTIES OF MERCHANTIBILITY OR FITNESS FOR ANY PURPOSE.
+
+1.F.5.  Some states do not allow disclaimers of certain implied
+warranties or the exclusion or limitation of certain types of damages.
+If any disclaimer or limitation set forth in this agreement violates the
+law of the state applicable to this agreement, the agreement shall be
+interpreted to make the maximum disclaimer or limitation permitted by
+the applicable state law.  The invalidity or unenforceability of any
+provision of this agreement shall not void the remaining provisions.
+
+1.F.6.  INDEMNITY - You agree to indemnify and hold the Foundation, the
+trademark owner, any agent or employee of the Foundation, anyone
+providing copies of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works in accordance
+with this agreement, and any volunteers associated with the production,
+promotion and distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works,
+harmless from all liability, costs and expenses, including legal fees,
+that arise directly or indirectly from any of the following which you do
+or cause to occur: (a) distribution of this or any Project Gutenberg-tm
+work, (b) alteration, modification, or additions or deletions to any
+Project Gutenberg-tm work, and (c) any Defect you cause.
+
+
+Section  2.  Information about the Mission of Project Gutenberg-tm
+
+Project Gutenberg-tm is synonymous with the free distribution of
+electronic works in formats readable by the widest variety of computers
+including obsolete, old, middle-aged and new computers.  It exists
+because of the efforts of hundreds of volunteers and donations from
+people in all walks of life.
+
+Volunteers and financial support to provide volunteers with the
+assistance they need are critical to reaching Project Gutenberg-tm's
+goals and ensuring that the Project Gutenberg-tm collection will
+remain freely available for generations to come.  In 2001, the Project
+Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation was created to provide a secure
+and permanent future for Project Gutenberg-tm and future generations.
+To learn more about the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation
+and how your efforts and donations can help, see Sections 3 and 4
+and the Foundation web page at http://www.gutenberg.org/fundraising/pglaf.
+
+
+Section 3.  Information about the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive
+Foundation
+
+The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation is a non profit
+501(c)(3) educational corporation organized under the laws of the
+state of Mississippi and granted tax exempt status by the Internal
+Revenue Service.  The Foundation's EIN or federal tax identification
+number is 64-6221541.  Contributions to the Project Gutenberg
+Literary Archive Foundation are tax deductible to the full extent
+permitted by U.S. federal laws and your state's laws.
+
+The Foundation's principal office is located at 4557 Melan Dr. S.
+Fairbanks, AK, 99712., but its volunteers and employees are scattered
+throughout numerous locations.  Its business office is located at
+809 North 1500 West, Salt Lake City, UT 84116, (801) 596-1887, email
+business@pglaf.org.  Email contact links and up to date contact
+information can be found at the Foundation's web site and official
+page at http://www.gutenberg.org/about/contact
+
+For additional contact information:
+     Dr. Gregory B. Newby
+     Chief Executive and Director
+     gbnewby@pglaf.org
+
+Section 4.  Information about Donations to the Project Gutenberg
+Literary Archive Foundation
+
+Project Gutenberg-tm depends upon and cannot survive without wide
+spread public support and donations to carry out its mission of
+increasing the number of public domain and licensed works that can be
+freely distributed in machine readable form accessible by the widest
+array of equipment including outdated equipment.  Many small donations
+($1 to $5,000) are particularly important to maintaining tax exempt
+status with the IRS.
+
+The Foundation is committed to complying with the laws regulating
+charities and charitable donations in all 50 states of the United
+States.  Compliance requirements are not uniform and it takes a
+considerable effort, much paperwork and many fees to meet and keep up
+with these requirements.  We do not solicit donations in locations
+where we have not received written confirmation of compliance.  To
+SEND DONATIONS or determine the status of compliance for any
+particular state visit http://www.gutenberg.org/fundraising/donate
+
+While we cannot and do not solicit contributions from states where we
+have not met the solicitation requirements, we know of no prohibition
+against accepting unsolicited donations from donors in such states who
+approach us with offers to donate.
+
+International donations are gratefully accepted, but we cannot make
+any statements concerning tax treatment of donations received from
+outside the United States.  U.S. laws alone swamp our small staff.
+
+Please check the Project Gutenberg Web pages for current donation
+methods and addresses.  Donations are accepted in a number of other
+ways including checks, online payments and credit card donations.
+To donate, please visit:
+http://www.gutenberg.org/fundraising/donate
+
+
+Section 5.  General Information About Project Gutenberg-tm electronic
+works.
+
+Professor Michael S. Hart is the originator of the Project Gutenberg-tm
+concept of a library of electronic works that could be freely shared
+with anyone.  For thirty years, he produced and distributed Project
+Gutenberg-tm eBooks with only a loose network of volunteer support.
+
+Project Gutenberg-tm eBooks are often created from several printed
+editions, all of which are confirmed as Public Domain in the U.S.
+unless a copyright notice is included.  Thus, we do not necessarily
+keep eBooks in compliance with any particular paper edition.
+
+Most people start at our Web site which has the main PG search facility:
+
+     http://www.gutenberg.org
+
+This Web site includes information about Project Gutenberg-tm,
+including how to make donations to the Project Gutenberg Literary
+Archive Foundation, how to help produce our new eBooks, and how to
+subscribe to our email newsletter to hear about new eBooks.
+
diff --git a/36810-0.zip b/36810-0.zip
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..c8e88bf
--- /dev/null
+++ b/36810-0.zip
diff --git a/36810-h.zip b/36810-h.zip
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..67065b1
--- /dev/null
+++ b/36810-h.zip
diff --git a/36810-h/36810-h.htm b/36810-h/36810-h.htm
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..99645e9
--- /dev/null
+++ b/36810-h/36810-h.htm
@@ -0,0 +1,5528 @@
+<!DOCTYPE html
+     PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN"
+     "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd">
+<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml" xml:lang="en" lang="en">
+<head>
+<meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html; charset=US-ASCII" />
+<title>Crying for the Light, Vol. 3 [of 3], by J. Ewing Ritchie</title>
+    <style type="text/css">
+/*<![CDATA[  XML blockout */
+<!--
+    P {  margin-top: .75em;
+         margin-bottom: .75em;
+         }
+    P.gutsumm { margin-left: 5%;}
+    P.poetry {margin-left: 3%; }
+    .GutSmall { font-size: 0.7em; }
+    H1, H2 {
+         text-align: center;
+		margin-top: 2em;
+		margin-bottom: 2em;
+         }
+    H3, H4, H5 {
+	text-align: center;
+	margin-top: 1em;
+	margin-bottom: 1em;
+	}
+    BODY{margin-left: 10%;
+         margin-right: 10%;
+        }
+ table { border-collapse: collapse; }
+table {margin-left:auto; margin-right:auto;}
+    td { vertical-align: top; border: 1px solid black;}
+    td p { margin: 0.2em; }
+    .blkquot  {margin-left: 4em; margin-right: 4em;} /* block indent */
+
+    .smcap    {font-variant: small-caps;}
+
+    .pagenum {position: absolute;
+               left: 92%;
+               font-size: small;
+               text-align: right;
+		font-weight: normal;
+               color: gray;
+               }
+    img { border: none; }
+    img.dc { float: left; width: 50px; height: 50px; }
+    div.gapspace { height: 0.8em; }
+    div.gapline { height: 0.8em; width: 100%; border-top: 1px solid;} 
+    div.gapmediumline { height: 0.3em; width: 40%; margin-left:30%;
+                  border-top: 1px solid; }
+     div.gapshortdoubleline { height: 0.3em; width: 20%;
+                  margin-left: 40%; border-top: 1px solid;
+                  border-bottom: 1px solid; }
+    div.gapdoubleline { height: 0.3em; width: 50%;
+                  margin-left: 25%; border-top: 1px solid;
+                  border-bottom: 1px solid;}
+    div.gapshortline { height: 0.3em; width: 20%; margin-left:40%;
+		  border-top: 1px solid; }
+    .citation {vertical-align: super;
+               font-size: .8em;
+               text-decoration: none;}
+    img.floatleft { float: left;
+			margin-right: 1em;
+			margin-top: 0.5em; margin-bottom: 0.5em; }
+    img.floatright { float: right;
+			margin-left: 1em; margin-top: 0.5em;
+			margin-bottom: 0.5em; }
+    img.clearcenter {display: block;
+			margin-left: auto;
+			margin-right: auto; margin-top: 0.5em;
+			margin-bottom: 0.5em}
+    -->
+    /* XML end  ]]>*/
+    </style>
+</head>
+<body>
+<pre>
+
+The Project Gutenberg eBook, Crying for the Light, Vol. 3 [of 3], by J.
+Ewing Ritchie
+
+
+This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with
+almost no restrictions whatsoever.  You may copy it, give it away or
+re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included
+with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org
+
+
+
+
+
+Title: Crying for the Light, Vol. 3 [of 3]
+       or Fifty Years Ago
+
+
+Author: J. Ewing Ritchie
+
+
+
+Release Date: July 21, 2011  [eBook #36810]
+
+Language: English
+
+Character set encoding: ISO-646-US (US-ASCII)
+
+
+***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK CRYING FOR THE LIGHT, VOL. 3 [OF
+3]***
+</pre>
+<p>Transcribed from the 1895 Jarrold and Sons edition by David
+Price, email ccx074@pglaf.org.&nbsp; Many thanks to Norfolk and
+Norwich Millennium Library, UK, for kindly allowing their copy to
+be used for this transcription.</p>
+<blockquote><p>&ldquo;This is the condition of humanity; we are
+placed as it were in an intellectual twilight where we discover
+but few things clearly, and yet we see enough to tempt us with
+the hope of making better and more discoveries.&rdquo;</p>
+<p style="text-align: right">&mdash;BOLINGBROKE.</p>
+</blockquote>
+<h2><a name="pageii"></a><span class="pagenum">p. ii</span>Crying
+for the Light<br />
+or Fifty Years Ago</h2>
+<p style="text-align: right">J Ewing Ritchie<br />
+Author of &lsquo;East Anglia&rsquo;</p>
+<div class="gapspace">&nbsp;</div>
+<p style="text-align: right">Vol 3</p>
+<div class="gapspace">&nbsp;</div>
+<p>London: Jarrold and Sons<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; Warwick Lane E.C.<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; 1895</p>
+<h2><a name="pageiv"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
+iv</span>CONTENTS OF VOL. III.</h2>
+<table>
+<tr>
+<td><p><span class="GutSmall">CHAPTER</span></p>
+</td>
+<td><p>&nbsp;</p>
+</td>
+<td><p style="text-align: right"><span
+class="GutSmall">PAGE</span></p>
+</td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+<td><p style="text-align: right">XXII.</p>
+</td>
+<td><p>AT THE CATTLE-SHOW</p>
+</td>
+<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a
+href="#page1">1</a></span></p>
+</td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+<td><p style="text-align: right">XXIII.</p>
+</td>
+<td><p>THE FUNERAL</p>
+</td>
+<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a
+href="#page36">36</a></span></p>
+</td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+<td><p style="text-align: right">XXIV.</p>
+</td>
+<td><p>THE HONEYMOON</p>
+</td>
+<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a
+href="#page48">48</a></span></p>
+</td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+<td><p style="text-align: right">XXV.</p>
+</td>
+<td><p>A REVELATION</p>
+</td>
+<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a
+href="#page65">65</a></span></p>
+</td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+<td><p style="text-align: right">XXVI.</p>
+</td>
+<td><p>THE ITALIAN COUNTESS</p>
+</td>
+<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a
+href="#page82">82</a></span></p>
+</td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+<td><p style="text-align: right">XXVII.</p>
+</td>
+<td><p>IN BRUSSELS</p>
+</td>
+<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a
+href="#page114">114</a></span></p>
+</td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+<td><p style="text-align: right">XXVIII.</p>
+</td>
+<td><p>A COUNTRYMAN IN TOWN</p>
+</td>
+<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a
+href="#page131">131</a></span></p>
+</td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+<td><p style="text-align: right">XXIX.</p>
+</td>
+<td><p>THE COLONEL</p>
+</td>
+<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a
+href="#page159">159</a></span></p>
+</td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+<td><p style="text-align: right">XXX.</p>
+</td>
+<td><p>ROSE RETIRES FROM THE STAGE</p>
+</td>
+<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a
+href="#page183">183</a></span></p>
+</td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+<td><p style="text-align: right">XXXI.</p>
+</td>
+<td><p>CHIEFLY ABOUT THE LAND</p>
+</td>
+<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a
+href="#page201">201</a></span></p>
+</td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+<td><p style="text-align: right">XXXII.</p>
+</td>
+<td><p>CONSULTATION</p>
+</td>
+<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a
+href="#page223">223</a></span></p>
+</td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+<td><p style="text-align: right">XXXIII.</p>
+</td>
+<td><p>THE FINAL RESOLVE</p>
+</td>
+<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a
+href="#page247">247</a></span></p>
+</td>
+</tr>
+</table>
+<h2><a name="page1"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 1</span>CHAPTER
+XXII.<br />
+<span class="GutSmall">AT THE CATTLE-SHOW.</span></h2>
+<p>Again we are at Sloville, on the occasion of the anniversary
+of the flourishing Agricultural Society of the county&mdash;an
+occasion which fills the town with rosy-faced, ruined British
+farmers; which blocks up all the leading streets with flocks and
+herds of oxen and sheep from a thousand hills, and which not a
+little astonishes and vexes the soul of the true-born son of the
+soil, as <a name="page2"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 2</span>he
+contemplates new-fangled machinery of every variety and for every
+purpose; alarms him with ominous forebodings of a time when,
+Othello-like, he will find his occupation gone, and the rascally
+steam-engine doing the work, and taking the bread out of the
+mouth of an honest man.&nbsp; He thinks of Swing and sighs.&nbsp;
+That mysterious personage had a way of putting down
+threshing-machines which was satisfactory for a time; but, alas!
+steam is king, and it is vain to fight with him.&nbsp; It is
+steam quite as much as the wickedness of the landlord, incredible
+as it may seem to the Radical politician, which has emptied the
+country and filled the town.&nbsp; It would be all right if steam
+would work off our surplus population.&nbsp; Alas! it does
+nothing of the kind, and each year the labourer finds himself of
+less account; nor can there be any change for the better till we
+get the people back on to the land, away from the crowded city
+with its ever-increasing drudgery and toil.&nbsp; Perhaps when
+they have settled Ireland our wise men of <a
+name="page3"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 3</span>Gotham may look
+at home.&nbsp; There is plenty for them to do there.&nbsp; It is
+high time that we do something for our bold peasantry, once their
+country&rsquo;s pride.</p>
+<p>It is a fine, bright, sparkling morning, one rare in England,
+but to be made the most of when it comes.&nbsp; There are no
+clouds in the sky, and there is scarce a breath of air to bring
+them down from the vasty deep above.&nbsp; Every hedgerow is
+bright with flowers, and musical with the song of birds.&nbsp;
+Overnight there was a shower, which laid the dust and added a
+touch of freshness to the emerald meadows.&nbsp; On every side
+ancient oaks and wide-reaching elms cast a grateful shade.&nbsp;
+What can be dearer than an English landscape on such a day?&nbsp;
+Even the thatched clay cottage, with its roses and honeysuckle,
+looks picturesque, and the brown cows suggest more than milk as
+they lie chewing the cud, apparently at peace with themselves and
+all below.&nbsp; Here and there amidst the trees is the red-brick
+manor-house, or the old-fashioned farmhouse, or the <a
+name="page4"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 4</span>gray spire of
+the village church, where from time immemorial the tribes have
+repaired.&nbsp; Yesterday, it were, they were teaching there the
+Mass; now the Mass is unsung, and we have the doctrines and
+Articles of the Church of England, which seem sadly at variance
+with one and another.&nbsp; To-morrow what shall we hear
+there?&nbsp; Who can say?&nbsp; Man and his opinions change only
+in our villages, the face of Nature remains the same.&nbsp; You
+travel all the world over, and you come back to your native
+village to find it ever the same, only a little smaller, that is
+all.</p>
+<p>From the lodge of a neighbouring hall rides forth a cavalcade;
+Sir Watkin Strahan, well-mounted, is the leader of the
+party.&nbsp; A fair girl, the rich merchant&rsquo;s daughter, is
+by his side; on the other is the rich merchant himself.&nbsp;
+Behind them follows a groom in livery, perhaps the best rider of
+the lot.&nbsp; As they leave the gate the keeper hands Sir Watkin
+an ill-written epistle on a dirty piece of paper, which Sir
+Watkin indignantly tears to pieces without reading.&nbsp; <a
+name="page5"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 5</span>&lsquo;If the
+contents are of importance,&rsquo; he says to himself,
+&lsquo;they will come before him in a more legitimate
+manner.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;&rsquo;Tis that old woman from the workhouse,&rsquo;
+says the lodge-keeper to the groom, who gives a knowing smile in
+reply as he passes out.&nbsp; &lsquo;She&rsquo;s a good deal
+arter the maister,&rsquo; she replies, &lsquo;but he&rsquo;s not
+one to take up with the likes of her.&nbsp; She&rsquo;s a cool
+one, at any rate.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>They are now on the turnpike which leads to Sloville, and
+hence to London itself.&nbsp; The crowd thickens as they near the
+town.&nbsp; The tenants on the estate are numerous, and Sir
+Watkin has a word for them all.&nbsp; He inquires after their
+families; as to the state of their oxen and asses; what kind of a
+season it has been with them, and how the crops are getting
+on.&nbsp; The tenants are careful not to reply too
+cheerily.&nbsp; They are talking to their landlord, and he may
+put up the rent if they brag too much.</p>
+<p>The London merchant is charmed.&nbsp; He has a lot more money
+than Sir Watkin, <a name="page6"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
+6</span>but it brings him no gratified courtesies either abroad
+or at home.&nbsp; He is suspicious even of his chief clerk.&nbsp;
+Everyone seems to look up to Sir Watkin.&nbsp; There is something
+in being a landowner, and the bearer of any kind of hereditary
+title.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Why,&rsquo; he asks himself, &lsquo;does not the Queen
+make baronets of such as himself?&nbsp; Men who add to British
+wealth, who carry British commerce all over the world; without
+whom England would never have become mistress of the seas.&nbsp;
+Infinitely superior is the British merchant to the British
+landlord.&nbsp; Yet, how much we think of the one, how little of
+the other.&nbsp; Will it ever be so?&rsquo; he asks
+himself.&nbsp; Wise as he is, he fails to anticipate a time when
+circumstances shall break the power of the landlord, and the
+produce of Canada and America make the land an unsaleable
+commodity.</p>
+<p>As a matter of theory nothing can be more ideally beautiful
+than the landed system under which England has become great and
+flourishing; nor was any other <a name="page7"></a><span
+class="pagenum">p. 7</span>system possible at the time it became
+developed in our midst.&nbsp; The sovereign apportioned the land
+between his nobles as a reward for their devotion to his
+service.&nbsp; As they became strong, they acted as a check on
+the sovereign himself; as the middle class began to grow strong
+by commerce, they acted as a check on each, and king and noble
+felt their importance and their power, and were ready to attach
+them to their side.&nbsp; It is to the credit of our aristocracy
+that they aimed to be the leaders of the people; that they did
+not sink into mere courtiers; that they were bold and
+hardy&mdash;ready to take their share in the fighting and
+adventure which became the necessity of our insular
+position.&nbsp; It is more to their credit that the relation
+between them and their tenants was pleasant and mutually
+advantageous.&nbsp; The great landlord was a power in the land, a
+centre of civilization, the friend of all within his sphere of
+influence.&nbsp; His sons served the State&mdash;in the army and
+navy and the Church.&nbsp; The farmer and the labourer <a
+name="page8"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 8</span>had much in
+common; they worked side by side, ate at the same table, talked
+the same language, and were equally ready to do the will of their
+superiors.&nbsp; In time there grew up a different state of
+things; with that love of money which is the root of all evil,
+society became revolutionized&mdash;the landlord wanted higher
+rents; the farmer aspired to be a gentleman, and the poor
+labourer was deprived of his bit of common, of his sports and
+pastimes; his cottage was pulled down, and he had to end his days
+in the workhouse or in some city slum; and now Hodge has only the
+beer-shop or the Primitive Methodist chapel to look to for
+sympathy and friendship.&nbsp; The man of to-day is the man who
+makes money, no matter how.</p>
+<p>At the time of which I write, the old tradition in favour of
+the landlord was still in force, and Sir Watkin was glad to show
+his City friends how all did him honour as they made their way
+amidst the ever increasing throng on their way to the
+cattle-show.</p>
+<p>And the young lady&mdash;what of her?&nbsp; <a
+name="page9"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 9</span>Her bosom
+swells, and her eye sparkles with pride.&nbsp; Her only
+recollection of her grandfather is that of a feeble old man
+dressed in rusty black, dependent for his bread and cheese on his
+more vigorous and successful son.</p>
+<p>Sir Watkin had a hall full of the portraits of his
+ancestors.&nbsp; Some had been great lawyers, some soldiers and
+sailors&mdash;all more or less connected with the State.&nbsp;
+And, then, what a monarch was a landlord in his domains, almost
+armed with the power of life and death!&nbsp; How much pleasanter
+the talk of such a man than of one who was in a counting-house
+all day, and whose favourite literature was to be found in the
+money articles of the <i>Times</i>!&nbsp; Should she become Lady
+Watkin?&nbsp; Certainly it would be very nice, if she could not
+manage to secure a lord.&nbsp; In default of the latter, she made
+herself very agreeable to her host, who was old enough to be her
+father, and who, if he was an Israelite, was not altogether
+without guile.</p>
+<p>At length our illustrious friends reach <a
+name="page10"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 10</span>Sloville, or
+rather the outskirts of the town, where the Agricultural Show is
+held.&nbsp; Here the sheep are inspected; and then they pass on
+to the shorthorns and Herefords; and then, very evident in more
+ways than one were the pigs of Berks and Hants, and other choice
+breeds.&nbsp; How they were watched by the fat farmers with
+sympathetic eyes!&nbsp; How the rustic chawbacon doted on
+them!&nbsp; We hear much of the roast beef of old England, but
+dearer to the national heart is its roast pork, especially when
+it comes to us in the shape of roast pig, immortalized by the
+charming Elia, and the theme&mdash;the fitting theme&mdash;of one
+of his most eloquent essays: &lsquo;See him,&rsquo; he writes,
+&lsquo;in the dish&mdash;his second cradle&mdash;how meek he
+lieth!&nbsp; Wouldst thou have the innocent grow up to the
+grossness and indocility which too often accompany maturer
+swinehood?&nbsp; Ten to one he would have proved a glutton, a
+sloven, an obstinate, disagreeable animal wallowing in all manner
+of filthy conversation.&nbsp; From these sins he is happily
+snatched away.&rsquo;</p>
+<blockquote><p><a name="page11"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
+11</span>&rsquo;Ere sin could blight or sorrow fade,<br />
+Death came with timely care.&rsquo;</p>
+</blockquote>
+<p>The horses, as the nobler animals, had a field to
+themselves.&nbsp; It was there the multitude flocked, for every
+Englishman thinks he knows more of horses and can manage them
+better than anyone else; all were there, from the Leviathan
+cart-horses, such as we see in brewers&rsquo; drays, to the
+light-built hack on which my lady canters across the park.&nbsp;
+Here Sir Watkin, as became him, was oracular, as he went from one
+to the other of the candidates for the honours of the day, looked
+into his mouth and inspected his teeth, felt his hoofs and
+prodded his sides, took off his hat and beat a tattoo with his
+riding-whip in order to get a good idea of the animal&rsquo;s
+performance, whilst the ostler with a straw in his mouth stood
+admiring.&nbsp; The farmers were proud, for Sir Watkin was a
+connoisseur, and knew a thing or two.</p>
+<p>Next to the horses, the ladies affected the poultry.&nbsp;
+Perhaps a time will come when the British farmer will condescend
+to think <a name="page12"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
+12</span>of such small fry, and divert into his own pocket the
+millions we send to France and elsewhere for eggs and
+poultry.&nbsp; Sir Watkin did not care much about them&mdash;nor
+did the British merchant&mdash;so long as he got his fresh egg
+for breakfast, and his little bit of the breast with a glass of
+sherry for lunch; but the lady was not to be gainsaid, and so a
+half-hour was devoted to the noisy neighbourhood of Brahmas and
+Dorkings and Cochin-Chinas; while rival cocks&mdash;happily far
+apart&mdash;challenged each other to mortal combat, and proudly
+hurled defiance from the prison walls.&nbsp; A short distance off
+we the improved ploughs and tumbrels and waggons, and the reaping
+machines, for which we are indebted to America, and which testify
+how much may be done by machinery on large farms held by farmers
+of sufficient means.&nbsp; Here the spectators were of a more
+select class, high farming not being in everyone&rsquo;s
+way.&nbsp; Instead of the rosy, stupid, sleek bucolic, you saw
+men learned in machinery, and with some of the smartness of the
+town men, bent on <a name="page13"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
+13</span>improvement and eager to turn science to profitable
+account.&nbsp; Wheat was threshed and dressed in the most
+efficient manner.&nbsp; The rustic farmer stared, open-mouthed,
+questioning whether it were safer to continue as his fathers
+before him or to give in to machinery which promised him such
+beneficent results.&nbsp; As it was, he seemed to be much
+exercised in his mind.&nbsp; The elder men shook their heads, the
+young ones seemed ready for novelty.&nbsp; Perhaps the truth lay
+between the two.&nbsp; Had we not of late suffered much from
+potato disease? said the old farmer, and did one ever hear of
+that before we had the railway?&nbsp; That was a poser, as they
+thought, which there was no getting over, however plausible the
+speech of agricultural implement maker or vendor of artificial
+manure.</p>
+<p>As usual, the refreshment booths were the most patronized
+parts of the exhibition.&nbsp; There the learned and the
+ignorant, the old-fashioned farmer and the man of the present
+time, met on an equality.&nbsp; There was to be found the touch
+of nature which <a name="page14"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
+14</span>makes the whole world kin.&nbsp; The townspeople
+understood that part of the business as well as the farmer who
+had come out for a spree; and in a little while the fun was fast
+and furious.</p>
+<p>The outskirts of the field devoted to the exhibition assumed
+the aspect of a fair.&nbsp; Here a crowd witnessed that popular
+domestic drama known as Punch and Judy.&nbsp; There the youths of
+the district played madly with Aunt Sally.&nbsp; In one quarter
+champions from London demonstrated the art of self-defence; in
+another was Mrs. Jarley with her moral wax-works.&nbsp; The
+peasantry were in great force, as they always are when beer is to
+be had or anything out of the way to be seen.&nbsp; So dense was
+the crowd it was a wonder someone was not hurt, as reckless
+farmers, under the influence of beer, and in order to show off
+the prowess of their steeds, galloped up and down.&nbsp; Boys, of
+course, were always in the way.&nbsp; Unfortunately a special
+providence watched over them.</p>
+<p>All at once Sir Watkin Strahan found <a
+name="page15"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 15</span>that he was
+followed by an old woman in a workhouse garb, who had got out for
+a holiday, and who had evidently been indulging in liquor to an
+extent that embarrassed her movements and impaired her forces of
+speech.&nbsp; It was a very disagreeable situation for him.&nbsp;
+He was well known to everyone there, and, besides, he had a lady
+under his escort in whose eye he wished to assume a good
+figure.&nbsp; As a popular landlord and well-known county man, so
+far he had succeeded to his heart&rsquo;s content.</p>
+<p>The swells had deferred to his opinion; the farmers had
+applauded his jokes, whilst their wives and daughters beamed with
+smiles; and the plebeians had eyed him with reverence from
+afar.&nbsp; Representatives of leading firms had besought his
+attention and patronage as they explained the peculiar merits of
+their own machines.&nbsp; His own part in the show had been very
+successful.&nbsp; He had won a prize with one of his own
+bullocks, his sheep were classed in A 1, and his fine porkers, of
+the real Berkshire <a name="page16"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
+16</span>breed, had attracted honourable mention; but wherever he
+went, there was this old hag in his way, making signs to him
+which he could not or would not understand.&nbsp; All at once he
+was separated from his friends, and the woman, seeing her
+opportunity, rushed at him.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;What the deuce do you want?&rsquo; said he angrily,
+holding up his riding-whip as if about to hit her.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;I&rsquo;ve got something to say to yer
+honour.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Well, say on,&rsquo; said he impatiently.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;But I cant say it here,&rsquo; was the reply.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;I suppose,&rsquo; said the Baronet, &lsquo;you want
+some money?&nbsp; There is half a crown,&rsquo; continued he,
+hastily tossing it her.&nbsp; &lsquo;But don&rsquo;t spend it in
+beer, my good woman; you have had too much already.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;No, &rsquo;tis not money.&nbsp; I can tell yer honour
+something you would like to know.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Much obliged, I am sure; but I fear you are labouring
+under a delusion.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;No, no, Sir Watkin.&rsquo;</p>
+<p><a name="page17"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
+17</span>&lsquo;You&rsquo;re drunk, I tell you.&nbsp; Be off, or
+I&rsquo;ll give you in charge.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Me drunk, Sir Watkin?&nbsp; A poor lone widow as has
+lived respectable in Sloville for years, though unfortunate, but
+that is neither here nor there.&nbsp; Me drunk?&nbsp; No, no, Sir
+Watkin!&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;But I tell you you are, my good woman.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Drunk or sober, Sir Watkin, you must listen to
+me.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;I&rsquo;ll do nothing of the kind.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;If you don&rsquo;t hear me, Sir Watkin, you&rsquo;ll be
+sorry as long as you live.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>By this time the crowd had been attracted to the spot, and the
+situation was becoming unpleasant to the Baronet, who formed the
+centre of an amazed group, to whom the annoyance of the Baronet
+and the tipsy gravity of the woman were more than slightly
+amusing.</p>
+<p>Sir Watkin attempted to move off.</p>
+<p>The poor woman endeavoured to stop him.&nbsp; In the attempt
+she overbalanced herself, and fell prostrate on the earth, to the
+<a name="page18"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 18</span>intense
+delight of the spectators, who enjoyed the scene amazingly.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Sir Watkin, I say,&rsquo; said his persecutor, rising
+slowly from her recumbent position; &lsquo;Sir Watkin, I
+say!&rsquo;</p>
+<p>But the baronet was gone, and, instead, the woman found
+herself being assisted gently off the ground by an efficient
+policeman, who, seeing a crowd of a peaceful character, thought
+it becoming to interfere.</p>
+<p>Had the crowd been of a different complexion, and had there
+been any fighting going on, the chances are the
+policeman&mdash;with the usual instinct of his order for a sound
+skin or an uncracked skull&mdash;would have been looking
+steadfastly in quite an opposite direction.&nbsp; They all do it,
+and it is natural.</p>
+<p>The man had already asked Sir Watkin if he would have her
+given in charge, an offer Sir Watkin declined.&nbsp; He had no
+wish, he said, to be hard on her; he only wished her to leave him
+alone.&nbsp; That was quite enough.</p>
+<p><a name="page19"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 19</span>The
+crowd naturally sided with the Baronet.&nbsp; He was the great
+man of the district.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;What business had a wretched woman like that to
+interfere with him?&nbsp; Just like her imperence!&rsquo; said
+the majority.</p>
+<p>One or two, more curious than the rest, followed the woman,
+with a view to learn further particulars; but she was, for a
+wonder, reticent.&nbsp; She was not Sall&mdash;but Sall&rsquo;s
+friend and ally.&nbsp; Not if wild horses were to drag her in
+twain would she disclose her secret.&nbsp; It was one between Sir
+Watkin and herself alone.</p>
+<p>Sir Watkin rejoined his friends, trusting that they had not
+been eye-witnesses of his adventure.</p>
+<p>Just at that moment he had no wish to have scandal or mystery
+attaching to his name.&nbsp; Hitherto, his appearance had been
+quite a success, and the British merchant and his daughter were
+duly impressed with the respect and attention he had everywhere
+commanded.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;We&rsquo;ve missed you much, Sir Watkin,&rsquo; <a
+name="page20"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 20</span>said the lady
+in a tone which flattered his vanity and raised his hopes.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Yes, the crowd cruelly separated us for a few
+minutes.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;A few minutes!&rsquo; said the lady; &lsquo;it seemed
+to me a long time.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;You make me proud,&rsquo; said the Baronet.&nbsp;
+&lsquo;It is something to be missed by one who has always so many
+admirers.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;You flatter me, Sir Watkin.&nbsp; But, seriously, what
+was all the fuss about?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Only a tipsy woman.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;How shocking!&nbsp; But, good gracious, there she is
+again.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>Sir Watkin looked in the direction pointed out, and, sure
+enough, there was his old enemy.&nbsp; Conducted off the ground
+by one gate, she had reappeared by another, and was bearing down,
+amidst the jeers of the <i>oi polloi</i>, straight upon
+himself.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Confound her impudence!&rsquo; he exclaimed.&nbsp;
+&lsquo;I wish I had given her in charge.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Sir Watkin, I say!&nbsp; Sir Watkin, hear me!&nbsp;
+I&rsquo;ve something very particular to say.&rsquo;</p>
+<p><a name="page21"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
+21</span>&lsquo;Yes, but you can&rsquo;t say it now, my good
+woman.&nbsp; Don&rsquo;t you see I am engaged?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>Again a crowd assembled in full expectation of some
+fun&mdash;an extra entertainment not included in the day&rsquo;s
+programme.</p>
+<p>Again, fortunately, the policeman appeared.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Now, my good woman,&rsquo; said he, &lsquo;he
+hoff.&nbsp; Don&rsquo;t you see you are creatin&rsquo; a
+disturbance?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;I am a-doin&rsquo; w&rsquo;at?&rsquo; asked the party
+addressed.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;You are a-creatin&rsquo; a disturbance and
+hinterferin&rsquo; with the gentry.&nbsp; It is agen the
+law.&nbsp; You&rsquo;d best take yourself off.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Oh, I am a-goin&rsquo;, but I must speak to Sir Watkin
+first.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Call at the Hall, old gal, and leave your card, and
+then Sir Watkin will be delighted to see you,&rsquo; cried one in
+the crowd.&nbsp; &lsquo;The family dine at seven.&nbsp;
+Don&rsquo;t forget the hour.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Yes,&rsquo; said another, &lsquo;Sir Watkin will be
+pleased to see such a beauty.&nbsp; He&rsquo;ll want you to stop
+with him a month.&nbsp; Sir Watkin <a name="page22"></a><span
+class="pagenum">p. 22</span>knows a pretty gal when he sees
+one&mdash;no one better.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>But by this time Sir Watkin and his party were off.&nbsp; His
+groom had come to the rescue and brought up the horses, and they
+remounted, leaving the tipsy woman to scream after him in
+vain.</p>
+<p>This time, however, her blood was up, and she refused to be
+led quietly off.&nbsp; Another constable came to the rescue of
+his mate, and she was carried off, kicking and struggling all the
+while.&nbsp; Her cries filled the air and reached the
+Baronet&rsquo;s party.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;&rsquo;Tis very annoying, but one can&rsquo;t help such
+things on a public day like this,&rsquo; said he in an apologetic
+tone to the lady.&nbsp; &lsquo;The poor woman must be cracked, I
+think.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;It makes one ashamed of one&rsquo;s sex,&rsquo; was her
+reply.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Such conduct ought not to be allowed.&nbsp; The police
+aren&rsquo;t half sharp enough,&rsquo; said the British
+merchant.&nbsp; &lsquo;What do we pay rates and taxes for, I
+should like to know, but to prevent such disturbances?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>The British merchant evidently expected <a
+name="page23"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 23</span>the British
+public to be as subdued and deferential as his clerks in his
+counting-house, when they appeared in his august and imposing
+presence, or as his debtors, when bills were overdue.</p>
+<p>The ladies of his party had left the field early&mdash;their
+ears stunned with the noisy scene:</p>
+<blockquote><p>&lsquo;With the striking of clocks,<br />
+Cackle of hens, crowing of cocks,<br />
+Lowing of cow and bull and ox,<br />
+Bleating of pretty pastoral flocks.&rsquo;</p>
+</blockquote>
+<p>Sir Watkin and his friend, the British merchant, had stopped
+to dine at the grand banquet held on the occasion, in the leading
+hotel of the town.&nbsp; An Englishman can do nothing without a
+public dinner.&nbsp; Sir Watkin had to take the chair.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;You will excuse me, won&rsquo;t you?&rsquo; said he to
+the young lady, as he parted with her.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Oh, yes!&rsquo; said she gaily.&nbsp; &lsquo;I am quite
+aware property has its duties as well as its rights.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Well, I think it is well to be neighbourly <a
+name="page24"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 24</span>when one has
+the chance.&nbsp; But I give you my word of honour, I would far
+sooner ride back with you.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Well, the best of friends must part,&rsquo; said the
+lady.&nbsp; &lsquo;But you will be home in good time.&nbsp; <i>Au
+revoir</i>!&nbsp; Pray, take care of papa,&rsquo; said the lady,
+as she returned to the carriage that was to take her and some
+other ladies to the Hall, under the care of the vicar of the
+parish.</p>
+<p>Meanwhile, Sir Watkin made his way with his friend to the
+leading hotel of Sloville, where a heavy dinner of the
+old-fashioned type&mdash;such as was dear to the farmer years
+ago&mdash;was prepared, where the feeding and the drinking were
+alike trying to the stoutest nerve and the strongest digestion,
+and where the after-dinner oratory was of a truly bucolic
+character.</p>
+<p>The farmers were delighted to find their landlord in the
+chair, and listened to him as if he were an oracle.&nbsp; The
+dinner was a great success.&nbsp; As chairman, the Baronet had
+especially distinguished himself.</p>
+<p>There were fireworks in the evening, and <a
+name="page25"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 25</span>a
+Bacchanalian orgy such as Sloville had rarely beheld.&nbsp; But
+the Baronet and his friend did not stop for that, but got back to
+the Hall in time to finish the day with a ball.&nbsp; The old
+Hall was gayer that night than it had been for a long time.&nbsp;
+All the old family plate had been brought forth for the occasion,
+and everywhere was light and music and laughter&mdash;and bright
+the lamps shone on</p>
+<blockquote><p>&lsquo;Fair women and brave men.&rsquo;</p>
+</blockquote>
+<p>The revelry was loud and long, and hours after the ladies had
+retired the men had remained in the smoking-room to drink soda
+and brandy, and to talk of hunting exploits, of horses, of women,
+and of wine.</p>
+<p>The shades of night had passed, and the golden dawn was
+glittering in the east.&nbsp; The sun was commencing like a giant
+refreshed to renew his daily course&mdash;the simile is old, but
+it is true, nevertheless.&nbsp; A slight mist&mdash;prelude of a
+hot day&mdash;dimmed the valley below the Hall, and marked the
+line of the little trout stream, where Sir <a
+name="page26"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 26</span>Watkin had
+loved to fish when a boy.&nbsp; In the grand old trees around,
+the birds were commencing their morning song of praise, while the
+heavy rooks were preparing to take their usual flight in search
+of food.&nbsp; The pheasants were feeding in the surrounding
+park.</p>
+<p>Not yet had man gone forth to his daily toil, and there was
+peaceful slumber in the trim cottage and the snug farmhouse
+alike.&nbsp; Now and then the shrill cry of the petted peacock
+awoke the woods, or the clamour of the early cock.</p>
+<p>Sir Watkin lingered to enjoy the loveliness of the rural scene
+and the freshness of the morning air.&nbsp; For awhile something
+even of sentiment filled his heart.&nbsp; What had he done that
+all that lovely landscape should he his?&nbsp; How could he have
+lived as he had in London and Paris, in Vienna or Rome?&nbsp; Was
+it true that there was a God, as they told him in church, and as
+he had learned on his mother&rsquo;s knee&mdash;who had given him
+all these things richly to enjoy, and would demand, sooner or
+later, an account of his <a name="page27"></a><span
+class="pagenum">p. 27</span>stewardship?&nbsp; Then he looked at
+the glass, and was shocked as he saw how bloodshot were his eyes,
+how dark the skin underneath; how clear were the lines marked by
+dissipation on his cheek and brow.</p>
+<p>Well, it was time he settled down.&nbsp; He had not behaved
+well to his first wife, he admitted, but that was no reason why
+be should not treat his second wife well.&nbsp; Then he was
+little better than a lad&mdash;now he was a man who had seen
+something of the world and who knew the value of peace and
+quietness.&nbsp; And so resolving, he dismissed his man and
+undressed.</p>
+<p>Even then sleep was shy in coming.&nbsp; He had a puzzle to
+distract him to which he could find no answer.&nbsp; What had
+that old tipsy female at the cattle-show got to tell
+him?&mdash;what was the secret she pretended to have in her
+possession?&nbsp; Was the mystery ever to be solved?&nbsp; He had
+seen in her something to remind him of a girl who had once been
+in his service, but it could not be her.&nbsp; Surely she had not
+become what he saw.&nbsp; Sir Watkin forgot that <a
+name="page28"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 28</span>the beauty of
+a woman, when she takes to drink and low company, is of a very
+evanescent character.</p>
+<p>Sleep&mdash;Nature&rsquo;s restorer, balmy sleep&mdash;how
+hard it is to get when you want it!&nbsp; The morrow was to be an
+important day.&nbsp; It was to decide his fate.&nbsp; The fair
+guest had looked lovingly on him as she left the
+drawing-room.&nbsp; There was something in the way in which her
+hand lingered in his own that suggested to the Baronet
+hope.&nbsp; The worldly-minded father was, at any rate, safe, and
+was prepared to invest handsomely in a titled son-in-law.&nbsp;
+He, the latter, had been of late in a somewhat shady state; there
+were many whispers about him in society, and not to his
+credit.&nbsp; It was clear that in certain transactions, like
+other young and foolish scions (considering how they are brought
+up it is almost impossible for them to be otherwise), he had
+suffered considerable pecuniary loss&mdash;or, in other words,
+been uncommonly well fleeced.&nbsp; Stately dames who ruled in
+Belgravia did not seem to him as genial as formerly; doors that
+were <a name="page29"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 29</span>once
+opened freely were now closed.&nbsp; Low Radical newspapers
+occasionally hinted that he was no credit to the class who
+neither toil nor spin.&nbsp; It even began to dawn on the Baronet
+that his career had not been a brilliant one.</p>
+<p>Half sleeping and half waking, there came to him unpleasant
+thoughts, and dreams equally so&mdash;of women whom he had
+betrayed, of friends who had trusted to him in vain, of splendid
+opportunities he had missed, of time and strength frittered away
+on trifles, or what was worse.&nbsp; He must yet be a power in
+the land&mdash;he would yet leave behind him a name&mdash;he
+would yet have the world at his feet.&nbsp; With a title and with
+money what cannot a man do in this land of ours? asked the
+Baronet of himself.&nbsp; Fellows of whom he thought nothing,
+whom he knew as inferiors at Eton or at College&mdash;poor,
+patient, spiritless plodders&mdash;had passed him in that battle
+of life which after all is only a Vanity Fair.</p>
+<p>Such thoughts as these kept the Baronet wide awake, much to
+his disgust.&nbsp; It was <a name="page30"></a><span
+class="pagenum">p. 30</span>the dinner, it was the wine, it was
+the cigar that kept him awake.&nbsp; Perhaps they did.&nbsp; But
+there was something else that did so, though the Baronet did not
+see it&mdash;the accusal of a conscience in which he did not
+believe, the workings of a divine law which he laughed at.</p>
+<p>The next day no one was up early, and no one made his
+appearance at the breakfast-table save the elderly members of the
+party.&nbsp; Most of the gentlemen visitors overslept themselves,
+and the ladies were served in their own rooms.&nbsp; Then came
+the carriages and the departure of the guests&mdash;some to town,
+some to fashionable health resorts.&nbsp; Business required the
+presence of the great merchant in London, and he took his
+daughter with him.&nbsp; Sir Watkin managed to get down in time
+to see them off, and to promise to follow them next day.&nbsp;
+The lady left quite content; she knew what was to come, and what
+would be her reply.</p>
+<p>Very dull and gloomy seemed the old house as the company one
+by one departed.&nbsp; <a name="page31"></a><span
+class="pagenum">p. 31</span>Sir Watkin took up the morning
+papers&mdash;there was nothing in them; the society
+journals&mdash;he was better informed than their writers.&nbsp;
+No novel could interest him in his then state of mind.&nbsp; He
+had a headache; he would go for a ride, a sovereign remedy for
+such maladies as gentlemen in his station suffer from.&nbsp;
+Accordingly the horse was brought round, and he was in the
+saddle.&nbsp; He would be back before dark, and did not require
+his groom, and he trotted gaily away from the ancestral Hall
+under the ancestral oaks, along the gravelled drive through the
+park, feeling a little fresher for the effort.&nbsp; He would see
+his steward, and have a talk with him on business matters.</p>
+<p>At the lodge-gate he stopped for a moment to order a general
+smartening up of that quarter.&nbsp; Alas! on the other side was
+an objectionable old woman, a friend who had before given him so
+much trouble.&nbsp; Sir Watkin&rsquo;s disgust was only equalled
+by his anger.&nbsp; He was in no amiable mood, as the old woman
+clearly saw.&nbsp; She almost <a name="page32"></a><span
+class="pagenum">p. 32</span>wished she had not come; she felt all
+of a tremble, as she said, as she asked him kindly to stop and
+hear what she had got to say.&nbsp; He muttered something very
+much unlike a blessing on his tormentor.&nbsp; He would have
+ridden over her had he not stopped his horse, which strongly
+opposed the idea of stopping.&nbsp; Could that old creature have
+any claim on him?&nbsp; The idea was ridiculous.&nbsp; And as to
+listening to her, why, that was quite out of the question for so
+fine a gentleman.&nbsp; She made an effort to clutch the
+rein.&nbsp; The high-spirited steed resented the indignity.&nbsp;
+In the scuffle the Baronet was unseated, and was taken up
+insensible.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Sure &rsquo;nough he&rsquo;s dead as a stone,&rsquo;
+said the ploughman, who had first noticed him.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;He&rsquo;s nothing of the kind,&rsquo; said the
+gate-keeper, who was soon on the spot, &lsquo;Get on the horse
+and ride to Sloville for the doctor,&rsquo; said he to the
+ploughman, while he and the other servants bore the body to the
+lodge-gate, where it was laid upon a bed.</p>
+<p><a name="page33"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 33</span>The
+doctor came.&nbsp; &lsquo;No bones broken,&rsquo; said he, after
+a cursory examination, &lsquo;but a severe concussion of the
+brain.&nbsp; Draw down the blinds; put ice on his forehead; keep
+him quiet, and he may yet rally.&nbsp; In the meantime I will
+telegraph to London for the great surgeon, Sir Henry
+Johnson.&nbsp; If anybody can save him he can.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>The hours that day in that low lodge moved very slowly.&nbsp;
+No wife, no mother, no sister was there.&nbsp; The old mother had
+left that day for Scotland.&nbsp; Only one sister was alive, and
+she was with her husband in Italy; only the housekeeper from the
+Hall was there to sit and watch and sigh, for she had known Sir
+Watkin from a baby, and was as proud of him as it behoved her to
+be, never believing any of the scandals connected with his name,
+and, indeed, scarcely hearing of them, for his wilder life was
+out of her sight and hearing.&nbsp; At home he was the model
+English gentleman; and then, again, when evil <a
+name="page34"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 34</span>things were
+said of him, she refused to listen.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;It was not her place,&rsquo; she said, &lsquo;to hear
+bad spoken of any of the family of which she and hers generations
+before had been retainers.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>About mid-day came a telegram to say that the great Sir Henry
+was coming down, and that there was to be a carriage at the
+railway-station to meet him.&nbsp; In a couple of hours after
+came Sir Henry himself&mdash;a calm, dignified man of science,
+who lived in a world of which science is god, and was interested
+in humanity as a subject of dissection or operation.&nbsp; Apart
+from that, he had a poor opinion of human nature.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;It is a bad case&mdash;very bad,&rsquo; said he to the
+country doctor, who had explained to him all the particulars of
+the accident.&nbsp; &lsquo;It is a very bad case, but I think
+science is equal to the emergency.&nbsp; I suppose we must have
+an operation.&nbsp; I have brought my assistant with me, and my
+case of <a name="page35"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
+35</span>instruments.&nbsp; We&rsquo;d better begin at
+once.&rsquo;&nbsp; Turning to look at the insensible patient, the
+great Sir Henry exclaimed: &lsquo;I have come down for nothing;
+Sir Watkin is dead!&rsquo;</p>
+<h2><a name="page36"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
+36</span>CHAPTER XXIII<br />
+<span class="GutSmall">THE FUNERAL.</span></h2>
+<p>&lsquo;Worldly people,&rsquo; wrote one of our greatest
+novelists, &lsquo;never look so worldly as at a
+funeral.&rsquo;&nbsp; The truth of this was very apparent at the
+funeral of the deceased Baronet.&nbsp; There was the usual parade
+of outward grief at the churchyard, and in the town all the
+blinds were drawn down and the shops shut&mdash;with the
+exception of those set apart for the sale of beer and wine and
+spirits, which were rather better patronized than usual.&nbsp; It
+is said grief makes men thirsty.&nbsp; That certainly was the
+case at Sloville, for the usual topers of the place had been
+increased in number by the addition of numerous thirsty souls
+from all the adjacent country, drawn together <a
+name="page37"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 37</span>not so much
+by grief as by a pardonable curiosity.</p>
+<p>Heavily tolled the bell of the old-fashioned church, in the
+gloomy vaults of which slept the family ancestors, whose varied
+virtues were recorded in marble in all parts of the building, and
+whose rotting carcases poisoned the atmosphere of the place, and
+had done so for many generations.</p>
+<p>When are we going to reform this and to cremate our dead, so
+that we may go to church in safety and with no fear of detriment
+to our physical well-being?&nbsp; The ancients burnt their
+dead.&nbsp; Is there any earthly reason why we moderns should not
+do the same?&nbsp; I know none, except a stupid prejudice
+unworthy of a generation that loves to think itself enlightened,
+and that flatters itself it is wiser than any that has gone
+before.&nbsp; If it is to be talked of after death, surely the
+urn can be as fitting a remembrance of the departed as the costly
+and cumbrous marble monument, with its deception and
+untruth.&nbsp; &lsquo;Five languages,&rsquo; <a
+name="page38"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 38</span>writes Sir
+Thomas Brown, of Norwich, &lsquo;secured not the epitaph of
+Gordianus.&nbsp; The man of God lives longer without a tomb than
+any by one visibly interred by angels, and adjudged to obscurity,
+though not without some marks directing human decency.&nbsp;
+Enoch and Elias, without either tomb or burial, in an anomalous
+state of being, are the great examples of perpetuity in their
+long and living memory, in strict account being still on this
+side death and having a late part yet to act upon the stage of
+earth.&rsquo;&nbsp; In vain is all earthly vanity, but there is
+no vanity so vain as that connected with the grave.&nbsp;
+&lsquo;Yet man is a noble animal,&rsquo; as the same writer
+remarks, &lsquo;splendid in ashes, and pompous in the
+grave!&rsquo;</p>
+<p>And thus it was at the funeral of the deceased Baronet.&nbsp;
+All the clergy round had come to do him honour, and all the
+county families had come to put in an appearance&mdash;or, at any
+rate, sent their empty carriages to follow in the procession,
+which is supposed to be the same as attending one&rsquo;s
+self.&nbsp; A fashionable undertaker from town had been <a
+name="page39"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 39</span>retained for
+the occasion, and never did men wear so mournful an expression as
+he and his many men.&nbsp; I had almost written
+&lsquo;merry&rsquo; men, for none were merrier when the dismal
+farce was over and they were back to town&mdash;refreshed by
+stimulants, with which they had been plentifully supplied.</p>
+<p>There was a great crowd in the church&mdash;a great crowd in
+the churchyard, and a great crowd all the way from the
+Hall.&nbsp; The heir, the deceased&rsquo;s brother, naturally
+came in for a good deal of criticism, and he was quite equal to
+the occasion&mdash;apparently mourning for the deceased as if he
+had loved him as much as everyone was aware he had done the
+reverse.&nbsp; Relatives from all parts were there, hoping
+against hope that they might find their names put down for
+something in the will.&nbsp; The tenantry made a decent show, for
+to many of them the deceased was a man after their own
+hearts&mdash;fond of sport, of racing, of good cheer, of fast
+living.&nbsp; All the world loves a gay spendthrift more than a
+sober and careful <a name="page40"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
+40</span>man who tries to live within his means and to save a
+little money.&nbsp; The enlightened British workman has, as a
+rule, an intense hatred for the capitalist, who is, after all,
+his best friend.</p>
+<p>The peasantry were there in great force, glad to have a show
+of any kind to relieve the dull monotony of their
+lives&mdash;though feeling that it would make little difference
+to them who reigned at the Hall, and expecting little: as it had
+gone forth that the new Baronet was somewhat of a skinflint, and
+that little was to be expected from the mother and daughters who
+were in future to take up their residence at the old Hall.&nbsp;
+It is needless to add that the tradesmen of the town were present
+in great numbers.&nbsp; They knew on which side their bread was
+buttered.&nbsp; Tradesmen generally do.&nbsp; At any rate there
+was show enough and funereal pomp to give occasion for the county
+paper of the following Saturday to devote considerable space to
+the affair, which&mdash;so the reporter wrote, with a touch of
+imagination which did him credit&mdash;<a name="page41"></a><span
+class="pagenum">p. 41</span>had saddened the county and made
+everyone deplore the sudden and untimely decease of one of its
+most distinguished men.</p>
+<p>The deceased Baronet had been the great man of the
+district&mdash;a leading magistrate, with power to ameliorate the
+condition of the poor&mdash;a power that he had never used.&nbsp;
+The workhouse was old and unhealthy, yet he had opposed every
+effort to build a better one; the relieving-officers were
+drunkards, and generally unable to keep their accounts
+correctly.&nbsp; The selection of such officers was, in fact, a
+job in order to make provision for some aged, feeble, drunken
+bankrupt, a boon companion of the farmers; nor were the medical
+officers much better.&nbsp; The outdoor paupers were victims of
+the grossest abuses.&nbsp; The aged were set to eke out their
+miserable existence by breaking stones on the road, and thus
+these poor creatures, half-clad, ill-fed, and suffering from
+rheumatism, had to work on the bleak roadside, exposed to the
+inclemency of the weather, till they ceased <a
+name="page42"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 42</span>to be a
+parochial charge at all; and, as a rule, their homes were unfit
+for human habitation.&nbsp; The vagrants suffered from the
+grossest ill-usage.&nbsp; One quarter of the workhouse, ill or
+scarcely provided with bedding accommodation, was appropriated to
+a class consisting of honest seekers for work, tramps, vagabonds,
+and thieves of all ages, huddled indiscriminately together, using
+or listening to the vilest language, initiated in the mysteries
+of vice and crime, quarrelling and fighting.&nbsp; There were no
+vagrant wards, and any attempt to introduce them was strenuously
+resisted, and thus, in spite of the Reformed Poor Law, as it was
+called, the state of the poor grew more wretched every day.</p>
+<p>Sir Watkin knew all this.&nbsp; A word from him would have
+inaugurated a better state of things, but he never spoke that
+word.&nbsp; He was far too busy in his pursuit of pleasure to
+think of the poor on his estate, or to plead their cause, and the
+guardians were content to let things slide.</p>
+<p>Dr. Chalmers maintained that the one <a
+name="page43"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 43</span>main drawback
+to the effectual working of the new Poor Law would be the
+defective attendance at the boards of the landlords, and, as far
+as Sloville was concerned, the doctor was right.&nbsp; Had the
+deceased Baronet discharged the duties of his position, and
+concerned himself about the welfare of the poor, he might have
+been a blessing to the district.&nbsp; As it was, he was very
+much the reverse.&nbsp; In his time, as in that of the old Hebrew
+Psalmist, it might truly be said: &lsquo;The wicked in his pride
+doth persecute the poor.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>A few days and the astonishment of the town was over, and the
+sun was gay, and the earth as fair as ever.&nbsp; Nature takes no
+heed of death; it keeps on all the same its eternal way.&nbsp;
+The common people had their talk of old scandals, and the
+lodge-keeper became quite an oracle as he hinted at the
+appearance of an old woman at the gate, and expressed his wonder
+at what had become of her.&nbsp; He went so far as to hint at the
+possession of mysterious knowledge, of which the presumptive heir
+would be <a name="page44"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
+44</span>glad to avail himself; but gradually even that form of
+mild excitement passed away.&nbsp; The public soon got over the
+event, as it generally does.</p>
+<p>In the gay world, of which Sir Watkin had been a leading
+figure so recently, things went on much as usual.&nbsp; The old
+captain in the club, it is true, felt the loss of a man younger
+than himself, and on whom he had, to a certain extent,
+leaned.&nbsp; The manager of the Diamond Theatre was
+inconsolable, as his bills were many in the hands of the Jews,
+and he looked to the Baronet to take them up as they fell
+due.&nbsp; A little regret and wonder was expressed that the
+deceased Baronet did not cut up quite so well as was
+expected.&nbsp; Well, of course, he was a gentleman, and you
+can&rsquo;t expect a gentleman to be a good man of
+business.&nbsp; But a good many who lost by the deceased were not
+quite so easily consoled.&nbsp; It is pleasant to be able to pay
+twenty shillings in the pound, but that is not the whole duty of
+man, nevertheless.&nbsp; If Shakespeare had been unfortunate <a
+name="page45"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 45</span>in business,
+if Milton had had to make an arrangement with his creditors, we
+should have thought just as well of them; nor does one think a
+penny the worse of De Foe, that he was in pecuniary difficulties,
+or of Dick Steele that he could not make both ends meet, or of
+Goldsmith that he left two thousand pounds of debt behind
+him.&nbsp; In the case of Sir Watkin Strahan the estate was
+strictly settled, and only his debts of honour got paid.&nbsp; As
+it was, there was little left for the new Baronet to start
+with.</p>
+<p>And this state of things is the consequence of the law of
+primogeniture, says the ignorant reformer.&nbsp; It is not
+so.&nbsp; Our laws of settlement are to be blamed as unfair and
+unjust.&nbsp; The main causes of agricultural depression, and of
+continued wrongdoing on the part of landed proprietors, are the
+laws which allow the owners to make deeds and wills which for
+many years, and often long after the owners&rsquo; deaths,
+prevent the land from being sold, or the estate from being
+divided, no matter how <a name="page46"></a><span
+class="pagenum">p. 46</span>expedient it may be that it should he
+sold, or no matter how foolish or extravagant the owner may
+be.&nbsp; Mr. Kay illustrates this in a case in which he had
+acted as trustee.&nbsp; This estate, about fifty or sixty years
+ago, came into the hands of a young nobleman, whom he calls Lord
+A., when he was twenty-one.&nbsp; He married when he was
+twenty-two, and the marriage-deed gave him only a life interest
+in the estate, and settled the property on his children.&nbsp; He
+had one child, and as soon as that child was twenty-one another
+deed was made, giving that child only a life interest in the
+estate, and settling it after his death on the children he might
+leave in succession.&nbsp; Lord A. was an extravagant and
+reckless man.&nbsp; He hunted the county; he kept open house; he
+lived as if his estate were ten times as great as it really
+was.&nbsp; He gambled and lost heavily.&nbsp; He raised money on
+his life interest.&nbsp; He finally fled from England deeply in
+debt, and lived abroad.&nbsp; The remainder of the life interest
+was sold to a Jew, who knew that he would lose all <a
+name="page47"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 47</span>when Lord A.
+died, and found his only profit in thinning the woods.&nbsp; That
+state of things lasted forty years.&nbsp; The farmers had no
+leases or any security for expenditure.&nbsp; The Jew would not
+spend a penny, nor would the gentleman who took the mansion,
+because he could not tell when he might be turned out; and the
+tenantry were prevented from doing fairly to the land or to
+themselves.&nbsp; There was no one to support the schools or the
+church, or to look after the labourers on the estate.&nbsp; The
+farm-buildings fell into decay; the land was not properly drained
+or cultivated; the plantations were injured, and the mansion was
+dilapidated.&nbsp; And all this vast extent of mischief was the
+result of the deeds which the law had allowed the lord and his
+heir to execute.&nbsp; Nor are such cases isolated.&nbsp; Nor is
+it possible to over-estimate the wretchedness and poverty they
+create in rural England.&nbsp; Perhaps, in time, Englishmen will
+demand the abolition of laws which entail such bitter wrong on
+the community at large.</p>
+<h2><a name="page48"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
+48</span>CHAPTER XXIV<br />
+<span class="GutSmall">THE HONEYMOON.</span></h2>
+<p>At that very time&mdash;in autumn, when everyone is supposed
+to be out of town and blinds are drawn down in all Belgravia;
+when the moors of Scotland and the health resorts of our own
+highly-favoured land or of the Continent are crammed, and
+white-winged yachts, like sea-fowl or flakes of snow, bedeck the
+peaceful waters of the Solent, and sparkle as they shine along
+our summer seas&mdash;a small party might be seen drawing up at
+the registrar&rsquo;s office somewhere in the neighbourhood of
+the Strand.&nbsp; No one knew what was going on, and the single
+brougham at the door attracted little attention.&nbsp; The first
+to get out was our old friend Buxton, the medical <a
+name="page49"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 49</span>man; then
+came Wentworth, a little gayer than usual.&nbsp; In another,
+which followed immediately, were Rose, looking lovelier than ever
+and perhaps a trifle more serious, and her mother, a quiet old
+lady, much given to garrulity when she had a chance, and to
+self-effacement when she found no one wanted to hear her.&nbsp;
+The poor old soul had no idea of being married at the
+registrar&rsquo;s.&nbsp; The business was a very simple
+one&mdash;merely to make a declaration before the officer
+appointed for that purpose that they were to be married, and to
+sign a declaration to that effect, which was duly witnessed ere
+it was sent away to be preserved among our national
+archives.&nbsp; This done and the registrar&rsquo;s fee paid,
+they drove away as quietly as they came to the Midland Railway
+Station in the Euston Road, where they had a pleasant lunch; and
+thence the newly-married couple took the train to the busy city
+of Liverpool, ever overflowing with a very migratory
+population.&nbsp; Here to-day, gone to-morrow.&nbsp; Of course
+they did not stop there long.&nbsp; The <a
+name="page50"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 50</span>next day they
+left the dark cloud of Liverpool smoke behind for the romantic
+Isle of Man.</p>
+<p>One of the first things they did was to take a trip round the
+island, and we will accompany them.&nbsp; For this purpose we
+step on board the <i>King Orrey</i>, as she lies at the Douglas
+Pier.&nbsp; King Orrey was one of the far-famed Monarchs of the
+Isle, and is now commemorated in a way of which he could have no
+idea.</p>
+<p>We are off in good time, and as the day is tempting we have
+rather a numerous company on board, and no wonder, for it is not
+every day that you can see England, Scotland, Ireland, and Wales
+in the course of a few hours.&nbsp; The legendary history of the
+Isle of Man at any rate matches that of any of the countries
+above-named.&nbsp; It is true the scepticism of modern times has
+dealt hardly with them.&nbsp; No Eleanor, Duchess of Gloucester,
+was imprisoned in the old Castle of Peel; no St. Patrick ever
+resided there, or even ever stepped from Peel to Ireland to
+Christianize the people <a name="page51"></a><span
+class="pagenum">p. 51</span>there.&nbsp; It is also affirmed, and
+the candid student who sees the Ireland of to-day must admit
+there is a good deal in the affirmation, that if St Patrick ever
+did take that wonderful step, at any rate he was not very
+successful as regards the main object of his trip.&nbsp; Few
+people now believe that when the Manx men were fighting the
+ancient Britons on the other side of the water, St. German raised
+such a hallelujah as to make the ancient Britons run away.&nbsp;
+In the same way modern unbelief suspects the story of the Giant
+who had three legs, and was the terror of the land, or of that
+floating island which rises in Soderick Bay every seven years,
+and then remains on the surface thirty minutes, no one yet having
+had the courage to place a Bible on any part of it, lest in any
+case of failure the enchanter might cast his club over Mona
+also.&nbsp; Likewise we may scorn the legend which tells us how
+St. Trisman&rsquo;s is left incomplete on account of the malice
+of an evil spirit, who, for want of better employment, amused
+himself by throwing down the roof every <a
+name="page52"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 52</span>time it was
+put on, accompanying his achievement with a loud fiendish laugh
+of satisfaction.&nbsp; As well we might credit the Fenella of
+&lsquo;Peveril of the Peak&rsquo; as a living reality, and not a
+wild conception of Sir Walter Scott&rsquo;s busy brain.&nbsp;
+Indeed, if the tourist to that lovely health resort&mdash;lovely
+I call it, in spite of the holiday-makers and tourists, mostly
+denominated Lancashire Cotton Balls&mdash;believes all he hears,
+the chances are that he becomes, to quote Sir Walter&mdash;</p>
+<blockquote><p>&lsquo;Speechless, ghastly, wan,<br />
+Like him of whom the story ran,<br />
+That spake the spectre hound in Man.&rsquo;</p>
+</blockquote>
+<p>But the captain cries, &lsquo;Go ahead,&rsquo; the last bell
+rings, and we are off.&nbsp; Apparently it is anticipated that
+our wants will be numerous.&nbsp; We are expected not to venture
+to sea without a good supply of &lsquo;all round the island
+sweets;&rsquo; ragged urchins offer us lucifer matches, aged
+females freshly-gathered fruits, and apparently it is presumed we
+cannot enjoy the day without purchasing a guide to the island, or
+photographs <a name="page53"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
+53</span>of the principal attractions.&nbsp; Of course the
+musicians are on board long before we are, as well as a poor
+fellow who is expected to keep the company on the broad grin all
+the trip by means of his songs and chaff.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Poor fellow, I pity thee somewhat, in spite of thy sons
+and grandsons.&nbsp; Thy sow, with a litter of eight
+&ldquo;poops,&rdquo;&rsquo; as he calls them; &lsquo;thy
+readiness to liquor up and spout nonsense.&nbsp; You&rsquo;re not
+such a fool as you look, however, and that is a
+consolation.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>Mountebanks, whether in Church and State, in business, or on
+the deck of an excursion steamer, generally manage to make their
+nonsense pay, often better than other men their sense.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Rose,&rsquo; says Wentworth, &lsquo;let us watch the
+beauty of Douglas as we steam out of the Bay.&nbsp; In a little
+while we shall see Snaefell, monarch of Manx mountains.&nbsp; We
+shall pass the little glen which leads to Laxey, with that
+wonderful wheel of which we hear so much, and then we are in
+Ramsey.&nbsp; Leaving Ramsey for the Point of <a
+name="page54"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 54</span>Ayr, a
+lighthouse familiar to the traders between Barrow and Belfast, we
+shall note how the aspect of the land is changed, and that a
+sandy shore has taken the place of the rocks, which, looking
+across the water, seem to set England and Scotland at
+defiance.&nbsp; In a little while we shall be off Peel, with its
+ancient Castle and its hardy fishermen.&nbsp; The further we go,
+the bolder becomes the scenery.&nbsp; There we shall see a cavern
+which no one yet has had the courage to explore, but which our
+captain will tell us leads to Port St. Mary.&nbsp; Then the
+steam-pipe whistles, and the rocks re-echo the whistle as we
+float along.&nbsp; Then we come to cliffs white with sea-gulls,
+who, startled by our approach, flap their heavy wings and fly
+like snowflakes.&nbsp; As we come to the Calf of Man the
+picturesqueness of the scene is increased tenfold as the rocks in
+their wildness guard their native shores.&nbsp; Fain would we
+linger, but our steamer urges on her wild career, and we must
+needs go with her.&nbsp; All we can do is to admire from a
+distance the rough and <a name="page55"></a><span
+class="pagenum">p. 55</span>rugged coast, with its tiny bay,
+where the swimmer might enjoy his pastime, only disturbed, it may
+be, by a merman bold, or a mermaid a little bolder, as is the
+habit of the female, or by a glimpse of the great sea-serpent,
+which assuredly is to be found, if anywhere, haunting these azure
+waters, and then we are back in Douglas in time for
+dinner.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Yes, I know,&rsquo; said the lady, laughing.&nbsp;
+&lsquo;The dinner you will be thinking of all the
+while.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;How unkind of you to say so.&nbsp; We shall have a
+quarrel if you talk like that.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Is it not time?&rsquo; said Rose, as she turned to him
+a look more bewitching than she had ever cast upon the buckram
+hero of the stage.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Perhaps so.&nbsp; We have been married a
+week.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Good gracious!&rsquo; said the lady archly; &lsquo;only
+a week!&nbsp; I thought it had been much longer.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;I am sure you did nothing of the kind.&nbsp; <a
+name="page56"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 56</span>There,
+I&rsquo;ve caught you telling stories already.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;But you know we did not get married according to
+ordinary notions of propriety.&nbsp; We did not go to a
+fashionable church.&nbsp; We had no fashionable people to see us
+made one, and there were none to wish us God-speed as we took the
+cab to the Midland Railway <i>en route</i> for Liverpool.&nbsp;
+So what can you expect?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;And worst of all,&rsquo; said Wentworth, laughing,
+&lsquo;we got married&mdash;&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;At the registrar&rsquo;s office,&rsquo; said Rose,
+shrugging up her shoulders and making a face with a sad
+expression of horror, adding, after an interval: &lsquo;And I
+don&rsquo;t believe anyone knows it yet.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;So much the better.&nbsp; What has the world got to do
+with our private affairs?&nbsp; What to us is the world or the
+world&rsquo;s laws?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Upon my word, Wentworth, you are talking as improperly
+as ever.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Yes.&nbsp; I fear I&rsquo;ve got that bad habit, and I
+don&rsquo;t expect I shall ever get rid of it as <a
+name="page57"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 57</span>long as I
+live.&nbsp; You and I can talk plainly.&nbsp; We need not try to
+humbug each other.&nbsp; It is little we have to trouble
+ourselves about Mrs. Grundy.&nbsp; The law has bound us together,
+but we are bound together by something stronger than the law, I
+hope.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Hope, Wentworth, is not the word.&nbsp; You know
+it,&rsquo; said Rose, as she lovingly looked into his somewhat
+grave and worn face.</p>
+<p>On board the steamer thus the newly-married couple
+talked.&nbsp; Marriages are of many kinds.&nbsp; For some we have
+to thank God, for others, alas! the devil.</p>
+<p>Referring to his marriage, William Hutton, the far-famed
+Birmingham historian, writes: &lsquo;I never courted her, nor she
+me, yet we, by the close union with which we were cemented, were
+travelling towards the temple of Hymen without conversing upon
+the subject.&nbsp; Such is the happy effect of reciprocal
+love.&rsquo;&nbsp; This reciprocal love generally leads to
+matrimony, and thus it was Rose and Wentworth had married.&nbsp;
+A good deal is to be said <a name="page58"></a><span
+class="pagenum">p. 58</span>against the institution.&nbsp;
+Matrimony is not always a bed of roses.&nbsp; If the roses are
+there, they are often furnished with an intolerable supply of
+thorns.&nbsp; There can be no doubt of the fact that in many
+cases matrimony has led to an immense amount of misery.&nbsp; It
+has kept in chains men and women who had been better apart.&nbsp;
+It has made for them life dull, blank, sunless, joyless, a thing
+only to terminate with death.&nbsp; It is hard that men and women
+thus ill-mated are not permitted to burst their fetters and be
+free.&nbsp; Take, for instance, the case of Mehetabel Wesley, the
+younger sister of the celebrated founder of Wesleyanism.&nbsp;
+Her heart was sensitive and full of love.&nbsp; We know what the
+mother of the Wesleys was&mdash;a stern, hard woman, whose first
+duty as a mother, according to her own statement, was to break
+the wills of her children.&nbsp; The father left his wife&rsquo;s
+bed because, when he prayed for King William, she would not say
+amen.&nbsp; None of the girls seemed to have married happily, but
+this, the youngest and fairest of them all, had a <a
+name="page59"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
+59</span>Benjamin&rsquo;s mess of misery.&nbsp; Her father
+compelled her to suffer the brutality of a marriage with a low
+wretch utterly unfit to be her lord and master.&nbsp; Was not her
+marriage an immorality?&nbsp; Was it not a shame that society
+should have compelled her to live with such a man?&mdash;so much
+so &lsquo;that her only hope,&rsquo; as she told a friend, was
+death, &lsquo;because we Methodists always die in transports of
+joy.&rsquo;&nbsp; But what do men and women know of each other,
+as a rule, before marriage?&nbsp; Very little, indeed.&nbsp;
+Hence so much of the wretchedness of the wife, of the immorality
+of the man.&nbsp; I fear that it is the married men who chiefly
+sustain and create the vices of our great cities.&nbsp; Hence the
+bitter cry of him&mdash;our chief poet&mdash;the stern Puritan,
+who wrote in strains that can never die&mdash;</p>
+<blockquote><p>&lsquo;Of man&rsquo;s first disobedience and the
+fruit<br />
+Of that forbidden tree, whose mortal taste<br />
+Brought death into the world and all our woe,&rsquo;</p>
+</blockquote>
+<p>on man&rsquo;s behalf.&nbsp; Hence the earnestness with which
+he pleaded for relief to him who <a name="page60"></a><span
+class="pagenum">p. 60</span>finds himself bound fast &lsquo;to an
+image of earth, with whom he looked to be the co-partner of a
+sweet and pleasant society.&rsquo;&nbsp; However, Milton is
+practically not so much an advocate for divorce as is generally
+supposed.&nbsp; It is well known that he took his wife back, and
+they lived happily together till her death, There is generally a
+<i>modus vivendi</i>, unless the husband and wife be altogether
+foolish.&nbsp; Neither man nor woman in the long run can
+withstand true love, and it is hard to break a tie which once
+seemed desirable, and which is easily made bearable, especially
+when the young ones come and play around the hearth.&nbsp;
+Fathers and mothers find it hard to leave their offspring, even
+if in the commerce of life they have found each other out.&nbsp;
+The children bring with them the old atmosphere of tenderness and
+love.</p>
+<p>Returning to Douglas, Wentworth found a telegram to the effect
+that Sir Watkin Strahan had suddenly died of apoplexy.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Not very surprising,&rsquo; said Wentworth.</p>
+<p>Sir Watkin belonged to the past in that <a
+name="page61"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 61</span>respect
+rather than the present&mdash;to the age of port wine drinkers,
+when men got real port wine, and did not seem to be much the
+worse for it.&nbsp; The light wines of France had little charm
+for him, and soda-water and seltzer were equally obnoxious.&nbsp;
+His medical man had warned him, but Sir Watkin laughed at his
+warnings.&nbsp; He came of a long-lived family.&nbsp; His father
+and his grandfather had alike far exceeded their threescore years
+and ten when they were gathered to their fathers, and Sir Watkin
+argued that so it would be with him, a blunder which nearly cost
+him his life.</p>
+<p>A later telegram, however, gave the particulars of the sad
+accident.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;This is a sad ending to a pleasant day,&rsquo; said
+Wentworth, as they climbed the rock on which they had pitched
+their tent.&nbsp; Below was the town, with its noisy
+merry-makers.&nbsp; Up there, amongst the roses and the myrtles,
+they were alone.&nbsp; Over there was England, while between them
+lay a gorgeous ocean, on which scarce a ship was to be seen, blue
+as the heavens above, save <a name="page62"></a><span
+class="pagenum">p. 62</span>where tinged by the crimson and gold
+of the setting sun.&nbsp; &lsquo;How pleasant it is here!&rsquo;
+continued Wentworth; &lsquo;no work to do, no friends to bother,
+no letters to worry.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>Rose burst out laughing.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Why do you laugh when I try to be poetical?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Because, dear boy,&rsquo; was the reply, &lsquo;it is
+not in your line, and because I see the postman coming up the
+hill with the letter-bag.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>Away rushed Wentworth to meet him with an ardour by no means
+consistent with his recent speech.&nbsp; The fact is, however
+tired of life we may be, however happy in some rural retreat,
+however absorbed and enraptured with one another a man and wife
+may be&mdash;especially during the idle season known as the
+honeymoon&mdash;there is a mysterious fascination in the
+appearance of the postman, and we bless the memory of Sir Rowland
+Hill.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;There are no end of letters and newspapers.&nbsp; I
+vote we don&rsquo;t look at them till <a name="page63"></a><span
+class="pagenum">p. 63</span>after breakfast to-morrow, I will
+have a cigar, and you can work.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Yes, that is how you men talk.&nbsp; I am to work like
+a slave, while you are to lie on the grass smoking.&nbsp; But I
+suppose I must do as you tell me, for</p>
+<blockquote><p>&ldquo;Sufferance is the badge of all our
+tribe.&rdquo;</p>
+</blockquote>
+<p>I tell you what&mdash;if you&rsquo;re lazy, I will be lazy,
+too.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Yes, that is what I meant.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Then why did you not say so, sir?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;I did.&nbsp; When I tell a woman to work, of course I
+mean that you are to sit and do nothing.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Yes, but I am not going to do nothing.&nbsp; I am going
+to read what looks to me a very extraordinary letter.&nbsp; It
+bears the Sloville post-office mark.&nbsp; It was addressed to
+London, and here it has followed us all the way from town.&nbsp;
+I must look at it&mdash;it is such a scrawl.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Remember our compact.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;No, I don&rsquo;t.&nbsp; I must open this
+letter&mdash;I am dying to read it.&rsquo;</p>
+<p><a name="page64"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
+64</span>&lsquo;Oh, the curiosity of woman,&rsquo; said
+Wentworth, as he smoked his cigar.</p>
+<p>Presently Rose gave a shriek.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;What is it all about?&rsquo; asked Wentworth.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;There, read it for yourself,&rsquo; Rose exclaimed.</p>
+<p>It was as follows:</p>
+<blockquote><p>&lsquo;<span class="smcap">Dear Madame</span>,</p>
+<p>&lsquo;That pore boy as you took from Sloville, is the true
+son and heir of Sir Watkin Strahan, go to horspitle in the
+Boro&rsquo; where a woman named Sally is hill.&nbsp; She can
+prove it&mdash;but she can&rsquo;t live long.&nbsp; Hopin&rsquo;
+this will find you in &rsquo;elth as it leaves me at this present
+time, I am yours most respectfully a sincere friend to the pore
+boy.&rsquo;</p>
+</blockquote>
+<p>&lsquo;Wentworth,&rsquo; said Rose energetically, &lsquo;we
+must leave here by the first boat to-morrow morning.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;What a bore.&nbsp; I suppose we must.&nbsp; And so
+fades away love in a cottage,&rsquo; exclaimed Wentworth, as he
+went indoors to help his wife to pack up.</p>
+<h2><a name="page65"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
+65</span>CHAPTER XXV.<br />
+<span class="GutSmall">A REVELATION.</span></h2>
+<p>No sooner was Rose in London than she made her way to the
+hospital indicated in the anonymous note which had been the cause
+of her and her husband&rsquo;s unwelcome return to town.</p>
+<p>She had never been inside a hospital before.&nbsp; There was
+something bewildering in its vastness and its antiquity.&nbsp;
+Close by ran swift the current of City life, ever turbid and
+boisterous.&nbsp; In there all was calm and still.&nbsp; The one
+thought that brightened and hallowed the spot was the life that
+had been saved, especially among the poor, to whom our great
+hospitals are indeed a blessing and a boon.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;I want to see a patient in the women&rsquo;s <a
+name="page66"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 66</span>ward,&rsquo;
+said Rose to the porter, as she alighted at the entrance.</p>
+<p>The porter expressed his fear that she had come in vain,
+unless she had a better clue to identification.</p>
+<p>In his despair he sent the lady in the direction of the
+women&rsquo;s ward, and there her difficulties began anew.&nbsp;
+There were many poor suffering ones in the women&rsquo;s
+wards.&nbsp; How could they tell where was the one she
+sought?&nbsp; As she was waiting, one of the staff came
+downstairs.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Good heavens!&rsquo; he exclaimed; &lsquo;Miss Howard,
+how came you here?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>He knew the actress, and at once rushed to rescue her from the
+dilemma.</p>
+<p>Rose had little to go by.&nbsp; The note had been sent from
+Sloville.&nbsp; It was clear that someone connected with Sloville
+was lying ill&mdash;perhaps dying&mdash;there.&nbsp; Under the
+guidance of one of the nurses she went softly from one bed to
+another.&nbsp; One nurse after another was appealed to.&nbsp; At
+length one was found who had the charge of a case in one of the
+wards.&nbsp; Her patient had <a name="page67"></a><span
+class="pagenum">p. 67</span>at times spoken of the town in
+question; but she was ill, very ill, and the nurse was afraid any
+excitement might be fatal.&nbsp; When the medical man in charge
+of the case was consulted he shook his head despairingly.&nbsp;
+The thread of life was nearly worn out.&nbsp; A woman from
+Sloville had been there to see her, and the little talk between
+the two had considerably increased the patient&rsquo;s
+danger.&nbsp; Originally the woman in question had been run over
+by a cab outside one of the theatres.&nbsp; Her constitution was
+entirely gone, and the injuries inflicted on the system had been
+serious.&nbsp; After three months&rsquo; nursing she had been
+sufficiently healed to leave the hospital, and had led a more or
+less wandering life.&nbsp; Then she had gone down hop-picking in
+Kent; had caught cold; that cold had settled on her lungs.&nbsp;
+There was no earthly hope for her, and there she lay, wrestling
+not for dear life, but with grim death.&nbsp; But there was no
+immediate danger.&nbsp; Good nursing and tender care might
+lengthen her days for a short season.</p>
+<p><a name="page68"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
+68</span>&lsquo;If Miss Howard would return to-morrow, the doctor
+would try and get her into a proper state for a little
+talk.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;I would rather see her now,&rsquo; said the lady.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Impossible, madam; quite impossible, madam,&rsquo; said
+the medico, and Rose had reluctantly to retire.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Surely I have enough on hand,&rsquo; said she to
+herself, &lsquo;if all the note hints is true.&nbsp; People said
+when I left the stage I should find life tame and dull.&nbsp; I
+have not found it so at present.&nbsp; I believe no life is tame
+and dull if one is determined to make the most of it.&nbsp; After
+she had left the stage, Mrs. Siddons, from the want of
+excitement, was never happy.&nbsp; I am not a Mrs. Siddons,
+happily,&rsquo; said the retired actress to herself.</p>
+<p>The morning came, and Rose was again at the hospital.&nbsp;
+The medical man was there to meet her, and they went together to
+the patient&rsquo;s bedside.&nbsp; In that emaciated face,
+purified by disease from its former grossness, few would have
+recognised &lsquo;our Sally.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>We are a merciful people.&nbsp; Let our <a
+name="page69"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 69</span>tramps live
+as they may, we take good care of them in our hospitals.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Father never gives beggars anything,&rsquo; said a
+little boy to one of the fraternity in a small country town;
+&lsquo;but he always prays for them.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>We may show a stern face to the tramp; but once inside a
+hospital we give him something more than prayers&mdash;proper
+food, trained nursing, the best science that can be procured for
+love or money.&nbsp; Comforts, nay, luxuries, he could never
+procure for himself.&nbsp; Indeed, in all desirable respects, he
+is as well off as a millionaire.</p>
+<p>But to return to our Sally, lying there calmly in her clean
+bed, in a long and lofty ward, apparently indifferent to all
+external things, simply satisfied with life such as it was.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;A lady has come to see you,&rsquo; said the doctor, in
+his pleasant tones, &lsquo;A lady from Sloville.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Take her away.&nbsp; I am that bad I can&rsquo;t speak
+to her.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Are you quite sure you don&rsquo;t want to <a
+name="page70"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 70</span>see
+her?&nbsp; She says you sent her a letter to come.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;No, it warn&rsquo;t me.&nbsp; It was that Sloville
+woman as was here last week.&nbsp; I told her not to bother, and
+now she&rsquo;s gone and done it.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>A fit of coughing came, and conversation ceased.</p>
+<p>Then the nurse administered a little stimulus, and that
+revived her.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Leave us alone,&rsquo; said the poor woman.</p>
+<p>The others withdrew, and Rose stepped forward.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;You&rsquo;ve been good to my boy,&rsquo; said the
+patient slowly, as if it were hard to talk.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;What do you mean?&nbsp; The boy I took from
+Sloville?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Yes.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;But someone has written to me to say that he is the
+heir of Sir Watkin Strahan.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Yes, he is.&nbsp; I stole him.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Stole him!&nbsp; Why, how could you do such a
+thing?&rsquo; asked the actress excitedly.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;For revenge!&rsquo; exclaimed the poor woman, with all
+the energy she could <a name="page71"></a><span
+class="pagenum">p. 71</span>collect, and then fell back
+exhausted.&nbsp; For a time both were silent, and Rose watched
+with pity the face, stained by intemperance and sensuality and
+all evil living, wondering what could be the connection between
+that poor pauper in the hospital and the proud deceased
+Baronet.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Read this paper,&rsquo; said the poor woman.</p>
+<blockquote><p>&lsquo;Oct. 187-.&nbsp; Saw my pore boy on a
+brogham at the theatre.&nbsp; I knowed him at once.&nbsp; His
+father is Sir Watkin Strahan, and he was on the box of Miss
+Howard&rsquo;s brogham.&nbsp; I lost him as I was going to speak
+to him.&nbsp; The peeler told me to be off.&rsquo;</p>
+</blockquote>
+<p>&lsquo;Then, it was you that left him at Sloville, where I
+took him up?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Yes,&rsquo; said the poor woman feebly, adding:
+&lsquo;Come nearer.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>Rose complied with the request.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;I was an underservant in Sir Watkin&rsquo;s
+house.&nbsp; He was a wicked man.&nbsp; He took a fancy to
+me.&nbsp; I war young and good-looking, and a fool.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>The old, old story, thought Rose to herself, for the poor
+woman gave her plenty of <a name="page72"></a><span
+class="pagenum">p. 72</span>time to think, so slowly and feebly
+did the words come out of her mouth.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;One day the missus came and caught me in his
+room.&nbsp; I was turned out into the street, without a character
+and without a friend.&nbsp; I vowed I&rsquo;d be even with him,
+and I run off with his boy.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;How could you manage that?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Oh, that was easy enough.&nbsp; The nursemaid was allus
+a talking to the sodgers in the park.&nbsp; And an Italian
+Countess helped me.&nbsp; She had an idea that if she could get
+rid of the child and the wife she would marry the
+master.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;But was no effort made to get the child
+back?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Oh yes!&nbsp; But I managed to get a dead baby, the
+very moral of his&rsquo;n.&nbsp; An Italian lady staying in the
+house helped me.&nbsp; I dressed it in his clothes.&nbsp; The
+master thought it his own, and had it buried in the family
+vault.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;That was very wrong of you.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Perhaps it was.&nbsp; But had not the master and missus
+both wronged me?&nbsp; Arter that <a name="page73"></a><span
+class="pagenum">p. 73</span>I got married, but me and my husband
+were always quarrelling about the boy, and that made me take to
+drink, and then, when I lost my husband, I drank worse and
+worse.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;And then you went on the tramp, and left the boy at
+Sloville, and I took him.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Yes.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;He is a good boy.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;He allus was.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;But why did you not see him righted?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;I did one day.&nbsp; I had a letter sent to Sir Watkin,
+and he sent me word it was all a lie, that his boy was
+dead.&nbsp; Then his lady died, and he went abroad,
+and&mdash;&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;And you never saw him again?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Only twice.&nbsp; When I saw him outside your theater
+and tried to speak to him.&nbsp; But he pushed me into the
+street, and then I met with my accident.&nbsp; He&rsquo;s a hard
+un and a bad un.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;And when again?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Not very long ago; when they had the election at
+Sloville.&nbsp; I was there and he too, but he would not look at
+me.&nbsp; Oh, he was harder than ever!&rsquo;</p>
+<p><a name="page74"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
+74</span>&lsquo;Speak not of him now&mdash;he&rsquo;s
+dead.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Dead!&nbsp; Oh, dear!&rsquo; said the woman.&nbsp;
+&lsquo;Do you mean to say he&rsquo;s really dead?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Yes,&rsquo; said the actress, &lsquo;he died only a few
+days since.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;And I am dying&mdash;oh, dear!&nbsp; What a wicked
+woman I&rsquo;ve been!&nbsp; What mischief I&rsquo;ve
+done!&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;What do you mean?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Why, I meant to restore the boy.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;It is too late&mdash;the boy has no father now.&nbsp;
+Is this truth you tell me?&nbsp; It is a strange
+story.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;The truth, so help me God.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>Then she sank back utterly overcome.&nbsp; At length she
+said:</p>
+<p>&lsquo;I&rsquo;ve not long to live, have I?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;I fear not.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;You&rsquo;ll see me buried decent?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Yes, I will.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;And you&rsquo;ll be kind to the boy and see that he has
+his rights?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;If I can.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;That makes me feel better.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;I am glad of that.&rsquo;</p>
+<p><a name="page75"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
+75</span>&lsquo;You are kind.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;How can I be otherwise?&nbsp; You&rsquo;re but a woman,
+and I am no more.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;They&rsquo;re all kind here,&rsquo; said the woman,
+sobbing.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;It is because they love God.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Ah, so the parson says.&nbsp; Sir Watkin used to tell
+me the parson told lies.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;And you believed him?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Yes&mdash;I don&rsquo;t now.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;God is our Father, and He loves us all.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;What, me?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Yes, you.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;What, me, with all my wickedness?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Yes, you and I, with all our guilt and sin.&nbsp; His
+heart pants with tenderness for all.&nbsp; He has no pleasure in
+the death of the wicked, but that he should turn to Him and
+live.&nbsp; He sent Jesus Christ, His Son, to save us.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Do you believe that?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Yes, with all my heart.&nbsp; I should be wretched
+indeed if I did not.&nbsp; Daily my prayer is, &ldquo;God be
+merciful to me, a sinner.&rsquo;&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Ah, I like to hear you talk.&nbsp; I&rsquo;ve not <a
+name="page76"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 76</span>heerd such
+talk since I was a gal, and then I did not believe it.&nbsp; But
+it does me good now.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Yes, but I must not talk any longer, or you will be
+excited and get worse.&nbsp; Try and have a little sleep, and I
+will go home and pray for you.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Thanks, miss,&rsquo; said the woman gratefully;
+&lsquo;you&rsquo;ll come and see me to-morrow?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Yes, I will,&rsquo; said Rose, as she turned to go
+home.</p>
+<p>But that to-morrow never came.&nbsp; At midnight the summons
+came, and all that was left of &lsquo;our Sally&rsquo; was a
+silent form of clay.</p>
+<p>Some of us go out of the world one way and some another.</p>
+<p>Happy they who can exclaim, with Cicero, &lsquo;O preclarum
+diem,&rsquo; or with Paul, &lsquo;I know in whom I have
+believed;&rsquo; or with Job, &lsquo;Though worms destroy this
+body, yet in my flesh shall I see God.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>Unhappy those who with dim eye, as it restlessly sweeps the
+horizon of the future, can see no beacon to a haven of light, no
+<a name="page77"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 77</span>pole-star
+pointing to a land of eternal rest&mdash;</p>
+<blockquote><p>&lsquo;No God, no heaven, no earth in the void
+world&mdash;<br />
+The wide, gray, lawless, deep, unpeopled world.&rsquo;</p>
+</blockquote>
+<p>Rose rushed home as rapidly as the cab she hired could carry
+her.&nbsp; Wentworth was in.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;What am I to do?&rsquo; she said, as she told him the
+whole story.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Better send for the boy,&rsquo; he said.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Oh no, not yet.&nbsp; He is comfortable where he is,
+learning to be a sailor.&nbsp; He&rsquo;s fond of the sea, and it
+will be a pity to take him from it.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>The fact is, the young waif, as Rose thought him, was placed,
+at her expense, on board one of the training-ships lying off
+Greenhithe.&nbsp; They are noble institutions, these
+training-ships&mdash;saving lads who, if left to themselves,
+might become tempted by circumstances or bad companions into
+crime, and at the same time supplying us with what we English
+emphatically require at the present day&mdash;English sailors on
+<a name="page78"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 78</span>whom
+captains can rely on board our merchant ships and
+men-of-war.&nbsp; There was no difficulty in getting the
+actress&rsquo;s <i>prot&eacute;g&eacute;</i> there, and there he
+was rapidly training into a good sailor and a fine fellow,
+well-built, obedient to his superiors, handy, and hardy, and
+sturdy, morally and physically, as all sailors should be.</p>
+<p>The next thing was to talk to a lawyer.&nbsp; In this wicked
+world lawyers are necessary evils.&nbsp; Sometimes, however, they
+do a great deal of good.&nbsp; The lawyer recommended Wentworth
+to call on the family lawyer of the deceased Baronet.&nbsp; He
+came back looking unhappy and uncomfortable, as people often do
+when they have interviews with lawyers who are supposed to be on
+the other side.&nbsp; He found him in comfortable quarters on a
+first floor in Bedford Row, Holborn, looking the very image of
+respectability&mdash;bald, and in black, with an appearance
+partly suggestive of the fine old clergyman of the port-wine
+school, with a touch of the thorough man of the world; a lawyer,
+in <a name="page79"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 79</span>short,
+who would give an air of plausibility and rectitude to any cause
+in which he was embarked.</p>
+<p>To him Wentworth apologized for making an intrusion.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;No apology at all was needed, my dear sir.&nbsp; Happy
+to make your acquaintance.&nbsp; I have not only read your
+books&mdash;very clever, too, Mr. Wentworth&mdash;but I heard of
+you more than once through Sir Watkin Strahan.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Perhaps in no complimentary terms?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Well, you know the late Baronet was a man of strong
+passions, and, when annoyed, I must admit that his language was
+what we might call a little unparliamentary.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;It is about his business I have called.&nbsp; You are
+aware there is an heir?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Oh yes; Colonel Strahan, the brother.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;I don&rsquo;t mean him.&nbsp; A son.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;A son!&nbsp; Impossible.&nbsp; The deceased baronet had
+only one son, and the fine fellow&mdash;&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Is now alive.&rsquo;</p>
+<p><a name="page80"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
+80</span>&lsquo;Nonsense, my dear sir.&nbsp; He was buried in the
+family vault, after the doctor and the family were satisfied of
+his identity, and I was present at the funeral.&nbsp; There was a
+coroner&rsquo;s inquest held in order to leave no room for
+doubt.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;I think not,&rsquo; said Wentworth, as he proceeded to
+unfold the details of his case, to which the lawyer listened at
+first with a severely judicial air, and then with an incredulous
+smile.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Is that all you&rsquo;ve got to say?&rsquo; he asked,
+when Wentworth had finished his statement.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Pretty much so,&rsquo; replied Wentworth.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Then,&rsquo; replied the lawyer, with a triumphant air,
+&lsquo;we have little to fear.&nbsp; Sergeant
+B.&rsquo;&mdash;naming a popular advocate of the
+day&mdash;&lsquo;would laugh the case out of court in a quarter
+of an hour.&nbsp; You have a quarrel with the deceased.&nbsp;
+Your good lady has&mdash;to put it not too strongly&mdash;been
+insulted and shamefully ill-treated by him.&nbsp; Who would
+believe that, in promoting this suit&mdash;should you be so
+ill-advised as to do that&mdash;<a name="page81"></a><span
+class="pagenum">p. 81</span>you came into court with clean
+hands?&nbsp; The idea is perfectly preposterous.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>The worst of it was that Wentworth, as he withdrew, was
+compelled to own that there was not a little truth in what the
+lawyer had said.</p>
+<p>It was not law but equity that was required in his particular
+case.&nbsp; In England law and equity, alas! have often different
+meanings.</p>
+<h2><a name="page82"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
+82</span>CHAPTER XXVI.<br />
+<span class="GutSmall">THE ITALIAN COUNTESS.</span></h2>
+<p>&lsquo;How lovely!&rsquo; said a lady to a gentleman on the
+deck by her side, as they were drinking in all the beauty of the
+scene as one of the fine ships of the Orient Company dropped her
+anchor in the Bay of Naples.&nbsp; &lsquo;And look what a swarm
+of boats have come out to greet us!&rsquo;</p>
+<p>They were a swarm indeed, some of them with divers to exhibit
+their prowess, some with fruit and flowers, some with the lava
+ornaments in the manufacture of which the Neapolitans exhibit
+such exquisite skill, and others with musicians&mdash;vocal and
+instrumental&mdash;keeping up for the time quite a
+serenade.&nbsp; These Neapolitans gain but little, it is to be
+feared, on such occasions, but the <a name="page83"></a><span
+class="pagenum">p. 83</span>Neapolitans are a frugal people, and
+make a little go a long way.</p>
+<p>The lady was Rose, the gentleman by her side was her
+husband.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Yes; and see, one of the boats has a young girl who has
+come on deck with flowers, which she is fastening in the
+gentlemen&rsquo;s coats in hope of a small fee.&nbsp; How pretty
+she looks!&rsquo;</p>
+<p>The girl approached Rose, to whom she offered a flower.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Why, it speaks the language of hope,&rsquo; said
+Rose.&nbsp; &lsquo;I take it as a good omen that here we shall
+find the Italian lady of whom we have come in search.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Let us hope that it may be so.&nbsp; We have no time to
+lose if we mean to go on shore.&nbsp; The health officer has done
+his duty, and given leave for the captain to land his
+passengers.&nbsp; Let us hasten to get on board the steam
+launch.&nbsp; I see already they have got our luggage.&nbsp;
+Fortunately for me there is not much of it.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>And in a few minutes they were at the custom-house.&nbsp; The
+only difficulty was a <a name="page84"></a><span
+class="pagenum">p. 84</span>small box of cigars, on which
+Wentworth had to pay a most exorbitant duty.</p>
+<p>At the end of the quay they found a crowd of coachmen waiting
+for hire, shouting and gesticulating in the wildest manner.&nbsp;
+Rose was quite frightened at their appearance, and with the noise
+they made.&nbsp; However, they found one who did not charge more
+than double the ordinary fare to drive them to the hotel.&nbsp;
+As they drove along they encountered, of course, some of the
+awful drain smells for which the city has long been famous.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;I don&rsquo;t wonder, now,&rsquo; said Rose, as they
+pulled up before a grand hotel, &lsquo;at the saying, &ldquo;See
+Naples and die.&rdquo;&nbsp; How can people live where such
+smells are met with everywhere?&nbsp; But if that Italian
+Countess is alive we may find her.&nbsp; Perhaps she can help us
+to establish our boy&rsquo;s claim.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>That same morning an Italian Countess came home from her daily
+drive in a great state of trepidation.&nbsp; She had seen an
+English face that she remembered but too well&mdash;it was that
+of Miss Howard, the celebrated <a name="page85"></a><span
+class="pagenum">p. 85</span>actress.&nbsp; She had ordered the
+coachman to keep the lady in sight; but that was impossible, the
+crowd was too great, and she returned home not a little
+agitated.&nbsp; Was it fancy or fact? was a question she could
+not determine.</p>
+<p>What could she do?&nbsp; Well, she drove off to the English
+Consul next day.&nbsp; Perhaps he could tell her.&nbsp; Alas, he
+was in utter ignorance of the matter.</p>
+<p>There were the hotels; she would drive to them and make
+inquiries.&nbsp; There were only a few of them, as a rule,
+patronized by the English.&nbsp; It would be easy to make
+inquiries.&nbsp; She did so, but she could hear of no Miss Howard
+at any of them.&nbsp; All day long she was driving up and down
+the principal streets, but in vain.&nbsp; There is not much to
+see in Naples itself, it is the country round that is the
+attraction, and Rose and her husband were out all day long
+studying the remains of Pompeii, climbing up Mount Vesuvius,
+sailing to Sorrento or Capri, exploring the ruins of Bai&aelig;,
+and the grave of Virgil.&nbsp; There was much to see, <a
+name="page86"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 86</span>and they had
+no intention to let the grass grow under their feet.&nbsp; Daily
+they returned at a late hour to their hotel, charmed but wearied;
+and thus they had but little time to spend in the streets,
+looking at the shops, or studying the manners and customs of the
+people.</p>
+<p>The Countess pondered over the matter deeply.&nbsp; She lived
+a retired life herself; she had few friends; her establishment
+was on a very moderate scale.&nbsp; There were those who said she
+was not a Countess, that her title was merely an assumed
+one.&nbsp; This was unfair, as most of the ladies one meets in
+Naples are Countesses, and the presumption therefore was in
+favour of her ladyship&rsquo;s claims.&nbsp; Countess or no
+Countess, she was in a very troubled state.&nbsp; She had seen a
+face that reminded her of old times in London&mdash;of her
+intrigue with Sir Watkin Strahan&mdash;of her worming herself
+into the confidence of his lady&mdash;of her participation in the
+abduction of the heir&mdash;in fact, of her revenge; and she
+sighed as she thought how little good she had gained by it.&nbsp;
+Her <a name="page87"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
+87</span>ladyship&rsquo;s maid was alarmed.&nbsp; What had come
+to the Countess it was beyond her power to imagine.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Have you anything on your mind?&rsquo; said her old
+Italian priest as he sat in the first-floor of one of the villas
+that looked over Naples on to its lovely bay and the sea beyond,
+whilst Vesuvius on the left was indicating, in its usual way,
+that it was suffering a good deal in its inside.&nbsp; The old
+priest lunched with her ladyship every day.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Anything on my mind?&rsquo; said the lady.&nbsp;
+&lsquo;Oh, dear father, no.&nbsp; Why talk to me in this way this
+bright afternoon, when all nature seems so bright and gay?&nbsp;
+Ah, it is a beautiful world when one is young&mdash;the terraces,
+the gardens, the flowers, the blue sea, the old castle beneath,
+the streets with the jewellers&rsquo; shops, the fine churches
+with their sacred services and sacred paintings.&nbsp; How I love
+them all!&nbsp; I could not live away from La Belle Naples.&nbsp;
+Oh, that I could stay here for ever!&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;That were a foolish wish, daughter,&rsquo; said the
+holy man.&nbsp; &lsquo;Naples is very fine <a
+name="page88"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 88</span>and its bay
+is beautiful, but you have something better to look at.&nbsp;
+See, the crucifix!&nbsp; Behold Who bleeds and suffers
+there&mdash;Who founded the Catholic Church of which I am a
+humble member, and in whose name I speak.&nbsp; At one time, if I
+may believe what I hear, you were not quite so fond of Naples as
+you seem to be now.&nbsp; I have heard that you went to the land
+of the heretics&mdash;that Island of England which has so long
+denied the faith, but which I am glad to find is abandoning its
+heresy, repenting of its sin, and returning to the Holy
+See.&nbsp; When we see the sister of an English Prime Minister
+find salvation in the bosom of the Holy Church, when our sacred
+officials are run after in all the highest circles, when they
+astonish all London by their works of charity and labours of
+love, by their eloquence and learning and saintly lives; when
+these Islanders, insolent and haughty as they are to one another,
+crowd as they do to Rome, and prostrate themselves at
+Rome&rsquo;s feet as they do, we know that the end is
+near&mdash;that the time of the triumph <a
+name="page89"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 89</span>of the one
+Catholic and Universal Church, to whom St. Peter committed the
+care of the keys, is at hand.&nbsp; Pray that that blessed time
+may soon arrive.&nbsp; I have been to St. Paul&rsquo;s&mdash;I
+know Westminster Abbey&mdash;it would rejoice my heart to hear
+that once more there was performed in them the Holy Service of
+the Mass.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Holy father, that is my daily prayer.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;I am glad to hear you say so.&nbsp; But tell me, when
+you were among the heretics were you always a daughter of the
+Church?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Always, holy father.&nbsp; I fulfilled my
+mission&mdash;you know what that was.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;I have heard something of it.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;I should think so,&rsquo; replied the lady with a
+smile.&nbsp; &lsquo;I had money, and I drew around me its
+worshippers.&nbsp; I was of an old Italian family, and stood well
+in the upper London circles.&nbsp; I had beauty&mdash;smile not,
+holy father, though you see me old and yellow and
+wrinkled&mdash;and beauty, as you know, never spreads its net in
+vain.&nbsp; I believe, also, I had wit, and wit goes far in that
+<a name="page90"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 90</span>land of
+fogs and foxhunters, of prudish women and milksops, of cant and
+humbug.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Ah,&rsquo; said the monk, with a smile of approbation,
+&lsquo;you seem not to have liked those English&mdash;those
+heretics&mdash;those lunatic sightseers who, as they never can be
+happy at home, come to us to forget their sorrows, and who fancy
+that by doing so they are amusing themselves.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Truly no, holy father.&nbsp; How could I?&nbsp; They do
+not even worship the Virgin Mary!&rsquo;</p>
+<p>The holy father shook his head and sighed.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;I think, daughter, you wished to have a chat with
+me.&nbsp; There was something on your mind.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Holy father, you are right; and as I cannot come to
+church to make confession I have sent for you.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Yes; in the name of the Holy Father, and armed with his
+authority, I may hear confession and grant, to the truly
+penitent, absolution.&nbsp; The Apostle Peter had that power, he
+received it from the great Head <a name="page91"></a><span
+class="pagenum">p. 91</span>of the Church; and our
+Popes&mdash;His true followers&mdash;have ever used that power
+for the cure of poor sinners, for the good of the Church, for the
+glory of His Blessed Name.&nbsp; We humble ministers hear private
+confessions.&nbsp; It is a sacred privilege, to be guarded
+jealously; but I know its value.&nbsp; I have seen how the weak
+and erring mortal who has confessed to his priest has had a heavy
+weight taken off his heart, has lost the cares and sorrows which
+were darkening and shortening his days, has gained joy and
+gladness as he thus realizes the Divine favour and feels certain
+that after the pangs of death are over we shall rescue him from
+the pains of purgatory, and he shall pass away to the mansions of
+the new Jerusalem, shall walk its golden streets, shall drink of
+its surpassing joys, shall join in its celestial harmonies, and
+take his stand with the great company of the elect gathered by
+the labours of the Holy Catholic Church out of every age and
+country under heaven.&nbsp; This is what we gain by means of the
+Mass, and yet the heretics scoff at the service and <a
+name="page92"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 92</span>audaciously
+assert&mdash;in this respect only following the arch-heretic,
+Luther&mdash;that the Mass is simply a means for getting money
+out of the pockets of the people.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;What awful blasphemy!&rsquo; said the lady with a
+shudder, at the same time making the sign of the cross.&nbsp;
+&lsquo;Glad indeed was I to leave that horrid country.&nbsp; It
+is full of Free Catholics.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Free Catholics!&rsquo; said the priest, in a tone of
+alarm.&nbsp; &lsquo;What can they be?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Alas, holy father! they are everywhere&mdash;in Paris,
+in Brussels, in London.&nbsp; They are only Catholics in form,
+but not in heart.&nbsp; In fact, they are no better than
+Protestants.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Not exactly&mdash;if they keep up the forms of the Holy
+Church they are better than Protestants,&rsquo; said the priest,
+&lsquo;who in denying the form deny the faith, as the holy
+Apostle says, and are worse than infidels.&nbsp; But, my
+daughter, time is wearing away.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Ah, truly, holy father, it is luncheon-time.&nbsp;
+Already I hear by the gong that it is served.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>The father knew the rules of the house, <a
+name="page93"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 93</span>and timed his
+visit accordingly.&nbsp; Soup, fowl, fish, with cut of roast
+lamb, a choice bottle of Italian wine&mdash;it won&rsquo;t bear
+transplanting, nor a sea voyage&mdash;a few grapes and green
+figs, with a cigarette and a demitasse of coffee, were not to be
+despised.&nbsp; He found alike his piety and his benevolence all
+the better for such a feast.&nbsp; The Countess kept a cook and a
+butler, and they were neither of them novices by any means.&nbsp;
+There has been good eating and drinking on the shores of the Bay
+of Naples, at any rate since the time of the Romans.&nbsp; Naples
+owes its fame, and probably its existence, to the superlative
+loveliness of its situation.&nbsp; As old Sam Rogers sang:</p>
+
+<blockquote><p>&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&lsquo;Not
+a grove,<br />
+Citron or pine or cedar: not a grot<br />
+Seaward, and mantled with the gadding vine,<br />
+But breathes enchantment;&rsquo;</p>
+</blockquote>
+<p>and thus it was that the <i>bon vivants</i> of the old world
+loved the favoured spot&mdash;that Bai&aelig; was the Brighton of
+the Romans.&nbsp; Between it and Puteoli rolled the Lucrine Lake,
+over which skimmed the small yachts <a name="page94"></a><span
+class="pagenum">p. 94</span>of fashionable visitors, while around
+were the oyster-beds for the luxurious tables of Rome.&nbsp; It
+was there Sergius Orata of blessed memory established the fine
+oyster-beds which have ever since been a model for all succeeding
+ages, and a name grateful in the ears of the epicure.</p>
+<p>The lady and her guest had coffee served up in an adjoining
+apartment.&nbsp; The lady lit up her cigarette, the gentleman did
+the same.&nbsp; It is wonderful how tobacco quickens the
+conversational powers.&nbsp; High-born dames, as well as Irish
+fish women, in this respect own the influence of the seductive
+weed.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Ah, father,&rsquo; said the Countess, &lsquo;you have
+known me long.&nbsp; I have confidence in you.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Yes; I have known madame long&mdash;friend of the good
+cause, a supporter of the true Church&mdash;liberal with her
+money and her time, strict in the observance of holy days.&nbsp;
+What would you, my daughter?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Ah, father,&rsquo; said the lady with a sigh; &lsquo;it
+was not always so&mdash;I have lived.&rsquo;</p>
+<p><a name="page95"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
+95</span>&lsquo;Yes; many of us who now pose as saints can say as
+much,&rsquo; said the holy father.&nbsp; &lsquo;What a blessed
+thing it is to be able to find out what is true life, what are
+true joys&mdash;the ecstasy of being lost in the Divine Being, of
+being waited on by angels, hasting to guide one the way to
+Paradise, of appealing to the sweet Virgin Mary, of having her as
+an intercessor night and day for our sins in the court of
+Heaven!&nbsp; Compared with these things, what are the pleasures
+of sense and sin&mdash;which are soon vanished, and always leave
+a sting behind?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Oh yes, father; I can feel and realize all this, but I
+am not happy.&nbsp; I am in great anxiety&mdash;I have a great
+weight on my mind.&nbsp; My medical man tells me to avoid
+excitement, that I suffer from disease of the heart, that any day
+I may have an attack which may be attended with fatal
+consequences.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Oh, dear madame, calm yourself.&nbsp; You look
+well&mdash;madame speaks and walks well.&nbsp; There is assuredly
+little serious to contemplate.&nbsp; These doctors, who are
+they?&mdash;<a name="page96"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
+96</span>ignorant quacks who, for their own selfish ends, make us
+believe that we are on the way to death when in reality we are in
+the enjoyment of health and strength.&nbsp; Remember how, in a
+cholera year, Death met the Devil as he was on his way to
+Vienna.&nbsp; &ldquo;I shall slay twenty thousand people,&rdquo;
+said Death.&nbsp; In a day or two they met again.&nbsp;
+&ldquo;Ah!&rdquo; said the Devil, &ldquo;only ten thousand died
+of cholera.&rdquo;&nbsp; &ldquo;Ah,&rdquo; said Death,
+&ldquo;that is true.&rdquo;&nbsp; &ldquo;How, then,&rdquo; asked
+the Devil, &ldquo;did you make up your number?&rdquo;&nbsp;
+&ldquo;Easy enough,&rdquo; was the reply; &ldquo;ten thousand
+were killed by the cholera and the other ten died of
+fright!&rdquo;&nbsp; Ah, these doctors, they do a lot of
+mischief!&nbsp; They are also, I fear, men of science&mdash;that
+is, men of no religion.&nbsp; It is dangerous for one&rsquo;s
+soul to have them about us.&nbsp; It is the priest, your
+ladyship, who is the true friend of all in sickness or adversity,
+or doubt or sorrow.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Oh, father, I believe you.&nbsp; And now to
+business.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;With all my heart.&rsquo;</p>
+<p><a name="page97"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
+97</span>&lsquo;There is no one who is likely to overhear
+us?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;None.&nbsp; The house is silent as the grave,&rsquo; of
+which it really reminded one with its funereal embellishments,
+its ghastly pictures of saints and martyrs&mdash;the work of old
+masters they said, horrible to look on&mdash;and crucifixes of
+every kind.&nbsp; In some parts of Italy this show is supposed to
+indicate the possession of true piety, and that, like charity,
+covers a multitude of sins.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Well, father, let me state a case in which I am
+interested.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;I am all attention.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;In the fair city of Florence there was a girl, fair in
+person, a fine figure, a sunny face, a gift of song.&nbsp; She
+was the child of pious parents in the neighbouring
+mountains.&nbsp; The father was an officer in the Pope&rsquo;s
+army.&nbsp; When all Europe dashed its armies, not in vain,
+against the holy rock of St. Peter&rsquo;s, the father died as a
+brave man should.&nbsp; The mother lived on on her small estate
+on the mountains.&nbsp; The <a name="page98"></a><span
+class="pagenum">p. 98</span>girl loved the city, and the museums,
+and the gardens, and the picture galleries.&nbsp; She would not
+go back to the solitude of her country home; in fact, she ran
+away, and one morning she met an English milor.&nbsp; He was
+rich, he was handsome, he was well-born; he told her he loved her
+to distraction&mdash;she would always be happy with him.&nbsp; In
+a foolish hour the silly girl went on board milor&rsquo;s yacht,
+that was lying in the bay&mdash;just as the yachts of milors lie
+there to-day.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Ah! that was bad,&rsquo; said the priest.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Yes, it was indeed, holy father,&rsquo; continued the
+lady.&nbsp; &lsquo;The girl remained there; she believed in the
+milor; she learnt his language; she amused his idle hours.&nbsp;
+He did not know his own mind; she did not know hers, and both
+thought they were happy.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;It was bad,&rsquo; said the priest.&nbsp; &lsquo;Evil
+came of it.&nbsp; You need tell me no more.&nbsp; Evil always
+comes of such liaisons.&nbsp; Where the Church does not bless,
+the great enemy of souls, like a roaring lion, comes
+in.&rsquo;</p>
+<p><a name="page99"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
+99</span>&lsquo;But there is a good deal more to be
+told.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Proceed, madam, I am all attention.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;The milor was lost sight of.&nbsp; The lady appears in
+London.&nbsp; Socially, she had kept her reputation untouched;
+she assumed an Italian title of nobility.&nbsp; There are only
+too many in London, especially among rich parvenues, who throw
+open their doors to anyone with a foreign title, whether real or
+assumed.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;So I have heard, madam.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;The Italian lady in this way made many acquaintances
+and some friendships.&nbsp; Amongst the latter was a lady in weak
+health, and in great trouble of body and mind.&nbsp; The Italian
+lady was interested in her; she seemed so sad and
+sorrowful&mdash;almost as sad and sorrowful as herself.&nbsp; The
+lady had many confidences to make.&nbsp; She was the wife of the
+rich milor; she was about to present him with a child&mdash;a son
+and heir it was to be hoped.&nbsp; She dreaded the event, she was
+so weak and sad.&rsquo;</p>
+<p><a name="page100"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
+100</span>&lsquo;&ldquo;What will you?&rdquo; said the Italian
+lady to the English one.&nbsp; &ldquo;That you come and stay with
+me&mdash;that you be my companion and friend.&nbsp; Everything
+shall be placed in your hands.&rdquo;&nbsp; The Italian lady was
+delighted.&nbsp; In the first place it would give her an
+opportunity to meet her English milor again; perhaps to regain
+her old authority over him.&nbsp; Alas! she was
+mistaken.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;And it was quite as well, too,&rsquo; said the
+priest.&nbsp; &lsquo;Her better part was that of a penitent; it
+was only thus the ministers of the Church could absolve her of
+her sin.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Milor had lost all interest in the Italian woman who
+had given up to him her youth, her love, her innocence, and her
+life.&nbsp; Milor felt no pleasure at once more recognising her
+as established in his grand house in town as the friend and
+companion of his wife.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Was this madame, this Italian Countess, this friend of
+yours, very much distressed, was she broken-hearted?&rsquo; asked
+the priest with a quiet smile.</p>
+<p><a name="page101"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
+101</span>&lsquo;Not exactly.&nbsp; Her idea was to take a grand
+revenge.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Ah! that is more the way of Italians.&nbsp; But what
+was that revenge?&nbsp; Did she stab the milor? did she poison
+his wife?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Neither the one nor the other.&nbsp; As one of the
+household&mdash;as its mistress as it were for the time
+being&mdash;she saw how she could revenge herself in a better
+way.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Revenge!&nbsp; Ah, that is sinful, I fear,&rsquo; said
+the priest.&nbsp; &lsquo;&ldquo;Vengeance is mine, saith the
+Lord.&rdquo;&nbsp; Hear David, &ldquo;O Lord, to whom vengeance
+belongeth, show Thyself.&rdquo;&nbsp; Ah, it may be sweet for a
+time,&rsquo; said the priest, as he shook his head.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Holy father,&rsquo; replied the lady, &lsquo;you are
+right, as you always are.&nbsp; We women have not men&rsquo;s
+heads, we have only hearts, and those hearts often fill us with
+bad passions.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;I fear that is too true,&rsquo; said the priest.&nbsp;
+&lsquo;But pray proceed with your narrative.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Well, her plans were artfully laid.&nbsp; The servants
+were her creatures.&nbsp; The medical man was her dupe.&nbsp; She
+had sole command of the mansion.&nbsp; The poor dying wife had <a
+name="page102"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 102</span>begged her
+to take the trouble off her hands.&nbsp; Milor fancied she was
+his slave; he in reality was her dupe.&nbsp; She made him believe
+that his child was dead.&nbsp; She did more, she paid some women
+to take care of a child which she pretended, with strict
+injunctions to secrecy, was the heir.&nbsp; Gold did it
+all.&nbsp; At that time the lady had plenty of gold.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Which might have been better spent in the service of
+the Holy Catholic Church, which needs the treasures of the
+faithful, and gives them interest for the money, which will yield
+rich fruit through the countless ages of eternity.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Ah, my friend did not think of such things.&nbsp; She
+was in the world and of it.&nbsp; There, in that island of
+heretics, she had given up her religious observances, and had
+almost lost her religious faith.&nbsp; Oh, how much better it is
+for the woman to stop in the land where the poetry of youth
+ripens and matures, till in her old age she has all the ardour
+and the blessedness of a devotee.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;You speak truly and well,&rsquo; said the priest, with
+an approving smile; and though <a name="page103"></a><span
+class="pagenum">p. 103</span>he did not often smile, his smile,
+when it did appear on his marble face, was encouraging.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;My father,&rsquo; said the penitent, weeping, &lsquo;I
+can keep up the deception no longer&mdash;I speak of
+myself!&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;I thought as much,&rsquo; he replied.&nbsp; &lsquo;I am
+afraid you have done a great wrong.&nbsp; But what has become of
+the child?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;I know not; and the father is dead.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Oh,&rsquo; said the priest, &lsquo;you should have
+brought him to Italy and placed him in the school of the
+Monastery of St. Joseph.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Yes, holy father, I ought to have brought him up in the
+true faith.&nbsp; I hear his father is dead; I hear they believe
+there is no heir; I hear the brother and his family are now in
+possession of the estate.&nbsp; I know all about them.&nbsp; They
+are of the Low Church school which hates our faith, abuses its
+priests, and even the Holy Father&mdash;&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Hush!&rsquo; said the priest, &lsquo;do not sully your
+lips with the foolishness and wickedness of these poor
+Protestants.&nbsp; I have heard them talk their blasphemies in
+Naples, <a name="page104"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
+104</span>and even at Rome itself.&nbsp; It is the holy
+Inquisition that we need to put a stop to such vile
+calumnies.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;I had my revenge; but I know not what became of the
+boy.&nbsp; If we could gain his rights we could make a Catholic
+of him.&nbsp; I am no longer a penitent, holy father.&nbsp; I
+feel as if I had been a mighty instrument in paving the way for
+the return of the true religion to that unhappy land.&nbsp;
+Here,&rsquo; placing in the priest&rsquo;s hand a handsome
+casket, &lsquo;are the documents which will establish his
+claim.&nbsp; You go to London.&nbsp; You will see the lawyer of
+the family; he cannot deny the claim.&nbsp; Oh, I feel so
+joyful!&nbsp; I&rsquo;ve gained my revenge! and is it not a
+sanctified one, as it is for the good of the Church?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Daughter,&rsquo; said the priest, &lsquo;I would fain
+say in the language of the Holy Book, &ldquo;Many daughters have
+done well, but thou hast surpassed them all.&rdquo;&nbsp; Still,
+it seems to me so marvellous, I can scarcely understand
+it.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;The mystery is being cleared up.&nbsp; I saw <a
+name="page105"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 105</span>an English
+actress in the street yesterday, who I believe can help us in the
+matter.&nbsp; But in the meanwhile let us see these
+documents.&nbsp; We shall have done a great work for the Church
+if we can take these documents, find the child, establish his
+claims in a court of law, and secure him as a true son of the
+Church.&nbsp; Ah, that will be grand!&rsquo; said the Countess
+joyfully.&nbsp; &lsquo;I gain a son for the Church.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Heaven will reward you, daughter,&rsquo; said the
+priest; &lsquo;but hasten and fetch the casket.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>The Countess left the room to find it.&nbsp; In a little while
+she returned with it in her hands.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;There it is,&rsquo; said she, as she handed it to the
+priest.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;What a lovely casket!&rsquo; said the priest.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Ah, one thinks of what it contains,&rsquo; said the
+lady; &lsquo;a title&mdash;an estate&mdash;a life, which will all
+be handed over to the Church.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>With a trembling hand the priest opened it; the Countess in an
+equally excited state looking on.</p>
+<p>In the casket was an official-looking wrapper.</p>
+<p><a name="page106"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
+106</span>&lsquo;It is all right,&rsquo; said the Countess;
+&lsquo;break the seal and master its contents.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;All in good time,&rsquo; said the priest.&nbsp;
+&lsquo;Don&rsquo;t agitate yourself; be calm.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;I am,&rsquo; said the Countess; &lsquo;but delay
+not.&nbsp; Secure the prize; the hour has come.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>Suddenly the priest turned red and white.&nbsp; &lsquo;In the
+name of the Holy Father,&rsquo; he said, &lsquo;what have we
+here?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Why, documents of the highest importance.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Nothing of the kind,&rsquo; exclaimed the priest in a
+rage.&nbsp; &lsquo;Nothing but an old English newspaper,&rsquo;
+as he threw it on the ground, with something that sounded like a
+rather expressive Italian oath.</p>
+<p>The lady shrieked and nearly fainted away, only she thought
+better of it.&nbsp; The situation, it occurred to her, would be
+neither interesting nor picturesque.&nbsp; Alas! she had no help
+for it.&nbsp; That English maid-servant, of whom she fancied she
+had made a dupe, was more than a match for her after all, and had
+tampered with the documents <a name="page107"></a><span
+class="pagenum">p. 107</span>she had carefully sealed and
+religiously guarded these many years.</p>
+<p>All she could do was weep, and weep she did, till she nearly
+wept herself to death, failing of her long-treasured scheme of
+revenge.&nbsp; Of her servant she had lost all trace.&nbsp; To
+find her was out of the question; her only hope was in Miss
+Howard.</p>
+<p>But they never met.&nbsp; The Countess and the priest could do
+nothing; and Rose and her husband soon tired of the fruitless
+search and returned, to remember in after years the delights of
+the Bay of Naples&mdash;&lsquo;the most beautiful spot in the
+world,&rsquo; writes George Eliot.&nbsp; Everything takes us back
+to the past.&nbsp; It was in the bay that pious &AElig;neas
+landed.&nbsp; Caligula, and Nero, and Tiberius, all loved the
+spot.&nbsp; The grotto of the Sybil was near, too; the tomb of
+Virgil is yet shown in that neighbourhood.&nbsp; Capua, famed for
+its luxury and ease, was not far off.&nbsp; No wonder the world
+flocks to the Bay of Naples.&nbsp; I stay at the Hotel de Vesuve,
+kept by Mr. Mella, well-known to English members of the Coaching
+Club, <a name="page108"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
+108</span>and where I find excellent accommodation.&nbsp; And he
+tells me 80,000 visitors pass through his hotel in the course of
+a year.&nbsp; It is a classical education to stop in Naples for a
+while.&nbsp; I love it best in the summer, when you can revel on
+green figs, and apricots, and peaches, and oranges for a
+song.&nbsp; In the winter there are fogs and snow at times.&nbsp;
+But there is this drawback in the summer, and that is its intense
+heat, which drives everyone away.&nbsp; From the deck of the
+steamer the view is charming, as Naples with its terraces, and
+castles, and hills rises before you; and at night, when all is
+still, and the gas-lamps glitter all round the bay for miles, it
+looks like fairyland.</p>
+<p>In Naples itself there is little to see, with the exception of
+the museum, which, when Garibaldi was Dictator, was thrown open
+to the public, and in which some, or rather all, the most
+precious works of art discovered in Pompeii are preserved.&nbsp;
+It is not enough to go to Pompeii&mdash;you must visit the museum
+in Naples as well.&nbsp; But the brasses and the marbles in the
+museum are <a name="page109"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
+109</span>especially fine, such as the Farnese Bull, and the
+Farnese Hercules, and the Roman Emperors.&nbsp; In the churches
+there is little to see, and nothing to admire.&nbsp; There are
+showy shops in the Toledo, and at the end, as you enter, an
+arcade as handsome as is to be found anywhere in Europe.&nbsp;
+There are good public gardens where you may hear excellent music
+on a summer night, and no city has better tramcars, and more
+civil drivers and conductors.&nbsp; I have no fault to find with
+the cabs, except that their drivers never leave you alone, and
+lie in wait for you at your going out and coming in.&nbsp; It is
+in its crowded and bustling streets that the charm of Naples
+consists.&nbsp; Surely there never was a people who lived so much
+in the open air, and drank so much water flavoured with
+lemon.&nbsp; The Neapolitans are a sober people, and industrious
+as well.&nbsp; They are fearfully taxed, and, with their scanty
+wages, how they manage to make both ends meet is a mystery.&nbsp;
+They are much given to sleep in the summertime anywhere, on the
+broad street or the <a name="page110"></a><span
+class="pagenum">p. 110</span>sea-wall; and of a Sunday afternoon
+they are much given to crowd into some rickety old cart, and tear
+along as fast and far as the horse can go.</p>
+<p>There is very little beauty among the common people, and you
+have plenty of scope for observation, as women dress their back
+hair in the broad streets, and the babies are washed in the same
+public manner.&nbsp; Nor can you wonder that this is so, as you
+contemplate the dingy streets and high houses, divided by narrow
+lanes, just like Yarmouth Rows, where no fresh air can enter, no
+ray of sunlight can shine.&nbsp; What strikes a stranger
+especially is the awful noise.&nbsp; There is an everlasting
+clatter of wheels and cracking of whips, and braying of
+donkeys&mdash;and in Naples they bray louder than anywhere else;
+and how the hawkers shout! and they are numerous, and seem to
+supply everyone.&nbsp; It is amusing to see them transacting
+business.&nbsp; The customer is high up in the balcony, suspended
+in mid air.&nbsp; She needs a bit of fish, and she lets down a
+basket to the hawker <a name="page111"></a><span
+class="pagenum">p. 111</span>below.&nbsp; That gives rise to a
+good deal of talk, as the Neapolitans are a much-gesticulating
+people.&nbsp; If a bargain is struck, the basket is hauled up
+with the fish inside.</p>
+<p>An old French writer complained of the English people that
+they were very ignorant, as they never spoke French.&nbsp; In a
+similar spirit the ignorance of the Neapolitans struck me.&nbsp;
+None of them could speak a word of English.</p>
+<p>There are others who call it the City of Flowers.&nbsp; This
+is nothing but a mistake.&nbsp; But the cactus grows everywhere,
+and thus, wherever you go&mdash;on the rail, or by the villa, or
+the flat-roomed cabin where the poor peasant lives&mdash;you have
+a good display of green; and in the public gardens the palm-tree
+grows luxuriantly, and you are reminded of the tropics at every
+step; and thus the hot hours glide peacefully on, while the
+retailers of lemon and water do a roaring trade, and the ragged
+who have no money curl themselves in the dark arches, met with at
+every corner, and sleep the <a name="page112"></a><span
+class="pagenum">p. 112</span>sleep of the just.&nbsp; All Naples
+is asleep in the middle of the day, and even the policeman
+nods.&nbsp; Happily he has little to do, as, ignorant and
+priest-ridden as the people may be, they never get drunk.&nbsp;
+At night the city is gay, as families, old and young, rush off to
+the music-hall, or to hear the bands play, or to navigate the
+peaceful waters by the light of Chinese lanterns.&nbsp; I suppose
+they fancy they cool themselves.&nbsp; The fact is, Naples is
+always hot in summer.&nbsp; All day long the burning sun bakes up
+the streets and the shops, and the old bits of rocks, all built
+over; and the heat seems to me to radiate from them all night
+long.&nbsp; If it were not for the tramcars, which are numerous
+and cheap, and the conductors of which are uncommonly civil and
+well-behaved, locomotion would be impossible.&nbsp; There are no
+flags more trying than those of Naples, and as the cabs drive all
+over the road you are never safe.&nbsp; People who are deaf, who
+are old and infirm, are in constant danger, in spite of the
+thundering crack of the cabman&rsquo;s whip, or the ear-splitting
+note <a name="page113"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 113</span>of
+the conductor&rsquo;s horn.&nbsp; Motion seems to begin about
+five, and still the tumult rages as I retire to rest.</p>
+<p>After all, the chief fault I find with the people is the way
+they work their horses and donkeys.&nbsp; The latter, at any
+rate, have a hard time of it, as they drag the heavy load on a
+cart of two long poles with beams laid across of the most
+primitive order.&nbsp; I fancy the old country cart remains as it
+was in the time of the Romans.&nbsp; Sometimes a horse or mule or
+bullock is harnessed on one side; but the patient ass, who does
+the chief of the work, no one seems to pity.</p>
+<p>On a hot day it also stirs my indignation to see a horse
+dragging a cart with fourteen or fifteen strapping men inside,
+and on a Sunday everyone seems to drive, and as fast as he
+can.&nbsp; The swell and the costermonger all tear along at a
+frightful pace, and thus secure&mdash;what in England some good
+people are trying to insure&mdash;a pleasant Sunday
+afternoon.</p>
+<h2><a name="page114"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
+114</span>CHAPTER XXVII.<br />
+<span class="GutSmall">IN BRUSSELS.</span></h2>
+<p>&lsquo;Of course, this is a plant, my dear.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Really, Colonel,&rsquo; said the lady addressed,
+&lsquo;I wish you would not use such improper language; children
+so easily pick up slang.&nbsp; You ought to be very
+careful.&nbsp; It is too bad, just as we are about to move to
+England, where you will take your rightful place in county
+society as head of our ancient family.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;You&rsquo;re right there,&rsquo; said the Colonel to
+his lady in a laughing tone; &lsquo;you&rsquo;re right there, I
+believe.&nbsp; We are one of the oldest families in the
+country.&nbsp; It was one of them who was with Noah in the
+ark.&nbsp; You recollect the old epitaph&mdash;</p>
+<blockquote><p><a name="page115"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
+115</span>&lsquo;&ldquo;Nobles and heralds, by your leave,<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp; Here lies what once was Matthew Prior,<br />
+The son of Adam and of Eve,<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp; Can Bourbon or Nassau go higher?&rdquo;&rsquo;</p>
+</blockquote>
+<p>&lsquo;Colonel,&rsquo; said the lady, &lsquo;I am ashamed of
+you.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;What for, dearest?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;For quoting such a worldly poet.&nbsp; We were not
+allowed to read him in school.&nbsp; I am sure many of his poems
+are highly improper.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Oh, then you&rsquo;ve looked into him, have
+you?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Certainly not,&rsquo; said the lady, with an affected
+shake of her head.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Then how can you condemn him?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Easily enough.&nbsp; He was of the world.&nbsp; His was
+an unsanctified genius.&nbsp; He had no part or lot in the one
+thing needful.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;At any rate,&rsquo; replied the Colonel,
+&lsquo;he&rsquo;s buried in Westminster Abbey.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;The more&rsquo;s the pity.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;And he was the friend of the clergy.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Yes, of the carnal and unregenerate.&nbsp; There are
+too many of such, alas, in the <a name="page116"></a><span
+class="pagenum">p. 116</span>Church of England&mdash;wolves in
+sheep&rsquo;s clothing.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>The lady was an Evangelical of the bitterest type.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Well, dear, we won&rsquo;t discuss the question,&rsquo;
+said the Colonel meekly.&nbsp; &lsquo;What am I to reply to this
+letter?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;What, the letter from London, from Mr. Wentworth?&nbsp;
+Short and sharp.&nbsp; Say the idea is perfectly
+ridiculous.&nbsp; We can hear of no compromise.&nbsp; It is quite
+out of the question for us to give up our rights just as
+Providence has opened to us a means of extended usefulness.&nbsp;
+Mr. Wentworth is only a newspaper writer, a man of no position in
+society, and I am told his wife was actually an
+actress.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Yes, I believe so,&rsquo; said the Colonel.&nbsp; This
+was enough.&nbsp; The Colonel&rsquo;s lady was one of the
+elect&mdash;a model in a certain section of society of holy
+living.&nbsp; Yet, under a sanctified exterior, she was as hard,
+and bitter, and selfish, and uncharitable as it was possible for
+any woman to be, and the beauty of it was, that she thought
+herself, <a name="page117"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
+117</span>and was considered by her friends, to be in a state of
+exalted spiritualism, living in close communion with God.</p>
+<p>Such people are by no means uncommon, the creatures of a
+self-deception of a most odious kind.&nbsp; Their language is
+full of Scripture phraseology; they delight in pious hymns; all
+their reading is confined to pious biographies, especially
+religious diaries, the morbid revelations of which record at
+nauseous length their diseased state of mind, which they assume
+to be the direct results of a Divine inspiration and tokens of a
+Divine love.&nbsp; When they are in distress, it is not the
+natural result of the circumstances in which they are placed, or
+the conditions of ordinary life, but the Divine will and
+purpose.&nbsp; If they neglect the laws of health, and are ill in
+consequence, it is the Lord&rsquo;s doing.&nbsp; If they lose
+their money owing to imprudence in trusting it in rotten
+companies, it is the Lord&rsquo;s doing.&nbsp; If trade is bad
+and creature comforts fail, or they live beyond their means and
+are in embarrassed circumstances, it is the Lord&rsquo;s <a
+name="page118"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 118</span>doing, to
+wean them from the world and its sinful vanities, and to lead
+them back to Himself.</p>
+<p>There are no mysteries to them; all is clear, and their
+knowledge of the Divine way is only equalled by their thorough
+acquaintance with those of His great adversary the devil.&nbsp;
+In them, peace of mind is the result of this knowledge.&nbsp; To
+the carnal mind their self-sufficiency and self-satisfaction is
+amusing.&nbsp; It is almost beautiful, the smile with which they
+listen to one another, and the calm contempt with which they
+regard everyone not of their way of thinking.&nbsp; By the side
+of them an iceberg is genial, and their power is as great as
+their faith.&nbsp; All the artillery of heaven is in their
+hands.&nbsp; Peace is theirs, but it is truly a peace that
+passeth all understanding; they are not as other men are.&nbsp;
+To the outer world their cry is, &lsquo;Procul este,
+profani!&rsquo;</p>
+<p>But let us return to the Colonel&rsquo;s lady.</p>
+<p>She continues:</p>
+<p>&lsquo;We are not wealthy, you see,&rsquo; she was <a
+name="page119"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 119</span>wont to say
+to the kind-hearted Belgian ladies, when they called on her for a
+subscription.&nbsp; &lsquo;We are, I may say, living quite up to
+our income, and we have got our duty to do to the family, and the
+Colonel keeps the money-bags so tight that I can never get a
+franc.&nbsp; But what I can do I do, and, after all, it matters
+little&mdash;the contemptible dross of the world&mdash;if I can
+give to the needy the riches, that never fade nor pass away, of
+the Divine Word.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>And thus the lady excused to herself, as so many of us do, her
+lack of true charity.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Well,&rsquo; said the Colonel, &lsquo;what shall I say
+to this Wentworth?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Take no notice of him.&nbsp; Refer him to your lawyer
+in London.&nbsp; The path of duty is very clear.&nbsp; We find
+ourselves, by a merciful interposition of Providence, restored to
+our rightful position in society.&nbsp; You to take your place as
+the head of one of the old county families, I to still labour for
+my blessed Master in a sphere of increased usefulness.&nbsp; You
+owe it to your family to at <a name="page120"></a><span
+class="pagenum">p. 120</span>once take possession of the title
+and estate, and not to have a moment&rsquo;s delay.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;But,&rsquo; said the Colonel, &lsquo;if there should be
+a grain of truth in this cock-and-bull story it might be
+awkward.&nbsp; I should like to have an inquiry made about this
+boy.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Pray, do nothing of the kind.&nbsp; You only open the
+way to fraud and imposition.&nbsp; Your late brother never
+treated us fairly.&nbsp; He was often positively rude to me, and
+his son&mdash;if this boy is such&mdash;has no claims on
+us.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Well,&rsquo; said the Colonel, &lsquo;I should not like
+to behave shabbily.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;What do you mean, Colonel?&rsquo; said the lady
+indignantly.&nbsp; &lsquo;I am not the one to recommend you to do
+that.&nbsp; The boy is no concern of ours.&nbsp; We take what the
+law gives us.&nbsp; It is a duty we owe to society to do
+that.&nbsp; I am aware,&rsquo; added the lady, &lsquo;that Sir
+Watkin had a son, that the infant was stolen, and that the dead
+body was placed in the family vault.&nbsp; Not all the lawyers in
+London, and they are bad enough, can upset that.&rsquo;</p>
+<p><a name="page121"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
+121</span>&lsquo;But suppose the wrong child was
+buried?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Fiddle-de-dee!&rsquo; said the lady.&nbsp; &lsquo;We
+know better than that.&nbsp; The estates are fairly ours, and we
+return to England as soon as we can to take our rights.&nbsp; Mr.
+Wentworth and his wife between them have concocted this
+villainous story, which no decent person would ever think of
+believing.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>Wentworth and his wife were quite aware of that; they believed
+in the boy, who was&mdash;to judge from the family
+portraits&mdash;a striking representation of the deceased Baronet
+at his time of life.&nbsp; But would the world believe it? that
+was the question to be asked.</p>
+<p>Poor Sally on her deathbed had no inducement to tell a
+lie.&nbsp; Unfortunately, she had kept her secret too long.&nbsp;
+She had hoped to have made a harvest of the boy, but death had
+come to her, and all her hopes had ended in the grave.&nbsp; As
+is often the case, she was too clever by half.</p>
+<p>Wentworth and his wife had an unpleasant time of it.&nbsp;
+Indeed, the family lawyer had <a name="page122"></a><span
+class="pagenum">p. 122</span>intimated in a genial mood that he
+might possibly feel it his painful duty to place them in the
+dock, on a charge of conspiracy to defraud&mdash;a situation for
+which neither of them had any fancy.&nbsp; Their best friends
+seemed to regard the story with suspicion.&nbsp; What jury would
+be convinced by the testimony of &lsquo;our Sally,&rsquo; whose
+head was generally fuddled with drink, and whom they could not
+even produce in court?&nbsp; It was true that the lad very much
+resembled the deceased Baronet.&nbsp; It was quite within
+probability that the latter was his father, but that did not
+legally make him the son and heir.&nbsp; It was felt that they
+had better talk over the matter with the lad himself, who was
+then an officer on board one of the floating hotels plying
+between Liverpool and New York.</p>
+<p>Accordingly, Rose undertook the task of interviewing him in
+one of those sumptuous hotels for which Liverpool is famed.&nbsp;
+The boy had never heard of Sir Watkin, nor were his recollections
+of the deceased Sally of a very decided character.&nbsp; He had,
+however, <a name="page123"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
+123</span>never believed that she was his mother, and from her
+mysterious hints when under the influence of drink he had come to
+the conclusion that he had been stolen, though when or why he
+could not make out.</p>
+<p>It is true there was an old woman at Sloville, a pal of
+Sally&rsquo;s, the one who had written to Rose, who had the
+identical dress which the baby wore when it was stolen, but it
+was felt that the production of the article in question in court
+would not much advance matters.&nbsp; She had not stolen the
+baby.&nbsp; She could only say that the deceased Sally had
+asserted she had, and had bidden her be quiet, as one day or
+other she would astonish everybody by the wonderful revelation
+she had it in her power to make.&nbsp; It was true that Sally had
+been suspected, and the more so that she was no more to be seen,
+having been clever enough to put the detectives on the wrong
+scent.</p>
+<p>It was hinted that an Italian lady had been mixed up in the
+matter.&nbsp; The world said there had been an intrigue between
+the Baronet and a fair Italian, and that thus <a
+name="page124"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 124</span>she had
+revenged herself for his throwing her overboard.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Actresses,&rsquo; continued the Colonel&rsquo;s lady,
+&lsquo;are not particular sort of people, and newspaper writers
+are not much better, I believe.&nbsp; I can&rsquo;t think how old
+county families can be civil to them.&nbsp; In my young days such
+an idea would have been scouted, and I must say then they knew
+their place.&nbsp; My papa helped the local printer to start a
+paper on condition that it was to support Church and State.&nbsp;
+Occasionally my papa had the man up in the Castle, and would sit
+down to a bottle of port with him, but he never took any notice
+of him elsewhere, nor ever introduced him to his family.&nbsp; I
+believe the man was a very respectable tradesman.&nbsp; He was
+regular in his attendance at church, and always stood by our
+family in election contests; but the modern literary man gives
+himself the most ridiculous airs, fancies he is a genius because
+he can scribble, and that he can wield the destinies of the
+nation because he is connected with some low paper.&nbsp; I hear
+he belongs to clubs, and goes into <a name="page125"></a><span
+class="pagenum">p. 125</span>society just as if he were a
+gentleman.&nbsp; Every time,&rsquo; added the lady piteously,
+&lsquo;every time that I take up an English newspaper, I see the
+country going to the bad, the people more intolerant of good
+government, the upper classes more careless as to the future,
+recklessly acting in accordance with the motto, &ldquo;Let us eat
+and drink, for to-morrow we die.&rdquo;&nbsp; The Sunday is
+desecrated by all classes, and the Lord will have no pity in the
+day of His wrath for Sabbath-breakers.&nbsp; The philosophers are
+in favour of Godless education, and now they tell me there are
+people who argue that Atheists have a right to sit in a Christian
+Parliament.&nbsp; Oh dear! the vials of God&rsquo;s wrath will
+soon be flung down upon that unhappy country.&nbsp; The signs of
+the times tell us that we have reached the beginning of the
+end.&nbsp; There will be weeping and wailing and gnashing of
+teeth, and the day of the Lord shall come.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>The gallant Colonel was accustomed to that sort of thing, and
+took it calmly.&nbsp; Whether he believed what his wife said I <a
+name="page126"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 126</span>don&rsquo;t
+know.&nbsp; He always acted as if he did; never contradicted her,
+as he had found that to be no use; attended her to church, sat
+out with well-bred polish the dreary minutes devoted to staring
+the domestics out of countenance called family prayers.&nbsp; He
+was always ready at his wife&rsquo;s bidding to attend
+Bible-readings for the select few, and when joked on the subject
+by his chums, if he had any at his club, never gave railing for
+railing, but took it as if it was a cross laid on him to
+bear.</p>
+<p>That he was a sincere believer no one, however, who caught him
+apart from the presiding influence of his wife believed for a
+moment.&nbsp; He swore too much for that, and occasionally he had
+been heard, when sentimental and under the influence of wine, to
+refer to Cremorne, to Evans&rsquo;s and the Cider Cellars, to the
+Closerie du Lilas, to the Mabille, and other places in London and
+Paris where wicked people, in old times, were wont to enjoy
+themselves after their kind.&nbsp; Beneath his frosted exterior
+there was a good deal of the old Adam yet.</p>
+<p><a name="page127"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 127</span>Once
+upon a time, according to William of Malmesbury, a merchant named
+Swelf had been in the habit of calling on the holy St. Wolstan
+once a year, to receive his advice in the healing of his
+spiritual ailments.&nbsp; After giving the needed absolution, the
+prelate observed:</p>
+<p>&lsquo;You often repeat the sins which you have confessed,
+because, as the proverb goes, opportunity makes the thief.&nbsp;
+Wherefore, I advise you to become a monk, which if you do, you
+will not long have the opportunity for these sins.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>Upon this, the other rejoined that he could not possibly
+become a monk, because he found it so difficult to bring his mind
+to it.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Go your ways,&rsquo; said the bishop, in somewhat of a
+passion: &lsquo;a monk you will become, whether you choose it or
+not, but only when the appliances and means of vice have waxen
+old in you;&rsquo; which fact, adds the historian, &lsquo;we
+afterwards witnessed, because when now broken down by old age, he
+betook himself to our monastery.&rsquo;</p>
+<p><a name="page128"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 128</span>It
+was the decay of nature rather than the growth of grace which
+made that man a monk.&nbsp; What we lack in old age is the power
+to sin.&nbsp; The body ceases to be the servant of the
+senses.&nbsp; We lead a better life possibly, from a conventional
+point of view, but is it not often terribly against the
+grain?&nbsp; A man gives up a dissipated career because his
+strength is not equal to its demands.&nbsp; His vitality has been
+prematurely exhausted.</p>
+<p>The conversation referred to took place in the breakfast-room
+of one of the attractive residences lining the route to the Bois
+du Cambre, which all my readers know is one of the fairest
+suburbs of Brussels, and of which, as most of them have gone
+there, I doubt not, to spend a happy day, I need say no
+more.&nbsp; The family did not reside there, but far away in the
+suburb, where rents and wages and provisions were alike
+cheap.&nbsp; The Colonel had gone abroad to educate his daughters
+more cheaply than he could in London, and the plan had so far
+succeeded that the young ladies had <a name="page129"></a><span
+class="pagenum">p. 129</span>managed to read a good many French
+novels, the perusal of which not a little interfered with the
+enjoyment of family prayers, Bible-reading, and religious
+conferences, to which they were invariably taken by their mamma,
+and other means of grace.&nbsp; The family funds had been rather
+restricted, and at Brussels the mamma had assured herself that
+there was an exceptionally attractive Evangelical ministry in the
+Church of England, under the special license of the Bishop of
+London, and that was enough for her, the Colonel merely
+considering he could vegetate more cheaply in Belgium than in
+London.&nbsp; But they were all quite ready to leave for England;
+the Colonel to strut as a baronet and landed proprietor, the
+young ladies with a view to the matrimonial market&mdash;for,
+alas! they had met with few eligibles in Brussels&mdash;and the
+mamma that she might carry on on a larger scale and with
+increased success the missionary operations of which she had been
+the centre in Brussels.&nbsp; If she had not done much good among
+the <a name="page130"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
+130</span>people, she had&mdash;and that was her one great
+reward&mdash;managed considerably to annoy the priests, who
+glared at her with evil eyes as they watched her sallying forth
+daily with her bag of tracts.&nbsp; Money it was hard to get out
+of the Colonel&rsquo;s lady, even in the most urgent cases; but
+no one was more ready with her tracts.</p>
+<h2><a name="page131"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
+131</span>CHAPTER XXVIII.<br />
+<span class="GutSmall">A COUNTRYMAN IN TOWN.</span></h2>
+<p>&lsquo;What has brought you to town?&rsquo; asked Wentworth
+one morning, as they were sitting in Clifford&rsquo;s Inn, to a
+visitor who had just put in an appearance.&nbsp; His garb denoted
+his profession.&nbsp; He was the Presbyterian minister who had
+acted as Wentworth&rsquo;s friend at the time of the
+election.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Well, I&rsquo;ve come on rather important
+business.&nbsp; There is an old woman in the workhouse who
+maintains that the deceased Baronet has left a son who is heir to
+the title and estate.&nbsp; And thus I came up to London; but I
+have been run off my legs.&nbsp; I give you my word of honour,
+you won&rsquo;t catch me in a hurry in London again.&rsquo;</p>
+<p><a name="page132"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
+132</span>&lsquo;How is that?&rsquo; asked Wentworth.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Well, the fact is, London is the last place in the
+world for anyone to visit.&nbsp; It is too big, too crowded, too
+noisy, too fatiguing, and at every step you are surrounded with
+danger.&nbsp; The omnibus and the cab ever threaten one with
+annihilation, and the pickpocket is always on the watch.&nbsp;
+The bicycle is a terror by night, as is the irrepressible
+youngster who converts every quiet corner into a
+skating-rink.&nbsp; As to the air you breathe, it is full of
+microbes; your daily bread is white with alum.&nbsp; A wise man
+will also avoid its milk and cream and water.&nbsp; Yet all of us
+have to go to London more or less, and there are people who can
+live nowhere else.&nbsp; Human nature can easily assimilate
+itself to the conditions which surround it.&nbsp; Fortunately,
+there is a good deal of indiarubber in all of us.&nbsp; Of this
+the Londoner avails himself, and thinks himself the finest,
+smartest, cleverest fellow in the world, though he sees Brother
+Jonathan shutting him out of his markets, and opens his doors to
+foreign paupers, <a name="page133"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
+133</span>whom not a Government under heaven save his own would
+tolerate for a moment.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Well, you&rsquo;re right there.&nbsp; But what is your
+particular grievance?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Grievances, you may say.&nbsp; They are like the hairs
+on my head; which, by-the-bye, are not so numerous as they were
+once.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;So I see,&rsquo; said Wentworth with a smile.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;To make the most of a short visit to London,&rsquo;
+continued the speaker, &lsquo;you must arrange your plans, and I
+did mine.&nbsp; My first object was to find out a gentleman who
+had written to me.&nbsp; Before leaving home, I had written to
+say that I would call on him on the Tuesday at his chambers in
+Pall Mall.&nbsp; When in due time I got there, I found he had
+gone to Scotland for ten days, but that his son had opened my
+letter and had waited for me till twelve o&rsquo;clock, when he
+had started for an estate which his father was laying out with a
+view to building operations.&nbsp; Accordingly, I resolved to
+follow him, and then my troubles began.&nbsp; I started on an
+omnibus <a name="page134"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
+134</span>for Euston station; arrived there, I partook of
+luncheon, having twenty minutes to wait.&nbsp; &ldquo;How do the
+trains run to Bushey?&rdquo; I asked of an official.&nbsp;
+&ldquo;There is one at twenty minutes to two, and another at the
+quarter,&rdquo; was the reply; and I learned on the same reliable
+authority that the quarter to two train got there first.&nbsp;
+Accordingly, I waited for it, and when the guard came round to
+inspect the tickets, he confirmed what the official in the hall
+had said; adding that I was to change at Harrow.&nbsp; It was
+thus with a light heart I started, and left the train at Harrow,
+feeling sure that in a few minutes I should be landed at my
+destination.&nbsp; Alas, the train had gone, and I had to wait,
+sad and solitary, for an hour.&nbsp; At Bushey, a woman on whom I
+called informed me that her husband and the gentleman of whom I
+was in search had gone to the Board School.&nbsp; It is needless
+to add that they had done nothing of the kind.&nbsp; In the dust
+and under a blazing sun, I made my way to an estate which was
+being cut up into building <a name="page135"></a><span
+class="pagenum">p. 135</span>ground.&nbsp; No Mr. T.&mdash;the
+man I sought&mdash;was to be seen; but it was the land I
+sought.&nbsp; &ldquo;Was there any more of it?&rdquo;&nbsp;
+&ldquo;No,&rdquo; said a workman, &ldquo;that was
+all.&rdquo;&nbsp; I felt he was wrong, that there must be more;
+but I tramped over the ground and made my way back to the
+station, to wait another dreary half-hour.&nbsp; In time,
+passengers for London began to assemble on the platform.&nbsp;
+Two of them passed me.&nbsp; One of them, I suppose, remembered
+me, as he spoke to his companion, a much younger man, who came up
+to tell me he was the one I sought.&nbsp; &ldquo;Had I seen the
+estate?&rdquo;&nbsp; &ldquo;Yes.&rdquo;&nbsp; &ldquo;What did I
+think of the view opposite the hall?&rdquo;&nbsp; I explained I
+had never been there.&nbsp; The workman it appeared, had led me
+wrong, and as it was essential that I should see it, it was
+agreed that I must have a fly and view the ground.&nbsp; I did
+so; and got back to town about eight, feeling that unnecessarily
+I had lost the greater part of the day.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;The next day I rose betimes to carry out my
+well-arranged plans.&nbsp; I slept in the City, that I might
+better carry them out.&nbsp; <a name="page136"></a><span
+class="pagenum">p. 136</span>In the first place I made my way to
+see a gentleman in Fenchurch Street.&nbsp; He was out.&nbsp; Then
+I made my way to a great manager&rsquo;s office in Bishopsgate
+Street; he had not arrived.&nbsp; Then I made my way to the great
+doctor in Manchester Square.&nbsp; I have a liver; it had gone
+wrong, and I knew, such is my experience of the doctor, that he
+would set it right in the twinkling of an eye.&nbsp; Alas! the
+doctor had gone out, and that meant running up there again the
+next day, and that meant my not being able to hear Henry
+Melvill&rsquo;s Golden Lecture; a thing on which, in the country,
+I had set my heart.&nbsp; However, I had a little consolation in
+reserve.&nbsp; An editor in Paternoster Row owed me a small sum
+of money.&nbsp; All the years I had known him I had never found
+him absent from his post.&nbsp; I would call on him, and he would
+give me a cheque.&nbsp; I did call, and he had gone down to
+Bournemouth for a week.&nbsp; Close by was another friend, the
+chairman of a well-known literary club that dine together every
+Friday evening.&nbsp; I had <a name="page137"></a><span
+class="pagenum">p. 137</span>never dined with them, though
+repeatedly invited.&nbsp; I would be in town on Friday, and I
+would spend the evening dining with the club.&nbsp; It is rather
+dull work sitting in the smoking-room of a hotel of a
+night.&nbsp; Accordingly, I called on my friend to inform him of
+my intention to accept his proffered hospitality, and you can
+imagine my disappointment when the doorkeeper at my
+friend&rsquo;s place of business informed me that he was at
+Folkestone.&nbsp; In my disappointment, I wrote to an old friend
+living on the Brighton Parade, that I would run down the next day
+in time for dinner, and pass the night under his hospitable
+roof.&nbsp; There was much we had to say to each other, as he was
+a retired Colonial, with whom I wished to talk over Colonial
+affairs.&nbsp; As soon as the train had arrived at
+London-super-Mare, I made my way joyfully to his house, feeling
+sure of a hearty welcome.&nbsp; All the blinds were suspiciously
+drawn down.&nbsp; After ringing the bell twice an aged
+housekeeper came to the door; the family had gone to town for the
+season.&nbsp; I <a name="page138"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
+138</span>turned away to a hotel, where the accommodation was
+moderate; but fortunately the charge was the same.&nbsp; On the
+Friday, back to town with an empty purse, I made my way to an
+office where I knew I could get the needful.&nbsp; Alas! the
+gentleman I wanted to see was out.&nbsp; For the first time in
+his life, I believe, Mr. W. was away&mdash;gone to the Handel
+Festival.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Well, you seem to have been rather
+unfortunate.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;And oh, the terrors of that night!&nbsp; I could not
+get a wink of sleep.&nbsp; The room was so sultry and
+confined.&nbsp; I opened the window, and then the noise of cabs
+at all hours kept me awake.&nbsp; Then I got nervous, and
+wondered what I should do in case of a fire; and sleep that night
+was out of the question; in fact, I&rsquo;ve been wonderfully
+seedy all the time I have been in town.&nbsp; But I have more to
+say if you care to listen.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Pray proceed,&rsquo; said Wentworth.&nbsp; &lsquo;I am
+all attention.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Let me record two other experiences.&nbsp; I <a
+name="page139"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 139</span>have a
+friend who keeps a boarding-house in a certain square not a
+hundred miles from Holborn.&nbsp; He had often asked me to stay a
+night with him; he could help me with materials for an article I
+wanted to write; I would spend my last night there.&nbsp; Of
+course, I found him out, and the house so full that any bed there
+was out of the question.&nbsp; One little incident in the course
+of my troubles is rather amusing and characteristic.&nbsp; A
+West-End swell lately forced himself on my acquaintance.&nbsp;
+His talk is all of lords and ladies and people in high life, in
+whom I take no interest whatever.&nbsp; I even am sick of the
+woeful tittle-tattle of the newspapers, and never read it.&nbsp;
+But I met my fine gentleman accidentally.&nbsp; He was delighted
+to see me, inquired most politely after the welfare of my family,
+hoped I would manage to run up to a certain fashionable
+exhibition&mdash;the most pleasant lounge in town of a summer
+evening&mdash;and then bade me good-morning as coolly as if he
+had never gone out of his way to beg me to make his house my home
+<a name="page140"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 140</span>the next
+time I was in London.&nbsp; And this is London life, and a fair
+illustration of how a countryman gets on when there, and of the
+utter impossibility of accomplishing anything there in a
+reasonable time.&nbsp; It is wiser&mdash;better far&mdash;to stay
+at home and get your business done by writing.&nbsp; Londoners
+love writing.&nbsp; There is a difficulty I have with a limited
+liability company in a matter of five shillings, and we are as
+far from getting it settled as ever, though we have been
+corresponding on it for half a year.&nbsp; But London, with its
+worrying days and sleepless nights, is to be avoided by any who
+regards his health or temper or pocket.&nbsp; I have quite made
+up my mind that I will never visit London again&mdash;at any
+rate, not till the next time.&nbsp; And there is another thing
+that disgusted me.&nbsp; I was at a public dinner last night, and
+had to sit for three hours listening to awful
+speeches.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Well, they are generally tedious,&rsquo; said
+Wentworth.&nbsp; &lsquo;I have had to attend a good many at one
+time or other.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Yes, but there was such a waste of time; <a
+name="page141"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 141</span>all sorts
+of irrelative toasts obviously introduced merely for the purpose
+of affording mediocre aldermen and M.P.&rsquo;s a chance of
+airing their vocabulary.&nbsp; But worst of all,&rsquo; said the
+minister, &lsquo;was the awful amount of guzzling and
+feeding.&nbsp; Everyone seemed only intent on getting as many of
+the good things on his plate as he could.&nbsp; And as to the
+champagne, the gentlemen, as they called themselves, seemed as if
+they had never tasted any before, and as if they would never have
+the chance again.&nbsp; Many of them were quite drunk, and the
+whole affair soon resolved itself into a drunken orgy.&nbsp; I
+was quite disgusted with my species.&nbsp; No one who would wish
+to think well of humanity ought to attend a public dinner.&nbsp;
+The wine being provided, they seemed as if they could not have
+enough of it.&nbsp; It was positively sickening.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;And yet Thomas Walker advocates the public
+dinner.&nbsp; Indeed, he goes so far as to say that to ensure
+good parochial government, good dinners should be provided for
+the authorities.&nbsp; The aim should be, he tells us, to procure
+the best services at the <a name="page142"></a><span
+class="pagenum">p. 142</span>cheapest rate, and in the most
+efficient way, and there is no system so cheap or efficient as
+that of the table.&nbsp; The Athenians, in their most glorious
+days, rewarded their citizens who had deserved well of the State
+by maintaining them at the public expense in Prytaneum or Council
+Hall.&nbsp; The table also is a mode of payment for services to
+be performed which goes further than any other, and will command
+greater punctuality, greater attention, and greater
+regularity.&nbsp; When properly regulated it is the bond of union
+and harmony, the school for the improvement of manners and
+civilization, the place where information is elicited and
+corrected better than anywhere else; and I believe, after
+all,&rsquo; said Wentworth, &lsquo;old Walker was
+right.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;And pray who was Walker?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Thomas Walker was the author of &ldquo;The
+Original,&rdquo; a book highly popular with our forefathers and
+well worthy to be read by their sons.&nbsp; Walker was a police
+magistrate in London.&nbsp; &ldquo;The Original&rdquo; appeared
+in twenty-nine parts.&nbsp; Since then it has been <a
+name="page143"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 143</span>republished
+in a volume.&nbsp; The first number appeared in May, 1835.&nbsp;
+He was ill when he commenced it, and died before it was
+completed.&nbsp; Almost his last essay in it was on &ldquo;The
+Art of attaining High Health.&rdquo;&nbsp; It is curious to
+reflect that it was written by a man at whose door death was
+already knocking.&nbsp; He died suddenly in Brussels, the early
+age of fifty-two.&nbsp; By all means, I repeat, read
+Walker.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;So I will.&nbsp; I am quite aware there are two sides
+to every question.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;According to Walker, City feasting has many
+advantages.&nbsp; He is of opinion that it creates a good deal of
+public spirit; as long as men are emboldened by good cheer, they
+are in no danger of becoming slaves.&nbsp; The City Halls, with
+their feasts, their music, their associations, are, he says, so
+many temples of liberty; and I believe that after all Walker was
+right I speak from experience; and yet there are evils connected
+with the system.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Evils!&rsquo; exclaimed indignantly his ascetic friend,
+&lsquo;I believe there are.&nbsp; And last <a
+name="page144"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 144</span>night I saw
+what I never saw before, and never wish to see again: men dressed
+in evening costume&mdash;respectable people, apparently&mdash;all
+eating and drinking to excess.&nbsp; I hope they all got home,
+but they could scarcely find their way after dinner to the room
+where tea and coffee were served up; utterly unable to take a
+part in any rational conversation.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Ah, again let me quote Walker!&rsquo; exclaimed
+Wentworth.&nbsp; &lsquo;&ldquo;Anybody can dine, but few know how
+to dine so as to ensure the greatest quantity of health and
+enjoyment.&rdquo;&nbsp; I am coming to believe that aristology,
+or the art of dining, has yet to be discovered.&nbsp; When ladies
+are admitted to these banquets there will, at any rate, be less
+of that eating and drinking to excess which so disgusted you last
+night.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Well, the sooner that good time comes the
+better,&rsquo; said Wentworth&rsquo;s friend; &lsquo;but we have
+female feasts in Sloville which do a great deal of
+harm.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;You amaze me,&rsquo; said Wentworth.&nbsp; &lsquo;What
+do you call the feast?&rsquo;</p>
+<p><a name="page145"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
+145</span>&lsquo;The Dorcas.&nbsp; It is a society made up of
+ladies who belonged to the congregation, and who worked at useful
+articles to be distributed among the poor, the ladies paying half
+a crown each to buy the material, and putting threepence into the
+plate handed round at each meeting, to be devoted to the same
+purpose.&nbsp; On the night when my wife attended, there was an
+unusually large attendance.&nbsp; The grocer&rsquo;s wife
+believed in a good cup of tea, and butter which was not
+margarine, and in other dainties which her guests were not slow
+to appreciate.&nbsp; To her credit be it said that at no other
+house had the members such a really good tea.&nbsp; On these
+occasions a good deal of talk took place.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Said one, &ldquo;Where is that Jane Brown?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;&ldquo;Oh,&rdquo; said another, &ldquo;she said she
+could not leave her mother.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;&ldquo;A pretty excuse,&rdquo; said another.&nbsp;
+&ldquo;I&rsquo;ll be bound to say that if there was any
+entertainment going on she could manage to leave her mother for
+that.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;&ldquo;Ah!&rdquo; said another old lady, with a <a
+name="page146"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 146</span>shake of
+her head, &ldquo;girls are not what they used to be.&nbsp; I
+don&rsquo;t know what we are coming to.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;&ldquo;Oh, you may well say that,&rdquo; said the
+deacon&rsquo;s wife.&nbsp; &ldquo;We are living in sad
+times.&nbsp; It quite grieved me to hear our minister say on
+Sunday that people believed in Christ.&nbsp; They never did, and
+they never will.&nbsp; The world will always hate Christ, because
+of its wickedness.&nbsp; It is only the elect that can be
+saved.&nbsp; The world, or rather the carnal heart, is always at
+emnity with God.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;&ldquo;Yes, dear,&rdquo; repeated the old lady,
+&ldquo;you are right there; the wicked won&rsquo;t come to
+Christ.&nbsp; It is not to be expected as they should.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Then another interrupted with the remark: &ldquo;That
+girl Smith is never seen in the chapel now.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;&ldquo;Oh no! she takes herself off to Church.&nbsp;
+She says her mother has been very poor and bad, and no one came
+near her but the Rector and his wife, who were very
+kind.&rdquo;</p>
+<p><a name="page147"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
+147</span>&lsquo;&ldquo;Ah, there it is again,&rdquo; said the
+old lady; &ldquo;the loaves and fishes.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;&ldquo;For my part, I think we&rsquo;re well rid of
+such people.&nbsp; We don&rsquo;t want &rsquo;em, and the Church
+is quite welcome to &rsquo;em.&nbsp; There&rsquo;s that man
+Brown, who fell off the ladder when he was at work.&nbsp; The
+Rector called on him, and sent him a bottle of wine and some cold
+meat, and he has never been to meetin&rsquo; since.&nbsp; And now
+I hear he has sent his children to the Church
+Sunday-school.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;&ldquo;Well, what can you expect?&rdquo; replied the
+old lady.&nbsp; &ldquo;It is my opinion that that man Brown never
+had the root of the matter in him at all, and yet I can remember
+when he used to come to meetin&rsquo; regular.&nbsp; It is very
+shocking when people behave like that.&nbsp; The men in the town
+are getting worse and worse.&nbsp; They tell me there is a lot of
+low Sunday papers from London come into the town, and the men
+read &rsquo;em all day long.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;&ldquo;Yes,&rdquo; said a gushing girl who was present,
+and who could keep silence no <a name="page148"></a><span
+class="pagenum">p. 148</span>longer, &ldquo;that&rsquo;s quite
+true.&nbsp; When I go round with the tracts they refuse to take
+them in; and such nice tracts too, it quite breaks my
+heart.&nbsp; And then there is our new supply; he takes the
+men&rsquo;s part.&nbsp; He took up one of my tracts the other day
+and asked me if I really thought working men could stand such
+reading.&nbsp; I asked him if he read the tracts, and he said no;
+he thought he could employ his time much better.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;&ldquo;And yet,&rdquo; said the old lady, &ldquo;our
+dear old minister used to say one tract may save a soul; but
+lor&rsquo;, the young men they send us from the colleges, as they
+call them, think very little of saving souls.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;&ldquo;I fear that&rsquo;s too true,&rdquo; said the
+deacon&rsquo;s wife.&nbsp; &ldquo;People don&rsquo;t preach the
+Gospel as they used to.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;And that is true,&rsquo; said the Presbyterian parson
+to Wentworth.&nbsp; &lsquo;They say I am a Unitarian; but the
+orthodox certainly are much nearer to me than they were.&nbsp; It
+did them good to hear damnation dealt out to others who did not
+think as they did.&nbsp; God the Father, Christ the Elder
+Brother, <a name="page149"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
+149</span>were little in their thoughts.&nbsp; It was God the
+Angry Judge, it was Christ saying, &ldquo;Depart, ye cursed, into
+everlasting torment,&rdquo; of whom it did them good to
+hear.&nbsp; They quite relished the torments&mdash;the endless
+torments of the lost.&nbsp; Not to dwell on them in a sermon was
+not to preach the Gospel.&nbsp; Hard, stern, unforgiving were
+these ladies of the Dorcas.&nbsp; It is to be hoped that their
+charities at Christmas-time to the poor of the meeting, in the
+shape of flannel and other garments, did good.&nbsp; Charity
+covers a multitude of sins, and if they talked scandal, why, do
+not others do the same?&nbsp; A sister with more brains than the
+rest, and of equal piety, does now and then make a sensible
+remark.&nbsp; But at any rate, my wife said she would never go to
+one of their meetings again.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;I have heard of it,&rsquo; said Wentworth; &lsquo;but I
+have never attended one.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Be thankful you have not.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Why, I thought, in my ignorance, they were gatherings
+of benevolent ladies, to work for benevolent ends!&rsquo;</p>
+<p><a name="page150"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
+150</span>&lsquo;Ah, that is what they pretend to be, but things
+are not what they seem.&nbsp; Believe me, Mr. Wentworth, that the
+Dorcas as it is conducted in country towns is a mockery, a
+delusion and a snare.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>Wentworth shook his head and groaned.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Yes, that is so; my wife went to one, as I have
+said.&nbsp; It was her first attendance and her last.&nbsp; The
+professed object was work for the poor, the real one
+scandal.&nbsp; The women talked of all the other women in the
+town; how this one went on when her husband was away; how forward
+was one young miss, and how sly another; how mean was this man,
+how extravagant that.&nbsp; There was a good deal more talking
+than working, and the over-righteous were the worst of all, and
+the most uncharitable.&nbsp; Never was there a more unpleasant
+display of feminine littleness.&nbsp; But, bless me, I am
+gossiping myself, when I came here on a very pressing
+occasion.&nbsp; And now, after this preliminary remark, let us
+proceed to business.&nbsp; It is one which you can help most
+materially.&rsquo;</p>
+<p><a name="page151"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
+151</span>&lsquo;Pray proceed,&rsquo; again remarked
+Wentworth.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;It is one that requires a good deal of thinking
+about.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;So much the better.&nbsp; I always love to have a nut
+to crack.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;We have an old woman in Sloville Workhouse who says
+there is an heir to the Strahan estates.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;I know it,&rsquo; said Wentworth.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Well, this old woman has told her story all over the
+town, and everyone believes it.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;But why did she not tell her story before?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Well, her explanation is that the other woman got her
+to conceal it, with the view of making money, but their
+difficulty was how to tell a story which would not incriminate
+themselves.&nbsp; Once or twice she sent an anonymous letter to
+the late Baronet, but he took no notice of it; and then she tried
+to speak to him, but he would not let her; and she was terribly
+afraid of him, as she says he was such a hard, arbitrary,
+imperious sort of man.&rsquo;</p>
+<p><a name="page152"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
+152</span>&lsquo;Well, we all know he was that,&rsquo; said the
+other.&nbsp; &lsquo;He certainly was not a man to stick at
+anything where his passions, or his prejudices, or his interests
+were concerned.&nbsp; But where is the woman now?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;In the workhouse.&nbsp; She says she had quite lost
+sight of the other one, till she found her in a London hospital,
+where she went to see her.&nbsp; But the poor thing was too far
+gone to be of any good, and now she says they have both been made
+fools of, and they had better have let the child alone, so far as
+making any money out of the transaction.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Was the new Baronet told of it?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;He was.&nbsp; I wrote to him on the subject.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;And what did he say?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Virtually that it was like my impudence, and that he
+hoped he should never hear from me again.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Well, that was not encouraging.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Then I wrote again.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;And so did I,&rsquo; said Wentworth, &lsquo;and this
+was the reply.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>Wentworth read as follows:</p>
+<blockquote><p><a name="page153"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
+153</span>&lsquo;&ldquo;<span class="smcap">Sir</span>,</p>
+<p>&lsquo;&ldquo;In reply to yours of the 19th inst., I have only
+to say that I consider your letter founded on complete
+misapprehension of the facts of the case.&nbsp; The deceased
+Baronet had no heir but myself, and any attempt to set up a claim
+on behalf of another will be firmly resisted.&nbsp; Trusting that
+this is an end of the matter, and that I shall be troubled with
+no further communications on the subject,</p>
+<p style="text-align: right">&lsquo;&ldquo;I am, yours truly,<br
+/>
+&lsquo;&ldquo;<span class="smcap">Hugh Robert
+Strahan</span>.&rdquo;</p>
+</blockquote>
+<p>&lsquo;Now hear the wife.&nbsp; She adds a P.S. as
+follows:</p>
+<blockquote><p>&lsquo;&ldquo;I have been informed that you are a
+writer for the newspapers.&nbsp; Let me hope that you are not one
+of the Sadducees against whom our Lord warned His
+disciples.&nbsp; Please read carefully the General Epistle of
+Jude.&nbsp; If I had the means I should like to see it hung up in
+all our newspaper offices.&nbsp; Possibly you have met with some
+of my little tracts.&nbsp; <a name="page154"></a><span
+class="pagenum">p. 154</span>I am not proud of my literary
+talents.&nbsp; All boasting is unbecoming, and the true humble
+Christian feels that he is an unprofitable servant after all; but
+I am constrained to add that with the Lord&rsquo;s blessing they
+have been made useful in bringing many who were in darkness and
+sitting in the valley of the shadow of death into His own
+marvellous light.&nbsp; Be assured that at the throne of grace
+this morning I particularly remembered the case of your poor
+<i>prot&eacute;g&eacute;</i>, who is much to be pitied.&nbsp; Oh,
+it grieves me to the heart to see how much we all make of wealth
+and rank!&nbsp; What is gold but dust and ashes?&nbsp; What are
+titles but less than the small dust of the balance in the eyes of
+the Lord?&rdquo;</p>
+</blockquote>
+<p>&lsquo;Well, did Sir Watkin ever hear the story?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;I don&rsquo;t know.&nbsp; The woman told me she left a
+note for him at the lodge, of which, however, he took no
+notice.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;I should think not.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;And once, she says, she tried to stop <a
+name="page155"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 155</span>him; but he
+was angry and threatened her, and the police took her off.&nbsp;
+It was at the time of our last show, when Sir Watkin had, as you
+can remember, a grand party at the Hall.&nbsp; I never saw him in
+better spirits.&nbsp; It seemed as if he was going to marry a
+young lady with what he always wanted particularly&mdash;a lot of
+money.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;That&rsquo;s the case, I fear, with most of
+us.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Yes,&rsquo; said the other.&nbsp; &lsquo;In this
+respect we are most of us on an equality.&nbsp; But I must say
+this for Sir Watkin, that he would not make money, as some people
+make it nowadays, by feathering his nest at the expense of the
+public.&nbsp; It is to his credit that he lent his name to no
+doubtful speculation, though he was often asked to do so.&nbsp;
+He never was a company promoter.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Well, but about this woman&rsquo;s story?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;I tell you as she told it me.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;I know it all,&rsquo; said Wentworth, &lsquo;and have
+known it long.&nbsp; The Colonel, who claims the entailed estate,
+is in London.&nbsp; Let us go and see him;&rsquo; and away they
+<a name="page156"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 156</span>went to
+hunt him up at a swell military club of which he was a
+member.</p>
+<p>The new heir was barely civil.&nbsp; When he heard what they
+had to say, he replied:</p>
+<p>&lsquo;I am sure the family are much obliged to you; but look
+here, Mr. Wentworth, I am not a lawyer, but I am, I trust, a
+humble Christian.&nbsp; My wife and I have made this subject a
+matter of prayer.&nbsp; I have taken it in my closet to the
+Lord.&nbsp; My conscience approves of the course I take.&nbsp; I
+am in the path of duty.&nbsp; I have the interests of my family
+to think of.&nbsp; I don&rsquo;t talk to you as a man of the
+world.&nbsp; There was a time, I own, when I did belong to that
+class, but then I knew no better.&nbsp; But I ask you, as a
+Christian man, how can I act otherwise?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Why, you might come and hear what the poor woman has
+got to say for herself,&rsquo; said the Presbyterian
+parson.&nbsp; &lsquo;You might follow the clue she might give
+you.&nbsp; You might save yourself from what seems to me the
+commission of a cruel wrong.&nbsp; <a name="page157"></a><span
+class="pagenum">p. 157</span>You might act fairly to a lad who I
+believe has a better title to the estate than you have.&nbsp; In
+short, you might do to others as you would have others do to
+you.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;You can quote Scripture, then.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Yes, I can; but it seems to be of little
+use.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;You are right, sir.&nbsp; We are told the devil can
+quote Scripture.&nbsp; To the carnal heart the Scripture is a
+sealed book.&nbsp; It is only as the Spirit opens the eyes of the
+believer that he can read aught.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;I thought, on the contrary,&rsquo; said Wentworth,
+&lsquo;Scripture was so plain that a wayfaring man, though a
+fool, could not err therein.&nbsp; But I did not come to discuss
+such questions.&nbsp; I have to ask you, sir, to pause before you
+take possession of the estate.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Well, sir,&rsquo; said the new heir, &lsquo;you have
+come and you have asked me.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Yes, and you will pause?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Not for an instant.&nbsp; Why should I?&nbsp; By these
+distressing visitations of Providence, I have come into the
+possession of property and a title.&nbsp; It is the Lord&rsquo;s
+doing <a name="page158"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
+158</span>and it is marvellous in my eyes.&nbsp; I never sought
+this nor expected this.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>Wentworth looked at the speaker.&nbsp; There seemed no
+particular reason why the Lord should have interfered in this
+matter on his behalf, he thought; but then Wentworth was not of
+the elect, and knew little as to what the Lord was about.</p>
+<h2><a name="page159"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
+159</span>CHAPTER XXIX.<br />
+<span class="GutSmall">THE COLONEL.</span></h2>
+<p>Society was startled in the autumn of the year to which these
+events relate by the announcement that Colonel, otherwise Sir
+Robert Strahan had been shot in a duel on the Belgian
+frontier.&nbsp; The world wondered why he had to fight a
+duel.&nbsp; He had the reputation of being an austere and
+strait-laced man, a great stickler for the proprieties, a strict
+observer of conventional forms, regular in his attendances on
+Church ordinances, and very ready to judge harshly of the
+failings of others.&nbsp; In all the land there was none so proud
+and priggish, and his wife rejoiced greatly at the work of her
+hands in transforming a man of the world into a Christian of the
+regulation pattern.</p>
+<p><a name="page160"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 160</span>There
+were, it is true, many of his fellow-officers and former
+companions who wondered at rather than admired the change, who
+questioned its genuineness, and believed, in heart, the Colonel
+was still the same as when, in his younger days, he played
+somewhat notoriously the part of a man about town; but then the
+world is always uncharitable, and its men and women are of a
+sceptical turn of mind, and ready to doubt people who affect to
+be superior to their neighbours; and now their hour of triumph
+had arrived.</p>
+<p>This saintly Colonel was no better than other people.&nbsp; In
+Brussels, unknown to his wife, he had gambled heavily and
+incurred great losses.&nbsp; In the public dining-hall of the
+ancient Spartans there was a notice to the effect that no one was
+to repeat outside the conversation that took place within.&nbsp;
+In the club of which the Colonel was a member a similar law of
+honour prevailed, and as the place was outwardly respectable, and
+was situated in the most respectable <i>quartier</i>, and as its
+members were men who moved in <a name="page161"></a><span
+class="pagenum">p. 161</span>the first circles on the Continent,
+it was assumed, of course, that nothing took place but what was
+respectable.&nbsp; And it was presumed that if its members kept
+late hours the fact was due to the interesting conversations of
+the men on the political and other stirring questions of the
+times.&nbsp; In reality the place was a gambling den of the worst
+description, where the losers were far greater in numbers than
+the winners; and amongst the former was our pious Colonel, who
+had immense faith in his own play, as in everything else that he
+did, and whose occasional gains, only by confirming his own good
+opinion of himself, helped him further into the mire.</p>
+<p>Then all at once it became known that the worthy Colonel had
+other children than his legitimate ones.&nbsp; In certain
+quarters he passed under a feigned name&mdash;as Captain
+Smith&mdash;and children learned to know him under that
+alias.&nbsp; It was a pleasant retreat for the good man when the
+old Adam was rather strong and seemed ready to crush <a
+name="page162"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 162</span>the renewed
+man; and thus he led, as many do, a double life.</p>
+<p>Most men have their weak moments, their time of temptation,
+and too often they succumb, but then the falling off is only for
+a time.&nbsp; But in the Colonel&rsquo;s case it had
+unfortunately grown into a settled habit.</p>
+<p>My lady little dreamt of what was passing.&nbsp; She had other
+things to think of than her husband or his doings.&nbsp; She was
+active&mdash;perhaps, rather too active&mdash;in her sphere, in
+good works.&nbsp; The bluest Evangelical blood was in her veins,
+and when in London no one was a more frequent visitor to the
+country houses of pious bankers and brewers than herself.&nbsp;
+In them she was a diamond of the purest water, shining with every
+Christian grace and virtue.&nbsp; She had addressed drawing-room
+meetings, she had aided in many a crusade against Popery and
+Ritualism and other evil things.&nbsp; If any Liberal and devoted
+clergyman was to be persecuted for trying to elevate the people
+by Christian ideas not in accordance <a name="page163"></a><span
+class="pagenum">p. 163</span>with her own, she was the first to
+raise the cry of heresy, to rouse up sleepy bishops, to raise the
+cry of &lsquo;Treason in the sanctuary!&rsquo; to alarm the
+warders at the gate, to flood the land with cheap tracts and
+pious newspapers.&nbsp; At Exeter Hall, during the May meetings,
+there was no more ardent attendant; and her life in Brussels was
+much the same, though on a smaller scale.</p>
+<p>Once, at Louvain, I saw a statue in the cathedral to the
+memory of Dr. Stapleton.&nbsp; I could not make out who Dr.
+Stapleton was, or why he was thus honoured.&nbsp; Baedeker and
+Murray knew him not.&nbsp; Accidentally one day turning over the
+pages of Froude&mdash;certainly one of the most graceful of
+historians&mdash;I discovered that Dr. Stapleton, living at
+Louvain, was the means of communication, in the &lsquo;spacious
+times of Queen Elizabeth,&rsquo; between the Pope on the one side
+and the Roman Catholics in England on the other.&nbsp; At
+Brussels her ladyship acted in a similar way, though on a smaller
+scale.&nbsp; It was she who kept alive <a
+name="page164"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 164</span>the
+communication between the Belgian and the English Evangelicals,
+and helped to circulate among the former the goody-goody
+literature in which the latter greatly rejoiced.&nbsp; Her
+activity in the matter was intense.&nbsp; She was always writing
+to England for supplies&mdash;which were sent her without any
+cost to herself&mdash;and in her continental drawing-room, and at
+her receptions, sleek divines and elect ladies were not few, ever
+ready to bewail the degeneracy of the times, the growth of Popery
+and Republicanism and Atheism.</p>
+<p>Perhaps it was they who frightened the Colonel away.&nbsp; At
+any rate it is manifest that he would have been a better husband
+had she been a better wife.&nbsp; When the news came of his
+brother&rsquo;s death it is needless to say that the Colonel was
+quite ready for a change of life and scene.&nbsp; Indeed, Belgium
+was getting too hot for him.&nbsp; The lady who passed as Mrs.
+Smith had discovered the real name and status of her
+protector.&nbsp; One of the boys&mdash;the result of this
+domestic arrangement&mdash;had gone to a Protestant <a
+name="page165"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 165</span>meeting,
+and there on the platform, and as one of the speakers, was
+Captain Smith&mdash;announced to the meeting as Colonel
+Strahan.&nbsp; It was not long before his mother learned the
+news, nor was it long before she turned that news, as far as her
+pecuniary resources were concerned, to uncommonly good
+account.</p>
+<p>The little domestic arrangement which had been so pleasant at
+first was now very much the reverse.&nbsp; To shake off the woman
+was now impossible, and her silence could only be secured at an
+extravagant price.&nbsp; She had threatened to follow him to
+Sloville, and it required all his ingenuity to keep the matter a
+secret.</p>
+<p>Already he had made up his mind to stand for the county
+division; already his name had been ostentatiously paraded as
+president or vice-president of certain famous religious
+societies, whose headquarters were London.&nbsp; Already, under
+the auspices of my lady, the Hall had become the headquarters of
+the Low Church party.</p>
+<p>It was hinted to the Baronet that if he <a
+name="page166"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 166</span>could win
+the county at the election he might possibly be made a
+peer.&nbsp; And now this Belgian woman had found him out and
+rendered his life insupportable.&nbsp; What was he to do?&nbsp;
+He could not for the life of him tell.&nbsp; There was no one to
+advise, no one to whom he could tell his trouble.&nbsp; The
+spirit of a man can sustain his infirmity, but a wounded spirit
+who can bear?&nbsp; One thing he did do, which he had better not
+have done&mdash;he went over to Brussels again to see what could
+be done.&nbsp; He had better have kept away.</p>
+<p>And there was another matter, too, which gave him
+trouble.&nbsp; The reputation of the Bank was in danger.&nbsp; At
+the death of his brother unpleasant rumours respecting its
+stability had been put in circulation.&nbsp; The late Baronet
+had, as it was well known, an unpleasant habit of making ducks
+and drakes of his money.&nbsp; It was the hope of the new one
+that by his own reputation in pious circles he should be able to
+live down the evil rumours, and to revive the credit of the
+Bank.&nbsp; In this way his wife had done him <a
+name="page167"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 167</span>good
+service, and thus he had secured continued confidence in some
+quarters and large advances in others.&nbsp; But there were
+people in the money market who had their suspicions as to the
+investments of the Bank and the way in which it was
+managed.&nbsp; More than one capitalist had withdrawn his
+deposit, and the working partners were growing anxious.&nbsp;
+Indeed, on the morning of his departure for Brussels they had an
+interview with Sir Robert on the rather shaky position of
+affairs.&nbsp; They had lost money on the London Stock
+Exchange.&nbsp; Some of the mining speculations in which they
+were engaged had proved disastrous.&nbsp; A great contractor whom
+they had financed had come to grief.&nbsp; It was true that their
+London agents had come to their rescue, not that they were
+over-confident as to the Bank&rsquo;s affairs, but that they
+feared the panic its suspension would create.&nbsp; But it was
+believed that the temporary embarrassment might be tided
+over.&nbsp; Trade was reviving, and already some of their worst
+investments were taking a hopeful turn.&nbsp; Hope <a
+name="page168"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 168</span>told a
+flattering tale, and at any rate there was no occasion for
+despair.&nbsp; Much was expected from the reputation of the new
+head of the firm in religious circles; much from a more careful
+conduct of its officers; much from the improved condition of the
+money market.&nbsp; Still the Baronet was not happy, and it was
+with anything but a light heart that he set out for the Belgian
+capital.&nbsp; His wife offered to accompany him, but he declined
+the offer.&nbsp; In reality she had no wish to go, or she would
+have gone, you may be sure of that.</p>
+<p>Thus it was in no amiable mood the Baronet once more found
+himself in his old quarters, in the gay and pleasant city which
+the clever diplomacy of Lord Palmerston helped to raise to the
+dignity of a European capital and the seat of a monarchy, which
+if not ancient is at any rate very respectable.&nbsp; His first
+object was to keep Mrs. Smith quiet, which, at a considerable
+cost, he succeeded in doing.&nbsp; Then he dined at the club,
+drank heavily, played high, lost his money and his temper, and
+became so <a name="page169"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
+169</span>insulting to one of the barons with whom he played,
+that when he got back to the hotel he found there a challenge
+awaiting him to fight a duel.&nbsp; This was rather more than he
+had bargained for, but he could not help himself.&nbsp; As an
+officer&mdash;though a retired one&mdash;he felt that he could
+not refuse.&nbsp; A hot-headed Irishman acted as his second, and
+was so charmed with the idea of the <i>&eacute;clat</i> of having
+to do with a duel, though only in the capacity of a second, that
+instead of doing all that he could to put it off, he did all that
+was in his power to promote it.&nbsp; Accordingly it was arranged
+that the aggrieved parties should meet in an obscure village on
+the French frontier, where they would be sure to be
+unobserved.&nbsp; The Belgian baron&rsquo;s aim was deadly, and
+Sir Robert Strahan was no more.&nbsp; Short, very short had been
+his reign, and now it was all over.&nbsp; Speedily was the news
+telegraphed to the Hall, where everyone was shocked at the
+unexpected catastrophe.&nbsp; Her ladyship grieved deeply, the
+girls were in despair.&nbsp; It was hard, just as Providence was
+opening <a name="page170"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
+170</span>up a way for their good, and they had conquered the
+difficulties of a continental exile&mdash;it was hard to have all
+the bitterness of the hated past revived.&nbsp; In due time the
+body was brought back, and there was another stately funeral and
+another nine days&rsquo; wonder.&nbsp; At first everyone
+attributed the Baronet&rsquo;s death to an accident.&nbsp; Such
+was the version which it seemed wise for many
+reasons&mdash;family, religious, and commercial&mdash;to
+circulate.&nbsp; But in time the real truth leaked out, first in
+private letters and then in the society journals; and there came
+a run on the Bank, which the partners were not prepared to meet,
+and which they could not have met had they been prepared.&nbsp;
+And there was no alternative but to put up the shutters and to
+close the doors.</p>
+<p>Deep and dire was the consternation spread all over Sloville
+when it was known that the Bank doors were shut.&nbsp; Sloville
+was a rising place.&nbsp; Some spirited individual or other was
+always introducing new industries or putting up new
+buildings.&nbsp; Speculation was rife; and the leading tradesmen
+had all <a name="page171"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
+171</span>large accounts at the Bank, as well as the leading
+hotel-keepers.&nbsp; All the farmers of the district, as their
+fathers before them, banked in an establishment so ancient, so
+well-connected, so renowned.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;They ha&rsquo; got &pound;500 of my money,&rsquo; said
+an angry agriculturist, as he banged away, and banged in vain, at
+the doors, on which a notice was posted to the effect &lsquo;that
+in consequence of a temporary difficulty the Bank had suspended
+business for a few days.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;They might ha&rsquo; given a fellar a hint,&rsquo;
+exclaimed another aggravated individual.</p>
+<p>Every minute the crowd increased.&nbsp; Of widows who had put
+into the Bank their little all&mdash;many of them in
+tears&mdash;and of many who had overdrawn their accounts and
+trembled at what the result might be to themselves, never had
+there been got together a more excited crowd.&nbsp; Would the
+Bank open its doors again?&nbsp; Was it possible that they were
+actually shut?&nbsp; If the Bank were bankrupt, what would be the
+dividend to be paid?&nbsp; It was the one great topic of
+discourse at the market, or in the <a name="page172"></a><span
+class="pagenum">p. 172</span>streets, or in the shops and hotels;
+indeed wherever man met man, even at church doors.</p>
+<p>The Church was hit rather hard, for the money had been nearly
+raised for the erection of a new church, and all the money
+subscribed for the purpose had been placed in the Bank.&nbsp; The
+funds of all the working men&rsquo;s societies had also been
+placed there, and they were gone&mdash;all the hard-earned
+savings of a life, all the wise provision of the small tradesman
+or the thrifty operative against a rainy day.&nbsp; Everywhere
+was grief and disappointment and despair.&nbsp; It was a sorry
+sight to see the manager, whom everyone in the town regarded as a
+friend.&nbsp; Never was man more popular or trusted.&nbsp; He
+always wore a smile upon his face; that smile was
+gone&mdash;vanished as the last rose of summer.&nbsp; He shut
+himself up, and was to be seen in the streets no more.&nbsp; He
+had no conception of what was to happen till there came to him a
+telegram, as he was sitting down to breakfast with his smiling
+wife and ruddy, fat-cheeked little ones, that he <a
+name="page173"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 173</span>was not to
+open the Bank doors.&nbsp; And they were never opened again, with
+the result that many other doors were closed as well, that
+millowners had to stop, that their workmen had to be discharged,
+that for many a poor widow had to resort to the workhouse, and
+that when matters came to be inquired into closely, it was found
+that the family at the Hall had been the main cause of the
+calamity which had suddenly overwhelmed the town and
+neighbourhood.</p>
+<p>Bitter were the denunciations made against them.&nbsp; It was
+unpleasant.&nbsp; The widow and her daughters wisely fled.&nbsp;
+They had not been to blame; they were utterly ignorant of the
+matter&mdash;had nothing to do with it in any way, but the public
+of Sloville regarded them as the worst of robbers,
+nevertheless.&nbsp; Her ladyship felt that her influence was
+gone, and she and the young ladies moved to a more congenial
+neighbourhood, where her ladyship&rsquo;s Christian graces
+flourished more than ever, and where she was deemed by the select
+few <a name="page174"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 174</span>who
+gathered at her ladyship&rsquo;s dreary parties as one who had
+been deeply tried in the furnace of affliction, and who had come
+out of it as refined gold.&nbsp; It was held, however, as a
+matter of regret, that on her ladyship&rsquo;s daughters the
+painful visitation of Providence produced no such hallowed and
+sanctifying effect.&nbsp; To make matters worse, one of them
+betook herself to a convent, where, as she told her
+friends&mdash;some of whom, however, rather doubted her
+statement&mdash;she found a peace and happiness she had never
+known before.</p>
+<p>In due time there was a sale at the Hall, at which all the
+townspeople attended, glad to run up and down from one room to
+another, to tread the antique stairs, the stately corridors, and
+to seat themselves on seats and on sofas, some of which were as
+old as the days of Queen Anne.&nbsp; Jews from Wardour Street
+came down in shoals, to pick up articles of bijoutry and virtu,
+to get hold of the old-fashioned ancestors in enormous waistcoats
+and knee-breeches and full-bottomed wigs, to do duty
+elsewhere.&nbsp; <a name="page175"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
+175</span>Filthy hands dogs&rsquo;-eared the choice books in the
+library, while snobs bought the deceased Baronet&rsquo;s
+carefully-selected stock of wine at absurdly extravagant
+rates.&nbsp; Everything went to the hammer&mdash;carriages and
+horses, and all the outdoor effects, all the farming and
+agricultural stock.&nbsp; The sale lasted a week, and brought so
+many people from far and near as to give quite a stimulus, and to
+give to the place somewhat of its former gaiety.&nbsp;
+Shopkeepers and hotel-keepers once more began to smile, and thus,
+in time, the effect of the sad disaster seemed to pass away.</p>
+<p>The only thing to be regretted was that the old Hall was
+doomed.&nbsp; No gentleman would buy it, as it was too near to
+the town, and no townsman was rich enough to buy such a place to
+live in.&nbsp; Further, as the Hall was in a tumble-down state,
+and required a good deal of repair of an expensive character, it
+was pulled down, and the material distributed all over the
+county.&nbsp; In time a manufactory occupied the site of the old
+Hall, and long rows of dull red <a name="page176"></a><span
+class="pagenum">p. 176</span>cottages grew up where once there
+were velvet lawns, and gravel walks, and beds of roses.</p>
+<p>And thus there vanished for ever from the face of the earth
+another of</p>
+<blockquote><p>&lsquo;The stately homes of England&mdash;<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp; How beautiful they stand<br />
+Amidst their tall ancestral trees,<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp; Through all the pleasant land.&rsquo;</p>
+</blockquote>
+<p>It is not always that the stately home is the scene of
+domestic felicity.&nbsp; It is not true that it is unknown in the
+humble workman&rsquo;s home.&nbsp; It is to be believed that, as
+the workman&rsquo;s home is elevated, it will be redolent not
+merely of manly virtues&mdash;the ability to fight the battle of
+life and win&mdash;but of the graces which at one time the upper
+ten seemed to consider as their exclusive privilege; and thus, if
+the cottager waxes strong, we need not deplore that the stately
+home with all its high-born associations has passed away.</p>
+<p>At Sloville there passed away not only the stately home, but
+the family that lorded it long.&nbsp; Thus time changes and we
+change <a name="page177"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
+177</span>with it.&nbsp; Thus old things pass away and all things
+become new.&nbsp; Thus we may look for a new heaven and earth,
+wherein dwelleth righteousness&mdash;a righteousness inconsistent
+with a civilization that pampered the rich and depressed the
+poor, that desolated the cottage to add to the splendour of the
+hall.&nbsp; It is of the many, not of the few, that we have to
+think in these democratic days.</p>
+<p>And the young heir, what became of him?&nbsp; He was little
+disappointed when it was hinted to him that he was heir to a
+bankrupt estate and a dishonoured name.&nbsp; He was young,
+active, healthy, stout-hearted, perfectly willing to fight the
+battle of life to the best of his ability.&nbsp; He was fond of
+his profession, had been successful in it, and was in no hurry to
+relinquish it.&nbsp; He had seen a little of aristocratic life at
+a distance, and he was not enamoured of it; it seemed to him
+unnatural and mischievous.&nbsp; They had many lads from our
+public schools and men from our universities on board ship, and
+it seemed to him that they were <a name="page178"></a><span
+class="pagenum">p. 178</span>extravagant, thoughtless, fond of
+pleasure, frivolous, and useless, and brought up in an altogether
+wrong way.&nbsp; If they did nothing else he held that they
+smoked and drank and ate more than was good for them, that they
+wasted a good deal of time in gambling and dissipation, in
+reading French novels, in the music-hall and the theatre.&nbsp;
+He did not believe that society was in a good state when the few
+were born rich and the many poor.&nbsp; All healthy life seemed
+to him to be founded on hard work; the curse had been changed
+into a blessing, and man was only happy and kept out of mischief
+as he lived by the sweat of his brow.&nbsp; A lazy life had no
+charm for him, even though he lived in a fine mansion, had
+servants to wait on him, was clad in purple and fine linen, and
+fared sumptuously every day.&nbsp; A gentleman in the
+conventional sense of the term he could never, and would never,
+be; that, at any rate, was clear.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Well, my boy,&rsquo; said the actress, as they met in
+Liverpool, where they had both come on purpose, &lsquo;what do
+you think?&nbsp; Would <a name="page179"></a><span
+class="pagenum">p. 179</span>you like to be a gentleman, and lead
+such a life as your father?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Certainly not.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Why not?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Because I like hard work.&nbsp; I am comfortable as I
+am.&nbsp; I am fond of the sea, and if I live to be a captain my
+utmost ambition will be fulfilled.&nbsp; I have seen a good many
+gentlemen, on board ship and when I have been to the theatre, and
+they seem to be a poor, helpless lot, as if they did not know
+what to do with themselves, with their eyeglasses and their high
+collars.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;But they don&rsquo;t all wear high collars and
+eye-glasses.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;No, but most of them do.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Think of what you give up&mdash;the society of high
+life&mdash;your position in the county.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;I have, and I don&rsquo;t care about it.&nbsp; Swells
+don&rsquo;t suit me, and I shan&rsquo;t suit them.&nbsp; I
+don&rsquo;t want to be a landlord where the farmers cannot afford
+to pay any rent.&nbsp; I don&rsquo;t want to be bothered with a
+lot of servants who will be most respectful in my presence, and
+who will laugh at me behind <a name="page180"></a><span
+class="pagenum">p. 180</span>my back.&nbsp; I don&rsquo;t want to
+be stuck up as a mark for needy adventurers and fawning
+parasites.&nbsp; I cannot believe that society in England will
+last long in its present position; that the wealth of the country
+shall be in the hands of the few, who toil not, neither do they
+spin, and that the men who make that wealth, without whom it
+could not exist, shall be stowed away in unhealthy cities to
+live, and breed, and die in such bitterness of poverty as can be
+found nowhere else.&nbsp; Does not James the Apostle tell the
+rich man to go to and howl? and I believe that end is near; that
+is, as soon as the working man has his political rights&mdash;a
+boon that now cannot be long delayed.&nbsp; No, property of the
+kind you speak of has no charms for me; rather give me</p>
+<blockquote><p>&lsquo;&ldquo;A life on the ocean wave,<br />
+A home on the rolling deep.&rdquo;</p>
+</blockquote>
+<p>It is thus I can carry out the mission of the age, to break
+down the barriers created by the prejudices and ignorance of
+nations, to make men realize by means of international commerce
+that we are members one of <a name="page181"></a><span
+class="pagenum">p. 181</span>another, and that God has made of
+one blood &ldquo;all nations that dwell on the face of the
+earth.&rdquo;&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Why, my dear boy,&rsquo; said the actress, &lsquo;you
+are quite a Radical, and a philosopher as well.&nbsp; Where did
+you get your ideas from?&nbsp; From the newspapers?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Not a bit.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Where from then?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;From the Book of Books&mdash;the Bible.&nbsp; I have
+loved to think of such things in the watches of the night as I
+have been alone on deck.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Well, you have thought to some purpose,&rsquo; said the
+actress.&nbsp; &lsquo;Wentworth will be delighted.&nbsp; I am
+sure you will fall in with our plan.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;What is that?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;I&rsquo;ll tell you as soon as I have seen
+Wentworth.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;You&rsquo;ll hear from me soon,&rsquo; said the
+actress, as she seated herself in the train, and glided along the
+iron road till London was reached in safety and in good
+time.&nbsp; Nor were Wentworth and his wife sorry <a
+name="page182"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 182</span>at his
+decision.&nbsp; They infinitely preferred him as he was, and thus
+the matter was allowed to drop, to the infinite regret of a sharp
+firm of City lawyers, who were quite ready to do battle for the
+lad&rsquo;s right, with a chance of making money out of the case
+somehow before they had done with it.&nbsp; The family lawyers
+were quite content to let things remain as they were.&nbsp; They
+had lost money by the family, and had no more wish to trouble
+themselves about their concerns.&nbsp; There was no chance of
+anyone coming forward to claim the family honours, and the name
+of Strahan was dropped out of the book of the baronetage of
+England for ever.</p>
+<h2><a name="page183"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
+183</span>CHAPTER XXX.<br />
+<span class="GutSmall">ROSE RETIRES FROM THE STAGE.</span></h2>
+<p>&lsquo;I think,&rsquo; said Rose to her husband that night,
+&lsquo;I shall give up the stage.&nbsp; I have been without an
+engagement long; I have refused everything of the
+kind.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Yet, darling, you are not growing old.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;No, it is not that.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;But what?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;That I care less and less for the artificial atmosphere
+of the stage.&nbsp; We lead such a conventional life and breathe
+such a conventional air; there is so much of insincerity.&nbsp;
+&ldquo;Suppose any given theatre,&rdquo; writes Mr. Thomas Archer
+in one of his clever essays, &ldquo;suppose any given theatre
+suddenly turned <a name="page184"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
+184</span>into a Palace of Truth, and all the members of the
+company forced to state their true opinion of each other&rsquo;s
+performances, the Palace of Truth would be a
+pandemonium.&rdquo;&nbsp; And then there are other
+considerations.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;For instance?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Well, to begin with, the atmosphere of
+self-consciousness in which the actor lives and moves and has his
+being.&nbsp; Mr. Henry James tells us the artist performs great
+feats in a dream; we must not wake him up lest he should lose his
+balance.&nbsp; The actor, alas! has always to be wide
+awake&mdash;to think of the applause to be won.&nbsp; I am sure
+too much of that sort of life cannot be good for
+anyone.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;And I have long been expecting you to say as
+much.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;But you are not sorry, are you?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;On the contrary; it is the very thing I have been
+looking for all along.&nbsp; It is nice to feel when the public
+applaud an actress that she is your own; but how much nicer to
+feel as I do now,&rsquo; said Wentworth, with <a
+name="page185"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 185</span>a loving
+caress, &lsquo;that she is all my own!&nbsp; You were happy on
+the stage; you will be ten times happier off it.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Ah, that I know well enough.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;I fancy you little people of the mimic world are rather
+inclined to overrate your importance.&nbsp; By the side of it the
+editorial &ldquo;we&rdquo; is modesty itself.&nbsp; You actors
+and actresses are not such great folk after all.&nbsp; Admired
+one day, forgotten the next!&nbsp; As I think of all the men and
+women I have known upon the stage, who were lions of their day,
+for whom the public went into fits of madness, and then see how
+completely they are forgotten, it has always seemed to me that to
+illustrate the vanity of life and the nothingness of human
+applause I should point to the stage.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>One morning there came the manager of the theatre.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;No, I shall never go back to the stage,&rsquo; replied
+the actress.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Why not, my dear?&rsquo; said the manager, a gentleman
+of showy manners, and suspected of being rather over-sweet.</p>
+<p><a name="page186"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
+186</span>&lsquo;Because I don&rsquo;t like the life behind the
+scenes.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;I am surprised to hear that.&nbsp; If you knew how
+young ladies of really good position bother me to give them a
+trial!&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Ah, they are ignorant.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Yes,&rsquo; said the manager; &lsquo;remember the old
+lines:</p>
+<blockquote><p>&lsquo;&ldquo;Where ignorance is bliss,<br />
+&rsquo;Tis folly to be wise.&rsquo;&rdquo;</p>
+</blockquote>
+<p>&lsquo;Folly or not,&rsquo; replied Rose, &lsquo;my eyes have
+been opened by experience.&nbsp; Once I was ignorant as they, and
+thought how delightful the life behind the scenes must be; but
+now I know better.&nbsp; I only wish I could have a quiet chat
+with some of those stage-struck girls, and warn them before it is
+too late.&nbsp; The life is only possible for the children of
+parents who are on the stage.&nbsp; It is the atmosphere in which
+they have been brought up.&nbsp; But as to other girls, the stage
+is the last thing they should think of if I had my
+way.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;But what do you object to?&rsquo;</p>
+<p><a name="page187"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
+187</span>&lsquo;Why, to everything: the language one is obliged
+to hear; the dresses, which are often actually indecent; the way
+in which one is persecuted by men supposed to be
+gentlemen&mdash;the free-and-easy way in which they attempt
+familiarities is decidedly unpleasant.&nbsp; No, I have been
+behind the scenes; I have no more illusions on that score.&nbsp;
+I have done with the whole affair.&nbsp; I am off the boards, and
+I have no wish to reappear on them again.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;No money will tempt you?&rsquo; said the manager.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;None,&rsquo; was the reply.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;You will be exposed to no inconvenience, you
+know.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;That is true; but I should have to give my sanction to
+much that I disapprove of.&nbsp; You must reform what goes on
+behind the scenes.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Oh, that is impossible.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;That&rsquo;s what I fear.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Well, as you&rsquo;ve made up your mind, it is no use,
+I fear, discussing the subject any longer.&rsquo;</p>
+<p><a name="page188"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 188</span>His
+appeal was in vain.</p>
+<p>She did not want money, she did not care for applause; she had
+plenty of excitement in real life.&nbsp; She wanted time to
+think, and read, and feel.&nbsp; Behind the footlights every
+night, what time has actor or actress to realize the great ends
+of life as something real, and not a show with its pretended
+tragedy or farce?</p>
+<p>&lsquo;In fact,&rsquo; said the lady, &lsquo;I wish to live
+and not to act.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;And then return to the stage when you are getting
+old,&rsquo; said the manager in dismay.&nbsp; &lsquo;Well, the
+public are indulgent, I admit.&nbsp; A favourite is a favourite,
+whether old or young.&nbsp; There are old men and women now on
+the stage who ought to have retired years ago.&nbsp; They cannot
+act decently; with all their making up they are scarcely
+presentable.&nbsp; Their memory and their power are gone, or
+something very like it, still the public applaud.&nbsp; They do
+not understand what failures the poor creatures have become, and
+they praise them as liberally as when they were in their prime
+and could <a name="page189"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
+189</span>act.&nbsp; One cannot much wonder that under the
+circumstances the veteran actor lags superfluous on the
+stage.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;But are they not afraid of the newspaper
+critics?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>Here the manager laughed.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Excuse me&mdash;that is too ridiculous.&nbsp; Who cares
+for theatrical criticism?&nbsp; Of course, we managers are civil
+to the critics, who give themselves amusing airs, and have a high
+opinion of their own abilities, and we get an advertisement
+gratuitously, which, of course, is an advantage.&nbsp; But a
+theatrical critic always swims with the stream&mdash;applauds
+what the public applaud, and blames what they blame.&nbsp; The
+public don&rsquo;t care a rap for the theatrical critic.&nbsp; I
+often wonder newspaper editors take the trouble to print what
+they write.&nbsp; That no one reads it, except on a wet Sunday,
+they know as well as I.&nbsp; But you will come back to us
+soon?&rsquo; said the manager, with his most beseeching air.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;No, I think not,&rsquo; said the lady.&nbsp; &lsquo;The
+life is too exciting to be healthy, either for <a
+name="page190"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 190</span>the heart
+or the head.&nbsp; It is all very well for a little while, but
+not for long.&nbsp; I have been happy on the stage, but I believe
+I shall be equally happy off.&nbsp; Let the younger ones have a
+chance.&nbsp; Every dog has his day.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>And the manager departed, thinking that the lady had made a
+great mistake, that perhaps she only needed a little more
+pressing.&nbsp; At any rate, he said, as he bowed himself
+out:</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Madame, you shall hear from me again.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;It is no use,&rsquo; was her reply.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;I am glad you have come to such an opinion.&nbsp; I
+also have obtained my freedom,&rsquo; said Wentworth.&nbsp;
+&lsquo;My work at the newspaper office is done.&nbsp; It has been
+rather unpleasant of late.&nbsp; The proprietors depend on the
+Liberal Government; the Liberal Government fancy that to me it is
+due that a Tory was returned for Sloville.&nbsp; It was hinted to
+me that I was too independent&mdash;too negligent as to the
+interests of the party; that I was not severe enough on the <a
+name="page191"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 191</span>sins of the
+opposition; that, in short, I was not enough of a party
+hack.&nbsp; Our manager is a keen party man; indeed, he expects
+one of these days to be knighted.&nbsp; And now I am free, and so
+are you, and we can set about a work I have long had in
+contemplation.&nbsp; You and I have often talked of
+Southey&rsquo;s and Coleridge&rsquo;s pantisocracy&mdash;I
+believe the time has come for some such an enterprise.&nbsp; It
+is true they never carried it out, it is true that when Robert
+Owen tried to do something of the kind it failed; but that is no
+reason why we should fail.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Of course not,&rsquo; said Rose.&nbsp; &lsquo;Yes, let
+us emigrate.&nbsp; Let us leave Sodom and Gomorrah to their
+fate.&nbsp; The sooner we are off the better.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Let us have old Buxton down to talk over the
+matter,&rsquo; said Wentworth, making a signal by applying the
+poker to the ceiling.</p>
+<p>In a moment or two he was in the room, a big burly man, with a
+big head and a big beard&mdash;given to the immoderate use of
+tobacco; averse to wearing new clothes, and not overfond of soap
+and water; rather <a name="page192"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
+192</span>inclined to be lazy; ready to say with Lord Melbourne,
+when reforming action was proposed: &lsquo;Why can&rsquo;t you
+leave it alone?&rsquo;&nbsp; Such men have their uses in a land
+where fussy people&mdash;as much with a view to their own
+personal gratification as to the welfare of the public&mdash;are
+always putting themselves forward; attempting to wash the
+blackamoor white, to have the Ethiopian change his skin or the
+leopard his spots.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;What&rsquo;s up now?&rsquo; said he as he shuffled
+in.&nbsp; &lsquo;You look uncommonly grave.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Listen to me,&rsquo; said Wentworth.&nbsp; &lsquo;You
+have read my article in this morning&rsquo;s paper?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Not a line.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Read it then.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>Buxton shrugged his shoulders and sat down.</p>
+<p>Wentworth continued:</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Listen to my ideas, which I have published in the
+paper.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;By all means.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;If in the multitude of counsellors there is safety, the
+England of to-day has little <a name="page193"></a><span
+class="pagenum">p. 193</span>to fear, in spite of the undeniable
+facts that she is losing her trade and commerce, that her
+national debt seems impossible of payment, that her expenditure
+increases as her income declines, and that the unemployed and
+pauper class threaten, like the lean kine Joseph saw in his
+dream, to swallow up all the rest.&nbsp; As long as I can
+remember I have heard statesmen, and clergymen of all
+denominations, and politicians of all creeds, say something must
+be done; and they are still saying it in the most hopeless of
+tones, and with air the most dejected.&nbsp; We have not had our
+French Revolution yet.&nbsp; At the worst, the hungry mobs have
+contented themselves with an occasional raid on an unfortunate
+butcher or baker, or on some imprudent jeweller, whose attractive
+windows have proved too strong a temptation for the
+horny-handed.&nbsp; In the meanwhile, people of a hopeful turn of
+mind tell us&mdash;and truly&mdash;that the working classes were
+never better off, better paid, or better fed.&nbsp; But still,
+somehow or other, it is apparent that outside of the hopeless <a
+name="page194"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 194</span>pauperism
+which the idiotic legislation of our fathers has called into
+existence&mdash;outside the depraved, whom drink and dishonesty
+have removed from the ranks of labour, to swell the bitter cry
+which ever ascends from city slums, where all foul things
+congregate, and where decent life is impossible&mdash;there are
+hundreds, nay, thousands, who are ready to work, but for whom,
+though to seek it they rise early and sit up late, no work is to
+be had.&nbsp; Is there any hope for such?&nbsp; Are they to be
+uncared for till they have lost all heart, and sink down to the
+pit of misery and despair, never more, till death comes to them
+as a friend, to rise again?&nbsp; Is it not time that we think of
+them?&nbsp; In Ireland, a hundred patriots would have rent the
+air with the story of their wrongs.&nbsp; In England, we take
+small note of them.&nbsp; Yet they are our flesh and blood, with
+honest hearts and hands.&nbsp; A scheme has been devised for
+their benefit.&nbsp; That it is worth a trial, few who can
+examine it can doubt.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;The idea of this new remedy is that, now <a
+name="page195"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 195</span>when
+agricultural land is to be had for next to nothing, farms should
+be bought on which home colonies may be planted, and labour
+provided sufficient for self-support.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;The fact is,&rsquo; said Wentworth, &lsquo;we have
+rather a grand scheme in view.&nbsp; A gentleman is ready to
+purchase land in America or Canada or one of the Colonies; to
+plant it with poor people who can find no work at home, nor are
+likely to do so, if they stop here all their lives.&nbsp; And he
+wants me to go out as manager; I am quite ready to do so.&nbsp;
+And Rose is anxious for the experiment to be tried&mdash;indeed,
+far more so than myself.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;That is a matter of course&mdash;novelty has always
+charms for woman.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;And woman,&rsquo; said Rose, &lsquo;is always ready to
+lend a helping hand to any philanthropic scheme.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Well, it requires a good deal of thinking
+about.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;And we have thought about it long,&rsquo; said
+Wentworth; &lsquo;and the more we think <a
+name="page196"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 196</span>about it
+the better we like it.&nbsp; But we want you to accompany
+us.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;In what capacity?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;As medical man.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;And you think I would turn my back on London, and give
+up my easy life, to undertake all this responsibility?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Well, I don&rsquo;t see why you should not,&rsquo; said
+Wentworth.&nbsp; &lsquo;You are not doing much good here, you
+know.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;And why should I, when everyone is fussing about doing
+good and in the meantime doing a great deal of mischief,
+interfering with the working of the unalterable laws of the
+universe, washing blackamoors white, trying to make empty sacks
+stand upright?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Yes, but we are going to do nothing of the kind.&nbsp;
+We are only finding homes and work for men and women who can find
+in the old country neither the one nor the other&mdash;to save
+them from sinking into hopeless pauperism, to help them to live
+happy and healthful lives.&nbsp; What have you to say against our
+scheme?&rsquo;</p>
+<p><a name="page197"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
+197</span>&lsquo;Really, now I think about it, I can&rsquo;t say
+anything against it, supposing that you have a proper site for
+the experiment, that you take proper people, and that you have
+sufficient capital to make a fair start.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Oh, as to that, everything has been provided for.&nbsp;
+Each colonist will have a bit of ground, which he will pay for in
+time by his labour.&nbsp; We intend working on the old lines, not
+to be led away by communistic ideas.&nbsp; Each man will do the
+best he can for himself, and in so doing will be best for
+all.&nbsp; What do you think, Buxton, of the scheme?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Why, like all her ladyship&rsquo;s ideas, it is
+excellent.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Pretty flatterer!&rsquo; said Rose.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;He wants to cut me out,&rsquo; said Wentworth.&nbsp;
+&lsquo;He was always envious of my superior abilities.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;As he had every reason to be,&rsquo; said Rose.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Come, that&rsquo;s too bad,&rsquo; said Buxton, turning
+to Rose, &lsquo;after the way in which I <a
+name="page198"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 198</span>buttered
+you up just now.&nbsp; Two to one ain&rsquo;t fair.&nbsp; But to
+return to business.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Hear, hear,&rsquo; said Wentworth.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;If I had a family&mdash;which, thank Heaven, I have
+not&mdash;I would not stop in England a day.&nbsp; If I had a lad
+to plant out in the world as you have, I&rsquo;d send him off to
+America or the Colonies to-morrow.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Because?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Because it&rsquo;s all up in old England in the first
+place; and in the second place, because if it were not so, the
+New World offers better opportunities for a young fellow than the
+old.&nbsp; May I dwell upon these topics?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Certainly, by all means.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Well, I have met a good many Americans lately, and they
+have put new ideas into my head&mdash;&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Not before they were wanted!&rsquo; said Wentworth.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Speak for yourself, sir, if you please,&rsquo; said
+Buxton, with an assumed offended air.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Oh, I beg pardon!&nbsp; Pray proceed.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;I was going to say,&rsquo; said Buxton, &lsquo;until
+interrupted in this unmannerly manner, <a
+name="page199"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 199</span>you are
+enthusiasts, I am not.&nbsp; I doubt the dream of a new heaven
+and a new earth.&nbsp; It has done good in its time, I
+admit.&nbsp; It was the thought of the Messiah that was to come
+that nerved the heart of the Jew as he sat by the waters of
+Babylon and wept as he remembered Zion.&nbsp; Paul and the
+Apostles expected the new heaven and the new earth before they
+laid down their lives as martyrs for their inspiring faith.&nbsp;
+Upheld by the same living hope, tender and delicate maidens have
+gone to the grave exulting, and have glorified God at the stake
+or in the dungeon or on the scaffold.&nbsp; &ldquo;The end of all
+things is at hand,&rdquo; is ever the cry of the churches.&nbsp;
+It was that of Luther in his day, and is that of the Evangelicals
+in ours, who, if an earthquake destroys a town, or a deluge
+sweeps over the land, or the cholera breaks out in the East, or
+there are wars and rumours of wars, tell us these are the dread
+signs to mark the coming of the Son of Man with His saints to
+judge the earth.&nbsp; I feel rather inclined to believe with old
+Swedenborg that that day is past.&nbsp; The talk <a
+name="page200"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 200</span>of a
+Millennium makes me sick.&nbsp; It is a delusion and a
+sham.&nbsp; Such men as Dr. Cumming, with their long array of
+dates and their wild dreams of the fulfilment of prophecy, make
+men like myself sceptics.&nbsp; It is clear to us that the odds,
+at any rate, are against the Christian.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;I don&rsquo;t know,&rsquo; said Rose.&nbsp; &lsquo;But
+this is a business scheme.&nbsp; We are not in search of the
+Millennium.&rsquo;</p>
+<h2><a name="page201"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
+201</span>CHAPTER XXXI.<br />
+<span class="GutSmall">CHIEFLY ABOUT THE LAND.</span></h2>
+<p>For three months an Englishman sits in sackcloth and
+ashes.&nbsp; The matter-of-fact reviewer will tell me this is not
+so; and he is right and so am I.</p>
+<p>London is not a place to live in in winter; there is,
+unfortunately, no place in England that is.&nbsp; People talk of
+the weather.&nbsp; They cannot help themselves.&nbsp; In his old
+age Dr. Johnson wrote, &lsquo;I am now reduced to think and am at
+last content to talk of the weather.&rsquo;&nbsp; That was a sign
+that the Doctor at last had fallen low.&nbsp; As Burney writes:
+&lsquo;There was no information for which Dr. Johnson was less
+grateful than for that which concerned the weather.&rsquo;&nbsp;
+If any one of his intimate companions told him it was <a
+name="page202"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 202</span>hot or
+cold, wet or dry, windy or calm; he would stop them by saying:
+&lsquo;O-oh, O-oh!&nbsp; You are telling me of that of which none
+but men in a mine or a dungeon can be ignorant.&nbsp; Let us bear
+with patience or enjoy in quiet elementary changes either for the
+better or the worse, as they are never secrets.&rsquo;&nbsp;
+Nevertheless, the state of the weather continues in all circles
+an unfailing theme.&nbsp; Bad weather affects the spirits by
+depressing them, fine raises them.&nbsp; We are attuned to every
+action of the outer atmosphere.&nbsp; Our suicides in November
+are known all the world over.&nbsp; It is scarcely possible to be
+cheerful on a dull, cold, raw, foggy day.&nbsp; I wonder people
+who can afford to go away and have no pressing claims at home do
+not rush off to the Riviera in search of its blue sky, its summer
+suns, its wealth of flowers, its richer life for the delicate, or
+the infirm or old.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;We must get out of England,&rsquo; said Wentworth to
+his wife, one dull wintry morn, when the raw cold seemed to fill
+every apartment in the house, and the outlook <a
+name="page203"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 203</span>into the
+busy street only revealed half-starved figures in all their
+wretchedness.&nbsp; &lsquo;We must get out of England, and the
+sooner the better.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Yes, I&rsquo;ve long been thinking so; but the question
+is, where to go.&nbsp; We have got to think of other people
+besides ourselves, and of other affairs than our own.&nbsp; But
+with our tastes and habits we can live cheaply anywhere, and I
+have no wish to go where we shall meet a lot of idle rich people
+only seeking to guard themselves from the English winter and
+spending life in frivolous indulgence.&nbsp; Let us take the
+question seriously.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;That is just what I am trying to do,&rsquo; was the
+reply.&nbsp; &lsquo;We are not too old for a grand
+experiment.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;But are you prepared to give up journalism?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Yes, I am.&nbsp; I see a new spirit abroad, one which I
+detest.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>But one thing remained to Wentworth of the teaching of his
+early years: a love of Liberal principles; an enthusiasm for <a
+name="page204"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 204</span>humanity; a
+deep yearning for the mental and moral elevation of the
+people&mdash;ideas deeply cherished in the Nonconformist families
+of the past generation.&nbsp; In every home the struggle for
+reform, the hatred of slavery, the desire to give the Roman
+Catholics fair play, the struggle for the repeal of the Test and
+Corporation Acts, the need of a national and unsectarian system
+of education, were held to be objects of paramount importance,
+and were the subjects of daily converse.&nbsp; In every rural
+village meetings were held at the chapels in their favour, and if
+there were no great orators to attend them, what was said at them
+sank into prepared soil, and bore a rich harvest.&nbsp; It was in
+East Anglia as it was all over England.&nbsp; The agitation went
+from one chapel to another.&nbsp; A line of communication was
+thus established, wrote William Hazlitt, whose father was a
+Unitarian minister in Shropshire, by which the flame of civil and
+religious liberty is kept alive, and nourishes its smouldering
+fires, unquenchable like the fires in the Agamemnon <a
+name="page205"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 205</span>of
+&AElig;schylus, placed at different stations that waited for ten
+long years to announce with their blazing pyramids the
+destruction of Troy.&nbsp; It was from such centres came the
+soldiers who were to win the people&rsquo;s victories in spite of
+the nominees of Tory lords and rotten borough-mongers, of
+pensioners and place-men, of time-serving priests and fawning
+courtiers who then ruled the land, and who fattened on the taxes
+wrung from an unrepresented and oppressed and a
+discontented&mdash;and a justly discontented&mdash;nation.&nbsp;
+Young hearts burned within them as they listened to Liberal
+orators, or read the speeches of such men as Henry Brougham or
+Dan O&rsquo;Connell, or studied Liberal newspapers; and they
+longed for the time when they, too, should gird on the shield and
+buckler and do battle for the Right.&nbsp; In vain timid
+ministers and aged deacons uttered warning voices and shook their
+heads at the new spirit which was abroad, quoted Scripture about
+obeying them that have rule over you, hinted at the danger to
+spirituality of life and feeling <a name="page206"></a><span
+class="pagenum">p. 206</span>by mixing in the rough warfare of
+the political world.&nbsp; As well might they scream to the
+stormy blast.&nbsp; The current was too strong: they had to swim
+with it or be drowned.&nbsp; It was a grand time of
+awakening.&nbsp; The world has seen nothing like it since.&nbsp;
+To Wentworth it was a baptism, the effect of which was never to
+pass away.&nbsp; Buxton, as usual, continued his morning
+smoke.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Hear me,&rsquo; said Wentworth, as Rose rushed out of
+the room, declaring that she knew all he had to say.&nbsp;
+Wentworth continued: &lsquo;As long as I can remember, the
+&ldquo;condition of England question,&rdquo; as Carlyle called
+it, or, as we term it, in more sensational phraseology,
+&ldquo;the bitter cry of the outcast,&rdquo; has afforded painful
+matter of reflection to the statesman, the philanthropist, the
+philosopher, and the divine.&nbsp; It is always coming to the
+front, and it will always be coming to the front, even if you
+hang all the bad landlords and jerry-builders, get rid of the
+bloated capitalist, and divide the <a name="page207"></a><span
+class="pagenum">p. 207</span>estates of the aristocracy and the
+millions of the capitalists among the poor of the East-end.&nbsp;
+The working classes are not to be confounded with the men and
+women who herd like beasts in the wretched dens of the
+east.&nbsp; Underneath the lowest of them there is a conservative
+residuum whom it is impossible to get rid of, whose condition it
+is appalling to contemplate.&nbsp; They are the men who
+won&rsquo;t work; who won&rsquo;t go where work is to be had; who
+come to London when they should never have left their country
+home; who sell their manhood for a pot of beer: casuals who, born
+in a poor-house or a prison, children of shame from the first,
+mostly spend their lives alternately tramping the streets and in
+the workhouse or the gaol.&nbsp; As London increases in
+population, so do they.&nbsp; We have seen such men offered fair
+work by hundreds, but they prefer filth and laziness, with the
+chance of an appeal to the humane.&nbsp; &ldquo;Pull down the
+rookery,&rdquo; and the rooks won&rsquo;t fly away.&nbsp; Burn
+all the fever and vice laden dens of the outcast, and <a
+name="page208"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 208</span>there he is
+still, a disgrace and shame&mdash;not so much, as sensational
+writers pretend, to our civilization and religion as to our
+common manhood.&nbsp; Ever since we have known anything of the
+churches&mdash;whether Established or Free&mdash;it seems to us
+that they have aimed as much at the temporal as the spiritual
+improvement of the outcast.&nbsp; We have yet to learn that it is
+a disgrace to our civilization that it does not interfere with
+God&rsquo;s law, that the wrong-doer must pay for his
+wrong-doing, whatever that may be&mdash;that if you lose your
+chance, another will take it&mdash;that it is too late to go
+harvesting in winter; that the victory is to the strong, that he
+that will not work shall not eat&mdash;those who forget this, who
+idle away the precious moments, are soon sitting in the outer
+darkness of the outcast, where there is weeping, and wailing, and
+gnashing of teeth.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;It amuses us, or would, were not the subject so
+awful&mdash;for it may be taken as a sober truth that outside the
+bottomless pit there is no such utter damnation as is <a
+name="page209"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 209</span>to be found
+among the outcast&mdash;to find clever writers talking of the
+constant neglect of the last hundred years, and to ponder over
+the remedies.&nbsp; It is now the fashion to recommend better
+houses to be built at the expense of the community.&nbsp; If we
+were to get free trade in land, more will be done to remove the
+congestion in our great cities than by the erection of improved
+dwellings, which will rather intensify the evil.&nbsp; The more
+society does for the outcast the more will their number and their
+poverty alike increase.&nbsp; The remedy is worse than the
+disease.&nbsp; Every halfpenny you give to the undeserving is so
+much taken from the deserving.&nbsp; Every benefit you confer on
+the pauper is at the expense of the honest, respectable poor, who
+have a prior claim.&nbsp; Against State action the argument is
+still stronger.&nbsp; In the first place, the State cannot deal
+honestly and fairly by the people.&nbsp; What it does is ill
+done, and at double expense.&nbsp; The people who pay the taxes
+are often as badly off as <a name="page210"></a><span
+class="pagenum">p. 210</span>those for whose benefit they are
+spent.&nbsp; A slight addition to the taxation of a wealthy peer
+or capitalist will not deprive him of a single luxury, but it may
+send a small, struggling tradesman into the <i>Gazette</i>.&nbsp;
+We are a nation of shopkeepers, and it is easy to perceive that a
+time may come when our heavy taxation may cripple us in our trade
+with foreign competitors, when they will supply the markets, on
+which we have hitherto depended, when, in fact, we shall have
+little left to us but our National Debt.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Go on,&rsquo; said Buxton.&nbsp; &lsquo;You are getting
+rather prosy, but if it relieves your feelings, pray
+proceed.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Well, then,&rsquo; said Wentworth, &lsquo;I will.&nbsp;
+A gentleman sends me a scheme of a cooperative home colony, which
+will give the settlers three good meals a day, a house, a full
+suit of clothing every year, education for their children, and an
+allotment of half an acre of land, which shall be entirely at the
+disposal of the head of the family so long as he makes a good use
+of it and renders <a name="page211"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
+211</span>proper service during the regular working hours.&nbsp;
+For the purchase of fuel or tea and coffee, and such things as
+cannot be grown in this climate, the director will sell in the
+public market any surplus produce such as eggs, butter and
+poultry, far too much of which we get from abroad.&nbsp;
+One-sixth of the harvest and other produce will be sold to pay
+the salaries of director and foremen.&nbsp; A farm of three
+hundred and forty acres in the Isle of Sheppey, for instance, can
+be had if it be deemed desirable.&nbsp; If we get a population of
+five hundred on it, fifty acres of wheat will supply the
+settlement with all the bread that can be eaten there.&nbsp; If
+the cows were stall-fed, one hundred acres of land would keep
+over a hundred head of cattle, and such a herd would supply all
+the requisite milk, cheese, butter, beef and hides every year in
+abundant quantities.&nbsp; Flax could be cultivated and linen
+woven.&nbsp; A flock of sheep could be tended on the estate
+sufficient to yield five pounds of wool every year per head of
+the population.&nbsp; There would be no expense for manure, as
+the settlement would <a name="page212"></a><span
+class="pagenum">p. 212</span>provide it all.&nbsp; Are you
+weary?&rsquo; said Wentworth.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Not particularly.&nbsp; Pray proceed.&nbsp; But why not
+try it&mdash;why not begin a scheme of the kind at
+once?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;All we have to do is to get the people back to the
+land.&nbsp; By the establishment of such home colonies work will
+be offered in rural districts to men and women who would
+otherwise be driven into our great cities to increase the
+pauperism which threatens our whole social edifice.&nbsp; The
+scheme, if carried out, will encourage habits of industry and
+thrift&mdash;unlike the work given in our workhouses, which
+demoralizes and degrades the recipients; it will help the
+societies instituted to distribute charity, as it will offer
+strong men and women healthy labour rather than doles, which they
+are ashamed to accept, which they do not ask for, and which, when
+taken, have a tendency to break down that spirit of independence
+and self-reliance which lies at the foundation of all decent
+manhood; and lastly, and this is an immense benefit, it would
+prevent land now <a name="page213"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
+213</span>in cultivation from becoming a desert.&nbsp; It seems
+to me this of itself is no common recommendation of the plan,
+when farmers are giving up farming, and their farms either
+allowed to run to waste or farmed by the landlords at a heavy
+loss.&nbsp; Our great Free Traders never dreamt of this when they
+got Parliament and the people to destroy Protection, yet such are
+the facts we have to face.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;And yet there are people who believe in Cobden
+still,&rsquo; said Buxton.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;I knew him well,&rsquo; said Wentworth, &lsquo;and a
+better man never lived.&nbsp; He was right in the main, though
+his enthusiasm led him astray, and no wonder.&nbsp; Let me, in
+the language of Goldsmith remind you&mdash;</p>
+
+<blockquote><p>&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&lsquo;&ldquo;How
+wide the limits stand<br />
+Between a splendid and a happy land.&rdquo;&rsquo;</p>
+</blockquote>
+<p>Buxton laughed when Wentworth had finished his rhapsody.&nbsp;
+Buxton was given to laughter.&nbsp; He was not a man who took
+life very seriously.&nbsp; Perhaps he would have done better had
+he done so as far as his own personal interests were
+concerned.&nbsp; As Swift <a name="page214"></a><span
+class="pagenum">p. 214</span>said of Arbuthnot, it might be said
+of him, that he knew his art better than his trade.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Wait a moment,&rsquo; he said, as he rushed out of the
+room to his own den, whence he returned with an old faded
+handbill, which was as follows:</p>
+<blockquote><p style="text-align: center">SPENCE&rsquo;S PLAN</p>
+<p style="text-align: center">for Parochial Partnerships in the
+Land<br />
+is the only effectual remedy for the<br />
+distress and oppressions of the people.<br />
+The Landholders are not Proprietors-in-Chief;<br />
+they are but the <i>Stewards</i> of the Public,<br />
+for the <span class="smcap">Land is the People&rsquo;s
+Farm</span>.<br />
+The expenses of the Government do not cause the<br />
+misery that<br />
+surrounds us, but the enormous exactings of those<br />
+<i>Unjust Stewards</i>,<br />
+Landed monopoly is indeed equally contrary<br />
+to the benign<br />
+Spirit of Christianity, and destructive of<br />
+the Independence and Morality of Mankind.<br />
+&lsquo;The Profit of the Earth is for all.&rsquo;<br />
+Yet how deplorably destitute are the great mass of the<br />
+People!<br />
+Nor is it possible for their situations to<br />
+be radically amended but<br />
+by the establishment of a system<br />
+founded on the immutable bases of<br />
+Nature and Justice.<br />
+Experience demonstrates its necessity, and the<br />
+Rights of Manhood<br />
+require it for their presentation.</p>
+<p><a name="page215"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 215</span>To
+obtain this important object by extending the knowledge of the
+above system, the Society of Spencean Philanthropies has been
+established.&nbsp; Further information of its principles may be
+obtained by attending any of its sectional meetings, where
+subjects are discussed calculated to enlighten the human
+understanding; and where, also, the regulations of the society
+may be procured, containing a complete development of the
+Spencean system.&nbsp; Every individual is admitted free of
+expense who will conduct himself with decorum.</p>
+</blockquote>
+<p>&lsquo;I never heard of Spence,&rsquo; said Wentworth.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Of course not,&rsquo; said Buxton.&nbsp; &lsquo;In
+these days of boasted progress we know nothing of what has
+been.&nbsp; Radicals always ignore the past.&nbsp; You really
+need a little enlightenment.&nbsp; Shall I enlighten
+you?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;By all means.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;It was in 1775 Mr. Spence began his public
+career.&nbsp; Like most original thinkers, he commenced in the
+country.&nbsp; His political opinions were first pronounced in
+the form of a lecture read before the Newcastle Philosophical
+Society in 1775, and printed immediately afterwards, from which
+time, he says, he went on continually publishing <a
+name="page216"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 216</span>them in
+some shape or other.&nbsp; They are fully explained in his
+&ldquo;Constitution of Spensonia: a Country in Fairy Land
+Situated Somewhere between Utopia and Oceana.&rdquo;&nbsp;
+According to his scheme, the land belongs to the people, and
+individuals should rent the land from their respective parishes,
+the rent constituting the national revenue, and the surplus,
+after all expenses were paid, was to be divided equally amongst
+all the parishioners.&nbsp; The larger estates were to be let for
+one-and-twenty years, and at the expiration of that term relet by
+public auction, the smaller ones by the year, and the larger ones
+sub-divided according to the increase of population.&nbsp; The
+legislative power was to be vested in an annual Parliament
+elected by universal suffrage, women voting as well as men.&nbsp;
+The executive was to be in the hands of a council of twenty-five,
+half of which was to be renewed annually.&nbsp; Every fifth day
+there was to be a Sabbatical rest, not a Sabbath, for no
+provision was made for public worship, and in the new world no
+mention was to be <a name="page217"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
+217</span>made of parsons, though the constitution was to be
+proclaimed in a more or less religious form.&nbsp; At the end of
+the pamphlet, as it was published, was an epilogue, intimating
+the flight of poverty and misery from this lower world, and there
+was an appeal:</p>
+<blockquote><p>&lsquo;&ldquo;Let us all join heart and hand<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp; Through every town and city,<br />
+Of every age and every sex,<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp; Young men and maidens pretty,<br />
+To haste this golden age&rsquo;s reign<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp; On every hill and valley,<br />
+Then Paradise shall greet our eyes<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp; Through every street and alley.&rdquo;&rsquo;</p>
+</blockquote>
+<p>&lsquo;Ah,&rsquo; said Wentworth, &lsquo;I see there is
+nothing new under the sun.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;But the taxes?&rsquo; said Buxton.&nbsp; He continued:
+&lsquo;This scheme was published long before the French
+Revolution broke out.&nbsp; Up in the north there had risen a
+solitary and original thinker who advocated female voting,
+universal suffrage, annual Parliaments, and had got hold of the
+idea&mdash;which has led many of our modern apostles to fame and
+fortune&mdash;that the land lay at the <a
+name="page218"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 218</span>root of the
+Condition of England question, that all private property in land
+must be destroyed, and that it must be done at once.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Spence, then, was, to use the cant of the present day,
+a Progressist.&nbsp; To him belongs the honour of having first
+presented the land question in all its bearings to the general
+public.&nbsp; What was his reward?&mdash;a Government prosecution
+with a fine of &pound;20 and a year&rsquo;s imprisonment at
+Shrewsbury.&nbsp; Well might a nobleman, as Wilberforce tells us,
+show him the picture of crucified Christ, and bid him mark the
+end of a Reformer.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;One cause of Spence&rsquo;s failure is obvious&mdash;he
+tried to do too much.&nbsp; &ldquo;When I began to study,&rdquo;
+says he, &ldquo;I found everything erected on certain unalterable
+principles.&nbsp; I found every art and science a perfect
+whole.&nbsp; Nothing was in anarchy but language and
+politics.&nbsp; But both of these I reduced to order; the one by
+a new alphabet, the other by a new constitution.&rdquo;&nbsp; Of
+what he called his natural or philosophical orthography we know
+but little, <a name="page219"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
+219</span>save that one of his works was printed in it.&nbsp; Had
+he aimed at less he would have accomplished more.&nbsp; He was no
+vulgar demagogue; that trade was not a paying one when Spence
+proclaimed himself &ldquo;the unpaid advocate of the disinherited
+seed of Adam.&rdquo;&nbsp; &ldquo;This, gentlemen,&rdquo; he
+exclaimed when on his trial&mdash;he was too poor to retain
+attorney or counsel for his defence&mdash;&ldquo;this, gentlemen,
+is the Rights of Man; and upon this Book of Nature have I built
+my commonwealth, and the Gates of Hell shall not prevail against
+it.&rdquo;&nbsp; He added, as well he might: &ldquo;I solemnly
+avow that what I have written and published has been done with as
+good a conscience and as much philanthropy as ever possessed the
+heart of any prophet-philosopher or apostle that ever
+existed.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;It was all in vain.&nbsp; The Government of the day
+feared the result of his teaching.&nbsp; Had he set up for a
+philosopher and clothed his ideas in mystic language, perhaps he
+might have been overlooked; but he published what he called
+&ldquo;Pig&rsquo;s Meat&rdquo; for the <a
+name="page220"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 220</span>people, and
+that made him dangerous.&nbsp; He had no friends and became an
+easy prey.&nbsp; He was poor, he stood alone, and was generally
+held to be little better than a lunatic; even the professed
+friends of liberty kept aloof from him.&nbsp; Well might be
+exclaim, as he did before his judges, &ldquo;Perhaps, my lords, I
+have entertained too high an opinion of human nature, for I do
+not find mankind very grateful clients.&rdquo;&nbsp; After his
+trial and imprisonment Spence became an itinerant vendor of books
+and pamphlets, chiefly his own works, which he carried about in a
+vehicle constructed for the purpose.&nbsp; He died somewhere
+about 1812, while Britons were hard at work on sea and in every
+land in Europe setting right public matters according to their
+fashion&mdash;paying foreigners to fight for their own
+independence, singing all the while that they never would be
+slaves.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;We are wiser now,&rsquo; said Wentworth.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Perhaps,&rsquo; was the cynical reply.&nbsp; &lsquo;You
+are everlastingly talking,&rsquo; he continued, &lsquo;of an
+outcast London; but, after all, it is on <a
+name="page221"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 221</span>outcast
+London that the chief blame of its misery lies.&nbsp; Let us have
+an Act for the Prevention of Cruelty to Children, and at once, in
+outcast London, where boys and girls become fathers and mothers
+before they are out of their teens, and when they have no chance
+of earning a living, and know not and care not for the little
+ones they bring into the world.&nbsp; In respectable London a man
+does not marry till he fancies he can keep a wife.&nbsp; In
+outcast London it is the reverse.&nbsp; In such a case population
+represents the thoughtlessness of the nation.&nbsp; In many cases
+it represents the most brutal selfishness.&nbsp; Men and women
+can&rsquo;t complain if they reap what they have sown; but have
+not we a right to say a word on behalf of the children?&nbsp; For
+men and women to bring up their children in the way in which it
+is done in outcast London is a crime.&nbsp; To bring a baby into
+the world to lead a diseased and wretched life where it can never
+get a mouthful of wholesome food, a ray of sunlight, a particle
+of fresh air, to curse a young life <a name="page222"></a><span
+class="pagenum">p. 222</span>that God meant to be so full of
+bliss, is a crime so awful that we can see no fitting
+punishment.&nbsp; To improve outcast London the first thing is to
+stop the supply.&nbsp; There is no remedy if reckless pauperism
+is to be allowed to grow rampant in our midst.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;One word more,&rsquo; said Wentworth.&nbsp;
+&lsquo;Suppose we think more of the decent poor, and less of the
+outcast.&nbsp; Suppose we give the respectable working man as
+much sympathy as we give his good-for-nothing brother.&nbsp;
+Suppose we take the sober operative as much by the hand as we do
+the inebriate.&nbsp; Suppose we act on the idea that industry is
+honourable, and that the men who live by it are men to be
+honoured; that the world with all its blessings is for the
+worker, whether he tills the soil or ploughs the deep, whether he
+builds the loftiest viaduct or burrows in the deepest
+mine.&rsquo;</p>
+<h2><a name="page223"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
+223</span>CHAPTER XXXII.<br />
+<span class="GutSmall">CONSULTATION.</span></h2>
+<p>They were sitting one morning at breakfast&mdash;that
+pleasantest of meals, unless you have to be up at an unusually
+early hour to catch the train and be off to London.&nbsp; Modern
+life is not such an improvement on that of the past as we are apt
+to fancy.&nbsp; The breakfast was the one meal at which people
+could meet and discuss matters&mdash;private, local, political,
+literary, or religious, in an informal way.&nbsp; We have no
+pleasant breakfast in these more ostentatious days, when society
+is too large to admit of friendship; but it seems to me that in
+my younger days we got a good deal more pleasure out of
+life.&nbsp; No wonder, then, that we sigh for the good old times,
+and long <a name="page224"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
+224</span>for their revival; that we have Queen Anne furniture,
+and houses built in what is called the Elizabethan style, and an
+effort to do away with the rail, and to revive the far-famed
+coaches with four horses which were the delight of the nation in
+the Georgian days.</p>
+<p>I can call well to mind the time when I held the coachman of a
+certain Royal Mail, which made its appearance in our benighted
+village about breakfast-time, to have been one of the most
+eminent men of the day, and felt at least a foot taller when, as
+was his wont, he gave me, boy as I was, a friendly nod of
+recognition.&nbsp; As to seeing the horses changed, that was a
+scene I would not have missed on any account.&nbsp; How we all
+stood admiring as the panting steeds, which had galloped
+gloriously their stage, were led sweating away, and the fresh
+team, with cloths on, and their hoofs newly-cleaned, and
+everything about them bright and shiny, took the vacant
+places!&nbsp; What a pleasure it was to see them as they stood
+pawing the <a name="page225"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
+225</span>ground, impatient to be off!&nbsp; How glad we were
+when the coachman, as he climbed up into his lofty seat, and
+gathered up the reins in his capacious hand, gave the signal,
+&lsquo;Let &rsquo;em go!&rsquo;&nbsp; How beautiful it was to us
+lads to see the coach bound off like a thing of life, while the
+guard blew a farewell flourish on his horn, and the horses
+settled down steadily to their work after a playful flourish or
+two!</p>
+<p>Woe is me!&nbsp; I, and other miserable sinners like unto me,
+come to town through tunnels, and over the tops of houses, or
+along cuttings in which one gets an unlovely view of the backs of
+dirty houses and slovenly yards, in a closely-packed railway
+carriage, where we can neither talk, nor hear, nor read, and grow
+nervous as the engine screams and shrieks on all occasions, while
+the railway porters close the doors with a bang sufficient to
+send one into a fit.&nbsp; Life in our railway age is hard for us
+all.</p>
+<p>Wentworth and his wife were at breakfast, as I have
+said.&nbsp; London had been <a name="page226"></a><span
+class="pagenum">p. 226</span>disturbed by rumours as to the claim
+to the titles and estates of the deceased Baronet.&nbsp;
+Newspapers were not so full of twaddle as they are now; that
+spawn of the press, the newspaper interviewer, had not as yet
+sprung into existence.&nbsp; But still then, as now, there was a
+great deal of unmeaning gossip that did manage to find its way
+into the columns of the weekly and daily journals.&nbsp; It has
+ever been so.&nbsp; Apparently, it seems as if it ever will be
+so.&nbsp; The fashion originated in the servants&rsquo;
+hall.&nbsp; &lsquo;A chambermaid to a lady of my
+acquaintance,&rsquo; writes Dean Swift, &lsquo;when talking with
+one of her fellow-servants, said: &ldquo;I hear it is all over
+London already that I am going to leave my
+lady.&rdquo;&rsquo;&nbsp; In this respect she resembled the
+footman who, being newly married, desired his comrade to tell him
+freely &lsquo;what the town really thought of it.&rsquo;&nbsp;
+From the servants&rsquo; hall the habit spread to Grub Street,
+and thence to the West-End, to become the leading feature in
+journals only written for men, or gentlemen, or ladies, <a
+name="page227"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 227</span>as
+circumstances required.&nbsp; We laugh at the old divine who
+wrote a threepenny pamphlet against France, and who, being in the
+country, hearing of a French privateer hovering along the coast,
+fled to town and told his friends that they need not wonder at
+his haste, which he accounted for from the fact that the King of
+France, having got intelligence of his whereabouts, had sent a
+privateer on purpose to carry him away.&nbsp; How ridiculous was
+good Dr. Gee, Prebendary of Westminster, who wrote a small paper
+against Popery!&nbsp; Being ordered to travel on the Continent
+for his health, he disguised his person and assumed another name,
+as he fancied he would be murdered, or put into the
+Inquisition.&nbsp; But are we less ridiculous, or rather has not
+that ridiculous exaggeration of the personal, which is the
+foundation of newspaper twaddle, become more of a nuisance than
+ever?</p>
+<p>Again, we all of us think too much of money and
+money-making.&nbsp; Is it not time that we utter a word of
+warning in the <a name="page228"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
+228</span>matter?&nbsp; It is inconvenient to have no money, most
+of us know by practical experience; but the possession of much of
+it is not after all a guarantee of respectability of character,
+or individual capacity.&nbsp; We call ourselves a Christian
+people, we profess to be actuated by Christian principles.&nbsp;
+The Master was a poor man&mdash;a carpenter&rsquo;s son&mdash;His
+disciples were poor men.&nbsp; If any class are particularly
+referred to in the New Testament as far from the kingdom, they
+are the rich.&nbsp; All modern society is based on the opposite
+idea.&nbsp; We give the rich man the chief place in the
+synagogue.&nbsp; The society journals delight to do him
+honour.&nbsp; He has even made church-going the fashion.&nbsp;
+This is no age of poor geniuses.&nbsp; Our artists, our poets or
+teachers are all of the well-to-do.&nbsp; A Burns, or a
+Bloomfield, would be thought nothing of in our time.&nbsp; The
+modern woman is impossible in a poor community.&nbsp; When a lady
+writer is described in our magazines and newspapers, the writer
+dwells at painful length on the costliness of her surroundings;
+her dresses, her parties, <a name="page229"></a><span
+class="pagenum">p. 229</span>the expensiveness of her furniture,
+and the signs of wealth she everywhere displays.&nbsp; The
+millions&mdash;how they toil and how miserably they live!&nbsp;
+The rich&mdash;what an idle life they lead!&nbsp; And then think
+of the way in which that wealth, which is often a curse to them,
+is obtained!&nbsp; Far away indeed is the new heaven and the new
+earth in which dwelleth righteousness; infamous as are the means
+by which the wealth we envy and admire is obtained, how ready we
+are to do homage to its possessor, poor as he may be in spirit,
+and unclean and unlovely in his life!&nbsp; Wentworth saw, as we
+all do, this unsatisfactory side of all human affairs.&nbsp; The
+time had come, he thought, for an effort for something better,
+for a state in which the wealth earned by the labourer should be
+more equitably distributed.&nbsp; There was a divine order in
+life, he believed, which had been lost sight of, and forgotten,
+and the result was unmitigated poverty and wretchedness.&nbsp;
+For this society was responsible, and especially its rulers, who
+had increased the sufferings of the poor, <a
+name="page230"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 230</span>who had
+trampled on the weak, who had played into the hands of the rich
+and the strong; he did not believe, as some of our modern lights
+do, that the masses were always right and the classes always
+wrong.&nbsp; It seemed to him that there were good and bad
+amongst them all, that circumstances were such, that there was
+little hope of change for the better.&nbsp; Circumstances were
+too strong for the individual to conquer.&nbsp; Take
+intemperance, for instance, the main cause of England&rsquo;s
+wretchedness; how is it possible to grapple with that in society,
+where intoxicating drink is deemed, in most circles, a daily
+necessity of life?</p>
+<p>&lsquo;You must form new social conditions,&rsquo; said Buxton
+as he entered: &lsquo;I have just left,&rsquo; he said, &lsquo;a
+friend of mine.&nbsp; We were fellow students.&nbsp; He was the
+leader in all the classes, and graduated with high honours.&nbsp;
+He took his doctor&rsquo;s degree and then became a clergyman,
+acquired great popularity, was the means of drawing together a
+large congregation, became one of the ornaments of the temperance
+platform, <a name="page231"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
+231</span>was for awhile a power in Exeter Hall, had everything
+that heart could wish, a charming wife, a comfortable income, a
+large family; and now he has become a sot and a drunkard, and I
+see no hope for him as long as he lives.&nbsp; I can only believe
+that he was born with a hereditary taint&mdash;and that after
+fighting against it all his life, it has broken out at last and
+proved his master.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Then you think drunkenness is a disease, and that a man
+is not responsible for it?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;In many cases I do, and I smile when I hear the parson
+denounce him as guilty of a heinous sin, or the judge brand him
+as a criminal offender.&nbsp; Examine the drunkard&rsquo;s body
+after death, and you see in the stomach, in the liver, in the
+heart and brain signs of a diseased condition.&nbsp; At the same
+time, I am ready to admit that there are many who drink out of
+mere cussedness or who are so wretched that they take to it for
+temporary relief; or who just drink because they live in a
+drunken set, and like to do as others around them do.&nbsp;
+Whatever <a name="page232"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
+232</span>the immorality, the vice, or the sin of drunkenness, in
+a very large number of cases the drunkard is more to be pitied
+than blamed, as the subject of disease.&nbsp; If you get him to
+take the pledge, the chances are that he will break it, and that
+the last state of that man will be worse than the
+first.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Ah! that helps me to what I have been long thinking
+of,&rsquo; replied Wentworth.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;What is that&mdash;a community planted where no drink
+can be had?&nbsp; That is all very well; but while you are about
+it, you may as well go a step further.&nbsp; There are other
+hereditary diseases besides drunkenness: why permit them?&nbsp;
+Man is an animal,&rsquo; said Buxton.&nbsp; &lsquo;I am, of
+course, speaking only from a medical point of view.&nbsp; What do
+we do with animals?&nbsp; Why, we stamp out the disease, and thus
+we get a new generation.&nbsp; It is thus we battle with lung
+disease in bullocks, swine fever and glandered horses.&nbsp; We
+must stamp out disease in men and women as we stamp it out of
+other animals.&rsquo;</p>
+<p><a name="page233"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
+233</span>&lsquo;And then pay compensation to the owner.&nbsp;
+That would be rather a costly matter.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;No; I would put it the other way.&nbsp; Take, for
+instance, a consumptive couple in humble life.&nbsp; They marry
+early.&nbsp; The mother has a large family.&nbsp; The father dies
+of consumption before he has reached middle age, after being in a
+hospital for months, supported at the public expense, and he
+leaves his children, if they live, to be supported by the
+parish.&nbsp; If there is to be compensation, it is not the State
+that ought to be asked to pay it.&nbsp; If drink be one cause of
+poverty, surely hereditary disease is another.&nbsp; In a perfect
+community neither should be allowed to exist.&nbsp; Think of such
+awful things as epilepsy and insanity, and cancer and scrofula,
+none of which science can cure!&nbsp; Why not ask society to
+stamp them out?&nbsp; It is downright wickedness to allow them to
+be propagated in our midst.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Public opinion would never consent to that.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;No,&rsquo; replied Buxton; &lsquo;I am quite aware <a
+name="page234"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 234</span>of that;
+but I would create a public opinion that would regard such
+marriages with horror, and then they would gradually become
+rare.&nbsp; Men and women have duties to society, and have to
+think of something else than the gratification of selfish passion
+or mere animal instinct.&nbsp; It is thus hereditary disease may
+disappear, and the nation be all the stronger and happier and
+richer.&nbsp; I know there are good people who look upon such
+afflictions as the result of the Lord&rsquo;s chastening hand,
+and as they bury wife, or husband, or son, or daughter, learn to
+kiss the rod&mdash;as they call it&mdash;and to thank the Lord
+that He thus is weaning them from the world, and preparing them
+for a better world, whither they tell us their loved ones are
+already gone.&nbsp; I have no sympathy with that state of
+mind.&nbsp; It seems to me almost blasphemous, as the
+bereavements they rejoice in for their supposed sanctifying
+effects are simply the natural result of their own folly and
+imprudence and disregard of natural law.&nbsp; In the days of
+ignorance how did we treat the insane?&nbsp; <a
+name="page235"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 235</span>Why, they
+were regarded as victims of Divine wrath, and the priest was
+called in&mdash;and of course well paid&mdash;to exorcise the
+evil spirit.&nbsp; That we do not do so now is a proof that we
+are a little wiser than our fathers&mdash;that, in fact, we are
+not quite such thundering fools; but we have a good deal yet to
+learn, nevertheless.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;The fact is,&rsquo; said Wentworth, &lsquo;a man must
+learn to deny himself for the public good.&nbsp; Rather a
+difficult task that.&nbsp; If the victim of hereditary disease
+refuses to marry and have children, hereditary disease will die
+out.&nbsp; Is not that asking too much of human
+nature?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;There we must appeal to the law for the protection of
+the general public.&nbsp; The community is of more importance
+than the individual.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;But there is no law that cannot be evaded.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Exactly so.&nbsp; Laws against drunkenness are
+constantly broken, but they have a beneficial effect
+nevertheless.&nbsp; A prohibitory liquor law goes too far.&nbsp;
+To act on the idea <a name="page236"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
+236</span>that a glass of claret, or beer, or cider does mischief
+to anyone is absurd.&nbsp; Walter Mapes was right when he wrote
+in praise of drink.&nbsp; As the old monk writes&mdash;</p>
+<blockquote><p>&lsquo;&ldquo;A glass of wine amazingly enliveneth
+one&rsquo;s internals.&rdquo;&rsquo;</p>
+</blockquote>
+<p>&lsquo;You are right there,&rsquo; replied Wentworth.&nbsp;
+&lsquo;Last summer I was at a seaside watering-place.&nbsp; There
+had been a regatta there, and I had written a description of it
+for our paper.&nbsp; In a day or two after the event was
+celebrated by a grand dinner at the leading hotel, to which I was
+invited.&nbsp; Unfortunately, on the day of the dinner I was
+desperately ill.&nbsp; My head was splitting; my skin was as
+tough as the hide of a rhinoceros; I ached in every limb.&nbsp; I
+went to the medical men of the district; there were two of them
+in partnership.&nbsp; No. 1 made me believe that I was in a bad
+way; No. 2 made me out worse.&nbsp; &ldquo;Could I go to the
+dinner?&rdquo; I asked.&nbsp; &ldquo;By no means,&rdquo; was the
+reply.&nbsp; &ldquo;Take this medicine, go home and go to bed,
+and we will come and see you in the morning.&rdquo;&nbsp; Ill as
+I was, I <a name="page237"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
+237</span>went to the dinner.&nbsp; It was a very jovial one, and
+I sat drinking champagne till late.&nbsp; I went home, slept like
+a top, and woke up as well as I ever was in my life.&nbsp; The
+next morning the doctor came.&nbsp; &ldquo;Ah,&rdquo; he said,
+&ldquo;I see you look all the better for my
+medicine.&rdquo;&nbsp; I said, &ldquo;I did not take a drop of
+your medicine.&nbsp; I went to the dinner, drank champagne all
+night, and it was that which cured me.&rdquo;&nbsp; &ldquo;Very
+strange that,&rdquo; said the doctor.&nbsp; &ldquo;The very
+things we think poison have often quite a contrary
+effect.&rdquo;&nbsp; My own opinion is that if I had taken the
+medicine I should have been ill for a week at least.&nbsp; I
+don&rsquo;t take wine as a daily drink, because I can&rsquo;t
+afford it, for one reason, and for another because I believe,
+taken daily, it has a mischievous effect.&nbsp; But there are
+times when it does good, and life is not so joyous that we can
+afford to dispense entirely with the pleasant stimulus of
+wine.&nbsp; I would not prevent its manufacture.&nbsp; No society
+has ever existed without the winecup for its feasts and
+holidays.&nbsp; I would not put down the liquor traffic.&nbsp; I
+would <a name="page238"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
+238</span>only shut up the drink shops.&nbsp; It is they that
+cause the drunkenness which does so much mischief, and there is
+no need for their existence at all.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;But let us hear what her ladyship has to say,&rsquo;
+said Buxton.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;What are you talking about?&rsquo; she said.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;A regenerated State.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Ah, there is need for it,&rsquo; she said.&nbsp;
+&lsquo;But how are you to get it?&nbsp; That is the
+question.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Oh, nothing is easier.&nbsp; Buy a farm in Essex and
+form there a model society.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;With a cheap train to take your people to London in an
+hour or two?&nbsp; That will never do.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Well, then, let us go to Canada and plant our Utopia
+there.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;And fail, as others have done,&rsquo; said she.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;But we shall take picked men and women, and with them
+we cannot fail.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;But they are not immortal.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Happily,&rsquo; said Buxton, &lsquo;none of us are
+that.&nbsp; We&rsquo;ve all got to die and make room for the new
+generation.&rsquo;</p>
+<p><a name="page239"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
+239</span>&lsquo;And can you answer for the new
+generation?&rsquo; asked Rose, &lsquo;that they will remain shut
+up in your Utopia to labour, not each for himself, but for mutual
+benefit; that they will conform to your ideas as regards drinking
+and matrimony; that no selfish passion will run riot; that no
+serpent will come into that paradise to tempt another Eve; that
+the new Adam will be wiser than the old one?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Why, I thought you were in favour of the idea,&rsquo;
+said her husband.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;But I am a woman.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;And therefore have a full right to change your
+opinion,&rsquo; added Buxton.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Of course, there must be some failures.&nbsp; It is by
+them we learn how to succeed,&rsquo; replied Wentworth.&nbsp;
+&lsquo;We learn from the failure of past organizations the way to
+form better and more successful ones.&nbsp; Are there not
+successful Shaker settlements in America?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;You make me laugh,&rsquo; said the lady.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;This is no laughing matter.&nbsp; We are very much in
+earnest.&rsquo;</p>
+<p><a name="page240"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
+240</span>&lsquo;Well, if you are in earnest, let me have the
+selection of the candidates for the new society.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Very good; but I am afraid you will only pass the
+good-looking ones, and forget the old time-honoured maxim that
+&ldquo;handsome is as handsome does.&rdquo;&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;A maxim I laugh to scorn.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Of course you do.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Well, you want healthy men and women, don&rsquo;t
+you?&nbsp; And good looks are only to be found with physical
+health.&nbsp; It is by over-eating and over-drinking and
+over-working that you get a diseased and ugly race.&nbsp; Go to
+our east coast seaside resorts and see what fine men and women
+there are there.&nbsp; Contrast them with the operatives of the
+mine and factory.&nbsp; They scarcely seem to belong to the same
+race.&nbsp; A good-looking girl is happier than a plain
+one.&nbsp; You men are all for good looks.&nbsp; A fine physical
+organization indicates something more desirable.&nbsp; Nor do I
+blame them.&nbsp; &ldquo;The soul is form, and doth the body
+make.&rdquo;&nbsp; The homage we pay to beauty in <a
+name="page241"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 241</span>man or
+woman is but rational.&nbsp; What made Alcibiades a power in
+Athens but his good looks?&nbsp; Did not Jew and Greek alike
+agree in doing honour to Adonis?&nbsp; The outward form indicates
+the inner disposition.&nbsp; If men are to have a brighter world
+we must people it with brighter people.&nbsp; But I think on the
+whole you had better stop where you are.&nbsp; Society in one way
+does improve.&nbsp; Progress is slow&mdash;but institutions are
+hard to remove, bad habits harder still.&nbsp; Why go out into
+the wilderness to teach people to be content with an agricultural
+life?&nbsp; Better fifty years of Europe than a cycle of
+Cathay.&nbsp; Better to bear the ills we have than fly to those
+we know not of.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Your ladyship is poetical!&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Not a bit of it&mdash;only practical, as we women
+always are when you men are up in the clouds.&nbsp; I believe, as
+soon as the peasant has got back to the hind, we shall have a new
+era for England, I believe the agricultural labourer who is
+helped to emigrate to Canada can better his condition <a
+name="page242"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 242</span>at
+once.&nbsp; But I am not an agricultural labourer.&nbsp; I have
+no wish to pass my days in milking cows and rearing poultry; I
+have no wish to pass my days thousands of miles away from London,
+or Paris, or Rome.&nbsp; Am I not the heir of all the ages
+underneath the sun?&nbsp; I am for stopping at home and doing all
+the good I can.&nbsp; I do not feel called upon to dress like a
+guy, as the Shaker women do; nor do I see how you can make any
+settlement that can last.&nbsp; It may succeed for a time, if the
+conditions are favourable, and you select the men and women whom
+you take out.&nbsp; But as the old ones die off and the young
+people grow up there will be all sorts of difficulties.&nbsp;
+Wordsworth, Southey, and Coleridge had similar dreams.&nbsp; It
+was fortunate for them and the world that they were unable to
+carry them out.&nbsp; They did much better work at home.&nbsp; As
+long as human nature remains what it is we must build on the old
+lines.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;How then, would you regenerate society?&rsquo;</p>
+<p><a name="page243"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
+243</span>&lsquo;By the regeneration of the individual.&nbsp;
+What is society but a collection of men?&nbsp; Save the man and
+the mass are saved.&nbsp; Buxton believes in science; Wentworth,
+you believe in politics.&nbsp; Well, both are means to an end;
+but more is required.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;And that is?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Christ in the heart.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Rather an exploded idea in these enlightened
+times.&nbsp; Why, you take us back to the dark ages!&rsquo; said
+Buxton.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Dark ages, indeed!&nbsp; At any rate they were ages of
+faith&mdash;when men believed in God, and did mighty works.&nbsp;
+Alas! we have no such men now.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;And why not?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Because this is the age of material organization, of
+mechanical progress, of the exaltation of the mass over the
+individual, of an artificial equality; an age that has lost
+faith, an age of despair, when the rich man cries &ldquo;Let us
+eat and drink, for to-morrow we die;&rdquo; when the statesman
+recklessly legislates, believing &ldquo;After me the
+deluge;&rdquo; when the people &ldquo;feed on lies.&rdquo;&nbsp;
+<a name="page244"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
+244</span>&ldquo;The light shineth in the darkness, and the
+darkness apprehendeth it not.&rdquo;&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Nevertheless,&rsquo; said Wentworth, &lsquo;I feel
+inclined to make a start in Canada.&nbsp; Rose, I know, will come
+after a little pressing; and if you will come with us, I have a
+friend who has placed some land at my disposal.&nbsp; I have
+found some men and women of the right stamp who are ready to
+emigrate.&nbsp; They live in unhealthy homes, they have bad food,
+and are diseased in consequence.&nbsp; They are surrounded by
+evil companions, and that leads them into crime.&nbsp; Man is, to
+a certain extent, the creature of circumstance.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Yes, that is too true,&rsquo; replied Buxton;
+&lsquo;but what do you propose as the remedy?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Well, that is what I am coming to.&nbsp; Remove the
+pauper, place him in a new world, and with better surroundings,
+and he will become a better man.&nbsp; My friend is quite
+prepared to do so; he is ready to help the poor to emigrate to
+the colonies or America.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;But if the colonies or America will not have them, what
+are you to do?&nbsp; They may <a name="page245"></a><span
+class="pagenum">p. 245</span>object&mdash;in fact, they do object
+to the poor of this country being thrown destitute and helpless
+on their shores.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;That is true; but my friend is resolved to send out
+only deserving men and women whose characters will be carefully
+inquired into, and to send them out under competent guides.&nbsp;
+He proposes to buy a large estate in some eligible part of the
+world, where land is cheap, where the climate is healthy, and
+where all that is wanted to develop the fruits of the earth, and
+to ensure health and happiness to the people, is human
+labour.&nbsp; Of course, he does not propose to deal with the
+masses; but he has an idea, that if he makes an attempt and it
+succeeds, other wealthy and benevolent men will follow his
+example, and thus the amount of crime, and misery, and poverty in
+England may be diminished.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;But why not try such a scheme in England?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;The expense is too great; the rates and taxes are too
+heavy, and the difficulties created by land-laws and lawyers are
+too <a name="page246"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
+246</span>great.&nbsp; Besides, there would always be the danger
+of the men breaking away in sudden fits of ill-humour and
+discontent, and getting back to their old bad habits and evil
+companionship.&nbsp; They must leave all the evils of the old
+world behind them and start clear.&nbsp; You will come with us,
+Buxton?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&lsquo;With all my heart,&rsquo; was the reply.</p>
+<h2><a name="page247"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
+247</span>CHAPTER XXXIII.<br />
+<span class="GutSmall">THE FINAL RESOLVE.</span></h2>
+<p>The following letter was addressed to her
+<i>prot&eacute;g&eacute;</i> in Liverpool by Rose immediately
+after the consultation already described:</p>
+<blockquote><p>&lsquo;<span class="smcap">My dear Boy</span>,</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Wentworth and I have formed a scheme for the future in
+which we hope you will unite.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;We propose to establish a co-operative self-supporting
+community on the other side of the Atlantic.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Old England is played out.&nbsp; It may be that there
+is a new England to arise out of the ashes of the old, but it
+seems rather that&mdash;like Rome, and Athens, and Tyre, and
+India, and Babylon, and Corinth, and Carthage&mdash;<a
+name="page248"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 248</span>its glory
+has passed away.&nbsp; The democracy will rule the land, and that
+means the separation of Ireland and England, the ruin of the
+landlords and of the capitalists, who in their turn will be
+sacrificed to the popular demand for a theoretical right.&nbsp; A
+member of Parliament will simply have to be the mouthpiece of his
+constituents; he will be imposed on them, in ninety-nine cases
+out of a hundred, by an assembly of wealthy, ambitions men,
+prepared to do anything to retain their hold of power.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Parliament or the State will have to interfere between
+fools and the results of their folly.&nbsp; The wretch who gets
+drunk and starves his wife and children will have to be taken
+under the care of the State.&nbsp; The lazy loafer, who cannot
+and will not work, will have to be maintained by the
+community.&nbsp; There is to be no coercion and no compulsion,
+and everybody is to be allowed to drive to the devil in the way
+most convenient.&nbsp; Economic law is to be set aside to gratify
+the demands of the people who want to be known as patriots, <a
+name="page249"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 249</span>and who
+will thus put into men&rsquo;s heads ideas they would never have
+dreamed of.&nbsp; Probably a fierce Communism will ravage the
+land, and by destroying the wealthy increase tenfold the
+hardships of the poor.&nbsp; It is because England has been the
+reverse of all this&mdash;because it has been the land of men who
+have preferred to do their duty rather than talk of their rights;
+who have gained with the strong arm and the manly heart victory
+over the earth and all it holds, that England has been the home
+of as noble a race&mdash;mixed, as it may be, of Celts and
+Saxons&mdash;as ever sailed the ocean or ploughed the land.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;What has England now to fall back on but a
+rapidly-exhausting coal supply, an overwhelming debt,
+establishments&mdash;civil, and naval, and
+military&mdash;preposterous in good times, wicked now when our
+trade is declining everywhere, and the number daily increases of
+people who have no work to do?&nbsp; Shutting their eyes to all
+the dangers of the situation, we see the State split up into two
+parties&mdash;the one in possession of power <a
+name="page250"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 250</span>clinging to
+it at whatever cost of principle or consistency, and the outs
+equally ready to pay the same price to get in.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;And then we have a Church which is a sort of half-way
+house to Rome, and a conventional form of worship by thousands
+who call themselves Christians, but are really heathen at heart;
+and hence a growing class of men who delight to call themselves
+Atheists, and who fancy that they are more enlightened than other
+men because they refuse to bow the knee to a supreme Being.&nbsp;
+We are weary of all this.&nbsp; On the other side of the Rocky
+Mountains, where the Pacific, with its warm wind, sweeps up the
+slopes of the Canadian Rocky Mountains, we have secured a large
+tract of country, with mines, and fertile valleys, and rivers
+abounding with fish.&nbsp; The region is romantic.&nbsp; The
+country is fertile, and it is far from the Old World, with its
+sin, its sorrow, its difficulty of living, and its corroding
+care.&nbsp; There, freed from the icy conventionalisms of the Old
+World, we shall lead happy and useful lives&mdash;all engaged in
+<a name="page251"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
+251</span>remunerative labour that shall leave abundant time for
+the cultivation of the mental powers, and where none will be
+exhausted by overwork, either of body or of mind.&nbsp; And we
+hope you will join our party.&rsquo;</p>
+</blockquote>
+<div class="gapspace">&nbsp;</div>
+<p style="text-align: center"><span class="GutSmall">THE
+END.</span></p>
+<div class="gapspace">&nbsp;</div>
+<div class="gapmediumline">&nbsp;</div>
+<p style="text-align: center"><span class="GutSmall">BILLING AND
+SONS, PRINTERS, GUILDFORD.</span></p>
+<div class="gapline">&nbsp;</div>
+<p style="text-align: center"><a name="page253"></a><span
+class="pagenum">p. 253</span><i>Second Edition</i>.&nbsp;
+<i>Price</i> 7<i>s.</i> 6<i>d.</i></p>
+<h2>EAST ANGLIA:</h2>
+<p style="text-align: center">Personal Recollections and
+Historical Associations.</p>
+<p style="text-align: center"><span class="smcap">By</span> J.
+EWING RITCHIE (&lsquo;<span class="smcap">Christopher
+Crayon</span>&rsquo;).</p>
+<div class="gapshortline">&nbsp;</div>
+<p style="text-align: center">OPINIONS OF THE PRESS.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Very interesting.&rsquo;&mdash;<i>Daily
+Graphic</i>.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;A pleasant, good-natured
+book.&rsquo;&mdash;<i>Echo</i>.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;It will be read with a rush by everyone who takes it
+up.&rsquo;&mdash;<i>British Weekly</i>.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;We cordially recommend Mr. Ritchie&rsquo;s book to all
+who wish to pass an agreeable hour and to learn something of the
+outward actions and inner life of their predecessors.&nbsp; It is
+full of sketches of East Anglian celebrities, happily touched if
+light limned.&rsquo;&mdash;<i>East Anglian Daily Times</i>.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;A very entertaining and enjoyable book.&nbsp; Local
+gossip, a wide range of reading and industrious research, have
+enabled the author to enliven his pages with a wide diversity of
+subjects, specially attractive of East Anglians, but also of much
+general interest.&rsquo;&mdash;<i>Daily Chronicle</i>.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;The work is written in a light gossipy style, and by
+reason both of it and of the variety of persons introduced is
+interesting.&nbsp; To a Suffolk or Norfolk man it is, of course,
+especially attractive.&nbsp; The reader will go through these
+pages without being wearied by application.&nbsp; They form a
+pleasant and entertaining contribution to county literature, and
+&ldquo;East Anglia&rdquo; will, we should think, find its way to
+many of the East Country bookshelves.&rsquo;&mdash;<i>Suffolk
+Chronicle</i>.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;The book is as readable and attractive a volume of
+local chronicles as could be desired.&nbsp; Though all of our
+readers may not see &ldquo;eye to eye&rdquo; with Mr. Ritchie in
+regard to political and theological questions, they cannot fail
+to gain much enjoyment from his excellent delineation of old days
+in East Anglia.&rsquo;&mdash;<i>Norwich Mercury</i>.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;&ldquo;East Anglia&rdquo; has the merit of not being a
+compilation, which is more than can be said of the great majority
+of books produced in these days to satisfy the revived taste for
+topographical gossip.&nbsp; Mr. Ritchie is a Suffolk
+man&mdash;the son of a Nonconformist minister of Wrentham in that
+county&mdash;and he looks back to the old neighbourhood and the
+old times with an affection which is likely to communicate itself
+to his readers.&nbsp; Altogether we can with confidence recommend
+this book not only to East Anglians, but to all readers who have
+any affinity for works of its class.&mdash;<i>Daily News</i>.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Mr. Richie&rsquo;s book belongs to a class of which we
+have none too many, for when well done they illustrate
+contemporary history in a really charming manner.&nbsp; What with
+their past grandeur, their present progress, their martyrs,
+patriots, and authors, there is plenty to tell concerning Eastern
+counties; and one who writes with native enthusiasm is sure to
+command an audience.&rsquo;&mdash;<i>Baptist</i>.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Mr. Ritchie, known to the numerous readers of the
+<i>Christian World</i> as &ldquo;Christopher Crayon,&rdquo; has
+the pen of a ready, racy, refreshing writer.&nbsp; He never
+writes a dull line, and never for a moment allows our interest to
+flag.&nbsp; In the work before us, which is not his first, he is,
+I should think, at his best.&nbsp; The volume is the outcome of
+extensive reading, many rambles over the districts described, and
+of thoughtful observation.&nbsp; We seem to live and move and
+have our being in East Anglia.&nbsp; Its folklore, its
+traditions, its worthies, its memorable events, are all vividly
+and charmingly placed before us, and we close the book sorry that
+there is no more of it, and wondering why it is that works of a
+similar land have not more frequently
+appeared.&rsquo;&mdash;<i>Northern Pioneer</i>.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;It has yielded us more gratification than any work that
+we have read for a considerable time.&nbsp; The book ought to
+have a wide circulation in the Eastern Counties, and will not
+fail to yield profit and delight wherever it finds its
+way.&mdash;<i>Essex Telegraph</i>.</p>
+<p>&lsquo;Mr. Ritchie has here written a most attractive chapter
+of autobiography.&nbsp; He recalls the scenes of his early days,
+and whatever was quaint or striking in connection with them, and
+finds in his recollection ready pegs on which to hang historical
+incidents and antiquarian curiosities of many kinds.&nbsp; He
+passes from point to point in a delightfully cheerful and
+contagious mood.&nbsp; Mr. Ritchie&rsquo;s reading has been as
+extensive and careful as his observation is keen and his temper
+genial; and his pages, which appeared in the <i>Christian World
+Magazine</i>, well deserve the honour of book-form, with the
+additions he has been able to make to
+them.&rsquo;&mdash;<i>British Quarterly Review</i>.</p>
+<div class="gapmediumline">&nbsp;</div>
+<p style="text-align: center">LONDON: JARROLD &amp; SONS,
+PATERNOSTER BUILDINGS, E.C.</p>
+<p>***END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK CRYING FOR THE LIGHT, VOL. 3 [OF
+3]***</p>
+<pre>
+
+
+***** This file should be named 36810-h.htm or 36810-h.zip******
+
+
+This and all associated files of various formats will be found in:
+http://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/3/6/8/1/36810
+
+
+
+Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions
+will be renamed.
+
+Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no
+one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation
+(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without
+permission and without paying copyright royalties.  Special rules,
+set forth in the General Terms of Use part of this license, apply to
+copying and distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works to
+protect the PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm concept and trademark.  Project
+Gutenberg is a registered trademark, and may not be used if you
+charge for the eBooks, unless you receive specific permission.  If you
+do not charge anything for copies of this eBook, complying with the
+rules is very easy.  You may use this eBook for nearly any purpose
+such as creation of derivative works, reports, performances and
+research.  They may be modified and printed and given away--you may do
+practically ANYTHING with public domain eBooks.  Redistribution is
+subject to the trademark license, especially commercial
+redistribution.
+
+
+
+*** START: FULL LICENSE ***
+
+THE FULL PROJECT GUTENBERG LICENSE
+PLEASE READ THIS BEFORE YOU DISTRIBUTE OR USE THIS WORK
+
+To protect the Project Gutenberg-tm mission of promoting the free
+distribution of electronic works, by using or distributing this work
+(or any other work associated in any way with the phrase "Project
+Gutenberg"), you agree to comply with all the terms of the Full Project
+Gutenberg-tm License (available with this file or online at
+http://www.gutenberg.org/license).
+
+
+Section 1.  General Terms of Use and Redistributing Project Gutenberg-tm
+electronic works
+
+1.A.  By reading or using any part of this Project Gutenberg-tm
+electronic work, you indicate that you have read, understand, agree to
+and accept all the terms of this license and intellectual property
+(trademark/copyright) agreement.  If you do not agree to abide by all
+the terms of this agreement, you must cease using and return or destroy
+all copies of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works in your possession.
+If you paid a fee for obtaining a copy of or access to a Project
+Gutenberg-tm electronic work and you do not agree to be bound by the
+terms of this agreement, you may obtain a refund from the person or
+entity to whom you paid the fee as set forth in paragraph 1.E.8.
+
+1.B.  "Project Gutenberg" is a registered trademark.  It may only be
+used on or associated in any way with an electronic work by people who
+agree to be bound by the terms of this agreement.  There are a few
+things that you can do with most Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works
+even without complying with the full terms of this agreement.  See
+paragraph 1.C below.  There are a lot of things you can do with Project
+Gutenberg-tm electronic works if you follow the terms of this agreement
+and help preserve free future access to Project Gutenberg-tm electronic
+works.  See paragraph 1.E below.
+
+1.C.  The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation ("the Foundation"
+or PGLAF), owns a compilation copyright in the collection of Project
+Gutenberg-tm electronic works.  Nearly all the individual works in the
+collection are in the public domain in the United States.  If an
+individual work is in the public domain in the United States and you are
+located in the United States, we do not claim a right to prevent you from
+copying, distributing, performing, displaying or creating derivative
+works based on the work as long as all references to Project Gutenberg
+are removed.  Of course, we hope that you will support the Project
+Gutenberg-tm mission of promoting free access to electronic works by
+freely sharing Project Gutenberg-tm works in compliance with the terms of
+this agreement for keeping the Project Gutenberg-tm name associated with
+the work.  You can easily comply with the terms of this agreement by
+keeping this work in the same format with its attached full Project
+Gutenberg-tm License when you share it without charge with others.
+
+1.D.  The copyright laws of the place where you are located also govern
+what you can do with this work.  Copyright laws in most countries are in
+a constant state of change.  If you are outside the United States, check
+the laws of your country in addition to the terms of this agreement
+before downloading, copying, displaying, performing, distributing or
+creating derivative works based on this work or any other Project
+Gutenberg-tm work.  The Foundation makes no representations concerning
+the copyright status of any work in any country outside the United
+States.
+
+1.E.  Unless you have removed all references to Project Gutenberg:
+
+1.E.1.  The following sentence, with active links to, or other immediate
+access to, the full Project Gutenberg-tm License must appear prominently
+whenever any copy of a Project Gutenberg-tm work (any work on which the
+phrase "Project Gutenberg" appears, or with which the phrase "Project
+Gutenberg" is associated) is accessed, displayed, performed, viewed,
+copied or distributed:
+
+This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with
+almost no restrictions whatsoever.  You may copy it, give it away or
+re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included
+with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org
+
+1.E.2.  If an individual Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work is derived
+from the public domain (does not contain a notice indicating that it is
+posted with permission of the copyright holder), the work can be copied
+and distributed to anyone in the United States without paying any fees
+or charges.  If you are redistributing or providing access to a work
+with the phrase "Project Gutenberg" associated with or appearing on the
+work, you must comply either with the requirements of paragraphs 1.E.1
+through 1.E.7 or obtain permission for the use of the work and the
+Project Gutenberg-tm trademark as set forth in paragraphs 1.E.8 or
+1.E.9.
+
+1.E.3.  If an individual Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work is posted
+with the permission of the copyright holder, your use and distribution
+must comply with both paragraphs 1.E.1 through 1.E.7 and any additional
+terms imposed by the copyright holder.  Additional terms will be linked
+to the Project Gutenberg-tm License for all works posted with the
+permission of the copyright holder found at the beginning of this work.
+
+1.E.4.  Do not unlink or detach or remove the full Project Gutenberg-tm
+License terms from this work, or any files containing a part of this
+work or any other work associated with Project Gutenberg-tm.
+
+1.E.5.  Do not copy, display, perform, distribute or redistribute this
+electronic work, or any part of this electronic work, without
+prominently displaying the sentence set forth in paragraph 1.E.1 with
+active links or immediate access to the full terms of the Project
+Gutenberg-tm License.
+
+1.E.6.  You may convert to and distribute this work in any binary,
+compressed, marked up, nonproprietary or proprietary form, including any
+word processing or hypertext form.  However, if you provide access to or
+distribute copies of a Project Gutenberg-tm work in a format other than
+"Plain Vanilla ASCII" or other format used in the official version
+posted on the official Project Gutenberg-tm web site (www.gutenberg.org),
+you must, at no additional cost, fee or expense to the user, provide a
+copy, a means of exporting a copy, or a means of obtaining a copy upon
+request, of the work in its original "Plain Vanilla ASCII" or other
+form.  Any alternate format must include the full Project Gutenberg-tm
+License as specified in paragraph 1.E.1.
+
+1.E.7.  Do not charge a fee for access to, viewing, displaying,
+performing, copying or distributing any Project Gutenberg-tm works
+unless you comply with paragraph 1.E.8 or 1.E.9.
+
+1.E.8.  You may charge a reasonable fee for copies of or providing
+access to or distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works provided
+that
+
+- You pay a royalty fee of 20% of the gross profits you derive from
+     the use of Project Gutenberg-tm works calculated using the method
+     you already use to calculate your applicable taxes.  The fee is
+     owed to the owner of the Project Gutenberg-tm trademark, but he
+     has agreed to donate royalties under this paragraph to the
+     Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation.  Royalty payments
+     must be paid within 60 days following each date on which you
+     prepare (or are legally required to prepare) your periodic tax
+     returns.  Royalty payments should be clearly marked as such and
+     sent to the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation at the
+     address specified in Section 4, "Information about donations to
+     the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation."
+
+- You provide a full refund of any money paid by a user who notifies
+     you in writing (or by e-mail) within 30 days of receipt that s/he
+     does not agree to the terms of the full Project Gutenberg-tm
+     License.  You must require such a user to return or
+     destroy all copies of the works possessed in a physical medium
+     and discontinue all use of and all access to other copies of
+     Project Gutenberg-tm works.
+
+- You provide, in accordance with paragraph 1.F.3, a full refund of any
+     money paid for a work or a replacement copy, if a defect in the
+     electronic work is discovered and reported to you within 90 days
+     of receipt of the work.
+
+- You comply with all other terms of this agreement for free
+     distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm works.
+
+1.E.9.  If you wish to charge a fee or distribute a Project Gutenberg-tm
+electronic work or group of works on different terms than are set
+forth in this agreement, you must obtain permission in writing from
+both the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation and Michael
+Hart, the owner of the Project Gutenberg-tm trademark.  Contact the
+Foundation as set forth in Section 3 below.
+
+1.F.
+
+1.F.1.  Project Gutenberg volunteers and employees expend considerable
+effort to identify, do copyright research on, transcribe and proofread
+public domain works in creating the Project Gutenberg-tm
+collection.  Despite these efforts, Project Gutenberg-tm electronic
+works, and the medium on which they may be stored, may contain
+"Defects," such as, but not limited to, incomplete, inaccurate or
+corrupt data, transcription errors, a copyright or other intellectual
+property infringement, a defective or damaged disk or other medium, a
+computer virus, or computer codes that damage or cannot be read by
+your equipment.
+
+1.F.2.  LIMITED WARRANTY, DISCLAIMER OF DAMAGES - Except for the "Right
+of Replacement or Refund" described in paragraph 1.F.3, the Project
+Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation, the owner of the Project
+Gutenberg-tm trademark, and any other party distributing a Project
+Gutenberg-tm electronic work under this agreement, disclaim all
+liability to you for damages, costs and expenses, including legal
+fees.  YOU AGREE THAT YOU HAVE NO REMEDIES FOR NEGLIGENCE, STRICT
+LIABILITY, BREACH OF WARRANTY OR BREACH OF CONTRACT EXCEPT THOSE
+PROVIDED IN PARAGRAPH 1.F.3.  YOU AGREE THAT THE FOUNDATION, THE
+TRADEMARK OWNER, AND ANY DISTRIBUTOR UNDER THIS AGREEMENT WILL NOT BE
+LIABLE TO YOU FOR ACTUAL, DIRECT, INDIRECT, CONSEQUENTIAL, PUNITIVE OR
+INCIDENTAL DAMAGES EVEN IF YOU GIVE NOTICE OF THE POSSIBILITY OF SUCH
+DAMAGE.
+
+1.F.3.  LIMITED RIGHT OF REPLACEMENT OR REFUND - If you discover a
+defect in this electronic work within 90 days of receiving it, you can
+receive a refund of the money (if any) you paid for it by sending a
+written explanation to the person you received the work from.  If you
+received the work on a physical medium, you must return the medium with
+your written explanation.  The person or entity that provided you with
+the defective work may elect to provide a replacement copy in lieu of a
+refund.  If you received the work electronically, the person or entity
+providing it to you may choose to give you a second opportunity to
+receive the work electronically in lieu of a refund.  If the second copy
+is also defective, you may demand a refund in writing without further
+opportunities to fix the problem.
+
+1.F.4.  Except for the limited right of replacement or refund set forth
+in paragraph 1.F.3, this work is provided to you 'AS-IS', WITH NO OTHER
+WARRANTIES OF ANY KIND, EXPRESS OR IMPLIED, INCLUDING BUT NOT LIMITED TO
+WARRANTIES OF MERCHANTIBILITY OR FITNESS FOR ANY PURPOSE.
+
+1.F.5.  Some states do not allow disclaimers of certain implied
+warranties or the exclusion or limitation of certain types of damages.
+If any disclaimer or limitation set forth in this agreement violates the
+law of the state applicable to this agreement, the agreement shall be
+interpreted to make the maximum disclaimer or limitation permitted by
+the applicable state law.  The invalidity or unenforceability of any
+provision of this agreement shall not void the remaining provisions.
+
+1.F.6.  INDEMNITY - You agree to indemnify and hold the Foundation, the
+trademark owner, any agent or employee of the Foundation, anyone
+providing copies of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works in accordance
+with this agreement, and any volunteers associated with the production,
+promotion and distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works,
+harmless from all liability, costs and expenses, including legal fees,
+that arise directly or indirectly from any of the following which you do
+or cause to occur: (a) distribution of this or any Project Gutenberg-tm
+work, (b) alteration, modification, or additions or deletions to any
+Project Gutenberg-tm work, and (c) any Defect you cause.
+
+
+Section  2.  Information about the Mission of Project Gutenberg-tm
+
+Project Gutenberg-tm is synonymous with the free distribution of
+electronic works in formats readable by the widest variety of computers
+including obsolete, old, middle-aged and new computers.  It exists
+because of the efforts of hundreds of volunteers and donations from
+people in all walks of life.
+
+Volunteers and financial support to provide volunteers with the
+assistance they need are critical to reaching Project Gutenberg-tm's
+goals and ensuring that the Project Gutenberg-tm collection will
+remain freely available for generations to come.  In 2001, the Project
+Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation was created to provide a secure
+and permanent future for Project Gutenberg-tm and future generations.
+To learn more about the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation
+and how your efforts and donations can help, see Sections 3 and 4
+and the Foundation web page at http://www.gutenberg.org/fundraising/pglaf.
+
+
+Section 3.  Information about the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive
+Foundation
+
+The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation is a non profit
+501(c)(3) educational corporation organized under the laws of the
+state of Mississippi and granted tax exempt status by the Internal
+Revenue Service.  The Foundation's EIN or federal tax identification
+number is 64-6221541.  Contributions to the Project Gutenberg
+Literary Archive Foundation are tax deductible to the full extent
+permitted by U.S. federal laws and your state's laws.
+
+The Foundation's principal office is located at 4557 Melan Dr. S.
+Fairbanks, AK, 99712., but its volunteers and employees are scattered
+throughout numerous locations.  Its business office is located at
+809 North 1500 West, Salt Lake City, UT 84116, (801) 596-1887, email
+business@pglaf.org.  Email contact links and up to date contact
+information can be found at the Foundation's web site and official
+page at http://www.gutenberg.org/about/contact
+
+For additional contact information:
+     Dr. Gregory B. Newby
+     Chief Executive and Director
+     gbnewby@pglaf.org
+
+Section 4.  Information about Donations to the Project Gutenberg
+Literary Archive Foundation
+
+Project Gutenberg-tm depends upon and cannot survive without wide
+spread public support and donations to carry out its mission of
+increasing the number of public domain and licensed works that can be
+freely distributed in machine readable form accessible by the widest
+array of equipment including outdated equipment.  Many small donations
+($1 to $5,000) are particularly important to maintaining tax exempt
+status with the IRS.
+
+The Foundation is committed to complying with the laws regulating
+charities and charitable donations in all 50 states of the United
+States.  Compliance requirements are not uniform and it takes a
+considerable effort, much paperwork and many fees to meet and keep up
+with these requirements.  We do not solicit donations in locations
+where we have not received written confirmation of compliance.  To
+SEND DONATIONS or determine the status of compliance for any
+particular state visit http://www.gutenberg.org/fundraising/donate
+
+While we cannot and do not solicit contributions from states where we
+have not met the solicitation requirements, we know of no prohibition
+against accepting unsolicited donations from donors in such states who
+approach us with offers to donate.
+
+International donations are gratefully accepted, but we cannot make
+any statements concerning tax treatment of donations received from
+outside the United States.  U.S. laws alone swamp our small staff.
+
+Please check the Project Gutenberg Web pages for current donation
+methods and addresses.  Donations are accepted in a number of other
+ways including checks, online payments and credit card donations.
+To donate, please visit:
+http://www.gutenberg.org/fundraising/donate
+
+
+Section 5.  General Information About Project Gutenberg-tm electronic
+works.
+
+Professor Michael S. Hart is the originator of the Project Gutenberg-tm
+concept of a library of electronic works that could be freely shared
+with anyone.  For thirty years, he produced and distributed Project
+Gutenberg-tm eBooks with only a loose network of volunteer support.
+
+Project Gutenberg-tm eBooks are often created from several printed
+editions, all of which are confirmed as Public Domain in the U.S.
+unless a copyright notice is included.  Thus, we do not necessarily
+keep eBooks in compliance with any particular paper edition.
+
+Most people start at our Web site which has the main PG search facility:
+
+     http://www.gutenberg.org
+
+This Web site includes information about Project Gutenberg-tm,
+including how to make donations to the Project Gutenberg Literary
+Archive Foundation, how to help produce our new eBooks, and how to
+subscribe to our email newsletter to hear about new eBooks.
+
+</pre></body>
+</html>
diff --git a/LICENSE.txt b/LICENSE.txt
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..6312041
--- /dev/null
+++ b/LICENSE.txt
@@ -0,0 +1,11 @@
+This eBook, including all associated images, markup, improvements,
+metadata, and any other content or labor, has been confirmed to be
+in the PUBLIC DOMAIN IN THE UNITED STATES.
+
+Procedures for determining public domain status are described in
+the "Copyright How-To" at https://www.gutenberg.org.
+
+No investigation has been made concerning possible copyrights in
+jurisdictions other than the United States. Anyone seeking to utilize
+this eBook outside of the United States should confirm copyright
+status under the laws that apply to them.
diff --git a/README.md b/README.md
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..7cdef1a
--- /dev/null
+++ b/README.md
@@ -0,0 +1,2 @@
+Project Gutenberg (https://www.gutenberg.org) public repository for
+eBook #36810 (https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/36810)